here, and walk off with the big prize of the
day. Still, the conditions of the Cannes regatta were clear; this was
an open race, open to any nationality, and to any rowing craft of any
size or build, though the result was thought a foregone certainty for
the French naval crews.

Our crew were terribly exhausted when they landed. They had had a very
very severe pull, in a heavy sea, and with a strong head-wind against
them, and most of them were no longer young; still, after a bath and a
change of clothing, and, quite possibly, a brandy-and-soda or two
(nobody ever drank whisky in the "sixties"), they pulled themselves
together again. It was Lord Mount Edgcumbe who first suggested that as
there was an afternoon dance that day at the Cercle Nautique de la
Mediterranee, they should all adjourn to the club and dance vigorously,
just to show what sturdy, hard-bitten dogs they were, to whom a
strenuous three-mile pull in a heavy sea was a mere trifle, even though
some of them were forty years old. So off we all went to the Cercle,
and I well remember seeing my brother-in-law and Sir George Higginson
gyrating wildly and ceaselessly round the ball-room, tired out though
they were. Between ourselves, our French friends were immensely
impressed with this exhibition of British vigour, and almost forgave
our boat for having won the rowing championship of the Mediterranean.

At the Villa Beaulieu where we lived, there were immense rejoicings
that night. Of course all our crew dined there, and I was allowed to
come down to dinner myself. Toasts were proposed; healths were drunk
again and again. Speeches were made, and the terrific cheering must
have seriously weakened the rafters and roof of the house. No one
grudged my father his immense satisfaction, for after all he had
originated the idea of winning the championship of the Mediterranean,
and had had the boat built at his sole expense, and it was not his
defects as an oarsman but his fifty-five years which had prevented him
from stroking his own boat.

Long after I had been sent to bed, I heard the uproar from below
continuing, and, in the strictest confidence, I have every reason to
believe that they made a real night of it.

Two of that crew are still alive. Gallant old Sir George Higginson was
born in 1826, consequently the General is now ninety-four years of age.
The splendid old veteran's mental faculties are as acute as ever; he is
not afflicted with deafness and he is s