"We had dropped hook in the Merchant Shipping Anchorage, as they call it; which is the eastern side of the Sound, by Jennycliff Bay. That last day of the regattas--a Saturday--the wind had been almost true north, and freshish, but nothing to mention: beautiful sailing weather for the small boats. The big cracks had finished their engagements and were making back for Southampton. "Well, as I say, this north wind was a treat; especially coming, as it did, after a week of light airs and calms that had spoilt most of the yacht-racing. Some time in the afternoon I heard talk that our skipper--well, I won't mention names--and, as it turned out in the end, everyone was implicated. Anyhow, at six o'clock or thereabouts the gig was ordered out, and every blessed officer on board went ashore in her; which was clean contrary to regulations, of course, but there happened to be a cinematograph show they all wanted to see at the big music-hall--some prize-fight or other. I don't set much store by prize-fights for my part, and living pictures give me the headache: so, to salve everybody's conscience, I was left in sole charge of the ship. "Everything went smooth as a buttered cake until about nine o'clock, when the wind, that had been dying down all the time, suddenly flew west and began to gather strength hand over fist. . . . I never, not being a seaman, could have believed--till I saw and felt it--the change that came over Plymouth Sound in the space of one half-hour. The gig had been ordered again for nine-thirty, to pull to the Barbican Steps and be ready at ten to bring the officers on board. But before nine-thirty I began to have my serious doubts about sending her. It was just as well I had. "For by nine-forty-five it was blowing a real gale, and by ten o'clock something like a hurricane. Just then, to top my terror, Master Link Andrew came aft to me--the wind seemed to blow him along--and 'I beg your pardon, Mr. Wilkins,' said he, 'but in my opinion she's dragging.' "Just think of it, sir! There was I, in sole charge of a hundred boys or so, and knowing no more what to do than the ship's cat. . . . She _was_ dragging, too; sagging foot by foot in towards the dark of Jennycliff Bay. "'If you'll take a word from me, sir,' said Link, 'we'd best up sail and get out of this.' "'What about the other anchor?' I suggested. "' Try it if you like,' said he. 'In my belief it won't hold any more than a tin mustard-pot.' "Nor did it, when we let go. He came back after a few minutes from the darkness forward. 'No go,' said he. 'Nothing to do but slip and clear.' "There was no question, either, that he spoke sense. 'But where?' I shouted at him. 'Drake's Island? . . . And who's to do it, even so?' "'The anchorage is crowded under Drake's Island,' he shouted back. 'It's the devil-among-the-tailors we'd play there, if we ever fetched. . . . Breakwater's no shelter either.'