In the Yale boat was one who seemed to be growing blind and numb. In his heart he was praying for strength as earnestly as he would have prayed for the
salvation of his soul. Only a few moments more—he must hold out.
The boats were side by side, and the excitement was simply indescribable. Such a finish was unprecedented. It was a race to be remembered for all years to come—to be spoken of with pride and discussed with wonder.
Then came the moment when Collingwood drove his men for all there was in them. He was pitiless, and Yale shot into the lead.
The line was crossed. Then cannons boomed and whistles shrieked. But in the Yale boat was one whose ears were deaf to all this tumult of sound.
Frank Merriwell had fallen in the bottom of the boat in a dead faint.
But Yale—Yale had won!