ts were thrown on shore, and gathered up by the boatmen
in attendance. The crew poised their oars, No. 2 pushing out her
head, and the Captain doing the same for the stern. Miller took
the starting-rope in his hand.

"How the wind catches her stern," he said; "here, pay out the
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 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 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 life-time.

"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 com