Pulitzer or had arrived back in London after rejection by
him, and that everything depended upon the impression I made on my host.
I left London cold, damp, and foggy; and in less than twenty-four hours
I was in the train between Marseilles and Mentone, watching the surf
playing among the rocks in the brilliant sunshine of the Cote d'Azur. In
the tiny harbor of Mentone I found, anchored stern-on to the quay, the
steam yacht Liberty--a miracle of snowy decks and gleaming brass-work--
tonnage 1,607, length over all 316 feet, beam 35.6 feet, crew 60, all
told.
A message from Mr. Pulitzer awaited me. Would I dine at his villa at Cap
Martin? An automobile would call for me at seven o'clock.
I spent the day in looking over the yacht and in trying to pick up some
information as to the general lay of the land, by observing every detail
of my new surroundings.
The yacht itself claimed my first attention. Everything was new and
fascinating to me, for although I had had my share of experiences in
barques, and brigs, and full-rigged ships, in mail boats and tramp
steamers, only once before had I had an opportunity to examine closely a
large private yacht. Ten years before, I had spent some time cruising
along the northern coast of Borneo in the yacht of His Highness Sir
Charles Brooke, Raja of Sarawak; but with that single exception yachting
was for me an unknown phase of sea life.
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