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!”