THE GULF STREAM.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XLIII, Issue 2338, 3 February 1913, Page 7

THE GULF STREAM.

WHEN WE DIDN'T CROSS IT

It was the skipper's plan to cruise down to the Florida Light, lie there until early morning, and then make a dash across the Gulf Stream, if weather conditions were favourable. A '"norther" had been blowing fiercely for two days, and the sea out beyond the light was rough—how rough we didn't know, but the skipper thought the wind and sea might go down sufficiently i'or the yacht to .get across the stream on her way to Nassau. The first ten miles after we started were in a broad and sheltered bay, where it was possible to lean comfortably tack in deck chairs and gloat upon the pleasures of pirating.- The name of the yacht was ths Heather, rhyming with "always fair weather." It anchored just under the light, and then proceeded earnestly to roll and wallow. The deck load of gasoline seemed to act as a pendulum that facilitated the rolling very much, not only raising the centre of gravity of the yacht, but threatening to raise a good many other things. By 10 o'clock the yacht was silent. Everybody was trying to store up some sleep before striking the Gulf Stream. When a heavy '"norther " travelling south meets a Gulf Stream travelling north the consequences are open to criticism. At about five o'clock everybody on board was awakened by the sudden thrash of the propellers. We were under way. In a few minutes we should know whether the '''norther "

had spent its fury. For the first half-hour it was not so had, although the yacht pitched and rolled alarmingly. Then something happened. The. yacht staggered under a blow that made her tremble, with her propellers "racing" and her nose deep in the sea ahead. For a moment it was thought that she had decided to be a. submarine instead of a torpedoboat. But she dizzily swung back and then began to slide down a long hill, at the bottom of which a mountain of sea dropped on her bow with a startling crash. This was only the beginning. Fc the next hour the yacht staggered, bucked, reeled, plunged, and trembled, burying her nose and shaking her tail so I'earsomely that those below were dreading what would happen next. The hatches and companions were closed and secured, giving the pleasant sense of security that is felt by the well-known rat in a trap. My cabin mate, who had been vainly trying to stick in his bunk, was heard to remark to himself that he had had enough of pirate islands ; Manhattan Island was--the only one he was interested in, and he wanted to reach it as soon as the fastest train could get him there.

At last, after more than an hour of agony, there was a whirling reel, a diizzy roll or two, and then an hour more of this, after which the sea abruptly subsided. "Hooray," we thought. "We're across the Gulf Stream at last. The agony's over." But it wasn't, as a look through the port-hole proved. There was Florida Light, and it dawned slowly and sickeningly upon us that we were back where we started from. The captain said the boat couldn't stand much more of that sea outside, and for the first time In £5 years he had turned back. —From "The Cruise of the Sundog," in the New York "Sun."

The brilliant wit of the Bar looked at the moon-faced farm laborer, and winked at his friends and whispered, "Now we'll have some fun." "Have you been married ?" he began. "Ye'e'es," stammered the laborer, '"once." "'Whom did you marry?" f '•A w-w-woman, sir." "Come, my good man, of course lit was a woman. Did you ever hear of anyone marrying a man ?" ' "Ye-e-e-es, sir, my sister did." "I three husbands to sup-, port," pleaded the ragged beggar woman. "What —you are a bigamist ?" 'No, air. One husband's mine, and the others belong to my two daughters. "-