So, for that matter, is any weather. After the light, insubstantial airs of the first America's Cup race and the fresh breezes of the second, the British invoked the great, smoky winds they said made Sceptre go. And on the morning of the third race day the British got them; it blew out of the southwest at 23 knots, steepening the Atlantic chop. Alas, even in heavy going, Sceptre was desperately outclassed. Here, on the first windward leg of the third race, Sceptre labors far behind, burying her lee rail as her helmsman, Lieut. Commander Graham Mann, tries to keep her high in the wind. Columbia, standing up well, sails blithely ahead on a starboard tack. It was here in the wild and the wet that Sceptre knew she was truly beaten; the fourth, final race was only part of the compact.