That last day of the regattas--a Saturday--the wind had been almost
true north, and freshish, but nothing to mention: beautiful sailing
weather for the small boats. The big cracks had finished their
engagements and were making back for Southampton.
"Well, as I say, this north wind was a treat; especially coming, as
it did, after a week of light airs and calms that had spoilt most of
the yacht-racing. Some time in the afternoon I heard talk that our
skipper--well, I won't mention names--and, as it turned out in the
end, everyone was implicated. Anyhow, at six o'clock or thereabouts
the gig was ordered out, and every blessed officer on board went
ashore in her; which was clean contrary to regulations, of course,
but there happened to be a cinematograph show they all wanted to see
at the big music-hall--some prize-fight or other. I don't set much
store by prize-fights for my part, and living pictures give me the
headache: so, to salve everybody's conscience, I was left in sole
charge of the ship.
"Everything went smooth as a buttered cake until about nine o'clock,
when the wind, that had been dying down all the time, suddenly flew
west and began to gather strength hand over fist.
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