e had been
built to the order of Mr Julius Vansittart, the multi-millionaire
engineer and steel magnate, as a birthday present to his wife. Mrs
Vansittart's passion was yachting, and she was wont to knock about New
York Bay, the Hudson River, and Long Island Sound, with occasional
adventurous stretches down the coast as far as Delaware Bay, or even to
Baltimore, in a sturdy little ten-ton sloop, the while she studied
seamanship and navigation and Mr Vansittart attended to his business.

I further learned that the lady's boast to me, that she was captain of
the yacht in fact as well as in name, was literally true, she having not
only picked and shipped the entire crew, officers as well as men, but
taken command of the ship when the pilot left her, and sailed and
navigated her across the Atlantic and up the English Channel with no
more assistance from her officers than a shipmaster usually receives.

"I tell you, sor, it's a treat to see her put this ship about, blow
high, blow low," Kennedy remarked admiringly; "though how the mischief
she learned the way to handle a square-rigger it puzzles the sowl of me
to know."

It transpired that Mrs Vansittart was accompanied on this trip by her
daughter Anthea, aged sixteen--"as bonnie a lassie as you e'er set eyes
upon," Mackintosh interjected--and her son Julius, a lad of twelve--"and
thoroughly spoiled at that, more's the pity," the doctor added. There
was also a certain Reverend Henry James Monroe, M.A., a middle-aged,
refined, and very scholarly man, who served in the dual capacity of
chaplain of the ship and tutor to the aforesaid Julius. He was one of
the saloon party, and was held in the highest honour and respect by Mrs
Vansittart, who deferred to his opinion in all things save in the matter
of discipline where her darling boy was concerned. I also learned that
the yacht was manned by a crew of no less than eighty seamen, every one
of whom was rated as A.B.; so that, with the saloon party, officers,
petty officers, stewards, and stewardesses, we should make the
respectable muster of one hundred and eight all told when we went to sea
on the morrow.

CHAPTER TWO.

WE GO TO SEA.

It was past nine o'clock, and a cold, dreary night, with a drizzle of
rain, when at length I quitted the hospitable wardroom of the yacht and
wended my way back to my rather frowsy lodging in Nightingale Lane.
Arrived there, I forthwith proceeded to write a letter to my mother,
whos