With that the ropes were cast off and the sail hoisted.  Then the boat was pushed off from the pier, and as she caught the light breeze she glided slowly into the bay among the sailing shadows of the summer clouds.

When we were out in the deep water I looked along the line of the shore for the opposition boat; but I found she was already further out than ourselves, looking like a pleasure yacht, with her newly painted hull and clean white canvas—­a contrast to the dingy brown sail and the scratched and worn hull of the Curlew.

My uncle Mansie, who sat quite near to me, told me that the new boat was called the St. Magnus—­after the patron saint of Orkney—­and I noticed that he spoke very lightly of her as a sailer.  I asked him if he did not think she would beat us in this race; but he assured me there was no fear of it, for that though Kinlay had the start of us, yet he had not the advantage of a well trained and disciplined crew, and his ropes were too new to run free.

There was little chance of a race, however, in the calm bay, and my uncle, not wishing Kinlay to see that we were taking any interest in his movements, drew my attention away from the St. Magnus by asking me some questions about my viking’s stone.  He said that, now I had made a start in coming out in the boat, I might stand a better chance of proving the virtue of my talisman, more especially if I should be bold enough to come out on some dark, stormy night, when there would be some danger.  Then some of the other men, hearing us, asked me to show them the magic stone, and it went round the whole company for inspection.

By the time they had all had a good look at it, and I had hung it round my neck again, we had got full into the breeze of the outer bay.  My father, who held the tiller, managed to get to the weather side of the St. Magnus, and when we reached the Ness point, where a number of people had already gathered from the town to watch the expected race, the two boats were bow to bow.

Beyond the point we brought up at the same moment as the St. Magnus, and steered westward on the starboard tack, with a southwesterly breeze swelling our sails.  The Curlew now bent over to leeward, our bow plunging into the waves, dashing them aside and sending the foam surging in a long track far astern.  With a strong outrunning current in our favour we sped through the channel between Stromness and Graemsay, the St. Magnus being now to windward of us and several lengths behind.

Tom Kinlay was sitting on the weather gunwale near his father, who was steering.  It was easy to see that they were all suppressing their excitement in the race; yet their craft was brought bravely along in our track, and there was still a chance of their reaching the ship before us.  The result depended upon good steering, and upon the readiness of each crew to lower sail at the right moment.