I don't think that the people of Gloucester will ever forget the morning of that race, which, they will still tell you, was the only race ever sailed. Wind was what the fishermen wanted, and they got it--wind, and sea with it. The admiral of the White Squadron, then at anchor at Rockport Harbor, just around the Cape, stood on the bridge of his flagship that morning and looked out to sea. Somebody told him that the fishermen were going to race that day. He took another look. "Race to-day? Pooh! they'll do well to stay hove-to to-day." Of course, that ought to have settled it, the admiral having said it. It blew that day. Leaving home I had time for a bite to eat and a wash-up. I turned the corner and picked up Clancy, with Maurice Blake, Tom O'Donnell and Wesley Marrs just ahead. We ran into Mr. Edkins, a nice old gentleman, who had been made secretary of the race committee. What he didn't know about fishing would be the making of a "killer," but, of course, he wasn't picked out for that--he'd never fished a day in his life--but because of his knowledge of the rules of yacht racing. Having had long experience in managing yachting regattas, he knew all about time allowances and sail measurements--though there were to be no allowances of any kind here. It was to be boat for boat in this race; every vessel for herself. So he was thought to be a good man to have to look after the stake and judges' boats. It was Gloucester's Anniversary celebration, with a lot of strangers in town--the Governor and a whole holdful of national characters--and in deference to them the race was to be managed so that spectators might have a chance to see it. Mr. Edkins came along in his official regalia--tall hat, frock coat, umbrella, gloves, and a pink in his button-hole. "Is it true, Captain O'Donnell, that the race is going to be held to-day?" O'Donnell looked at him as though he didn't understand. "To-day? to-day?--Good Lord, are we all on the wrong tack? And sure isn't this the day?" "Oh, yes--oh, yes, Captain O'Donnell, this is the day appointed. And that is the trouble. Surely you are not going to race to-day?" "We're not going to--" broke in Wesley Marrs, "and why aren't we going to race to-day? What in the name of all that's good have we been doing with our vessels up on the railway the last week or two? What d'y'think we took the ballast out of our vessels for? What d'y'think I had that everlasting new balloon made for last trip in, what for that big mains'l that Tom here had bent on the Colleen yesterday, and for what did Maurice drive the Johnnie Duncan home only last night? What in----"