CHAPTER VIII

THE anchor was soon up and catted, and with all plain sail set, we got under-way about II. The wind was from the north, but very light, so light that we were scarce able to make any head against the current. However, it was a lovely day; we were close inshore, so we lolled about on the deck enjoying the grand view of the coast. At 5, still calm, the wind shifted to south-east, and we got the Berthon on deck, folded it up, and stowed it away in its usual place alongside the companion and saloon skylight. The Commodore then took his departure, and laid the course N.W.W. About 5.30, Spartel lighthouse being about three miles off, as it was getting hazy, the Commodore thought it advisable to signal our friend according to promise. We signalled him two or three times, but could not get any response. Our glasses were scarcely strong enough to show a man at that elevation at that distance off. We had at

all events kept our promise, and we tumbled down to dinner with good appetites and easy

consciences.

Tuesday, 13th May.-The weather was most aggravating, the wind still remaining light and shifty; during the course of the day it changed round to nearly every point of the compass, and as the clouds were dull and threatening, we scarcely knew what to expect; as we more or less anticipated, it freshened up considerably as the evening advanced.

Next morning the wind was blowing sufficiently hard for us to have to shift jibs and take in a reef. There was

a very nasty short sea, and we were soon taking more water aboard than we did in the gale in the Bay.

Smack-and some thirty or forty gallons of water were racing aft, pouring down the fo'castle, wetting all the men's bunks, then down the main companion, while the rest disappeared through the scuppers. Scarcely free of one wave before another was on top of us; go forward to shift the sheets and you got a wave over you which wet you through, in spite of oileys. Hold on to the shrouds and you got a wave which came to your middle, and when you did your trick at the tiller you never knew the moment you would be washed to the other side of the deck,

like your deck cushion, which was constantly washed from under you. The little boat seemed to know that we were not having a very gay time of it, and struggled bravely against the elements, coming up to time as bravely as any man who ever stood in a twenty-four foot ring; but wind and sea were too much for her, and all she could do was to keep her course and bravely take her knocking about. The wind kept on increasing during the night, and next morning it was blowing hard with a very heavy sea. You could not stand in the cabin without holding on, and you had to get your food the best way you could. The fire could not be lit in the stove, and it was hopeless to attempt to lay the cabin table.

One of the bookcases, screwed to the ceiling, came away, and one of Colt's heavy revolvers, which was in the rack on the port side, was flung right across to the other, making a considerable dent in the ceiling. It was most amusing to notice how, when you came off your watch and called up the next watch, "Now, then, wake up, starboard watch!" the individuals thus roused from their sleep would look you over to see if your oileys were streaming or not, and thus get some idea of what they were going to exchange their warm bunks for.

At 6.45 the Commodore hove her to, sailing her with foresail to mast. About I P.M. -in my watch-to add to our troubles, we had to tack to avoid a steamer. If there is one thing more annoying than another, it is in having to give way to these wretched channel and ocean bullies. The rules of the road are plain enough. All steamers must give way to sailing vessels; but the reverse is the case. Here we were

having a nasty thrash, doing our best to get an extra mile or two out of her on each tack, and we had to lose the benefit of perhaps a couple of tacks to avoid being run down by a steamer. Over and over again, not only on this cruise but on others, we have had to tack to get out of the way of some wretched coasting collier. These colliers are the curse of the channel. They most likely come out of port with nearly all hands helplessly drunk, one hand on deck, and that the man at the wheel, and the rest below getting over the effects of their last carouse, or, perhaps, commencing another. The man at the wheel has been set his course, and he is not going to alter it a quarter of a point to avoid anything which he thinks he can run down with impunity. To them it means nothing if they run into a small yacht or fishing smack. It would be something like a 'bus running down a perambulator

or a costermonger's cart. The yacht or smack would be cut in two, while those on board the steamer would scarcely feel the shock, and the steamer would in all probability escape without injury. If no one were rescued so much the better, as dead men tell no tales; but even if some one is fortunate enough to survive, and obtain the name of the vessel, and proceedings are eventually taken against the captain and owner of the offending boat, the decision of the court of inquiry-as in a recent running down case where one person was drowned-will be something to this effect: We find the steamer was entirely in fault; no blame can be attached to the captain of the yacht, and the court therefore orders that the certificate of the captain of the steamer shall be suspended for three months. Can anything be more farcical ? Most likely the captain takes a holiday for that time, receiving all the time full pay from his employers-who prefer a captain who drives along regardless of everything and makes quick passages-or else he acts as first mate, still receiving full money. But suppose for one moment that he only receives a first mate's pay for that three months, and gets a berth directly his time has expired, is that an adequate punishment for having wilfully and deliberately imperilled the lives of three or four,

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