ter the advantage. The green boat sheered a
little, then steadied and came on, keeping to us, though nearly a
length astern. The _Tuebrook_ had made a bad start, but was thrashing
away pluckily in the rear.

So we hammered at it for a third of the course, when Takia took charge.
Since his famous start he had left us to take stroke as Jones pressed
us, but now he saw signs of the waver that comes after the first
furious burst--shifting grip or change of foothold.

"'_Trok_!--'_trok_!--'_trok_!" he muttered, and steadied the pace.
"'_Troke_!--'_troke_!--'_troke_!" in monotone, good for soothing
tension.

Past midway the green boat came away. The ring of the German's
rowlocks rose to treble pitch. Slowly they drew up, working at top
speed. Now they were level--level! and Takia still droning
"'_troke_!--'_troke_!--'_troke_!"--as if the lead was ours!

Wild outcry came from the crowd as the green boat forged ahead! Deep
roars from Schenke somewhere in the rear! Now, labouring still to
Takia's '_troke_!--'_troke_! we had the foam of the German's stern wash
at our blades! "Come away, _Hilda's_!" . . . "_Shake her up,
there_!" . . . "_Hilda-h_! _Hilda-h_!"--Takia took no outward heed of
the cries. He was staring stolidly ahead, bending to the pulse of the
boat. No outward heed--but '_troke_!--'_troke_! came faster from his
lips. We strained, almost holding the Germans' ensign at level with
our bow pennant.

Loud over the wild yells of the crowd we heard the voice we knew--old
Burke's bull-roar: "Let 'er rip, Taki'! Let 'er rip, bye!"

Takia's eyes gleamed as he sped us up--up--up! '_Troke_ became a yelp
like a wounded dog's. He crouched, standing, in the sternsheets, and
lashed us up to a furious thrash of oars! Still quicker! . . . The
eyes of him glared at each of us, as if daring us to fail! The yelp
became a scream as we drew level--the Germans still at top speed.
"_Up_! _Up_! _Up_!" yells Takia, little yellow devil with a white
froth at his lips! "_Up_! _Up_! _Up_!" swaying unsteadily to meet
the furious urging.

The ring of the German rowlocks deepens--deepens--we see the green bow
at our blades again. Her number two falters--jars--recovers again--and
pulls stubbornly on. Their "shot" is fired! They can do no more!
Done!

And so are we! Takia drops the yoke ropes and leans forward on the
gunwale! Oars jar together! Big Jones bends forward with his mouth
wide--wide! Done!

But n