e on five miles: start from
near-abouts where the training-ship lays now, down to a mark-boat
somewheres off Torpoint, back, and finish off Saltash Quay.

"My dears," she said to her mates later on, "I don't mind telling you
I was all of a twitter, first-along, wondering what card that man Oke
was holding back--he looked so sly and so sure of hisself. But if
he've no better card to play than Seth Ede, we can sleep easy."

"Seth Ede's a powerful strong oar," Bess Rablin objected.

"_Was_, you mean. He've a-drunk too much beer these four years past
to last over a five-mile course; let be that never was his distance.
And here's another thing: they've picked Tremenjous Hosken for one
th'art."

"And he's as strong as a bullock."

"I dessay: but Seth Ede pulls thirty-eight or thirty-nine to the
minute all the time he's racing--never a stroke under. I've watched
him a score o' times. If you envy Hosken his inside after two miles
o' _that_, you must be like Pomery's pig--in love with pain.
They've hired or borrowed the Preventive boat, I'm told; and it's the
best they could do. She's new, and she looks pretty. She'll drag
aft if they put their light weights in the bows: still, she's a good
boat. I'm not afeared of her, though. From all I can hear, the
_Woman_ was known for speed in her time, all through the fleet.
You can _feel_ she's fast, and _see_ it, if you've half an eye: and
the way she travels between the strokes is a treat. The Mounseers
can build boats. But oh, my dears, you'll have to pull and stay the
course, or in Saltash the women take second place for ever!"

"Shan't be worse off than other women, even if that happens," said
Rebecca Tucker, that was but a year married and more than half in
love with her man. Sally had been in two minds about promoting
Rebecca to the bow-oar in place of Ann Pengelly, that had been
clipping the stroke short in practice: but after that speech she
never gave the woman another thought.

Next evening the men brought out their opposition boat--she was
called the _Nonpareil_--and tried a spin in her. They had found a
man for No. 3 oar--another of the Water-Guard, by name Mick Guppy and
by nation Irish, which Sal swore to be unfair. She didn't lodge any
complaint, however: and when her mates called out that 'twas taking a
mean advantage, all she'd say was: "Saltash is Saltash, my dears; and
I won't go to maintain that a Saltash crew is anyways improved by a
chap from