[Illustration: chapter III] CHAPTER III RUN DOWN A FEW years ago a commander-in-chief is reported to have declared that our seamen are the worst boat-sailors in the world, while another naval officer of high rank has written: "I don't think there is any foreign navy that is not better than us in the handling of their boats--ours is a disgrace." Thanks, however, to the forethought of the Admiralty in providing fore and aft rigged cutters for the use of the cadets at Dartmouth this stigma is gradually being removed. Owing to the opportunities thus provided Gerald Tregarthen was no novice on board a yacht. He had steered the college cutters to victory on several occasions, and, now once having acquired the knack of dealing with the _Playmate's_ peculiarities, he was quite capable of taking charge of the tiller while Jack Stockton attended to the numerous duties so necessary when about to make a long passage. Gallantly breasting the young flood the _Playmate_ thrashed her way down the well-lighted channel, passed between the sandy dunes that mark the entrance to Poole Harbour, and negotiated the long, buoyed passage under the lee of Studland Heath. Then, the outer bar-buoy being rounded, the yacht was gybing, and her course shaped for the as yet invisible Needles Light. This done Jack Stockton put on his oilskins, in anticipation of a "dusting," and Gerald Tregarthen turned in for a few hours' rest. Left to himself the skipper of the _Playmate_ settled down to his night's vigil. Lighting his pipe he took up a position on the lee side of the cockpit, whence, by occasionally raising himself, he could command a view ahead. Then, keeping the lee shrouds in line with a conveniently placed star, he was able to dispense with the inconvenience of having his eyes glued to the compass-card. Jack was an old hand at the pastime of yachting. Scorning the use of a motor as being detrimental to the joys of sailing, he relied upon his weather lore, the judicious use of the barometer, and a thorough knowledge of the tides to make his voyages, and rarely did he fail to make his desired port. He was an ideal yachtsman--calm and resolute in difficulties, patient in adverse circumstances, loth to run unnecessary risks, yet full of courage and reliance. With the pale grey dawn the _Playmate_ was within the influence of the mighty St. Catherine's Race, where, fair weather or foul, the tide surges over the uneven bed of the sea at a good five knots. "Pity to wake him," exclaimed Stockton, as he put the helm hard up, jibbed, and headed for the distant French coast. "Still it can't be helped." With the gybe Gerald Tregarthen's berth on the leeward side was transformed into the windward one, and the heel and pitching of the little craft deposited him bodily on the floor of the cabin. "Hallo! Where are we?" he asked, sleepily.