I remained on deck as we glided down the Solent, with its host of moving lights. We were soon rolling slightly in the tidal race of the Needles Channel. Once clear of the land, we caught the following breeze, and gallantly the ketch responded to the steadily drawing sails.
"Here we are, in the open Channel once more, Reggie," exclaimed my father, who had just relinquished his "trick at the helm" to one of the men. "Hurst Castle light away on our port quarter, the Needles light bears directly astern, and yonder in the distance you can see the flash of St. Catherine's, one of the most powerful lights in the world. See that flash ahead on the starboard bow? That's Anvil Point, on the Dorset coast, so that, provided the weather is clear, navigation on this part of the coast is as safe as can possibly be imagined. We'll have supper now, and then we'll turn in, for it's nearly one o'clock. By the time you are awake I hope we shall be well across West Bay."
So saying, my father took me below, where supper was served in the main saloon. Uncle Herbert had just finished his, and was struggling into his great-coat prior to taking his watch on deck. It was the first time I had seen the cabin by artificial light, and in the swinging rays of the hanging lamp it looked a picture of comfort; the red cushions on the sofa bunks, the thick Turkey carpet on the floor, the curtains across the doors and skylights, and the well-laid swing-table, all combined to make the saloon look a veritable floating home.
"What do you think of it, eh?" asked my father, reading the interested look in my face. "A slight improvement on the 'Spray,' I take it? Well, sit down and make yourself comfortable, for the 'Fortuna's' to be your home for the next eighteen months, I reckon."
Supper over, I turned in on a bunk in the cabin opposite to my father's, which was to be my own, and, lulled by the rhythmical purr of the motor and the gentle undulations of the vessel, I soon fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I awoke it was broad daylight. The yacht was pitching considerably, so that dressing was accomplished under difficulties. Upon going on deck I found my father had already forestalled me, and the meagre crew were engaged in stowing the mizzen, as, owing to the freshening wind, which was coming right aft, it was the canvas which could be most profitably stowed.
It was a grey, misty morning, the sun barely showing through the fleecy clouds overhead. We had just cleared the tail of Portland Race, the, "Bill" showing clearly over our starboard quarter, and the cliffs of West Bay fading away in the haze on our starboard hand. About a mile way to port a large liner was tearing up Channel, and, with a couple of topsail schooners, were the only vessels to be seen.
The compass showed a bearing of S. 84° W., which, allowing for the slight indraught, would bring the yacht close to the Start, although that headland, forty-five miles distant, was, of course, invisible.
"Had a good night, Reggie?" asked my father.
"Splendid!"