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.