Chapter XXII: The Race for the Cup

Punctually at 1.45 on the following afternoon the eventful race for the Silver Cup started. Nine yachts, each measuring thirty feet or more on the water-line, were towed into position and anchored. There they swung to the weak flood tide with canvas stowed just as if they had “brought-up” for the rest of the day.

On board the _Kestrel_, the third from the starboard end of the line, four very serious Sea Scouts, with Mr. Grant in command, sat breathlessly waiting for the starting gun. Although the conditions governing the race were new to them—in the old _Puffin_ they had always had a flying start following a five-minute gun—they realised they had a fighting chance provided they did their very best and did not bungle; for not until after the races were completed would the name of the winning yacht be known. That was one of the surprises of racing under a sealed handicap.

“Fifty seconds!” announced Mr. Grant calmly. “Stand by! Fifty-five . . . fifty-six . . . fifty-seven . . . fifty-eight . . . fifty-nine. . . .”

“Bang!”

Simultaneously with the flash of the starting gun the hitherto practically motionless crews of the competing craft were figuratively galvanised into activity. In as short a time as possible, the bare poles would be hidden by the towering canvas, anchors would be weighed, and the vessels would leap forward on the determined contest.

On board the _Kestrel_, although her crew had had plenty of practice in getting under way, they had not had to take into consideration the fact that at a few yards’ distance on either side other crews were doing the same thing. Besides, they were short-handed, five being the maximum number allowed. The rest of the _Kestrel’s_ complement were ashore, where, in common with several hundred Sea Scouts and other spectators, they were yelling themselves hoarse with excitement.

Brandon and Craddock, casting off the tyers, hauled away at main and peak halliards. Heavitree and Carline ran for’ard to attach the foresail to the forestay by means of the hanks, and to run the jib out on the bowsprit ready to hoist. By the time the mainsail was set Heavitree, who was chosen for this particular work by reason of his strength, broke out the anchor and got it inboard.

Simultaneously with the racing of the anchor, Mr. Grant put the helm hard-a-starboard, Brandon tended the mainsheet, while the two hands for’ard set both jib and staysail.

As soon as the _Kestrel_ forged ahead, Peter and the Patrol Leader set and trimmed the mizzen. This done, all hands went quietly to their racing station and awaited orders.

Now for the first time since the starting gun Peter was able to take notice of what the other competing yachts were doing. Smart though the _Kestrel’s_ crew had been in getting under way, there were two craft which had executed the manœuvre in quicker time and already had established a useful lead. One was a centre-board cutter from the Humber, a wholesome looking craft; the other, also a cutter, belonging to a Plymouth Troop. Slightly to lee’ard, and with her hands still engaged in sheeting home their canvas, was a Poole ex-fishing boat rather noted for her speed and weatherly qualities. A few yards astern was a deep-draughted Bristol pilot cutter. Apparently she had trouble with her peak-halliard blocks, and a couple of Sea Scouts were swarming aloft to set things right.

All these craft were close-hauled on the starboard tack. The rest of the competitors, including two who had collided at the start, were heading towards the Bosham side of the channel.

So far so well. Peter had never known the _Kestrel_ to move so fast in such a light wind. For one thing, she was no longer hampered by her dinghy. That impediment was for the present unnecessary and had been left ashore.

But clean-heeled though the _Kestrel_ was, there were others who were faster. Although Mr. Grant, by keeping her “full,” got the very best out of the yacht, she could neither point so high nor travel as fast as two of the cutters.

On the fore-deck of the _Kestrel_, Heavitree lay motionless, keeping well down to minimise wind-resistance. The rest of the crew stationed aft were as silent and immobile as statues. They realised that the race was not a game. It was something that required every effort of mind and body on the part of each member of the crew. Even to move about unnecessarily might mean the loss of the race, for even in a craft of the size of the _Kestrel_ it would be adversely sensitive to the alteration of “trim” should any of the crew begin “jumping about.”

Now the leading yacht on the starboard tack was nearing the edge of the deep-water channel. She drew more than the _Kestrel_, and the problem that confronted Mr. Grant was whether to put the helm down at once, or, taking advantage of the _Kestrel’s_ smaller draught, carry on and pass astern and consequently to wind’ard of his antagonist. He had to make up his mind quickly. He realised, too, that against the flood tide he might find slack water, or even a counter-eddy close to the hidden mud-flat.

He chose the latter alternative.

“Stand by to go about!” he ordered; then “Lee-o!”

Quickly yet deliberately Brandon let the head-sheets fly. Round came the _Kestrel_ slowly yet surely, shooting ahead in the slack water and actually overlapping the leading cutter. But the advantage was only temporary, although it counted in the long run. Unable to point as high as his rival, the _Kestrel’s_ speed diminished. The only possible course was to up-helm slightly and to romp under the Humber yacht’s lee.

Meanwhile the Plymouth vessel had gone about and was making short but useful tacks; while the Bristol yacht, holding on too long, was aground with her crew feverishly working in an attempt to get her off.

Half-way across the Channel, the _Kestrel_, now on the port tack, met the competing craft, which had made for the northern side of the fairway. By the “rules of the road” she had to give way. Now came the test of the helmsman’s skill and sound judgment. The slightest error might result in disaster, for which the _Kestrel_ would be blamed. Even the faintest contact between her and one of the yachts on the starboard tack would disqualify her. In addition there were two boats abeam of her and two more astern. No need to worry about the last two. They had to avoid those ahead as well as those converging on the opposite tack.

The _Kestrel_ passed the first of the starboard-tack boats at less than a couple of yards to lee’ard. For a brief instant, as the lowering canvas of the latter blanketed the wind, the _Kestrel_ recovered from her heel; her sails shivered, the mainsheet sagged. Then at the next moment she staggered as she felt the full force of the breeze, and, luffing, shot magnificently across the bows of the next competitor.

It was exhilarating work. Even in that land-locked harbour, the dead beat to wind’ard with a weather-going tide sent the spindrift flying over the bows. Yet the disconcerting fact was now apparent. The _Kestrel_, owing to her rig and generous amount of deadwood fore and aft, was hopelessly out of it against the performance of most of her competitors in the thrash to wind’ard. She could only hold on gamely. Even the Bristol boat was afloat once more and was tearing along in grand style. Astern a Dover yacht was in difficulties with a torn jib; while a Newhaven yawl and a Grimsby cutter, both under-canvassed, were indulging in a ding-dong race on their own account.

At twenty minutes from the start the two leading competitors were rounding the mark buoy. The _Kestrel_ was still a good two hundred yards from it. Four other boats, bunched together, were bearing down on the port tack for the turning-point.

As luck would have it the second boat’s bowsprit was almost level with the leader’s counter as they prepared to go about at the mark buoy. This is what is termed “establishing an overlap,” and the second craft has the right to hail the other to give her more room. If, however, there is no overlap the leading craft can carry on, leaving the other to get out of her way and pass outside her.

At this critical moment a collision occurred. The leading yacht, with her mainsail ripped, fell away, leaving the second with her bowsprit smashed off close to the stem-head and her jib trailing in the water.

“Rough luck!” commented the sportsman-like Craddock. “They’re out of it.”

But Peter was wrong. The yacht with the damaged bowsprit was automatically disqualified; but the other, in spite of the sorry condition of her mainsail, bore away and continued to race.

Presently it was the _Kestrel’s_ turn to round the mark buoy. She had it all to herself, for the bunch of four were already on the homeward run, while the remaining two competitors were well astern.

“Stand by!” cautioned Mr. Grant. “Ready with the spinnaker!”

Moving as softly as cats, Carline and Heavitree prepared the halliards and out-haul of the spinnaker. Round swept the _Kestrel_, making the mark buoy curtsey in her wash. Over flew the boom in a deliberate gybe.

“Up spinnaker!” ordered the Scoutmaster.

In double quick time the huge but light triangular sail was set and sheeted home. Now the _Kestrel_ was at her best. Running was her strong point. The foam frothed at her cut-water and trailed astern in an ever-diverging double wake. In five minutes she had overtaken the partly crippled Plymouth cutter, the crew of which, far from being dismayed, had also set spinnaker. She was making a gallant fight against long odds, and the _Kestrel’s_ crew broke a prolonged silence by giving the West Country Sea Scouts a rousing cheer.

A stern chase is proverbially a long one, but slowly yet surely the _Kestrel_ was decreasing the distance between the now straggling procession of leading boats. The task entailed ceaseless vigilance on the part of the Scoutmaster. An accidental gybe at this state of the proceedings would be disastrous. In all probability the _Kestrel’s_ mainmast would be carried away, but in any case the mainsail would mask the spinnaker and deprive it of its pulling power.

At the last bend, which was so gentle that there was no necessity to gybe and reset the spinnaker, the _Kestrel_ was fourth. A Poole boat, staggering under a press of bellying sail, was leading. Following her came the centre-keeled Humber cutter, the crew of which had set a large square sail in addition to their working canvas. Next the Bristol boat, which, having made good following her temporary grounding, had failed to maintain her advantage while running.

Less than a quarter of a mile ahead could be seen the anchored boat that marked one end of the finishing line. The distance was too short to enable the _Kestrel_ to overhaul the remaining three ahead. True, she drew level with the Bristol cutter; but, impeded by the far-flung bow wave of the latter, she was unable to continue her advantage. Yet the pace was terrific. Peter found himself wondering what would happen when the competing yacht crossed the line. There seemed no room to turn owing to the crowd of anchored yachts and boats beyond.

“Stand by!” cautioned Mr. Grant crisply.

Bang! went the gun for the foremost yacht. Five seconds later another report greeted the arrival of the second. Then, almost simultaneously, the gun fired twice.

“Down spinnaker!”

No need for cautious movements now. Down came the clouds of light canvas. The spinnaker boom was topped up in double quick time. Over went the helm. Brandon and Craddock hauled away on the mainsheet. Heeling, the _Kestrel_ turned into the wind, shot clear of the course, and dropped anchor almost in her former berth.

“It’s been a thundering good race,” declared Mr. Grant, moistening his parched lips; for now that the ordeal was over his tongue felt unpleasantly dry. “Signal to Talbot and the others and tell them to come aboard. We’ll get tea. Hello! There’s the _Merlin_. When did she arrive, I wonder?”

The Falmouth Sea Scouts had brought up about a hundred yards from the _Kestrel_, and several other craft lay at anchor between them. Without a dinghy, Mr. Grant could not pay her a visit, although all on board the _Kestrel_ were naturally curious to know what had happened to her.

Presently Symington, Talbot and Wilson, and Eric Little, together with the pup, came alongside.

“I say, sir!” exclaimed Talbot eagerly. “Can we enter for the ex-service boats’ rowing match? We’ve been talking to some Portsmouth Sea Scouts. They say they’ll lend us a gig, if we like to have a shot.”

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Grant, although he knew that his lads, unaccustomed to pulling a heavy four-oared boat and a strange one at that, stood a poor chance of securing a win. “Row ashore and accept the offer, and then hurry back for tea. What time does the race start? Six? Good!”

Talbot had been gone only a few minutes when Craddock reported that the flagship was making a general signal.

“They’re about to announce the result of the race,” he added. “I’ve hoisted our answering pennant, sir.”

Already a number of red and white pennants hoisted “at the dip”—that is, half-way up—indicated that the various craft concerned were ready to receive the impending signal.

“Code flag over M, sir,” reported Craddock. “They going to give the winning numbers.”

The first number—represented by the code letter G—indicated that No. 7 was the winner of the cup. That showed that the coveted trophy had been carried off by the Poole Sea Scouts, who had not only actually come in first, but were first also on handicap.

When the second number went up, Craddock gave a whoop of delight, while the rest of the crew almost fell over themselves with excitement.

The _Kestrel_ had won the second prize, but only by the narrow margin of five seconds.