On the evening of August 4th the Royal Hawaiian Yacht Club gave a banquet for the Lurline party, among other amenities of the occasion being the election of the Commodore to an honorary life membership in that organization. In his speech of acceptance the Commodore dwelt at some length on the ideal sailing conditions existent in the Trades latitudes of both North and South Pacific, and suggested as a means of bringing those waters more closely to the attention of coast yachtsmen, the inauguration of an annual race, in one direction or other, between Honolulu and a California port. The idea was not entirely a new one to Hawaiian yachtsmen, but the Commodore's assurance of the hearty co-operation of the South Coast Yacht Club of San Pedro gave the movement an impetus which resulted in the establishment of the Trans-Pacific Yacht Race as a regular biennial fixture. Too much credit cannot be given to the people of Hawaii, both in and out of yachting circles, for the enthusiastic sportsmanship which has made this, the only regular deep-sea yacht race that is sailed in any part of the world, an accomplished fact.
At this banquet, also, were arranged the details for a match race between two old rivals, Tom Hobron's sloop, Gladys, and Clarence McFarlane's schooner, La Paloma. It was decided that the yachts should run down to Lahina, on the island of Maui, remain there for a day or two and then race back to Honolulu. As the date of the start, August 10th, about coincided with that on which we were planning to sail for Hilo, and as Lahina was but little off our course, the opportunity of following the race seemed too good to neglect. Accordingly a party of our friends was asked to accompany us, and preparations made to start the ball rolling with a musical send-off in Honolulu and stop it, at the disembarkation of our guests in Lahina, with fireworks. On the arrival of the racers at Lahina—of course Lurline would arrive first—our friends were to go ashore and await the steamer, while we proceeded on to Hilo. Never was a schedule more carefully elaborated—even the gastronomical preferences of each individual guest were consulted—and never did a party of pleasure-seekers board a yacht with such firm intentions—expressed and implied—of enjoying, unmixedly and uninterruptedly, a really good time.
The water-front was gay with flags and black with people when, early in the afternoon of the 10th, we hove up anchor and filled away for the passage, following in the wakes of Gladys and La Paloma. It was "Aloha, Aloha Nui," from every pier and dock and bulkhead, that we passed as we stood down the bay, and "Aloha, Aloha," from every tug and schooner. At the landing of the boat club, at the inner end of the passage, was a big crowd of friends with the band, and from there the "Alohas" again burst forth as we sailed smartly by, running at an easy five or six-knot gait before a light but steady breeze.
As the yacht entered the passage and made her first curtesy to the ocean swell, the band struck up Aloha-oe, and the crowd, falling silent for the moment, vented its feelings in a flood of waving handkerchiefs. Simultaneously, a similar muslin broadside flashed forth in reply from the port side of the speeding yacht, and then, with friends looking in the eyes of friends and the whole affair—even to the music—going off as smoothly and dramatically as Lohengrin's Farewell in an end-of-the-season performance, the lashing of the fishing-tackle block on the forestay parted and let the anchor and thirty-five fathoms of chain slide back into the sea.
An atmosphere histrionic gave way to one profanely sulphurous, for in addition to spoiling the dramatic effect of our departure, the contretemps left the yacht in a really awkward position. The wheel was thrown hard down and mainsail and foresail sheets let go with all possible dispatch, but not in time to prevent her from rollicking on to the limit of her cable and bringing up short like a colt at the end of its tether. Then she swung round, head to the wind, and began tugging at her anchor as a colt tugs at its halter in trying to slip it over its ears. While the sailors wound away on the winch in the thin, blue smoke that still hovered forward—the mate had lost a good deal of cuticle from the inside of his hand in trying to check the run of the cable—our amiable guests brought up sofa pillows on the quarter deck and, making megaphones of their hands, held long and animated conversations with their friends on the landing of the boat club.
Getting under way in the narrow passage was by no means a simple operation, but, thanks largely to a favourable set of current, it was accomplished without accident. Gladys and La Paloma were something more than hull down to the south by the time Lurline was clear of the reef, but with a fair wind, which was increasing steadily as we worked from under the lee of the land, it was hoped to overcome their lead in time to give our guests a good view of the race. Lurline gained rapidly while daylight lasted, and by the time the banners of a brilliant sunset fluttered low in the west and Tantalus disappeared behind the dusky pall of the coming night we seemed in a fair way to accomplish our purpose.
Never was there such a night; never so jolly a yachting party. The slow-heaving sea, bathed in a flood of moonlight, was a-dazzle in dimples of liquid, lucent gold; the sky was a star-set vault of purple, and the breeze, milk-warm and redolent of the smell of some distant, flower-clothed valley, a caress from heaven. The temper of the party matched the night.
Dinner was a huge success. There were a few negligible incidentals of the soup, fish, roast and salad order, preliminary to a huge feast of preserves made of every known variety of Hawaiian fruit from mangoes to mummy-apples, sugared down in jars at all known stages of ripeness and unripeness. These, with countless boxes of candy and fresh fruit, were the contributions of our guests and their friends. And how we did eat, and drink each other's healths, and with what acclamation agree that, never since the voyage of the Argonauts, had cruise been so auspiciously begun. Banjos and ukuleles were a-twang and a-tinkle on the after deck, accordions and a bugle wailed and brayed from the forecastle, and through it all ran a fog-horn obligato played by a festive Hawaiian miss who had unearthed that instrument of torture from the lazarette.
About ten o'clock the wind died down and the yacht, deprived of its steadying influence, fell more and more under the disturbing sway of the swinging swells from the channel. Before long a decided current became apparent, running with the seas and setting us rapidly toward the rocks of Makapu-u Point. At midnight Diamond Head Light, which is arranged so as to change colour to the ship passing shoreward of the danger line, showed ominously in a solid beam of warning red. And still the yacht continued to drift, with the land looming higher and the threatening roar of the surf on the reef growing louder every minute.
From rolling but gently when she first dropped the wind, the yacht, in the wrench of the steeper seas nearer shore, was shortly executing a pas seul of singular intricacy and animation; so that our guests—frankly, openly and unfeignedly seasick, every one of them—from a half hour of fear that they were going to be cast on the reef and drowned, relapsed into an indefinite period in which they were afraid that perhaps nothing of so felicitous a nature was going to befall after all. Bundling the sufferers below as gently as the exigency permitted, the boats were cleared and swung out ready for launching. Towing off, in the face of swells and current so persistent, held scant promise of success, but we were about to try it as a last expedient when the sails began filling with vagrant puffs from an awakening Trade-wind, and we slacked off sheets and got away without putting it to the test.