'We'll race the after-guards for it!' a man cried in defiance, as he sprang up the main rigging.
'And we'll take you,' Jack Clewlin returned, as, smartly mustering all his younger associates of the half-deck, he had them skipping from yard to yard on the mizen mast, casting off the gaskets, and overhauling the running gear. Then, sliding down to the quarter-deck he forced the steward, carpenter, sailmaker, and boys to man the halyards. Up went the topsail and other yards with a leap, and before those forward had realised the fact every stitch of sail aft was set.
'Well done, Clewlin!' the skipper exclaimed. 'You've fairly beaten your opponents.'
As the anchor was broken out the 'Ocean Glory' canted her head seaward, and under all sail, and with bunting flowing bravely in the breeze, away toward the offing she glided with ever-increasing movement. A hearty cheer followed her from the shore. Not a moment was lost in getting more canvas spread. The studding-sail booms were dragged off the skids and sent aloft, that gear was promptly rove by experienced and nimble hands, and before sundown the clipper had reached well out beyond the Golden Gates, and the time taken by the old man proved that she had covered the distance much more quickly than her rival.
With a light five-knot breeze steady progress was made throughout the night, the anchors were secured on the forecastle-head, watches were 'picked' by the officers, and Jack Clewlin and his 'side' turned in till midnight.
The ship proved to be somewhat heavily laden, but of that no notice was taken, since long before Cape Horn was reached, the daily consumption of food and water would have made some difference in her trim, while the cargo of grain would also have settled down firmly in its place, and thus enable the captain to observe any slight peculiarity of trim.
Nothing whatever could be seen of the 'Flying Scud'; every day a bright lookout for her was maintained by men engaged at work aloft, and still the wind remained fair and moderately strong.
Ten days after leaving port the first vessel was seen, and proved to be, not the 'Flying Scud,' as was at first supposed, but a San Francisco-bound ship, one hundred and twenty days out from the Mersey, and she signalled need of a few fresh provisions. Captain Thorne immediately drew closer, and having sent what food could be spared to the stranger, he inquired if she had seen anything of his rival.
'A big painted-port craft, eh?' the other master inquired. 'Yes, we fell in with her three hours ago. Yet, in spite of my crippled condition and want of grub, she would not pay the slightest heed, but continued her voyage. She's nearly abreast of you now, but several miles farther west.'
'Then we have beaten her already,' Captain Thorne sang out. 'Thank you, sir, and a speedy arrival in port. I'm sorry I can afford no better assistance.'