d with her crew
swinging out slow and steady, pulling the stroke clean through with a
hard finish, she went up hand-over-fist. The blades of the
_Nonpareil_ were knocking up water like a moorhen. Tremenjous Hosken
had fallen to groaning between the strokes, and I believe that from
the mark-boat homeward he was no better than a passenger--an
eighteen-stone passenger, mind you. The only man to keep it lively
was little Jago at bow, and Seth Ede--to do him justice--pulled a
grand race for pluck. He might have spared himself, though.
Another hundred yards settled it: the _Indefatigable Woman_ made her
overlap and went by like a snake, and the Irishman pulled in his oar
and said:

"Well, Heaven bless the leddies, anyway!"

Seth Ede turned round and swore at him vicious-like, and he fell to
rowing again: but the whole thing had become a procession. "Eyes in
the boat!" commanded Sal, pulling her crew together as they caught
sight of their rivals for the first time and, for a stroke or two,
let the time get ragged. She couldn't help a lift in her voice,
though, any more than she could help winding up with a flourish as
they drew level with Saltash town, a good hundred yards ahead, and
heard the band playing and the voices cheering. "Look out for the
quicken!"--and up went a great roar as the women behind her picked
the quicken up and rattled past the Quay and the winning-gun at forty
to the minute!

They had just strength enough left to toss oars: and then they leaned
forward with their heads between their arms, panting and gasping out,
"Well rowed, Sal!" "Oh--oh--well rowed all!" and letting the delight
run out of them in little sobs of laughter. The crowd ashore, too,
was laughing and shouting itself hoarse. I'm sorry to say a few of
them jeered at the _Nonpareil_ as she crawled home: but, on the
whole, the men of Saltash took their beating handsome.

This don't include Sal's husband, though. Landlord Oke was one of
the first to shake her by the hand as she landed, and the Mayor
turned over the stakes to her there and then with a neat little
speech. But Tailor Hancock went back home with all kinds of ugliness
and uncharitableness working in his little heart. He cursed Regatta
Day for an interruption to trade, and Saltash for a town given up to
idleness and folly. A man's business in this world was to toil for
his living in the sweat of his brow; and so, half an hour later, he
told his wife.

The crowd ha