Going aloft.
Cowes in the early morn is not generally known to visitors. The 'wood and brass work'—a term better known on board than on shore—is now in full swing, for this admirable function must be completed by eight bells. If cleanliness be next to godliness, surely yachts have very much to commend them, with their spotless decks, bleached runners, and immaculate canvas. In leaving the pontoon for the offing, the various craft increase in size as the water deepens. First the small raters are passed, ½-, 1-, 2½-raters, 'Wee Winn,' 'Polynia,' 'Hoopoo,' and 'Kitten'—described by 'Thalassa' in his Solent chapter. Passing the tens and twenties the French yachts are reached, for of late years the burgee of the French club is often seen at Cowes, and the American flag is more frequent than of yore. The Guard-ship now looms. The Royal yacht, 'Victoria and Albert,' is at her buoy, the Royal Yacht Squadron nobly represented. Eight bells now strike. Immediately the morning flutter of bunting flies to the mastheads, where all the burgees should arrive simultaneously, taking the time from the flagship—but they do not, unfortunately. (N.B.—Racing flags can be lashed before eight bells, as they have no halliards.) By this time we see the 40 just astern of a yawl and ahead of a Frenchman. 'Queen Mab' is basking and glistening in the bright morning sunshine, in perfect repose, yet rather fretting to be off, for with her colour she knows what is coming. Having come alongside very carefully, without touching the varnish, we are soon on board, and find all in motion. The business of the day has begun, the preliminary functions are completed, such as sending the gig away with the superfluous gear of squeegees, mops, oars. The 12-ft. dinghy is already lashed over the skylight, with the stem wedged up to the coaming abaft of the companion. The tyers are off the mainsail, and it is soon on the hoist. The crew are going aloft, to string down on the throat halliards; gradually the peak rises, well up, about 45°, and with the modern lacing down to the boom the sail soon becomes fairly set. Next, the gaff topsail. In America, in the 'Puritan' and other racers, photography shows that they start with two, jibheader and jackyarder or club foresail, so called from the club or yard at the foot. In the 'Vigilant,' the jackyarder was set most cleverly over the jibheaded topsail when running back in the final race. In joining a racer there is nothing so comfortable for host and guest too as being on board in good time. With a flying start it is very important to be under way to the minute, especially in light winds and with a tide running, such as the swill in Cowes Roads generally is, whether spring or otherwise. It is no joke for a boatman to catch a racer once under way, even without her head sails, in the offing, to say nothing of the anathemas of the owner, and the skipper's suppressed comments.
Soon comes the welcome of the owner of 'Queen Mab,' Col. T. B. C. West, well known in the yachting world in connection with that grand yawl 'Wendur,' 143 tons, T.M., built in 1883, his famous 10-rater 'Queen Mab' in the Clyde, and now the 'Queen Mab' of 1892. The forties are a very prominent class and justly so; they emphasise the sport of class racing over handicaps.
About this time the racing flags of other craft are a subject of intense interest, and the crew are immensely keen. Should an old adversary not be getting under way, the why and wherefore will be at once discussed; this generally brings out prominently any hand of the 'sea lawyer' class, if the owner has unfortunately shipped one. The head sails have now been set, and we are curvetting and pirouetting about waiting for preparatory gun. There is no doubt that wonderful skill is shown in the handling of the various craft. A dexterity and firmness are apparent which could never be secured with the American system of adjusted time: thus if 'Vigilant' were four minutes late at the start, that time would be deducted from the winner at the finish. Now comes the full excitement of the start. 'First gun, sir; fifteen minutes to go!' is the word, and for the next eighteen minutes all is extra wariness, sometimes fourteen yachts under way, manœuvring, and keenly watching each other. 'Blue Peter, sir, five minutes!' is next heard. The owner, watch in hand, by the skipper, records the fleeting moments as they pass, calling out the minutes: at length it comes to 1 min., 50 secs., 40 secs., 30 secs., 20 secs. 'How much, sir?' 'Ten seconds'; then 'Let her go!' and she goes—with her cranse iron over the line directly after the gun. Everyone now turns attention to the recall numbers. Are there any? There has been such a thing as three over the line out of four starters, so great is the eagerness for a lead.
Old Style.