There was, as usual, a bottle of champagne, decked with ribbons and flowers, hanging from the top of the vessel to a level with the place on which we stood. “Remember,” he continued, in an undertone of adjuration, “that once the ship starts to move, she will run; so you must waste no time in throwing the wine.” I did not really feel nervous until this, but on being suddenly told that the boat might be out of reach before one had time to execute the critical deed, and also being reminded of the importance of scattering the fluid, I felt a cold douche down my back. We waited breathless—it seemed ages of suspense, and yet it was probably only a few minutes. Suddenly the vast bulk began to tremble, next gave herself little shakes like a dog, then she appeared to pause and shiver again. It was a breathless moment. Then the mighty carcase started. What a grand sight! There was something awe-inspiring as that vast thing slid slowly, majestically, and then more and more rapidly, down to the sea. I seized the flagon, and with might and main flung it against the side of the ship, determined that it should be broken more completely than bottle had ever been broken before. “With this I wish all luck and prosperity to the _Assaye_,” I cried, with a strange sensation of chokiness in my throat, while I flung the ribbon-decked flagon towards her. Truly a thrilling scene. Whether the heat of the day or the strength of my fling was the cause, I know not, but the amount of froth that came out of that bottle of champagne was quite impossible to believe. I was drowned in it. The quart bottle seemed to contain gallons of froth. It effervesced over my hat, ran in rivers down my nose, and scattered white foam all over my shoulders. Mr. Caird, having recovered from his bath, produced a handkerchief, and kindly began to mop my dripping face and dry my watery eyes. It was a funny scene, rendered all the more funny, as it turned out, because some of the cinematograph people were behind us (those were the early days of cinematographs), and that night in the music-halls of Glasgow and Edinburgh the _Launching of a P. & O. Steamer_ caused much amusement to the audience. Only my back view showed, I believe, but the black of my dress and the white champagne froth made an interesting production. Having slid down the permanent ways, the ship’s pace became quicker and quicker, she really did run, and then she appeared to literally duck as if to make a bow when she entered the Clyde. For a moment, to my uninitiated eyes, it seemed as if she would turn a somersault. Not a bit of it. She righted herself, while the great chain anchors fixed to her sides were dragging mother-earth along with them, holding her sufficiently in check, or else she would have run up the opposite bank before the tugs had time to make her fast and tow her down-stream.