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Python Machine
Learning Cookbook

100 recipes that teach you how to perform various

machine learning tasks in the real world

Prateek Joshi
Python Machine Learning Cookbook

Copyright © 2016 Packt Publishing

First published: June 2016

Production reference: 1160616

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

Livery Place
35 Livery Street
Birmingham B3 2PB, UK.

ISBN 978-1-78646-447-7

www.packtpub.com
 Contents

Preface v
Chapter 1: The Realm of Supervised Learning 1
Introduction 1
Preprocessing data using different techniques 2
Label encoding 5
Building a linear regressor 7
Computing regression accuracy 11
Achieving model persistence 12
Building a ridge regressor 13
Building a polynomial regressor 15
Estimating housing prices 17
Computing the relative importance of features 20
Estimating bicycle demand distribution 22
Chapter 2: Constructing a Classifier 27
Introduction 27
Building a simple classifier 28
Building a logistic regression classifier 30
Building a Naive Bayes classifier 35
Splitting the dataset for training and testing 36
Evaluating the accuracy using cross-validation 38
Visualizing the confusion matrix 40
Extracting the performance report 42
Evaluating cars based on their characteristics 43
Extracting validation curves 46
Extracting learning curves 50
Estimating the income bracket 52
Chapter 3: Predictive Modeling 55
Introduction 55
Building a linear classifier using Support Vector Machine (SVMs) 56
Building a nonlinear classifier using SVMs 61
Tackling class imbalance 64
Extracting confidence measurements 67
Finding optimal hyperparameters 69
Building an event predictor 71
Estimating traffic 74
Chapter 4: Clustering with Unsupervised Learning 77
Introduction 77
Clustering data using the k-means algorithm 78
Compressing an image using vector quantization 81
Building a Mean Shift clustering model 85
Grouping data using agglomerative clustering 88
Evaluating the performance of clustering algorithms 91
Automatically estimating the number of clusters using DBSCAN algorithm 95
Finding patterns in stock market data 99
Building a customer segmentation model 102
Chapter 5: Building Recommendation Engines 105
Introduction 106
Building function compositions for data processing 106
Building machine learning pipelines 108
Finding the nearest neighbors 110
Constructing a k-nearest neighbors classifier 113
Constructing a k-nearest neighbors regressor 119
Computing the Euclidean distance score 122
Computing the Pearson correlation score 123
Finding similar users in the dataset 125
Generating movie recommendations 127
Chapter 6: Analyzing Text Data 131
Introduction 131
Preprocessing data using tokenization 132
Stemming text data 134
Converting text to its base form using lemmatization 135
Dividing text using chunking 137
Building a bag-of-words model 138
Building a text classifier 141
Identifying the gender 144
 Analyzing the sentiment of a sentence 146
Identifying patterns in text using topic modeling 150
Chapter 7: Speech Recognition 155
Introduction 155
Reading and plotting audio data 156
Transforming audio signals into the frequency domain 158
Generating audio signals with custom parameters 160
Synthesizing music 162
Extracting frequency domain features 164
Building Hidden Markov Models 167
Building a speech recognizer 168
Chapter 8: Dissecting Time Series and Sequential Data 173
Introduction 173
Transforming data into the time series format 174
Slicing time series data 176
Operating on time series data 179
Extracting statistics from time series data 182
Building Hidden Markov Models for sequential data 185
Building Conditional Random Fields for sequential text data 189
Analyzing stock market data using Hidden Markov Models 192
Chapter 9: Image Content Analysis 195
Introduction 195
Operating on images using OpenCV-Python 196
Detecting edges 200
Histogram equalization 204
Detecting corners 206
Detecting SIFT feature points 208
Building a Star feature detector 210
Creating features using visual codebook and vector quantization 211
Training an image classifier using Extremely Random Forests 214
Building an object recognizer 217
Chapter 10: Biometric Face Recognition 219
Introduction 219
Capturing and processing video from a webcam 220
Building a face detector using Haar cascades 221
Building eye and nose detectors 224
Performing Principal Components Analysis 227
Performing Kernel Principal Components Analysis 228
Performing blind source separation 232
Building a face recognizer using Local Binary Patterns Histogram 236
Chapter 11: Deep Neural Networks 243
Introduction 243
Building a perceptron 244
Building a single layer neural network 247
Building a deep neural network 250
Creating a vector quantizer 254
Building a recurrent neural network for sequential data analysis 256
Visualizing the characters in an optical character recognition database 260
Building an optical character recognizer using neural networks 262
Chapter 12: Visualizing Data 265
Introduction 265
Plotting 3D scatter plots 266
Plotting bubble plots 267
Animating bubble plots 269
Drawing pie charts 271
Plotting date-formatted time series data 273
Plotting histograms 275
Visualizing heat maps 277
Animating dynamic signals 278
Index 281
 Preface

Machine learning is becoming increasingly pervasive in the modern data-driven world. It is

used extensively across many fields, such as search engines, robotics, self-driving cars, and
so on. In this book, you will explore various real-life scenarios where you can use machine
learning. You will understand what algorithms you should use in a given context using this
exciting recipe-based guide.

This book starts by talking about various realms in machine learning followed by practical
examples. We then move on to discuss more complex algorithms, such as Support Vector
Machines, Extremely Random Forests, Hidden Markov Models, Conditional Random Fields,
Deep Neural Networks, and so on. This book is for Python programmers looking to use
machine learning algorithms to create real-world applications. This book is friendly to Python
beginners but familiarity with Python programming will certainly be helpful to play around with
the code. It is also useful to experienced Python programmers who are looking to implement
machine learning techniques.

You will learn how to make informed decisions about the types of algorithm that you need
to use and how to implement these algorithms to get the best possible results. If you get
stuck while making sense of images, text, speech, or some other form of data, this guide on
applying machine learning techniques to each of these will definitely come to your rescue!

What this book covers

Chapter 1, The Realm of Supervised Learning, covers various supervised-learning techniques
for regression. We will learn how to analyze bike-sharing patterns and predict housing prices.

Chapter 2, Constructing a Classifier, covers various supervised-learning techniques for data

classification. We will learn how to estimate the income brackets and evaluate a car based
on its characteristics.

Chapter 3, Predictive Modeling, discusses predictive-modeling techniques using Support

Vector Machines. We will learn how to apply these techniques to predict events occurring
in buildings and traffic on the roads near sports stadiums.
Chapter 4, Clustering with Unsupervised Learning, explains unsupervised learning algorithms,
including k-means and Mean Shift clustering. We will learn how to apply these algorithms to
stock market data and customer segmentation.

Chapter 5, Building Recommendation Engines, teaches you about the algorithms that
we use to build recommendation engines. We will learn how to apply these algorithms
to collaborative filtering and movie recommendations.

Chapter 6, Analyzing Text Data, explains the techniques that we use to analyze text data,
including tokenization, stemming, bag-of-words, and so on. We will learn how to use these
techniques to perform sentiment analysis and topic modeling.

Chapter 7, Speech Recognition, covers the algorithms that we use to analyze speech data.
We will learn how to build speech-recognition systems.

Chapter 8, Dissecting Time Series and Sequential Data, explains the techniques that we use
to analyze time series and sequential data including Hidden Markov Models and Conditional
Random Fields. We will learn how to apply these techniques to text sequence analysis and
stock market predictions.

Chapter 9, Image Content Analysis, covers the algorithms that we use for image content
analysis and object recognition. We will learn how to extract image features and build
object-recognition systems.

Chapter 10, Biometric Face Recognition, explains the techniques that we use to detect and
recognize faces in images and videos. We will learn about dimensionality reduction algorithms
and build a face recognizer.

Chapter 11, Deep Neural Networks, covers the algorithms that we use to build deep neural
networks. We will learn how to build an optical character recognition system using neural
networks.

Chapter 12, Visualizing Data, explains the techniques that we use to visualize various types
of data in machine learning. We will learn how to construct different types of graphs, charts,
and plots.

What you need for this book

There is a lot of debate going on between Python 2.x and Python 3.x. While we believe that the
world is moving forward with better versions coming out, a lot of developers still enjoy using
Python 2.x. A lot of operating systems have Python 2.x built into them. This book is focused on
machine learning in Python as opposed to Python itself. It also helps in maintaining compatibility
with libraries that haven't been ported to Python 3.x. Hence the code in the book is oriented
towards Python 2.x. In that spirit, we have tried to keep all the code as agnostic as possible to
the Python versions. We feel that this will enable our readers to easily understand the code and
readily use it in different scenarios.
Who this book is for
This book is for Python programmers who are looking to use machine learning algorithms to
create real-world applications. This book is friendly to Python beginners, but familiarity with
Python programming will certainly be useful to play around with the code.

Sections
In this book, you will find several headings that appear frequently (Getting ready, How to do it,
How it works, There's more, and See also).

To give clear instructions on how to complete a recipe, we use these sections as follows:

Getting ready
This section tells you what to expect in the recipe, and describes how to set up any software or
any preliminary settings required for the recipe.

How to do it…
This section contains the steps required to follow the recipe.

How it works…
This section usually consists of a detailed explanation of what happened in the previous section.

There's more…
This section consists of additional information about the recipe in order to make the reader
more knowledgeable about the recipe.

See also
This section provides helpful links to other useful information for the recipe.
Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of text styles that distinguish between different kinds of
information. Here are some examples of these styles and an explanation of their meaning.

Code words in text, database table names, folder names, filenames, file extensions, pathnames,
dummy URLs, user input, and Twitter handles are shown as follows: "Here, we allocated 25% of
the data for testing, as specified by the test_size parameter."

A block of code is set as follows:

import numpy as np
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt

import utilities

# Load input data

input_file = 'data_multivar.txt'
X, y = utilities.load_data(input_file)

Any command-line input or output is written as follows:

$ python object_recognizer.py --input-image imagefile.jpg --model-file
erf.pkl --codebook-file codebook.pkl

New terms and important words are shown in bold. Words that you see on the screen,
for example, in menus or dialog boxes, appear in the text like this: "If you change the
explode array to (0, 0.2, 0, 0, 0), then it will highlight the Strawberry section."

Warnings or important notes appear in a box like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

Reader feedback
Feedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about this book—
what you liked or disliked. Reader feedback is important for us as it helps us develop titles
that you will really get the most out of.
To send us general feedback, simply e-mail feedback@packtpub.com, and mention the
book's title in the subject of your message.

If there is a topic that you have expertise in and you are interested in either writing or
contributing to a book, see our author guide at www.packtpub.com/authors.

Customer support
Now that you are the proud owner of a Packt book, we have a number of things to help you to
get the most from your purchase.

Downloading the example code

You can download the example code files for this book from your account at http://www.
packtpub.com. If you purchased this book elsewhere, you can visit http://www.packtpub.
com/support and register to have the files e-mailed directly to you.

You can download the code files by following these steps:

1. Log in or register to our website using your e-mail address and password.
2. Hover the mouse pointer on the SUPPORT tab at the top.
3. Click on Code Downloads & Errata.
4. Enter the name of the book in the Search box.
5. Select the book for which you're looking to download the code files.
6. Choose from the drop-down menu where you purchased this book from.
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The code bundle for the book is also hosted on GitHub at https://github.com/
PacktPublishing/Python-Machine-Learning-Cookbook. We also have other code
bundles from our rich catalog of books and videos available at https://github.com/
PacktPublishing/. Check them out!

Downloading the color images of this book

We also provide you with a PDF file that has color images of the screenshots/diagrams used
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You can download this file from https://www.packtpub.com/sites/default/files/
downloads/PythonMachineLearningCookbook_ColorImages.pdf.

Errata
Although we have taken every care to ensure the accuracy of our content, mistakes do happen.
If you find a mistake in one of our books—maybe a mistake in the text or the code—we would be
grateful if you could report this to us. By doing so, you can save other readers from frustration
and help us improve subsequent versions of this book. If you find any errata, please report them
by visiting http://www.packtpub.com/submit-errata, selecting your book, clicking on
the Errata Submission Form link, and entering the details of your errata. Once your errata are
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To view the previously submitted errata, go to https://www.packtpub.com/books/

content/support and enter the name of the book in the search field. The required
information will appear under the Errata section.
 The Realm of
1
Supervised Learning
In this chapter, we will cover the following recipes:

ff Preprocessing data using different techniques

ff Label encoding
ff Building a linear regressor
ff Computing regression accuracy
ff Achieving model persistence
ff Building a ridge regressor
ff Building a polynomial regressor
ff Estimating housing prices
ff Computing the relative importance of features
ff Estimating bicycle demand distribution

Introduction
If you are familiar with the basics of machine learning, you will certainly know what supervised
learning is all about. To give you a quick refresher, supervised learning refers to building a
machine learning model that is based on labeled samples. For example, if we build a system
to estimate the price of a house based on various parameters, such as size, locality, and
so on, we first need to create a database and label it. We need to tell our algorithm what
parameters correspond to what prices. Based on this data, our algorithm will learn how to
calculate the price of a house using the input parameters.

1
The Realm of Supervised Learning

Unsupervised learning is the opposite of what we just discussed. There is no labeled data
available here. Let's assume that we have a bunch of datapoints, and we just want to
separate them into multiple groups. We don't exactly know what the criteria of separation
would be. So, an unsupervised learning algorithm will try to separate the given dataset into
a fixed number of groups in the best possible way. We will discuss unsupervised learning in
the upcoming chapters.

We will use various Python packages, such as NumPy, SciPy, scikit-learn, and matplotlib,
during the course of this book to build various things. If you use Windows, it is recommended
that you use a SciPy-stack compatible version of Python. You can check the list of compatible
versions at http://www.scipy.org/install.html. These distributions come with all the
necessary packages already installed. If you use Mac OS X or Ubuntu, installing these packages
is fairly straightforward. Here are some useful links for installation and documentation:

ff NumPy: http://docs.scipy.org/doc/numpy-1.10.1/user/install.html
ff SciPy: http://www.scipy.org/install.html
ff scikit-learn: http://scikit-learn.org/stable/install.html
ff matplotlib: http://matplotlib.org/1.4.2/users/installing.html

Make sure that you have these packages installed on your machine before you proceed.

Preprocessing data using different

techniques
In the real world, we usually have to deal with a lot of raw data. This raw data is not readily
ingestible by machine learning algorithms. To prepare the data for machine learning, we have
to preprocess it before we feed it into various algorithms.

Getting ready
Let's see how to preprocess data in Python. To start off, open a file with a .py extension, for
example, preprocessor.py, in your favorite text editor. Add the following lines to this file:
import numpy as np
from sklearn import preprocessing

We just imported a couple of necessary packages. Let's create some sample data. Add the
following line to this file:
data = np.array([[3, -1.5, 2, -5.4], [0, 4, -0.3, 2.1], [1, 3.3,
-1.9, -4.3]])

We are now ready to operate on this data.

2
 Chapter 1

How to do it…
Data can be preprocessed in many ways. We will discuss a few of the most commonly-used
preprocessing techniques.

Mean removal
It's usually beneficial to remove the mean from each feature so that it's centered on zero.
This helps us in removing any bias from the features. Add the following lines to the file that
we opened earlier:
data_standardized = preprocessing.scale(data)
print "\nMean =", data_standardized.mean(axis=0)
print "Std deviation =", data_standardized.std(axis=0)

We are now ready to run the code. To do this, run the following command on your Terminal:
$ python preprocessor.py

You will see the following output on your Terminal:

Mean = [ 5.55111512e-17 -1.11022302e-16 -7.40148683e-17 -7.40148683e-
17]
Std deviation = [ 1. 1. 1. 1.]

You can see that the mean is almost 0 and the standard deviation is 1.

Scaling
The values of each feature in a datapoint can vary between random values. So, sometimes it
is important to scale them so that this becomes a level playing field. Add the following lines to
the file and run the code:
data_scaler = preprocessing.MinMaxScaler(feature_range=(0, 1))
data_scaled = data_scaler.fit_transform(data)
print "\nMin max scaled data =", data_scaled

After scaling, all the feature values range between the specified values. The output will be
displayed, as follows:
Min max scaled data:
[[ 1. 0. 1. 0. ]
[ 0. 1. 0.41025641 1. ]
[ 0.33333333 0.87272727 0. 0.14666667]]

3
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
May 3rd. You hear me howl. Turtle soup, Madeira with iced Clysmic
may be the proper food for a dry cruise, but for nightmares it makes
beer and Swiss cheese look like “also rans.” I saw things last night
that beat any contraptions this cruise has yet furnished. Got a bump
like a pigeon’s egg over my right eye where I tried to break a deck
frame and am expecting complaints from shore as a public nuisance.
Bet a noggin of New England rum would have kept the critter quiet.
That soup is sure awful good and filling and I’ve got some more
brewing now. Don’t know whether I dare tackle it again or not.
Wouldn’t like to see those things again for anything, although I
disremember just what they looked like now.
I have been four days alone on the boat living very quietly and
peacefully in the Arch of Mowbray Ghent. That name is good. I find
myself repeating it often. The place is good and I like it much. First
along I looked at the conglomerated architecture of the houses of
“the best people” and watched the children of Mammon play at the
game called “automobiling.” They seem to get lots of fun out of it,
play it all day and sometimes late into the night. They scream and
laugh more when they play it at night. Sometimes I wonder. I am a
little tired of the houses which make me think of the stern of the
launch, mostly paint, putty and copper tacks. Across the stream it is
more interesting. Buckeyes with long raking masts, coal barges with
slow-moving, lazy niggers unloading cargo, and sometimes letting go
a wild bit of wailing song. The draw opens often to give a glimpse of
the outer harbor with its crowd of shipping half-hidden in the haze of
smoke from many stacks. I have rather dreaded these days with the
expected calls from shore people, and the invitations to breakfasts,
lunches and suppers to follow. “Nix on it Mutt.” I might as well be in
Patagonia for all the visitors I have had. A man who lives fifty yards
away stopped one evening to see if I would pump out his motorboat
in case she wanted to make a sink of it. When I explained it wasn’t
my pumping night he went away. I asked a very blonde young man
with red cheeks, paddling a green canoe, “the color scheme not bad
at all”; what was the meaning of the name of the place? He replied
that the promoters named it, and he thought “Ghent” was English,
but had never heard who Mowbray was. I asked him aboard, and
was going to suggest a lighter green for the canoe in the way of
complete harmony with pink cheeks, but he muttered some excuse
and paddled off down stream like the white rabbit in “Alice through
the Looking Glass.” The “Best People” of Boston who don’t live, but
dwell at Beverly and Manchester, would at least have sent word by
the head gardener that they wished I would go away. Yankee
inquisitiveness would prompt investigation; southern courtesy would
compel a call—but here it is neither one thing nor the other. A sort of
neutral zone where nobody seems quite certain of his own
individuality.
Today the wind is light, southerly, soft with misty air. I can’t just tell
whether the mist is due to weather or to the sickening sweetish
smell which comes from the rotting refuse of the crab and oyster
houses. What people are these who can daily face a breakfast table
with such a nuisance in their front yard? For last four nights I have
dined superbly on dry toast and turtle soup. I found I was making
my brew too strong and so by diluting with half water I toned things
to a point where I could eat all I wanted and not see great, long
things covered with eelgrass. A truly wonderful soup experience it
has been. Were it not for my 25th anniversary in June, I would be
tempted to spread canvas and “ketch” me another green one off
Hatteras. As regards high cost of living, it interests me some to
figure up the expense of all my food on board for past week, since
leaving Manteo, at 10 cents per day.
A fruit peddler gave me a tip on some jet black bananas ripened in
the sun, which, on account of color he was offering for five cents a
dozen. He threw in three more for good measure. They fairly melted
in my mouth, and such a flavor. Last night I sliced some in sugar
with a spoonful of sherry and stood them on deck. This morning I
crawled out just at sunup and ate them cool with the coolness of the
night and not at all the same thing as the cold of an ice-chest. They
were so good I sliced up and ate some more and so spoiled the
whole thing. It can’t be did quick that a-way.
I am now going to write a lot about turtles. I know nothing about
turtles, but want to remember this one and what I have thought
about him, so skip it, skip it. When he came on board fresh from the
sea he was the most delicate shade of milky, bluey green. Not a bit
the green of clear, deep ocean water but more the wide shallows
churned often by big waves. When the young green of silver-leafed
poplars turns downsides upsides on a gray southerly morning you
are hitting it mighty close. The shell, 19 × 18 inches, has now
turned to a stunning mixture of grays, browns and purply reds. It
will make a fine memento of the cruise. The head is the best. Have
never had anything get me quite so strong. Was going to mount it
all to the merry with pop eyes made with marbles, pipe in mouth,
etc., etc., etc. For a week it has stood before me as it stands now on
the centreboard box. Have watched the green go and the color of
old ivory come. The solemn majesty of that face impresses me so
that no indignity will come to it from me. The power and relentless
strength of the ages past and yet to come is in the curve and hook
of that half open, bony jaw. I will try to do some careful work on it,
mount it with silver as a paperweight and give it to Henry as a
keepsake. That head might lend courage to a man who found
himself some night with head in arms at a table piled high with
trouble. I like to wonder what yarns it could spin of its deep sea
swimmings and warm floatings between the Tortugas and Cape Cod.
That head has looked on strange sights, and that hook has maybe
ripped its way into some pretty gruesome shadows. Mighty relentless
is the face. If I thought he was on my trail at the dark of the moon I
wouldn’t walk or I wouldn’t run, I’d fly, but he’d sure get me just the
same. I’m mighty glad he didn’t die in vain for he made awful good
soup and that is a pesky sight more than I will do.
May 10th. Norfolk. Henry came back this morning. Just as I thought
and hoped it would be, there is nothing to it now but woods,
mountains and narrow valleys with cutting and slashing in the
woods, big black holes in the mountains and roar of cars and
machinery in the valleys. It is high time my anchor was up, my last
jib bent and I homeward bound. Away to nice northerly breeze right
after lunch. Tack for tack down river with plenty of chance to look
over the shipping at anchor. Four big six-masters in port. Fine, noble
looking vessels. Took last look at Norfolk Harbor and made out into
the choppy water of Hampton Roads. Norfolk Harbor is the best we
have seen yet and no sailor need worry about entering it at night for
right at the head of it and high in the air there is an enormous
electric sign blazing like a southern cross. The sign reads
“Annheuser Busch
Budweiser”
and is a better mariner’s guide than any submarine bell. After nice,
pretty afternoon sail we dropped hook in the bight back of Old Point
Comfort.
May 12th. Comes clear and cold with Irishman’s hurricane. Beat the
sun and kicked up my own son. Caught last of ebb out of Roads and
was away up the beach with putt-putt. Fish traps everywhere and
running miles and miles to sea. All rigged to leave a passage at end
of each pound, so it was not hard to pick our way along shore.
Broken trap poles, twenty to thirty feet long, water soaked and only
just afloat, made things a bit interesting, but we got by and taking a
fair tide and nice air at northeast we bowled her along smartly and
put her to bed back of Cherry Pt. near Stingray Light at 5 o’clock,
forty-five miles nearer home.
Everybody catching crabs on long trawls. Millions a day it must be.
Had soft shells on toast for supper. Terribly good eating and never
had anything to crumb itself so handily. Dip ’em in egg and then
they do their own wriggling about in the crumbs. Fresh from the
water they are mighty sweet and so juicy they explode in the pan,
which endangers the life of the cook.
May 13th. Comes fair with wind hauled fresh southwest and every
promise of a smashing good run. Up and off early. No strength or
driving power to the wind, which coming off the land was hot and
without zip. It soon petered out and we had to get kicker to work.
This constant motor business gets mighty tiresome but it is mighty
necessary here-a-way. Wind hauled by north and way around into
east where it hung all day so lightly as to just keep sheets broad off
and tripping on water. The sun poured down mighty hot and a
swarm of flies invaded us, which even the screens failed to keep
entirely out of the cabin. We crossed mouth of Potomac River under
very different conditions from those last winter when the launch
pulled adrift in the cold, driving norther. Had a strong head tide all
day and couldn’t reason it out. I despaired after counting nine hours
of its running. Weather didn’t look too good in afternoon and I was
glad to slip into St. Jerome Inlet about four o’clock where we
promptly went aground, and from the fish wharf as promptly came
the drawling cry, “Come off as ye come on,” which we did in
workmanlike shape, our Floridian experience counting for much in
this line. Anchor down and we were at once boarded by visitors.
From 5 o’clock until 9:30 there was no time when there weren’t from
two to seven men perched like pelicans on cockpit railing. H. did
good work and kept things going until we had our supper when I
entered the game and lied steadily until they all left. H.
complimented me on several brand new ones, but I feel he may as
well pick up a few points for he may have to sell insurance himself
some day.
May 14th. The night a bit stuffy with air filled with smoke. My chin-
chin last night sort of started things going a bit and I passed an old-
time restless night and had breakfast cooked and served by five
o’clock this morning while H. was snoozing it out. The little inlet is
most attractive and was at its best this morning with blue smoky air
and fresh spring green. Yesterday we learnt something about the
tides which in spring of the year on account of freshets inland and
strong breezes often turn and run ebb for days at a time. We have
also learnt something about the hardy fisherman of Chesapeake Bay
and his wonderful seaworthy buckeye. Tell your folks “tain’t so.” On
any light, fair day the bay is dotted with sail, but let the breeze prick
on and in no time at all there is not a sail in sight. Every mother’s
son of them scoots into his near-by harbor. Beyond a mile or two
each way they have no knowledge of the shore, and are completely
ignorant of where they are as compared to anywhere else. A sixteen
year old boy on board yesterday asked us if we drew our own
charts, and the captain of a fisherman had never heard of Hatteras
and didn’t know how far it was to Norfolk or to Baltimore, and had
never been to either. When duck shooting in the winter they still use
carronades, but have a line and buoy hitched to them. The game
warden always signals when he is coming and then they throw the
carronade overboard so he won’t have to find it. If the warden failed
to signal and did catch anyone, why they would just naturally have
to shoot him up, so wardens become quite careful in the matter.
When it comes to game and their rights to it, the West Virginian
mountaineer and his whisky still has nothing over these
beachcombers.
May 15th. Turned out 4:30 and away with kicker at 6. Coldish this
morning, cloudy and light chilly air at north dead ahead. This
western shore of Chesapeake is very beautiful indeed along here.
High bluffs of reddish clay rimmed with a white sand beach and
topped by heavy growth of pine and poplar. Little gullies between
sharp hills to the water’s edge and in them the morning mists lie
blue. Ideal camp conditions for an October cruise in a little sharpie.
Would send her to Baltimore on steamer. Must try that some day
when I grow a bit younger. Would want something light to pull on
the beach and use my tent for shelter. Breeze freshened sharply to a
wholesail outfit and sea made up at once. Nothing doing for Mascot
who just jumped up and down. Would have lost patience with any
other boat, but bless your heart, this boat is too good. An hour and
wind was all gone, leaving a miserable hubble-bubble of a sea into
which we plunged to the knightheads. After two hours things
straightened out and we got kicker to work and finally, wind hauling
fresh from south, we ran to good anchorage in Annapolis by 4 p.m.
May 16th and 17th. Annapolis in heavy northeast rain and blow.
May 18th. Were late turning out. Glass falling, wind dropping, rain
stopping. Blow over, so up yank and off in dead calm about ten
o’clock. Didn’t calculate to more than jog along a few miles, but
breeze hauled out about south, sea smooth and beautifully blue
under bright, clearing sky. Tide turned fair. The Maryland shore all
beautifully green after the needed rain and first thing you know we
had a bone in our teeth and were bruising water in great shape. It
was as beautiful an afternoon’s sail as we have had the whole trip
and at evening we anchored her in a little cove 55 miles from
Annapolis and with the old Chesapeake behind us. No one who has
not done it, can possibly appreciate what it means to follow up the
spring along these shores. To leave that dreary, swamp-ridden land
of Florida and slowly watch the spring unfold until here, with one big
burst, it is around you in all its glorious beauty.
May 19th. The sweetest, prettiest spring morning that God’s sun
ever shone on. The air so cool and fresh, the sunshine so bright and
warm. The river narrow and bordered either by big overhanging
trees or wide, sweeping meadows freshly green. Mile after mile as
through an English land in June. We entered the Delaware and
Chesapeake canal where it was still more beautiful with the Scotch
broom a glorious yellow and all the other flowers nodding from the
banks. The canal itself taking reflection of the mass of foliage was
an indescribable, translucent green and all the world was wonderful.
There is but one midway lock to this canal, and passing it we were in
the basin of Delaware City by one o’clock. A waspish northerly air
was blowing down Delaware River and tide was rushing ebb before
it, so there was nothing to be done but wait. Wind slacked by night
and tide setting fair by six we locked out and accepted our chance
by the light of a full moon in cloudless sky. To quietly steal up a big,
swiftly running river by moonlight is a grand thing to do, and when
the river is full of the busy life of a great port it is mighty impressive
from the cockpit of a little boat. Always on my tongue’s end was

“If upon your port is seen

A stranger’s starboard light of green,”

but rules of the road don’t apply as between ocean-going tugs with
barges in tow, ocean steamships bound to sea, and 24 foot catboats.
Not much they don’t, and it was me for the shadow of the shore and
15 feet of water or maybe less. At eleven o’clock we dropped hook
among the yachts off the Corinthian Y. C. of Philadelphia, and after a
good welch rarebit turned in more than satisfied with this two days’
trip from Annapolis.
May 20th to 24th. At Philadelphia off Clubhouse of Corinthian Y. C.
where we received every courtesy and were made to feel quite at
home. The old “square-faced” man at the Club asked me how the
launch got so smashed up and when I told him of our experience in
the inlet he replied “Dat outside run is tamned dangerous for de
sailboats. De motorboats, dey takes one nice, calm days and goes
right along, but de sailboats takes one nice calm days and day stays
just there and when de next day comes dey gets racked. I have
done so twict and I goes no more.” He hits it about right.
May 24th. We took the turn of the flood and with cloudy, squall-
breeding skies were off up the Delaware. A good breeze at
northwest helped along and we soon worked up through the
crowded, busy section of the River off the wharves of the city. Then
we came to the big, iron railroad bridge, to go under which at night
had scared us so on the way down. It looked just as bad today and
as we went at it I thought the mast must surely come out. Then on
and on with the river growing more narrow and more beautiful with
banks lined with finely kept lawns shaded by beautiful trees. And so
with kicker, sail and tide we made the entrance to Delaware and
Raritan canals at Bordentown where we locked in and tied up in the
basin for the night.
May 25th. Sunday and no business done in the canal. Last night the
sky faired clear and bright with a snap to the air almost of frost. I
had an old-fashioned night and was up before the dawn. I moved
about very quietly and only sang “Palm Branches” once, but it was
enough, and H. turned out at five muttering something about
wishing he could be in the sticks with coons and wildcats where he
could get his rest. That boy seems to have no appreciation of music.
A nice, quiet, beautiful day spent alongside the canal slip. Nothing to
be mentioned except a picnic held by the mule drivers under a big
tree across the canal. They foregathered about 9 a.m. and devoted
themselves unreservedly to getting drunk. It was wonderful to see
how quickly and how completely they accomplished their purpose.
By noon, none of them could stand but they crawled about on hands
and knees until four when everybody fell where he was. It began to
rain at sundown, but when we turned in at nine we could still hear
guttural attempts at song from the shadow of the tree.
May 26th. Were stirring early, but no earlier than the mule drivers
who had spent a wet night across the stream. They were on hand
with a fresh supply of bottled happiness and when we pulled our
freight they were merrily starting in on another picnic. The day came
bright and fair with everything looking spick and span after the
night’s rain. Have looked forward to a day in this canal in springtime
for many a year and was not disappointed. England, the Thames,
and June come fairly near to what we saw today. In lots of ways this
canal trip was raw and crude in comparison with the Thames, but it
had points which seemed to me more beautiful. Thirteen locks and
countless drawbridges made the day a busy one and we were ready
to turn in early after tying up to a wharf in New Brunswick about
seven in the evening. In late afternoon the wind hauled chill,
northeast, and rain fell during the night.
May 27th to 28th. Lay New Brunswick in heavy northeaster.
May 29th. Faired away clear and cold northwest during night and
this morning felt as brisk and snappy as it did last November, when
we got our first ice on deck here. Provisioned up and then locked out
of our last canal and started down Raritan River. It was blowing very
smartly northwest, just how smartly I didn’t find out until I put
single reef mainsail to her. A wooly came over the high shore and
things began doing at once. Got the canvas off before we landed in
a meadow, but it was close work. Tore a hole in the sail and turned
everything upside down below. A glass jar full of roses turned a
complete somersault and lit standing on the floor without spilling a
drop of water or losing a rose. We tucked in another reef and then
had all the rags we wanted. It was cut the pigeon’s wing all the way
down the river. At the Perth Amboy drawbridges we had to drop
peak for safety sake. When we shot through the second draw it
meant the last one on this cruise.
May 30th. Comes cool and pretty. Crew up and
remarkably eager for business. Was shaking out Map A.
reefs and hoisting sail before I had cabin done up.
Coney Island is a wonderful attraction for little boys. Away under
single reef with breeze pricking on. Good track, and horses trotting
fast. Went down the Staten Island shore fluke-o. Mighty different
going from what we found on same stretch last November. Breeze
pricked on so determinedly we laid her to and clapped in double reef
which gave us handsome canvas. Away and across the big river with
the ocean liners steaming to sea and the towers of Coney Island
ahead. Dropped hook off Atlantic Yacht Club just in time to see it go
into commission for the season. Pretty sight, with guns banging,
bunting fluttering. Busy mending torn mainsail and in ship duties all
afternoon. Dolled up and to Coney Island for supper for the evening.
Spent it on roller coasters and shoot the chutes. There was a big
crowd, it being Memorial Day, but everybody happy and orderly.
Enough rum to sink a ship, but nobody the worst for wear.
May 31st. Got away by noon on turn of the tide and worked up river.
Started into East River with kicker astern and no sail as breeze was
ahead and flukey. Got by Governor’s Island and ran right into a most
pernickety tide rip. Things began doing immediately if not sooner.
Mascot lost steerage way and started turning around and round
while tide swept us down onto a loaded barge at a Brooklyn dock.
Got H. into launch and started it backwards with just power enough
to stop her from crashing bowsprit on barge. Then we drifted
helplessly alongside, but the backwater acted like a cushion and
while we surged up to within a few inches of those iron shod fenders
we just didn’t strike and when tide washed us the whole length of
barge, I stepped off and caught a line to a bit and so we swung her
into the slip unhurt. It was just as near to wreck and sinking as you
can come and not do it. To have hit that barge one clip would have
stove us from stern to stem and we were missing it only by inches at
every lunge. For a short ring turn to, it did beat all. “What next,”
says I. H. about this time said just a little more than necessary about
waiting for tide to slack or until next day when traffic was less. Had
he been a hired man, I might have said something. Wished I could
have steadied her with the sail but to spread it in that rip was simply
to tear it out of her, so I got H. into the launch and with a good long
towline made another start and fetched clear all right although I
rolled good, wet water over both cockpit railings and H. did some
most extraordinary high jumping in putt-putt. From then on down to
Hell Gate, it was back and forth across the river trying to find a way
between the rips and avoid being swept into the docks. Everybody
on tugs and steamers had a wave of the hand for H. who was
clinging on for dear life with one hand and hauling tiller line with the
other. With Mascot lunging and rolling along behind it was a very
pretty game to keep enough steerageway on the launch to be able
to meet the combing seas as they came along from every quarter.
The steamers all knew it was a sporting proposition and gave him a
good berth for we were quite powerless to do more than keep away
from the docks. It is no fitting place for small sailboats and I would
never try it again unless towed behind a barge or very early in
morning before traffic gets busy. We swept through Hell Gate all
right and thinking things were quiet enough, put launch astern. In
five minutes we were spinning top in another rip and before we
could get Mascot in hand we ran over a big spar buoy which tore the
rudder off the putt-putt, but fortunately didn’t smash the propeller
as H. was on the job and shut off engine before we struck. Then to
a quiet anchorage off the Knickerbocker Y. C. station at College
Point.
Here we found the 60 foot motor houseboat Buffalo which we have
seen very often during the winter. The owner’s wife came over
presently and told us her husband had been down three weeks with
pneumonia but was now sitting up and wanted us to come on board
for a gam, which we did. He and wife have lived on the boat for
years, and charter it to go south in winters and cruise north in the
summer time. She does the cooking for the outfit and he tends
engine and runs boat. He was the first one we have seen to really
know the game up and down the coast, as he had done it for years.
He told us we were the only boat he had ever known to make the
trip both ways under sail. He said he made a very good living but
that motorboating was about the same as driving an electric car and
in the end would turn a man to drink. We were to go over in
morning and do a few things about the boat, for the wife has had
busy days playing cook, crew and nurse for three weeks on a big
boat. My hat is off to her.
June 1st. Lay at anchor.
June 2nd. Waked at 4 a.m. to find pouring rain and brisk breeze.
Wind hauled quickly to northwest and pricked on a regular spring
tartar. Quite a jump of sea and run of tide with everybody doing the
ladies’ change. Tide turned and wind easing, we were under way
with single reef and had the prettiest sail ever, eight miles down East
River to Port Washington where anchored with fleet of well-kept
yachts and most attractive houseboats. I have an idea the
houseboat game is bound to grow. There is a lot in it.
June 3rd. Comes calm and fair. Looks mighty homelike to be once
more surrounded by a fleet of well-kept yachts. Seemed as if I was
in public garden pond for next to us was a motorboat named Leda
and if that isn’t a swan-boat then mythology ain’t so. Breeze came
light and pretty at southwest so we up sail and after taking a look at
pretty Manhasset Bay, squared away down the shore and by three in
afternoon were at snug anchor in Oyster Bay. We have beaten the
spring lately and find here the scrub-oaks only in their young green.
The highlands along here are just now at their very best and
beautiful houses are snugged in among wonderful trees. The little
bays make far into the green-clad hills and it is all very tempting to
stay and loiter.
June 4th to June 22nd. We very lazily and with much content,
quietly cruised eastward in Long Island Sound. We had fair skies and
pleasant breeze and stopped on our way at Black Rock, New Haven
and the Thimble Isles amongst the picturesque rocks of which I had
not dropped a hook since I was a boy in my little boat, the Raven.
Then merrily with piping northerly airs and dancing seas all sparkling
in the sun to New London where I left H. to keep ship while I went
to Cambridge for the 25th reunion of the class of ’88 the finest and
most remarkable class that was ever graduated from Harvard
College. On returning to New London we saw the Harvard crew
show four handsome miles of rudder to “them Elis” and then
spreading canvas we jogged along to a quiet night behind Point
Judith breakwater and manned halliards for the last time next
morning and with kicker kicking, pointed her nose for Potomska and
the Pascamanset where we just caught the tide on the bar. The little
chain rattled, the blocks sung their song and with a shake of the
hand the cruise was done.
8 Months, 8 Days
from
Port to Port
 EPILOGUE
Now that the cruise of the Mascot is ended, you may have some
curiosity about what is described in children’s story books as “... and
they all lived happily ever after.”

FIRST, THE MASCOT ...

The Mascot finally left the Plummer family, and slowly moved north.
They kept track of her until she got north of Rockport, and there
they lost her. As matters turn out, she hadn’t gone much farther, just
barely by New Hampshire’s 15 mile coastline to Kittery, Maine where
she became a well known resident of the Piscataqua River.
The author of the following account, David C. McIntosh, settled
down to the business of building boats at Dover Point, New
Hampshire, on the upper reaches of the Piscataqua in 1932. He
trained for his profession by studying literature, first at Dartmouth,
and then at Harvard. Despite these advantages he has been building
very good boats ever since. He still cherishes his last remaining relic
of the Mascot, a feather duster.

Wyn Mayo and his old boat were a living legend in Kittery before we
knew either of them. Tales came up the river with the fishermen: of
cruises to the east’ard ending in shipwreck; of the two of them
riding out the ’38 hurricane up in the Creek, with two anchors out
ahead, the engine wide open, and the bridge so close astern that
Wyn’s friends, gathered there to drag him up out of the wreckage,
were passing him cups of hot coffee, hand to hand, ’long about the
end of it. Opinion was that when Wyn and the Mascot did
something, it was done with spirit. When they had a fire going under
the cockpit, it was no piddling little smudge. When they came in
through the rip off Whaleback with the wind strong southeast they
came (to hear Wyn tell it) with the power of a tiger bounding
through tall grass. And when the Mascot sprang a leak, another leak,
a new leak, it was a real leak. That’s why Wyn came to the boat
shop in the autumn of ’45.
Those who knew and loved him (as we all did) will agree with me
that Wyn had a feeling for the dramatic. When he asked the simple
question, “Can you save her for me?” there were tears in his eyes,
his step faltered, and he knew very well that we had fallen under his
spell. “She’s old,” said Wyn, and his face sagged thirty years: “But
she’ll sail again!” said Wyn, resuming the expression appropriate to
his emotional age, which would be about eighteen. As a matter of
fact, she’d been sailing that morning.—So it was arranged that
Monty would tow her up on next day’s flood, and we’d haul her out
right away and try to figure out where all that water was coming in.
And the centerboard was jammed—must be warped. And the
steering gear was a little loose. And while we were at it, wouldn’t
this be a good chance to install a new engine? (The old one had
given up some time before—after the mighty effort in the ’38
hurricane—and been put ashore).... And, said Wyn, he’d always
wondered how she’d do with a sloop rig.... “Yes!” we said, full of
enthusiasm. Somehow, in October, in a boatyard, with winter
coming, spring seems very far behind; but it’s never far enough.
By this time, we’d learned that Mascot was 66 years old, or
thereabouts; had figured in high adventures when a mere thirty;
that Wyn had bought her from a man named Plummer twenty-odd
years back; and that she’d been a way of life for him, a sanctuary
with wings, ever since.
Next day they came up river behind Monty’s power boat. Wyn was
steering, Georgie was pumping for dear life. We held her off long
enough to unhook the centerboard (she had one of those Buzzards
Bay Patent Hangers) and drive it out, to be recovered at low water;
then we put her on the carriage and hauled her slow and easy,
trying to spot the leaks. There wasn’t much use trying to
particularize. She dripped at every butt, and at the foot of the stem;
she poured water the length of both garboards; and the rudder port
was a melancholy sight indeed. And the pattern of her bottom
planking chronicled half a century of strandings and repairs. Hardly a
plank was left that had not a patch of some kind, and some of the
patches had been patched in their turn.... Lester thought she’d
usually got bilged to starb’d, for some reason, but the rest of us
couldn’t detect any real evidence of consistency. She’d been caulked,
and nailed, and re-nailed, and caulked some more, lovingly and
earnestly, but not tenderly. They hadn’t managed to move the
garboards, but they’d pushed the keel inward, in the way of the slot,
so that no clearance was left for the board. But she was still some
chunk of boat, without a distorted curve in her anywhere.
We rolled her off the railway and jacked her up. We tore off the
garboards (they came hard, and lost all identity in the process) and
the transom (which was held in place by the deck canvas and some
particularly sticky seam filler they’d tried at the end); and we left her
to dry out over the winter, while we went back indoors to work on
the new sloop.
Spring came in a few days, and Wyn with it, bearing a matched set
of lovely little lignum vitae deadeyes and a new sail plan. We
needled him about it. “Marconi? Faugh!” said Wyn, and dust stirred
in the far corners of the shop. We’d take two cloths off the leach,
and shorten the gaff, and move the mast right back against the
house, and give her two heads’ls. (And these things we did; and
after Wyn tried her out, rather late that summer, he reported that
she sailed and handled better than she’d ever done before.)
But before that, at odd moments through a short and bitter spring
that was full of harsh words from other owners, we fitted new
garboards to a reinforced keel, put on a new stern, lined the rudder
port with a four-inch lead sleeve, bridged innumerable shattered
butts-on-timbers. Finally we hoisted aboard a new and beautiful little
four-cylinder engine, lined it up, coupled it to the old shaft, and told
Wyn he’d have to find someone else to finish the installation.
We launched her on the fly, and hauled her half out again to save
her, because she needed two days’ soaking for the old planks to take
up. Starcrest towed her to Witham’s Wharf, in Kittery. Wyn’s friends
hooked up the engine while he bent on sails and got the gear
straightened out—and she was off, tight and fairly sound again in
her 67th year; getting used to the new rig, and re-establishing
sovereignty over her section of Pepperell Cove.
Wyn came up and told us about some of the trial cruises. Big kedge
got away from him when he was catting it just inside the Annisquam
Bar—but what mattered another stove plank to Mascot? Hell, this
one was clear above the waterline! And how she came home that
day, with the wind s’utheast and the Bay feather-white!
Mascot wintered well, so did Wyn. They started off to do some
serious voyaging that summer of ’47, when their combined ages
amounted to about a hundred and forty years.
Then one day came a rumor of disaster somewhere away to the
eastward. Mascot had blown up, burned, and sunk. Wyn came by
and told us about it. They’d gone in to Brown’s Wharf at Port Clyde
for gas, and had spilled a quart or two on the cockpit floor. Waited a
few minutes for it to evaporate, and then pushed that newfangled
starter button. That did it. Wyn said he’d never realized how old and
weak she was until he saw the water gushing in and the flames
creeping up ahead of it.
Wyn got himself another boat after a year or two, but it wasn’t the
same. He’s gone now, and a great many people mourn his loss, and
feel that there’ll never be another like him.
As for Mascot: all these years we’ve been thinking of her lying full
fathom five, and suffering a sea change. Brooksy, who fastened off
her new garboards in the spring of ’46, volunteered to do some field
research a couple of weeks ago. He found her. She’s hauled up at
the head of a cove at Pleasant Point, ... “and those new garboards
and new stern and rudder we put on look darned good!” says
Brooksy. Charlie Stone hauled her there, after the mess at the wharf
was cleaned up, and he boarded her over for a platform to store his
lobster traps on. I’ll bet they’re the best-held-up damned lobster
traps on the Maine coast!
David C. McIntosh

... THE BOY ...

Our delight in the discovery that the Mascot, again given up for lost,
was, like Daddy Warbucks, still leading a useful life, was exceeded
only by our pleasure in the discovery of the whereabouts of “the
Boy.”
We tracked him down to a hospital bed where he was recovering
from a coronary. He was able to clear up one point, which
completely mystified us on our initial reading.
It seems that some of the fowl which provided the succulent meals
which are described in the log were not always in season. For this
reason their demise was coded into a reference to some domestic
animal on which there was no season.
With this mystery cleared up, we are now happy to bring you direct
from the pen of Henry M. Plummer, Jr. his recollections and
impression of the trip.

For several years the idea of publishing The Boy, Me and the Cat has
been in my mind, but until the present publishers undertook the
project the idea was more or less nebulous. Now with the project
under way I feel that many people who are interested in cruising will
not only find in this book a new impetus to their hobby, but will also
find many new ideas to increase their pleasure.
Let me begin by saying that I was not a sailor. Most of my youth had
been spent in the mountains away from the seashore, to which I had
made only short visits, because of asthma which was aggravated by
the salt air. Thus, although I had learned to sail, my knowledge of
cruising was practically nil.
The art of cruising is quite different from just plain sailing as I was
soon to find out. Three months of steady and hard preparation went
into the start. My father and I built into the old Mascot all the things
that we thought might make the trip more pleasure than work. A
small bookcase for fifteen or twenty books, a kitchen cabinet for all
dishes and pots and pans, a galley with a coal stove, and a primus
for warm weather. Ice, coal and wood were kept in the cockpit in
special boxes lashed to each side and used as seats. As we intended
to live off the land, or perhaps I should say the sea, we carried fish
poles, harpoon and other long items of this nature in specially built
“cow horns” located on the forward deck and the end of the short
bowsprit. These, by the way, were never used owing to the actual
work of getting South. A rather large poop deck, which carried all
extra impedimenta, was constructed hanging over the stern.
We started off in a blaze of glory, and all went well until we shot a
coot. For those of you who are not acquainted with coot, let me say
they were never made to be eaten. But notwithstanding this, father
would and did make a coot stew. How I kept it down I don’t know,
but I did, though I do not remember asking for seconds.
From here on, both down and back, it was push, push, push, to get
where we wanted to go. There were many beautiful days to be sure,
but as I recall, it was mostly just plain hard work.
In those days the channel of the inland waterway was marked by
boards nailed to posts. If the top corner of the board was cut off it
meant the deep water was close to the post. If the bottom corner
was cut off, deep water was farther off. All of this was fine in theory,
but in practice you just couldn’t depend on them. Continually we ran
hard aground. With only three or four inches of tide, getting off
meant an endless shifting of ballast and heeling of the boat over to
raise her keel. After doing this four or five times a day, it became
more than just monotonous.
Of course there was a great difference between the way we went
South and the way the average motor cruiser goes South. We did
most of it under sail, or at least as much as we could. It was slow,
tedious work and I do not recommend it to anyone. But if you want
excitement, you can certainly get it on such a cruise. Try riding a 15-
foot dory with a three horsepower engine towing a 24-foot catboat
through Hell Gate and the East River of New York. Try shipwreck on
the great outer beaches of the Carolinas 30 miles from the nearest
settlement. Try riding out a hurricane in a 15-foot dory, or sinking to
your waist in the mud of a salt marsh, miles from help or chance of
rescue. Such were the chances we took, and with each new
experience we learned more about ourselves and each other. In the
end we worked as a team and not as individuals, which was as it
had to be for the successful completion of the trip.
In looking back over the years, I sometimes wonder how my father
put up with me. I must have been a terrible strain on him at times,
but I cannot remember him ever losing his temper or being anything
but the gentleman he was. He was patient, considerate and helpful
at all times, and yet always master of the situation.
The “Cat” we both came to love and, in the end, to grieve for her
death. It is strange how one becomes so attached to a little ball of
fur.
My father had sailed boats from early childhood and had learned
cruising firsthand with his own boats. He had owned several, none
of them large, all under 20 feet. With the Mascot he was able to do
what he had dreamed about—plan a small boat cruise such as had
never been undertaken before. As he had just retired from the
insurance business, time was not too important. He had always been
very good with his hands so that the work we did was far from new
to him, even if brand new to me. Under father’s direction we created
a boat which was most comfortable for cruising.
The old Mascot wasn’t a very long boat, and she was wide of beam,
but she held on no matter how bad the going. For eight months she
was home to me. For eight months I learned from both the boat and
father. I like to think that some of this education is passed along
through the brief entries of her log.
With these few words I pass along The Boy, Me and the Cat to the
present publishers with my best wishes for their success in this
venture.
Henry M. Plummer, Jr.
THE BOY

... AND ME.

When the curtain goes down it is customary to call for the author.
This we cannot do, but without apology we reprint an editorial
written about Mr. Plummer by Zeph Pease, editor of the old Mercury,
who in the words of William Taylor, “... was a great editor of a great
paper.” We feel that this glowing tribute by a close friend is a fitting
conclusion to a great story.

“The chain rattled, the blocks sung their song and with a shake of the
hand, the cruise was done.” This was the ending to the story of the
adventurous expedition recorded by Henry M. Plummer in a
delightful book that described the voyage of the author from
Potomska to Florida made in 1912-13. A longer voyage is ended.
The cruise is done. And it is our wish to give tribute to a gallant
gentleman by the sea, whose business interests were on the sea,
with a race of men that held a bit of hazard, and who accepted the
slings and arrows of fortune in a sportsman’s way.
He had just written for the Mercury a series of articles on the life of
a boy in New Bedford in the 70’s and 80’s, autobiographical, which
was of historic value, touching lovingly upon the small town life of a
village by the sea, whose business interests were on the sea with a
race of men that had accepted chances, often disastrous, in conflict
with the elements, as a part of the day’s work. There was an
atmosphere of bravery about the town and it infected the youth of
that day who found pleasure in sports in the open air, in gunning in
the woods, and above all in boating. The aspiration of every boy was
to “go to sea.” That was the vernacular of the town for engaging in
the industry that had been so long the head and front of business
undertaking. The boys of that period, notwithstanding whaling had
waned, looked up to the masters of ships who had taken their
vessels into uncharted seas, the Arctic, the south seas where they
discovered new islands and new people, as heroes. The legends of
long voyages and strange experiences, permeated the town and the
boys that were worth while, scorned the soft side of life and sought
out hazards.
The boyhood experiences of Mr. Plummer are so fresh to the readers
of the Mercury, that we need not dwell upon them to impress how
different were the boys of Mr. Plummer’s day from those of the
present. It is not strange that he looked back upon the older day so
pleasantly and that finding himself with a winter of leisure which he
proposed to spend in a warmer climate to rehabilitate his broken
health, he suggested writing the series of articles, which we
accepted with enthusiasm. The reception was extraordinary. Readers
wrote to the Mercury of the pleasure the articles gave and Mr.
Plummer himself received a multitude of letters including many from
strangers, who were moved to tell him of the joy he had given them.
The fact was, Mr. Plummer had literary style, which he persisted in
disavowing, declaring anybody could do the thing as well. Those
who read the articles knew this was not true, and we have always
felt Mr. Plummer missed an opportunity in not devoting himself to
literature.
We have referred to the volume by Mr. Plummer, which was an
original venture in publishing. Mr. Plummer sailed from this port on
September 15, 1912, for a voyage to Florida, in a 23-foot Cape Cod
catboat, 30 years old, accompanied by his son, Henry M. Plummer,
Jr., and a cat. “The Boy, Me and The Cat,” was the title. The
expedition was cast on the shore, with the catboat bilged and the
tender smashed, near Cape Fear, and for ten days father and son,
marooned on the lonely, lugubrious beach, stretching a thousand
miles on either side, repairing their craft. Mr. Plummer on his return,
prepared a typewritten story of a hundred or more large pages,
illustrated with crude processes, which he mimeographed personally,
turning out as unique a volume as was ever circulated.
There is such lure to the story that as we reread it we can hardly
refrain from quoting: One vagrant sentence hit the eye. It was the
following definition: “Sport. The pursuit of pleasurable occupation
which requires exposure to weather, exercise of all bodily muscles,
judgment, skill of hand, foot and eye, never to be followed without a
degree of personal risk. Under such classification I put Sailing of
boats, Handling of horses, Hunting and canoeing, Mountain climbing.
I know of no other purely sporting propositions.”
But we think of another sporting proposition that involved Mr.
Plummer. In 1924 a Cape Verdean boy came here on a schooner to
join his parents and the immigration authorities refused him leave to
land because of an eye infection, although the parents were able to
keep him from being a burden upon the community. The little fellow
was but ten years old. He was kept aboard the schooner all summer.
Then the majesty of the law ordered his deportation, and the child
was to be separated from his parents forever. This was not good
sportsmanship to Mr. Plummer’s mind. Some people, we include
ourselves in this instance were content to protest by writing about it.
Mr. Plummer discerned that somebody must do something. He
started for Washington and for days he went from pillar to post in
behalf of that boy, protesting the injustice and humanity of the
thing. As a sportsman Mr. Plummer fought for the underdog, the
child from the Cape Verdes, and officialdom and the statutes of the
United States dooming him to exile. Mr. Plummer won and the boy
was allowed to join his family.
Mr. Plummer’s son, an aviator, was killed in the World war. The fates
were not always kind to him. But he was a cheerful spirit and
caroled as he went. The prayer of Robert Louis Stevenson comes to
our mind. “Give us to go blithely on our business all this day, bring
us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored.” And
now, he is granted in the end, the gift of sleep.
This Editorial reprinted from The Morning Mercury,
New Bedford, Massachusetts, May 9, 1928
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