# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3815/Mr. Punch's Holiday Stories

MR. PUNCH'S HOLIDAY STORIES.
II.—The Island Cup Race.
Cowes week was drawing near to its brilliant climax. Through the blue waters of the Solent a swarm of palatial steam yachts, saucy outriggers, graceful cutters and wasp-like motor boats jostled one another in their efforts to gain safe anchorage after the strenuous excitement of the day's racing. Everywhere could be heard the clank of mooring chains, mingled with the full-flavoured oaths of sailor men.
Gradually silence fell upon the scene, broken only by the melodious murmur of numberless gramophones and the soft strains of the band of the Royal Yacht Squadron.
As the sun descended lower beneath the horizon the dusk deepened, and presently thousands of Chinese lanterns twinkled through the gloom from mast and yard-arm. Lady Margaret Tamerton, leaning idly against the barnacle of her brother's yacht, the Seamaid, drank in the beauty of the night with deep inhalations.
The voice of young Lord Tamerton at her side at last broke the spell of silence.
"Madge," he said softly, "Wonderson has not yet arrived. If he doesn't come, our chances of winning the Island Cup to-morrow are practically hopeless."
"Don't worry, Fred," replied Lady Margaret. "Ralph never fails... Listen, he is coming now."
And, indeed, the muffled beat of oars was heard approaching from the darkness. Soon a slim white boat came gliding up to the power of the Seamaid. Ralph Wonderson, a tall athletic figure in his immaculate flannels and straw boater, poised himself on the gunwale, gathered himself for a spring, and leaped with the agility of a cat to the bowsprit of the yacht. Sliding rapidly down this, he nodded easily to Lord Tamerton and clasped the beautiful figure of Lady Margaret in his arms.
"S-sh!" he whispered warningly, laying his fingers on her lips, as she would have spoken. "Nobody must know I am here till to-morrow. That is why I came aboard like that. Listen. Your cousin, Sir Ernest Scrivener, alias Marmaduke Moorsdyke, is here, and is plotting to kidnap you. There is a traitor somewhere on this yacht who supplies him with all information. The attempt is to be made to-night."
"To-night!" murmured Lady Margaret in horror. "What am I to do? His ingenuity is dev—er—fiendish."
"It shall be baffled," replied Ralph reassuringly. "I have thought it all out. It would be dangerous for you to leave the yacht because, in view of to-morrow's race, neither your brother nor I could accompany you. There is only one place on board where you can pass the night in assured safety—the crow's nest."
"The crow's—nest," repeated Lady Margaret, clapping her hands. "What fun! I shall be rocket to sleep beautifully, and of course they will never think of looking for me there."
"Come," said Ralph, taking her hand. "There is no time to lsoe, and none of the crew must be allowed to see you. We don't know whom we can trust."
Snatching her in his arms, he carried her easily up the frail rigging, his mountain training showing in every step he took. Five minutes later he returned alone and dropped noiselessly to the deck. He looked round cautiously; there was nobody in view except Lord Tamerton.
"It's all right, Fred," he whispered. "Let us turn in."
The descended the broad staircase arm-in-arm. No sooner had they disappeared than a dark figure crept with a low chuckle from underneath a coil of rope and dropped silently over the yacht's counter.
A phosphorescent gleam disturbed the darkness of the water.
Early next morning Ralph Wonderson ran nimbly up the rigging of the Seamaid, carrying a tray loaded with ​toast, eggs, tea and marmalade. He tapped at the door of the crow's-nest. There was no response. After a pause he tapped again and cautiously pushed open the door. The crow's-nest was empty!
"Betrayed," cried Ralph, clapping his hand to his forehead. A moment later two soft-boiled eggs devastated the snowy whiteness of the Seamaid's deck.
Despite their precautions, Lady Margaret had been spirited away during the night. As soon as he had recovered from the shock of the discovery, Ralph ran to Lord Tamerton and acquainted him with the terrible news. There a period of agonised and fruitless discussion.
"Wait! I have an idea," exclaimed Ralph presently. He pressed an electric bell, and a steward appeared almost simultaneously
"Jenkins, fetch me a race card," said Ralph.
"Yes, Sir," replied the steward. "I anticipated your request and have it here."
Ralph and Lord Tamerton bent their heads over the card.
"See," said the former. "It is as I hoped. Among the entries for the Island Cup we have the Watersnake, owner Sir Ernest Scrivener. He will sail her himself, that is certain. It is equally certain that he has Madge on board. If I know anything of him he will not let her out of his sight. Fred, by yonder centreboard I swear that before the race is over we will win her back."
Bang! It was the signal for the competitors to line up for the great race for the world-famous Island Cup.
Of all the thousands who pressed themselves against the straining booms none realised that the race was for a prize far more precious that a mere cup of gold valued at two thousand guineas.
The Watersnake was in front, a clear hundred yards separating her from the pursuing Seamaid. All the other yachts lagged hopelessly in the rear.
Scattering the foam at their bows, the two boats rushed along the blue lane of clear water which lay between the booms. Ralph, at the wheel of Seamaid, gazed anxiously forward. Could they do it?
"Let loose the spinnaker," he commanded gruffly. "Haul on the signal halyard. Lower the keelson."
The orders were swiftly executed, and the Seamaid leaped forward with a bound. The distance between the two vessels rapidly lessened.
"Fred," said Ralph, "you must take the wheel for a time. I'm going forward to board the Watersnake."
Lord Tamerton obediently grasped the wheel, while Ralph ran forward and crept along the bowsprit. The intervening space was now very small. Bracing himself for the effort, he shot through the air and landed upon the deck of the Watersnake. The first object which met his gaze was Lady Margaret, her wrists bound, lying beside the barnacle.
Sir Ernest Scrivener uttered a horrible oath as he recognised the features of his successful rival. For an instant he loosened his grasp on the wheel. The vessel yawed in her course and he was compelled to seize the spokes again.
Before Scrivener could command his wits sufficiently to shout an order to his crew, Ralph had caught up Lady Margaret in his arms and dashed to the side of the vessel. Deprived of his skilled command, the Seamaid had dropped behind; it was impossible to leap back to her decks.
Without hesitation, Ralph dived into the water, and still supporting the now unconscious form of Lady Margaret, swam rapidly towards the yacht. Two minutes later he was gripping the wheel and concentrating all his immense will power upon the task of winning the race.
Inch by inch the Seamaid crept up to her rival. Despite all Scrivener's efforts, the gap grew less and less.
And now the winning post was close at hand. Could it be done? Could it be done? The frantic spectators behind the boom shouted themselves hoarse. Lord Tamerton bit his thumbs till the blood ran.
Nearer drew the Seamaid. Nearer and nearer. Nearer still. At the critical moment, Ralph, with a mighty effort, pushed down the wheel.
A bare three inches parted the Watersnake from the winning post when the slight shudder ran through her which told that the prow of the Seamaid had touched her stern. The bump had been made; the race was won.
Ralph Wonderson stood with the magnificent Island Cup in his band, filled to the brim with bubbling champagne.
"To the restoration of the fortunes of the house of Tamerton," he said as he raised it to his lips.