rope one
of you. No, not you--some fellow with a strong hand. Yes, you'll do," he
went on, as Hardy stepped down the bank and took hold of the rope; "let
me have it foot by foot as I want it. Not too quick; make the most of
it--that'll do. Two and Three, just dip your oars in to give her way."

The rope paid out steadily, and the boat settled to her place. But now
the wind rose again, and the stern drifted in towards the bank.

"You _must_ back her a bit, Miller, and keep her a little further out or
our oars on stroke side will catch the bank."

"So I see; curse the wind. Back her, one stroke all. Back her, I say!"
shouted Miller.

It is no easy matter to get a crew to back her an inch just now,
particularly as there are in her two men who have never rowed a race
before, except in the torpids, and one who has never rowed a race in his
life.

However, back she comes; the starting-rope slackens in Miller's left
hand, and the stroke, unshipping his oar, pushes the stern gently out
again.

There goes the second gun! one short minute more, and we are off. Short
minute, indeed! you wouldn't say so if you were in the boat, with your
heart in your mouth and trembling all over like a man with the palsy.
Those sixty seconds before the starting-gun in your first race--why,
they are a little lifetime.

"By Jove, we are drifting in again," said Miller, in horror. The captain
looked grim but said nothing; it was too late now for him to be
unshipping again. "Here, catch hold of the long boat-hook and fend her
off."

Hardy, to whom this was addressed, seized the boat-hook, and, standing
with one foot in the water, pressed the end of the boat-hook against the
gunwale, at the full stretch of his arm, and so, by main force, kept the
stern out. There was just room for stroke oars to dip, and that was all.
The starting-rope was as taut as a harp-string; will Miller's left hand
hold out?

It is an awful moment. But the coxswain, though almost dragged backwards
off his seat, is equal to the occasion. He holds his watch in his right
hand with the tiller rope. "Eight seconds more only. Look out for the
flash. Remember, all eyes in the boat."

There it comes, at last--the flash of the starting-gun. Long before the
sound of the report can roll up the river, the whole pent-up life and
energy which has been held in leash, as it were, for the last six
minutes, is loose, and breaks away with a bound and a dash which he who
has felt it w