The Wine-Dark Sea

Through the winter, young Bertrand Peyrelongue gazed at the vineyards surrounding his ancient chateau on the Gironde and mourned the lost days when fine wines were treated with the respect they deserved. Those were the days when the vineyard patrons of the sun-kissed Medoc district personally carried their finest Bordeaux vintages across the Channel and sold them at a Thames quayside to discriminating London vintners. "A good wine," sad Bertrand, "should have personal attention. It is a patron's duty." As spring's tender new shoots peeped from the wintry canes of his vines, Bertrand's plans were made. His own 47-foot cutter Lord Jim hung impatiently at her mooring on the Gironde. Her lockers were tenderly stowed with the finest output of the local vineyards--mellow St.

Emilion, authoritative St. Estephe and provocative Pomerol, 70 sample bottles, all poised at just the proper angle to preserve their bouquet for the Londoners.

A crew of three was mustered under Bertrand's own command to guide the cargo to snug haven, and when all was in readiness, the anchor was raised.

For three days Lord Jim, her crew and cargo sailed down the river, into the sea and towards England without incident.

Then, without warning, the gales came, and the little vessel scudded helpless before the wind to a point some 80 miles south of Penzance. With his course lost and his crew demoralized, Captain Peyrelongue made a suggestion. "Suppose," he said, "we break out a few bottles." Holding their glasses delicately, as connoisseurs should, between thumb and forefinger, the four voyagers sampled some Pomerol and found it good. Next morning they were fogbound.

After that, for days, fog followed wind only to be followed in turn by more fog.

Tossed about the Channel like flotsam, Lord Jim's crew found little to occupy themselves but an occasional tune on the guitar by Bertie de Castelbajac and--of course--an occasional bottle of wine.

Last week, just 14 days after weighing anchor in the Gironde River, the crew of the cutter Lord Jim brought their craft up the Thames. All was well at last, with only one minor drawback--of all the bottles carefully laid away in Lord Jim's lockers, only ten still contained wine. "Ah, well," mused Guitarist de Castelbajac, as his captain faced London's vintners with somewhat empty hands, "some wine, it just does not travel."

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