Well, it was blowing half of a small summer gale, when I told Roscoe we'd heave to.Night was coming on.I had been steering nearly all day, and all hands on deck (Roscoe and Bert and Charmian) were tired, while all hands below were seasick.It happened that we had already put two reefs in the big mainsail.The flying-jib and the jib were taken in, and a reef put in the fore-staysail.The mizzen was also taken in.About this time the flying jib-boom buried itself in a sea and broke short off.I started to put the wheel down in order to heave to.The Snark at the moment was rolling in the trough.She continued rolling in the trough.I put the spokes down harder and harder.She never budged from the trough.(The trough, gentle reader, is the most dangerous position all in which to lay a vessel.) I put the wheel hard down, and still the Snark rolled in the trough.Eight points was the nearest I could get her to the wind.I had Roscoe and Bert come in on the main-sheet.The Snark rolled on in the trough, now putting her rail under on one side and now under on the other side.
Again the inconceivable and monstrous was showing its grizzly head.
It was grotesque, impossible.I refused to believe it.Under double-reefed mainsail and single-reefed staysail the Snark refused to heave to.We flattened the mainsail down.It did not alter the Snark's course a tenth of a degree.We slacked the mainsail off with no more result.We set a storm trysail on the mizzen, and took in the mainsail.No change.The Snark roiled on in the trough.
That beautiful bow of hers refused to come up and face the wind.
Next we took in the reefed staysail.Thus, the only bit of canvas left on her was the storm trysail on the mizzen.If anything would bring her bow up to the wind, that would.Maybe you won't believe me when I say it failed, but I do say it failed.And I say it failed because I saw it fail, and not because I believe it failed.
I don't believe it did fail.It is unbelievable, and I am not telling you what I believe; I am telling you what I saw.
Now, gentle reader, what would you do if you were on a small boat, rolling in the trough of the sea, a trysail on that small boat's stern that was unable to swing the bow up into the wind? Get out the sea-anchor.It's just what we did.We had a patent one, made to order and warranted not to dive.Imagine a hoop of steel that serves to keep open the mouth of a large, conical, canvas bag, and you have a sea-anchor.Well, we made a line fast to the sea-anchor and to the bow of the Snark, and then dropped the sea-anchor overboard.It promptly dived.We had a tripping line on it, so we tripped the sea-anchor and hauled it in.We attached a big timber as a float, and dropped the sea-anchor over again.This time it floated.The line to the bow grew taut.The trysail on the mizzen tended to swing the bow into the wind, but, in spite of this tendency, the Snark calmly took that sea-anchor in her teeth, and went on ahead, dragging it after her, still in the trough of the sea.And there you are.We even took in the trysail, hoisted the full mizzen in its place, and hauled the full mizzen down flat, and the Snark wallowed in the trough and dragged the sea-anchor behind her.Don't believe me.I don't believe it myself.I am merely telling you what I saw.
Now I leave it to you.Who ever heard of a sailing-boat that wouldn't heave to?--that wouldn't heave to with a sea-anchor to help it? Out of my brief experience with boats I know I never did.And I stood on deck and looked on the naked face of the inconceivable and monstrous--the Snark that wouldn't heave to.A stormy night with broken moonlight had come on.There was a splash of wet in the air, and up to windward there was a promise of rain-squalls; and then there was the trough of the sea, cold and cruel in the moonlight, in which the Snark complacently rolled.And then we took in the sea-anchor and the mizzen, hoisted the reefed staysail, ran the Snark off before it, and went below--not to the hot meal that should have awaited us, but to skate across the slush and slime on the cabin floor, where cook and cabin-boy lay like dead men in their bunks, and to lie down in our own bunks, with our clothes on ready for a call, and to listen to the bilge-water spouting knee-high on the galley floor.
In the Bohemian Club of San Francisco there are some crack sailors.
I know, because I heard them pass judgment on the Snark during the process of her building.They found only one vital thing the matter with her, and on this they were all agreed, namely, that she could not run.She was all right in every particular, they said, except that I'd never be able to run her before it in a stiff wind and sea.
"Her lines," they explained enigmatically, "it is the fault of her lines.She simply cannot be made to run, that is all." Well, Iwish I'd only had those crack sailors of the Bohemian Club on board the Snark the other night for them to see for themselves their one, vital, unanimous judgment absolutely reversed.Run? It is the one thing the Snark does to perfection.Run? She ran with a sea-anchor fast for'ard and a full mizzen flattened down aft.Run? At the present moment, as I write this, we are bowling along before it, at a six-knot clip, in the north-east trades.Quite a tidy bit of sea is running.There is nobody at the wheel, the wheel is not even lashed and is set over a half-spoke weather helm.To be precise, the wind is north-east; the Snark's mizzen is furled, her mainsail is over to starboard, her head-sheets are hauled flat: and the Snark's course is south-south-west.And yet there are men who have sailed the seas for forty years and who hold that no boat can run before it without being steered.They'll call me a liar when they read this; it's what they called Captain Slocum when he said the same of his Spray.
As regards the future of the Snark I'm all at sea.I don't know.
If I had the money or the credit, I'd build another Snark that WOULDheave to.But I am at the end of my resources.I've got to put up with the present Snark or quit--and I can't quit.So I guess I'll have to try to get along with heaving the Snark to stern first.Iam waiting for the next gale to see how it will work.I think it can be done.It all depends on how her stern takes the seas.And who knows but that some wild morning on the China Sea, some gray-beard skipper will stare, rub his incredulous eyes and stare again, at the spectacle of a weird, small craft very much like the Snark, hove to stern-first and riding out the gale?
P.S.On my return to California after the voyage, I learned that the Snark was forty-three feet on the water-line instead of forty-five.This was due to the fact that the builder was not on speaking terms with the tape-line or two-foot rule.
