A practice spin, the night before, had put
Dan and his men in closer touch. They, too, felt a confidence in the
little coxswain who never lost his head nor got excited, no matter how
great the emergency.

The race was to be four miles, two miles and a turn, starting from the
scratch, the bow of the flagship marking the starting point. The
turning buoy was just past the "Long Island."

The racing boats lined up off the flagship where the men received their
instructions from the referee, who shouted out his orders through a
megaphone. The racers were to start on a gun signal.

The Battleship Boy's slender figure, hunched down in the stern of the
"Long Island's" gig, brought a smile to the face of many men that
bright afternoon. It seemed a joke that a boy--a mere
apprentice--should be given so important a post as that. Dan
understood; he knew that the other crews were laughing at him.

"Lads," he said, as they were paddling around for the scratch, "they
think we are some kind of joke. Let us show them that we can give, as
well as take. Keep steady. There's credit enough to go all around.
If we win, no one of us will have won. All of us will have. If we
lose, all of us will have lost. All ready now; toss oars!"

An interval of a few seconds followed.

"Let fall! Attention! Stand by!"

Every back was bent.

"Steady, Sam. Do your prettiest."

Sam made no reply.

"Boom!"

The flagship's six-pounder belched forth the starting signal.

"Go!"

The command from the little coxswain came out like the bark of a pistol.

The racing gigs of the fleet leaped forward, driven by powerful arms
and backs, the bows of each boat rising right out of the water under
the first pull of the long oars.

Sam, at command of the coxswain, had started in with twenty-five
strokes per minute. The other racing boats had struck a higher pace,
resulting in their forging ahead. The "Idaho's" boat took the lead at
the start.

Dan was sitting calmly in the stern of his racing gig, his hand resting
lightly on the tiller, watching his men and at the same time keeping
his eyes roaming over the water, noting the position of the other boats
and steering his course. He used the "Long Island" for his mark,
steering to starboard of her, for at the distance no skipper was able
to make out the turning buoy.

"Thirty-two!"

Sam hit up the stroke.

"Hold it there steady!"

The "Long Island's" gig forged ahead a little. They