The storm was the worst the eastern Mediterranean had endured this century, and the royal yacht Brittania was in trouble. The ship swooped up and down like a roller coaster on the wind-lashed waves. Down in the royal suite Charles, Prince of Wales, was damnably seasick. His cabin had big picture windows, but the waves scoured right up over them so they might as well have been portholes. And the way the curtains swayed back and forth--ugh! it'd make anybody queasy. "Can't you make this stop?" he demanded.
"Sorry, Sir," the Brittania's captain said, a broad apology that covered the waves, the weather, and life in general all at once. "Weather conditions are worsening. We've radioed for assistance. I have to ask that you put this on, Sir. Just in case."
The picture of restrained British fury, Prince Charles looked tight-lipped at the bright orange life jacket. "Surely you're joking, captain."
"Just a precaution, Sir--please! Her Majesty would wish it!"
This unnecessary appeal to the authority of his mother infuriated Charles even more. "Rather drown," he snapped.
It was an unfortunate choice of words, because the deck shuddered oddly under their feet. Somewhere below alarm bells began frantically ringing. "Quick!" the captain shouted.
Disregarding protocol he leaped on Charles and stuffed the Princely arms into the life jacket. A sailor burst into the room shouting, "She's sinking!"
"Save the Prince!" the captain yelled. They hustled Charles out of the cabin just in time. The Brittania heeled over with a jerk, flinging all three of them across the deck like dice. Charles was so surprised he made no effort to grab the railing as he hurtled over the side.
The Mediterranean was cold enough to make him gasp, and the dark waves were taller than mountains. A slashing downpour made it difficult for Charles to breathe. Hastily he tightened the straps on his life jacket. He couldn't see the yacht anywhere, and night was coming on fast.
Charles had no experience of mortal peril before, and didn't realize how lucky he was to be washed up onto a rocky shore before hypothermia set in. Must be an island, he thought, the seas around Greece are stiff with islands. His legs were so cold he couldn't stand. It would be undignified however for the Prince of Wales to crawl up the beach. He lay shivering in the surf, knowing that help would come because for him it always had. Unsurprised, he felt large horny hands grasping him, hauling him higher over the shingle. "Dash it, pick me up and carry me!" he said, and fainted.
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