“Now for lunch,” said Colonel Ross; and they went below.

The bright little saloon was decorated with flowers; the colored glass on the table looked pretty enough; here was a pleasant break in the monotony of the day.  It was an occasion, too, for assiduous helpfulness, and gentle inquiries, and patient attention.  They forgot about the various chances of the yachts.  They could not at once have remembered the name of the favorite.  And there was a good deal of laughter and pleasant chatting, while the band overhead—­heard through the open skylight—­still played,

    “O this is no my ain lassie,
     Kind though the lassie be.”

And behold! when they went up on deck again they had got ahead of all the yachts, and were past the forts at the mouth of the Medway, and were out on an open space of yellowish-green water that showed where the tide of the sea met the current of the river.  And away down there in the south, a long spur of land ran out at the horizon, and the sea immediately under was still and glassy, so that the neck of land seemed projected into the sky—­a sort of gigantic razor-fish suspended in the silvery clouds.  Then, to give the yachts time to overtake them, they steamed over to a mighty ironclad that lay at anchor there; and as they came near her vast black bulk they lowered their flag, and the band played “Rule, Britannia.”  The salute was returned; the officer on the high quarterdeck raised his cap; they steamed on.

In due course of time they reached the Nore lightship, and there they lay and drifted about until the yachts should come up.  Long distances now separated that summer fleet; but as they came along, lying well over before the brisk breeze, it was obvious that the spaces of time between the combatants Would not be great.  And is not this Miss White’s vessel, the favorite in the betting, that comes sheering through the water, with white foam at her bows?  Surely she is more than her time allowance ahead?  And on this tack will she get clear round the ruddy little lightship, or is there not a danger of her carrying off a bowsprit?  With what an ease and majesty she comes along, scarcely dipping to the slight summer waves, while they on board notice that she has put out her long spinnaker boom, ready to hoist a great ballooner as soon as she is round the lightship and running home before the wind.  The speed at which she cuts the water is now visible enough as she obscures for a second or so the hull of the lightship.  In another second she has sheered round; and then the great spinnaker bulges out with the breeze, and away she goes up the river again.  Chronometers are in request.  It is only a matter of fifty seconds that the nearest rival, now coming sweeping along, has to make up.  But what is this that happens just as the enemy has got round the Nore?  There is a cry of “Man overboard!” The spinnaker boom has caught the careless skipper and pitched him clean into the plashing waters, where he floats about, not as yet certain, probably, what course his vessel will take.  She at once brings her head up to wind and puts about; but meanwhile a small boat from the lightship has picked up the unhappy skipper, and is now pulling hard to strike the course of the yacht on her new tack.  In another minute or two he is on board again; and away she goes for home.