In equipping a boat for a cruise, even in summer, it is always well to remember that gales of wind are not unusual even in July. I once knew it to blow with spiteful ferocity in the last week of that month, and to disperse the Atlantic Yacht Club squadron and drive them to seek shelter in various harbors of Long Island Sound, between Black Rock and New Haven. Out of the whole fleet only two yachts reached their destination, New London. One was the sloop Athlon, Vice-Commodore E. B. Havens, on board of which I was a guest, and the forty-footer Chispa. It was quite an exciting and hard thrash to windward in the teeth of an easterly gale, but we got there. Had not the two yachts mentioned been properly prepared for such an exigency, they also would have been forced to bear up and run for some land-locked haven in which to linger until the wind had blown itself out. Although these summer gales generally exhaust themselves in twenty-four hours, they are often quite savage while they last, and the sensible yachtsman will always be prepared to meet them. His standing and running rigging will be in first-class condition; whatever storm canvas he carries will be ready for bending at a moment's notice; his sea anchor or drogue will also be at hand for letting go should the necessity arise.

Of course I need not impress upon the amateur boat sailer that a compass should be taken along on a cruise. But I have mingled a good deal with the owners of small craft, and have met many who either did not carry one at all or, if it was aboard, as likely as not stowed it away in the same locker with a hatchet, marlinespike and other tools not likely to improve it. A compass should always form part of a boat's outfit. A fog often makes its appearance when a party of pleasure seekers are enjoying a sail on sound or bay, and when it shuts down on you thick as a hedge I will defy you not to lose your bearings, and consequently your way. In times such as these a compass will prove a source of great comfort, and instead of being compelled to anchor and await clear weather you can steer for your destination under shortened sail. In such cases never fail to blow the foghorn, which should be of regulation size and not a penny squeaking trumpet such as a six-year old schoolboy affects. The ordinary boat's compass will answer admirably if only short sails are contemplated, but on a long cruise where a heavy sea is not unlikely to be encountered, a fluid compass should be carried. The motion of a small craft in rough water causes the common compass card to jump about so much as to be perfectly useless to steer by, while a fluid compass remains steady and reliable under all circumstances and conditions. There are several fluid compasses in the market at a reasonable price, which can be depended upon in an emergency. The fluid on which the needle floats is generally alcohol, to guard against freezing, and is simply a development of a primitive compass used by the daring seamen of the twelfth century. This old-fashioned instrument consisted of an iron needle, one end of which was stuck into a piece of cork. The other end was well rubbed with a loadstone, and when the cork was floated in an earthenware bowl of water the end so treated pointed to the magnetic North. In spite of the meager knowledge of those early navigators concerning variation and deviation, they generally managed to make a sufficiently good land-fall. It may not be generally known that a sewing needle rubbed on a magnet and carefully dropped into a vessel of water will float and point to the North.

The rule of the road at sea requires vessels in a fog to go at a moderate speed and to blow the foghorn at intervals of not less than two minutes; when on the starboard tack one blast, when on the port tack two blasts in succession, and when with the wind abaft the beam three blasts in succession. It also has certain imperative rules for a vessel at anchor in a fog.

The law provides that a vessel not under way in a fog shall at intervals of not more than two minutes ring a bell. It will be seen therefore that a bell is quite as necessary as a foghorn. If a boat at anchor or under way in thick weather, with neither bell nor foghorn in use as provided by the law, should be run into and damaged or sunk by any other vessel, her owner would have no redress. On the contrary, if he escaped with his life he could be forced to pay for any damage, however trifling, the vessel colliding with him sustained in the act. If he was drowned his estate would be liable.

A bell should form part of the careful boatowner's outfit. But if you have neglected providing one, don't despair. Get out a frying pan or a tin kettle and kick up as much racket as you can by beating one or both with a hammer or a marlinespike. A fishhorn has many times answered the purpose of a foghorn, but I would not recommend it as a steady substitute. All I wish to convey is that a frying pan and a fishhorn are better than nothing.

The variety of anchor to be carried depends very much upon choice. There are several kinds for sale quite suitable for small cruisers, all of which have good points to recommend them.

The law is imperative as regards the carrying of lights by night when at anchor or under way. If your craft is very small, there is a light in the market fitted with green and red slides to be shown when required, which may suit your purpose. But if your craft has any pretensions to size provide yourself with a pair of brass side lights and also a good brass anchor light. Avoid those flimsy articles with which the market is flooded. The best are cheapest in the end. See that all the lamps you have aboard take the same sized wick. Buy the brand of oil known as mineral sperm, which is used by all first-class steamship lines. Its quality has borne the test of years and has never been found wanting. For lamp cleaning take a plentiful supply of cotton waste and old newspapers, the last named for polishing the glass. A hand lead and line must not be forgotten, while an aneroid barometer, a thermometer and a marine clock will be both useful and ornamental. Do not forget a canvas bucket and a deck scrubber.

A few tools will be found necessary. A hatchet, hammer, chisel, file, jack-knife, gimlet, screw driver, small crosscut saw and an assortment of screws and nails will be about all that is essential in this direction. A few yards of duck, palm and needles and sewing twine, a ball of marline, one of spun yarn and a marlinespike may be stowed away snugly, and their possession in case of need is often a great boon. The adventurous voyager must use his own discretion as to his wardrobe. The marine "dude" is in evidence in our midst, and who am I that I should condemn a man for trying to look his prettiest, both ashore and afloat? Don't forget to buy a good suit of oilers, and don't fail to slip them on when it rains. When you come to get to my age, and feel the rheumatism in your old bones, you will wish you had followed my advice.

Tastes differ so widely that it is hard to advise a man as to his cuisine when afloat. What would suit an old sea dog "right down to the ground" might not be palatable to the nautical epicure with a taste for humming-bird's livers on toast, or other such dainty kickshaws. Personally, I can enjoy a good square meal of sardines and hardtack, wash it down with a cup of coffee and wind up with a pipe of plug tobacco, and conclude that I have feasted like a prince. This is probably due to my forecastle training. Others are more fastidious. Luckily this is the age of canned viands, and almost every delicacy under the sun is put up in convenient form, requiring only a can-opener to extract the hidden sweetness.

The culinary difficulty that confronts the sailer of a small craft is the cooking stove. Like the servant girl problem, it is still unsolved. Many great geniuses have wasted the midnight oil and have nearly exhausted the gray matter of their brains in trying to invent a stove that shall be suitable for a little cockleshell of a boat with a penchant for dancing over the waves in lively style. Some have tried cast-iron stoves with a smokestack, and coal for fuel, and have cursed their folly ever after. Gasoline stoves, so long as they don't explode and set fire to the boat, are convenient and cleanly. Various kinds of alcohol lamps, hung on gimbals to accommodate themselves to the perpetual motion of a vessel, are in use and are thoroughly adapted for making a pot of coffee, tea or chocolate, and for heating a can of soup or preserved meat. A hungry boatman should not ask for more luxurious fare. There are preparations of coffee and milk and cocoa and milk in cans, which can be got ready in a hurry and with the least possible trouble. They are also nice, and I do not hesitate to stamp them with the seal of my approval. By looking over the catalogue of the canned goods of any first-class grocer, you will find a quantity of varieties to select from, all of excellent quality and moderate in price. In order to provide against waste it would be advisable if cruising alone to buy the smallest packages in which the viands are put up. Hardtack should be kept in airtight tin boxes to guard against damp. Matches can be stowed in a glass fruit jar, and in this snug receptacle defy salt spray and sea air which threaten the integrity of brimstone and phosphorus. The man who indulges in tobacco (and what lover of the sea does not?) will find it well to pack a supply of wind matches in a glass jar, so that he can keep his match safe replenished and be able to light his pipe or cigar no matter how the breeze may blow. I have found tobacco a mighty source of comfort under adverse mental and physical conditions, and its soothing influence has made many a trick at the tiller seem less weary.

Cooking in a small craft tossed like a cork on the waves is a confounded nuisance, but a hot meal tastes well after you have been stuck at the tiller for four or five hours in squally weather. I remember an incident that occurred on board my cutter, the Heather Bell, when ingenuity provided a hot breakfast which otherwise we should not have enjoyed. We were caught in a southerly gale in the English Channel, and under trysail and spitfire jib we were doing our best to claw off a lee shore. I had been at the tiller nearly all night, and when day broke I was thoroughly exhausted. The little cutter—she was only fifteen tons—was pitching and 'scending at such a lively rate that lighting a fire in the stove was out of the question. My chum, however, managed to make some coffee with the aid of a spirit lamp, and also to cook a couple of plump Yarmouth bloaters. This last-named feat was difficult, but my chum was a man of genius. An inspiration came to him. He split the bloaters down the backs, put them in an extra deep frying pan, such as should always be used at sea, deluged them with Scotch whiskey, old and smoky, and set fire to it. I can see him now, hanging on to the cabin ladder with one hand and balancing the frying pan in the other, so that the blazing whiskey should not overflow and set fire to the cabin. Those bloaters were fine. They went right to the spot. It was rather an expensive mode of cooking, for the whiskey in question was choice, but we both agreed that the fishes were worthy of it. I suppose they would have tasted just as well if they had been cooked in alcohol, but that idea did not occur to my friend. A beefsteak prepared in the same way was delicious. We had it for dinner and soon after there came a shift of wind which enabled us to run for Newhaven and sleep comfortably.

You should take with you a box of seidlitz powders, a bottle of vaseline, court plaster, a box of your pet pills, a bottle of extract of witch hazel, a bottle of extract of ginger, a bottle of Sun cholera mixture, and a bottle of Horsford's acid phosphate. These should be stowed away in a medicine-chest, which, if you have any mechanical skill at all, you can make yourself. If you are no hand at a saw or a chisel, a small medicine-chest, filled with all the requisites and adapted for use in a boat, can be obtained from any good drug-store at a reasonable figure.

A locker for the storage of ice is indispensable for one's comfort when sailing in these latitudes in summer. The locker should be lined with zinc, and should be fitted with a brass tap to draw off the waste water. Wrap your ice up in paper first, and then in a piece of coarse flannel, and you will be surprised at the length of time it will keep. A porous earthenware bottle should form part of your equipment. It can be suspended in a draught, and will supply you with a moderately cool drink when your ice is all used.

Remember that sea air generates damp very quickly in a cabin. Bedding should be aired and sunned if possible every day, and the cabin should be well ventilated. Cleanliness and comfort go together in a boat, and scrubbing-brush and swab should not be allowed to get dry-rot by disuse. Cultivate order and tidiness so far as the domestic economy of your yacht is concerned. Have a place for everything and everything in its place, or your little cabin will present a slovenly appearance instead of looking pretty and snug.

If the interior of your cabin is painted white, use enamel paint, which dries hard and smooth, and can be easily cleaned by washing with warm (not hot) water, soap and sponge.

Cocoa-nut matting is better than carpet or oil-cloth as a covering for a small craft's cabin floor. It is difficult to dry carpet when it gets thoroughly drenched with salt water. Oil-cloth is comfortless and cold to bare feet, but cocoa-nut matting is open to neither of these objections. It is easily washed and dries quickly.

The cushions for the cabin may be stuffed with cork shavings or horse-hair and covered with india-rubber sheeting. These may again be covered with corduroy or blue flannel, as the india-rubber sheeting is cold. Mattresses made of deers' hair are in the market, and are quite comfortable. Being buoyant, they can be used as life-savers in an emergency.

Cups, saucers, plates and dishes of enameled iron or agate ware are unbreakable and much superior to those of tin, which rust and are hard to keep clean. Crockery and glassware are easily destroyed in a cruising craft, in spite of the ingenious racks and lockers invented to preserve them.

Don't omit to include fishing tackle among your stores. There is lots of sport in catching blue-fish or mackerel when under way, and many a weary hour when your craft is becalmed may be beguiled with hook and line. Besides, a fish fresh from the water forms an agreeable and appetizing change from the monotony of canned goods. There is no necessity to purchase expensive tackle for sea-fishing. All that is wanted is strong and serviceable gear. For blue-fishing provide yourself with a well-laid cotton line, which is not liable to kink. The line should be seven-sixteenths of an inch in circumference for the big fish one catches in spring and fall, and the hooks should be strong. It is well to carry with you several varieties of squid. For smaller blue-fish a lighter, cotton-braided line is good. When I go blue-fishing I take rubber finger-stalls along to prevent my fingers being chafed by the line. My readers should do the same. Horse-mackerel and Spanish mackerel are often taken with a blue-fish line.

For navigating purposes all that is really necessary for a coasting voyage is a chart of the waters you propose to sail in, a pair of dividers and parallel rulers, and a book of sailing directions. A patent log may be added if so desired, and will add to the accuracy of your dead reckoning.

Thus equipped, the navigator may boldly venture forth either by himself or with a congenial companion. If he does not enjoy every moment of his cruise, and gain health and strength from the tonic sea breezes, he can safely conclude that Nature never intended him for a sailor. In that case he should dispose of his craft at once and seek such consolation as agricultural pursuits afford.