This sort of thing was fully provided against in the Rob Roy by the water-tight compartments, three in number, besides the air-chambers, so that if she was filled in any one, she could yet sail on, and if all three compartments had been entirely full of water, she would still float with her air-chambers, and with five hundredweight to spare. [208]
The buoyancy of the yawl was very remarkable. She easily carried twenty men, and in the same space one could accommodate five ladies of reasonable circumference.
A boat’s mop is, of course, well known to be always fair spoil to him who can take it, and whatever other article the yachtsman leaves loose on an unguarded deck, he never omits to hide or lock up the mop, for a mop is winged like an umbrella, it strays, but seldom returns. The usual protection of mops is their extreme badness, and it is on this account, no doubt, that you never can find a good mop to buy. The Rob Roy’s mop was the only bad article on board, and I left it out loose in perfect confidence. Often and often it had evidently been turned over, but on examination it was found supremely bad, worse than the thief’s own mop, and not worth stealing. At last, however, and in Cowes, too, the focus of yachting, if not of honesty, my mop was stolen. The man who took it is to be pitied, for, clearly, before he coveted a bad mop, he must have been long enduring a worse one.
Nor is the property in boats’ anchors quite free from the legal subtleties which allow but a dim sort of ownership in things that are attached to the soil.
When, indeed, your boat is at one end of the cable, you will scarcely fear that the anchor should be stolen from the other end. But when necessity or convenience causes you to slip anchor and sail away, you must recollect that though the anchor is the emblem of hope, it does not warrant any expectation that on returning you will find the anchor acknowledged to be yours. It has now passed into the category of “found anchors,” and it is not yet decided how the rights to these are best determined. However, I may here mention one mode of settling the matter.
A gentleman we shall call N., sailing from a port on the Thames, had to slip his anchor, and he said to the lad ashore—“You see I am leaving my anchor here, and be good enough to tell your father to get it when the tide falls, and to carry it to where my yacht is, and when I return here to-morrow I will give him half-a-crown.”
After his sailing was over, N. came back and said to the father, “Well, have you got my anchor?” “I have found an anchor,” he answered. “Yes, that is mine, and I told your son I would give you half-a-crown if you brought it here.” “I have found an anchor, and I’ll not give it up under five shillings,” said the man; and their argument and remonstrance gradually enveloped the subject in a hazy abstruseness, while the usual knot of idlers listened all round. At length N. said, “Come, now, we really must settle this matter. I’ll fight you as to whether I am to pay five shillings or nothing for the anchor,” and he took off his coat and waistcoat, so it was plain he was in earnest. The other man stripped too, a ring was formed, and after N., worsted at first, had well thrashed his opponent, the latter gave up the anchor. Here, perhaps, we might think the case had ended, but N. had still a point to be settled, saying to the man, “Your bargain was not only to give up the anchor, but to bring it here;” and as the fellow refused to do this, the valiant N. cut the second discussion short by saying, “Well, then, I’ll fight you again as to who shall carry it up,” and it need scarcely be said that the anchor was not carried up by N.
Is there any other country but England where two men can pummel each other in hard earnest, and yet with less passion at the time, and less grudge afterwards than often exists for years between two combatants who battle with their tongues, or even fight with their pens and post-stamps?
As anchors are important parts of one’s equipment, I had begun early to experiment at once with mine, and the small one had been tried once as a kedge. With the first heave it broke off short; the stock had snapped in the place which ought to be the strongest, but which is really made the weakest, by the present faulty construction of anchor-stocks. The memo in my log-book was, “Invent a proper anchor;” and even at Cowes I could not find any plan that met this need. [211]
Before the end of my voyage, a score of minutiæ as well as things of some importance were marked as lines for great improvement, when a nautico-mechanical brain shall be brought to bear upon them. The mental consideration of such points afforded varied subjects for many weeks’ thought. Indeed all the fittings of a sailing-boat seem open to much improvement. Meanwhile we have laid down the large Trotman as moorings in the Medina, while we range about the bays of the island with the smaller anchor duly repaired.