[The Yachting Monthly of March 1952 published an account by Mr.

D. K. Rae of a trip in his W-feet auxiliary yacht Sirius. It started from the Crouch, but the Sirius grounded on the Buxey Sand off Clacton. The crew laid out a hedge anchor astern and hauled on it for half an hour but the yacht remained fast. They then got out a bower anchor to keep the yacht in position, and stern on to the seas. The rest of the story is told in extracts from Mr. Rae's article, reproduced by very kind permission of him and the Yachting Monthly.] EVENING would soon be approaching so before darkness fell we decided to obtain assistance. With a signal at the masthead we also flashed morse to our north, the coastline being dis- tinguishable in the distance.

After an hour or so a vessel was sighted pointing in our direction, and through the glasses could be made out as a life-boat. She entered the Spitway and came south abeam of our position, and continued on through until she rounded up and stood off some two cables in the surf.

A voice could be heard on their loudhailer requesting we row out to them due to the shallow water, so the girls climbed into the dinghy while M. pulled in their direction. The ship was now taking a list to starboard.

M. arrived back. The coxswain had told him he would return on the flood and tow us off.

A Walk on the Sands Night was now upon us and the sea much calmer; stars were visible and the sky was black, emphasizing their brilliance. We jumped on to the Buxey Sand and walked for about a hundred yards. One would never have believed we were eight miles off shore, it was truly amazing—very still and quiet, apart from the clanging of the bell of the Spitway Buoy. . . .

With these sounds, we walked back to Sirius trying to define the maze of lights surrounding us, the buoys flashing every five seconds, and farther to the north, the lights of Clacton. We imagined the girls now snugly bedded down somewhere among this mass of lights. All this was alive around us, yet we were in the stillness. Lying at an angle of thirty degrees and looking extremely dejected, our boat seemed to say " What am I doing here ? I should be berthed in some nice anchorage, up- right, proudly displaying my mast, gently snubbing at my cable." But instead of that we boarded our sorry- looking craft and for once, instead of getting up the hook and preparing her for sea, we went below and pre- pared coffee and biscuits. . . .

We turned on the radio, found some dance music and sat sipping our steaming coffee and munching choco- late biscuits, talking of the afternoon events and planning the method of towing when the life-boat arrived.

Presently we went up on deck and secured a two-inch grass [hawser] to the foot of the mast. The flood had begun and pools of frothy water were making on the sandbank about us; the kedge was taken inboard, and I paddled out to the bower and brought it about ten yards nearer to us. . . .

Almost back to the vertical. Lights appeared over in the Spitway, possibly the life-boat. We signalled in their direction, and received back their intentions. They were to come along- side. Taking the lead I let it fall to the bottom. Four feet deep I flashed back. We should still have to wait some time, as we drew five feet, and during the bumping the keel had made a fairly d«ep basin, which we were now lying in. As the life-boat came closer they swung round to come abeam to us, cut their way, and she stood pitching in the swell. "Not afloat yet," I shouted, through cupped hands.

A Night Picture of Life-boat and Crew Every one of the eight crew wore yellow oilskins, and in the green glow from their starboard light, it seemed as if it might be a ghost ship. Except for this light and one at the masthead, illuminating the whole of the deck, everything looked dark; it made them stand out against the inky. blackness of the night sky. As they came towards us, the coxswain was heard giving orders to the crew. "Come a bit to sou'ard, Albert." He was speaking to the hand at the wheel: her screw hummed in response, and gradually they came closer. Each had his station to attend to and they worked as one man and although the space on the deck of a life-boat is limited, never once did a man stumble on a cleat or fumble, getting in another's path. All were big men and looked giants in their oilskins and life- belts. The rich Essex accents could be heard in every detail now, "To nor'ard a little. Easy now." They were now alongside of us and their fenders pressed against our hull with a hiss, as the water was expelled from them. While M. made fast forward, I passed a line from the life- boat round the foot of the mizen, then went forward to give a hand to bring the bower inboard. Meanwhile the life-boat went ahead to assist weighing the anchor. Once free our stern rope was cast off, and we dropped astern of the life-boat, following a small white light visible on her deck. All other lights had been extinguished.

The second coxswain had come aboard and stood by the mast looking ahead, while the three of us sat in the cock- pit, M. at the helm.

A Chat with the Second-Coxswain There was quite a sea running and the wind much colder, so I went below for a time, and pulled on another sweater. When I returned the second- coxswain had come down into the cockpit and they all sat smoking. . . .

Presently T. went below and crashed down on a bunk. M. followed him to get some warmer clothing, and I took the tiller. Chatting to the second coxswain I discovered tomorrow was a great day. They had arranged to take part in the regatta. I agreed they would be feeling pretty tired by the time this was over and arrived back. Approaching the flashing Knoll Buoy, we altered course into the Blackwater, and on through the darkness, rounded the Bar Buoy and entered the reach. We then stood out for the flashing red light of Colne Point, as there would not be sufficient water in Brightlingsea Creek, and as it was too dark to select a suitable berth we brought up just inside St.

Osyth Point lying alongside the life- boat to await high water. It was then 04.00 and we should have one hour's sleep.

A Grand Crew The coxswain came aboard and we all went below to make out a report....

The report completed the coxswain went back to the life-boat to return with a bottle of rum. M. and I gratefully accepted the tot offered each to us, and I felt my body glow as it reached my stomach. They were a grand crew I thought as I crawled under my blankets. . . .

The second coxswain was sliding back the hatch and stuck his head in.

I glanced at my watch. Our hour was up and it seemed as if I had only just touched my head to the pillow. . . .

It was very grey and overcast, the sea looked a cold jade green in the morn- ing light, and the crew were busy and impatient to be away. They seemed anxious to be on time for the regatta as they had to get back to the boat- house and clean up ship. We slipped our mooring and she took us into the creek, still alongside. . . .

We thanked the coxswain and crew and promised to come and see them when next on the pier. They released us, and turned about to head out to sea. The weather seemed to be bright- ening up but the wind was still fresh Before he left the coxswain had told me the girls would be at the Royal Hotel, Clacton, so T. rowed ashore to go over on the bus to pick them up. . . .

Awake before he returned, we saw him with M. and J. over on the jetty waiting to come off. They found one of the shore boats to row them out, and stepped aboard. The girls both wore dresses and looked rather pretty. . . .

They made the rest of us roar while telling how once aboard the life-boat they went below and were given survivors' kit to change into, great sweaters, and men's trousers of out- rageous dimensions. It once again goes to illustrate how thorough were the life-boat crew's methods, when dealing with an emergency..