withstanding a heavy sea, for off Cannes the Mediterranean can be
very lumpy indeed, and it would be obviously inconvenient to have
the boat swamped, and her crew all drowned. The boat-builder
having mastered the conditions, felt certain that he could turn
out the craft required, which my father proposed to stroke
himself.

When we returned to Cannes in 1866, the completed boat was sent
out by sea, and we saw her released from her casing with immense
interest. She was christened in due form, with a bottle of
champagne, by our first cousin, the venerable Lady de Ros, and
named the Abercorn. Lady de Ros was a daughter of the Duke of
Richmond, and had been present at the famous ball in Brussels on
the eve of Waterloo in 1815; a ball given by her father in honour
of her youngest sister.

The crew then went into serious training. Bow was Sir David
Erskine, for many years Sergeant-at-Arms of the House of Commons;
No. 2, my brother-in-law, Lord Mount Edgcumbe; No. 3, General Sir
George Higginson, with my father as stroke. Lord Elphinstone, who
had been in the Navy early in life, officiated as coxswain. But my
father was then fifty-five years old, and he soon found out that
his heart was no longer equal to the strain to which so long and
so very arduous a course (three miles), in rough water, would
subject it. As soon as he realised that his age might militate
against the chance of his crew winning, he resigned his place in
the boat in favour of Sir George Higginson, who was replaced as
No. 3 by Mr. Meysey-Clive. My father took Lord Elphinstone's place
as coxswain, but here, again, his weight told against him. He was
over six feet high and proportionately broad, and he brought the