The yachts anchor in Cowes Roads, the small ones inside the harbour, on the east side of the red and white chequered buoys which mark the fairway. It is forbidden to anchor in the fairway. Be careful not to anchor too near the "Shrape Mud," a large spit running out from the eastern shore, or you will ground at low tide. If this part of the harbour be too crowded, you can run up above the floating bridge between East and West Cowes, into the Medina River, remembering, however, that the tide runs very strongly in and out of the harbour, causing danger in light winds. If you decide to take up a berth in the Medina, drop your anchor in the channel, and then warp in near the bank, making fast to some of the yachts lying on the mud. This will get you out of the way of the barge traffic, which is considerable.
There is nothing much to say about Cowes, except in its connection with yachting. The two parts of the town are joined by a floating bridge, which takes every sort of vehicle over as well as crowds of foot-passengers.
In an island so small as Wight every man must know the sea and be at heart a sailor, and even were he not born so the proximity of Portsmouth and Southampton with their men-of-war, affording constant opportunity for seeing the latest constructions in battleships, would arouse the feeling in him.
The island, lying across the harbour, forms a splendid natural breakwater to our strongest port; and it is by a special providence that in the ages long ago this part was so broken off from Hampshire and separated by the sea, or great part of the value of this coast would have been lost. The Solent has, however, dangers of its own, and the constant shifting of sandbanks makes its navigation a precarious job.
"And to the northe, betwixt the foreland and the firme, She hath that narrow sea which we the Solent terme, Where those rough ireful tides, as in their straits they meet With boystrous shocks and rores each other rudely greet, Which fiercely when they charge and sadlie make retreat, Upon the bulwark forts of Hurst and Calsheet beat."
There are several shipwrecks which have occurred here and at the other side of the island which may be said to have become classic. The best known of all was the terrible loss of the _Royal George_ off Ryde in 1782. This was one of the most extraordinary accidents that ever befell our navy. It was just before the Peace of Versailles, while England needed every ship she had. It had been feared that Gibraltar was in danger, and the _Royal George_ of 100 guns, one of the finest ships then in the navy, was ordered out to relieve the place. While still in the Solent it was found she needed a slight operation of careening, and she was inclined over a little to enable the workmen to get at their job without putting her back into dock. There were over nine hundred men in the crew, and besides them at least three hundred women and children who had come to see them off and take a last farewell. The ship was in command of Admiral Kempenfeldt, who was writing in his cabin at the time. A sudden squall struck the vessel and sent her far over first to one side and then to the other, and before anyone had time to realize the danger she swung upright and went down like a stone. Only about four hundred souls out of all on board were saved, the Admiral himself perishing with the majority. Afterwards bodies came ashore at Ryde in great numbers. This dreadful catastrophe would certainly have lived for ever in the annals of English naval history, but it was made still better known by the poem which the poet Cowper wrote on it, familiar to every school child, beginning: