When I awoke it was broad daylight. The yacht was pitching considerably, so that dressing was accomplished under difficulties. Upon going on deck I found my father had already forestalled me, and the meagre crew were engaged in stowing the mizzen, as, owing to the freshening wind, which was coming right aft, it was the canvas which could be most profitably stowed. It was a grey, misty morning, the sun barely showing through the fleecy clouds overhead. We had just cleared the tail of Portland Race, the, "Bill" showing clearly over our starboard quarter, and the cliffs of West Bay fading away in the haze on our starboard hand. About a mile way to port a large liner was tearing up Channel, and, with a couple of topsail schooners, were the only vessels to be seen. The compass showed a bearing of S. 84° W., which, allowing for the slight indraught, would bring the yacht close to the Start, although that headland, forty-five miles distant, was, of course, invisible. "Had a good night, Reggie?" asked my father. "Splendid!" "Then you had better go for'ard and get breakfast ready," he replied with a merry laugh. "With so small a crew there can be no idlers, so you must act as steward. But wait till we ship a proper crew, and I'll warrant we'll be as comfortable as at home." "I notice the motor isn't running." "No, it would be almost useless in a strong breeze like this; but in a calm it is indispensable. Now cut along and get breakfast; we are all famishing." I did as I was bid, and the three of us had quite a respectable meal in the saloon, the two hands being left on deck with instructions as to how the yacht's head was to be kept. After breakfast I went on deck, leaving my father and uncle to overhaul the numerous lockers to become acquainted with their stowage capacity, and to consider the necessity of increasing the space intended for the crew. About eight o'clock we passed close to a fleet of Brixham trawlers, their rich-coloured tanned sails making a picturesque sight as they beat out towards the trawling grounds. Soon afterwards we sighted the bold headland of Start Point, and with the aid of glass the white lighthouse could be discerned. All this time the "Fortuna" was tearing through the blue water, without the necessity of touching a single sheet or runner, and, provided the wind held, there was a possibility of reaching Fowey before nightfall. At 1 p.m. the Start was abeam, and here began one of the most interesting stretches of coast that is to be found around the British Isles, and for hours I watched the ever-changing panorama, plying both my father and uncle with numerous questions, and gaining quite a wealth of information about the many noted shipwrecks that have taken place betwixt the Start and the entrance to Plymouth Sound. We weathered the frowning Bolt Tail just within two hours after leaving the Start, and soon the well-known needle-like shaft of the Eddystone showed up on the sky-line on our port bow.