Evening Star Newspaper, July 20, 1930, Page 79

NGTON, "D. €, JULY 20, 1930. 13 ) sof a Day at Chesapeake Races—By Carroll Klotzbach t Together for Their Annual Speed Tests. The Skippers and Their People— A Great Vill Be a Dash of Salt Spray, If You Are er of the Men Who Go Dozwn to the Sea. allie K., to the right, and the Kestrel of Washington, owned by Clarence Hall. now Little of These Bay Races and This tonians—1 he Editor Magazine Sent His amera and Notebook, acing Craft—and Story and Pictures. Nettie Greenwell goes ahead. dued to the extent of being made to re- ceive a pair of legs, and, with waistband gathered in one hand and camera in the other, the offending pants were safely carried aboard the bugeye Florence Northam, Cap’n Chesser of St. Georges commanding—where the pants promptly split across the stern, compelling great care on the part of the wearer and causing a storm of merriment—in fact, creating a situation that will be told of whenever the bay folk gather. And Capt. Charley promptly and delightedly chased the writer 'midships to mingle with the throng of ladies gathered there, where after a period of quiet sitting he recovered his composure and resolved that when again he came a-racing that the pants, though again white, would be of canvas and sewn with wire. MORE important things than trousers were breaking, however. The thump of the starting cannon and a round of cheers from the fleet gave notice that the schooners that had for the last few minutes been circling and maneuvering near the line had been started, and the interest quickly shifted to another point. The - Mattie F. Dean, Cap'n Matt Bailey, shows them the way, staggering along under her great press of canvas, crew hauling hard on her main sheet as . they bring her close-hauled for the mark, 'her carved and painted stern just show- ‘ing above her boiling wake, her skipper .crouching low beneath her great main boom, her lee rail awash. Behind her comes the R. B. Haynie, Capt. George Ellis at the helm, a cream of foam under her bows as she heels far over to the freshening breeze. Good old Haynie! How many times have you been admired by visitor and Washingtonian alike as you lay discharging cargo at the . fish wharves, lending your touch of grace to a water front sadly lacking in beauty? Thankee kindly, Capt. Ellis, for not suc- cumbing to the lure of less work and greater profits and eutting her down to a lowly power boat. Burn her, sink her— but never let her be shorn of her wings! Close aboard and to windward is the Ella F. Cripps, and Capt. Les Willing is holding her hard up, crowding the Haynie closely, and smoking through the water like the Flying Dutchman her- self, and well astern—her captain hav- ing mistaken the starting signal—comes the Amanda F. Lewis of Coan, Va., Capt. George Rice having decided, after a bad start, to continue after all As it turned out, she finished only one minute be- hind the boat taking third place, the The Florence Northam watching the others finish. Ella Cripps, and had she gotten away to a good start—well, that’s only conjec- ture. Meanwhile, a cruising yacht out of Baltimore named the Romany, a stays’l schooner of fisherman type, tries her speed toward the mark after the racers had gone clear, and great the delight of the Northamites and immense the .chagrin of the yachtsmen as the Flor- ence overhauls her from loo’ard and astern, passing to windward and run- ning across her bows, effectively proving her superiority. An offer of a tow met with disdainful silence as we passed and Cap’n Charley grinned in satisfaction as we headed back for the line. Thump! Again the warning gun! " This time it’s ourselves! Five minutes. Four. Three. Two. One! We’re—the Florence Northam, the Nettie B. Green- well, the Isaac Keeler, the Hallie K. and a half dozen others—we’re sailing now hard for the line, each skipper anxious to be even with the others as they cross, so that no taint may come upon their winning, each anxious for the gun that will send them on, all of us fidgeting during that awesomely long last minute. We come abreast of the stake boat! A flag jerks down, a voice like the thunder roars “Go,” the cannon booms and we're off! NOW we are all flat on the weather side, only heads appearing above the rail as our skipper puts us close to wind- ward. The ship lifts and hums like a giant bull fiddle as she rushes through the green water. Four husky men thump with a pole at the centerboard as our speed lifts it in the box. Our lee rail just misses going under as our decks heel to a slippery angle and a murmer of admiration runs along the deck as the passengers comes to a real appreciation of her ability. - é But there’s .a shadow! The Keeler! To windward of us and running like a wild horse comes the Todd entry from Chrisfield, bound to uphold the honor of the Eastern 8ho’ and the Todd family, long known on the bay as sportsmen in- comparable. Lean and narrow, she men- aces our starboard quarter, she gains— she overlaps—she is passing! Now the eries along our decks: “Hold her, Char- ley!” “Watch him!” “He's coming closer!” And closer she does come, for, though fast, she cannot point to windward as well as we. The moment is tense. Creeping slowly forward, ever drawing nearer, so near that collision seems im« minent, her crew straining every fiber as though to force her past—closer comes the Keeler! Anxious glances are cast toward our skipper, where he sits atop the wheel box, face alight with excitément, and as we look he puts his wheel up a spoke, crowding the Keeler closer. Something must happen. Something will happen, And it does! The Keeler has shot her bolt for the present. Coming too close, so close that some of our ship’s company began to edge away from the place where it seemed she might strike, she defeats her- self, her jib, suddenly backwinded from - the Florence’s sails, shakes and thun« ders, she luffs up and drops astern. But now! During the slight battle with the Keeler another craft has slipped by to loo’ard, footing it fast and gding out in front by a half mile. So we give chase, closely followed by the dogged Keeler, At the mark she still leads us, our positions having changed but little. 'Round the stake boat we go, turning so close that one might easily have stepped aboard, the crew and folks aboard her all showing countenances quite scarlet with excitement and sunburn and breathlessness, for it devolves upon them to cheer heartily each boat as it passes, with favor to none. Now we are running free before the wind and have a chance for a look around Close behind is the Keeler and away astern are the rest of the bugeyes, out of the race so far as first honors are concerned, but staging a battle among themselves that is close and hard fought. Five miles is this leg of the counse, and, though going nicely, there is none of the thrill experienced when “on the wind.” Again we round a mark boat, and then the beat to windward and the finish line begins. Again we scuttle across her decks to the weather side and again lie flat so as to decrease windage. Again the excitement of thrashing into the wind’s eye and gouts of spray over our bows wet us down, but fail to dampen our enthusiasm. LONG leg to the Virginia shore, then a give-a-way tack to the Maryland side, another of each, and we are with= In striking 'distance of the line. But alas! The Greenwell boat has distanced us and we are out of the race for first place. We battle on for second honors - Coniinued on Nineteenth Page .