However, a saviour was found in the person of Lieutenant Woollcombe, who was mounted in some official capacity, and who, on learning of the impending disaster, stuck his spurs in his horse and tore at full gallop through the town to the pontoon, where the Dolphin was found lying; he seized the packet and thundered back again, arriving in time to save the captain’s head.
The magazine has something to say about this feat:—
“Blessed with magnificent weather, everything went smoothly, except for one slight incident, which introduced the Deputy-Master of the Horse in the character of Gilpin (wasn’t it?) in his celebrated ride to York; and if the shedding of garments had continued, we are not quite certain that the rôle of Godiva would not better have suited him.”
There is some unkind allusion here which is not quite apparent to the uninitiated: it would appear as though the wild horseman had hastily dispensed with some of his garments as he rode; and, for an officer in full, gold-plated, stand-up-collar uniform, this is indeed a difficult and daring feat, especially if he contrived, while still at full gallop, to replace them before he arrived in the royal presence.
When he next rides through the town
May I be there to see!
The magazine proceeds:—“We were lucky enough to witness an excellent cinematograph a few days after their Majesties had been with us, showing in detail their movements outside the pavilion; and the picture showing the arrival of the Royal carriage was greeted with enthusiastic applause.
“The pleasure of seeing one’s own face in print is a mixed and doubtful one, even when in miniature: but, magnified to about double the original and working size, it becomes an atrocity, and the King’s guard will, we sincerely hope, forgive the jeers which greeted their appearance.”
Among other competitions instituted in these later days was a poem; at first sight, it might seem more appropriate to include this among the Britannia games, but the following prize poem, by Cadet A. H. Taylor, demands a better fate:—
Ye Mariners of England: Up to Date.
Ye submarines infernal
That prowl beneath the seas,
Who ne’er shall brave, in future years,
The battle or the breeze,
Your deep-sea warpath take again
Where you need fear no foe,
And creep through the deep
Where six-pound shells don’t go.
Though the battle rages up above,
You’re safe down there below.