“Go!”
Bang! And the echoes clanged over the low hills and startled Farmer Wooden’s skittish colt as Mr. Voss dropped his arm with the smoking pistol. Neck and neck, with a quick, snapping leap of the oars and a splendid start with which neither crew could quarrel, the slender, shining shells shot rod after rod up the lake.
Babel began at once—cries, cheers, applause. “Victors! Victors!” “Go it, Ossokosee!” “That’s it; stick to the lead!” “Ossokosee forever!”
“That aint no bad send-off for the Ossokosees!” exclaimed Farmer Wooden to his wagon-load as the swift flight of the boats made them diminish in size every few seconds.
“No,” said Miss Beauchamp, with her head full of Philip and of his satisfaction if there should be any bettering of the Ossokosees’ record; “but those strong-armed fellows in the Victors’ boat are holding off, Mr. Wooden. Don’t you see that? They’re going to give a tremendous spurt after that stake-boat is turned.”
By this time the road that ran parallel with the course was in a whirl of wheels. Dozens of carriages dashed up after the boats, to lose no yard of the contest. The Ossokosees were, in fact, a little in advance of the Victors. But, as Miss Beauchamp had supposed, that was evidently the policy of the older champions. They darted along well to the left of their rivals and kept carefully outside of a certain long strip of eel-grass where a danger-signal had been driven, and with their rapid pulling they were already beginning to lessen the number of boat-lengths between them and their opponents. Every body having taken it for granted that the excitement of this race was not who should beat, but how honorably the hotel faction should be beaten, there arose all along the mile of skirting land a buzz and then ragged cheers as people began all at once to discover the new possibility of the Victors being dishonored for once in their proud career.
“Hi! Look at that, I tell you, Fisher!” cried Mr. Marcy, as enthusiastic as Gerald himself, when he made up his mind that up there toward that stake-boat the Victors now began to pull with might and main. “Our boys—why, our boys are working like Trojans! And those chaps have found it out!”
“Hurrah! They’re ’round the stake-boat first, as true as I live!” said somebody else in the barge.
Gerald was standing balanced on the outermost edge of a seat, with Mr. Marcy’s arm about him to keep him in any kind of equilibrium. His eyes sparkled like stars as he held up his field-glass, and his color came and went with every cry he heard. It was for Philip’s sake; all for Philip! It was wonderful, by the bye, how many persons watched that race that morning, giving one thought for the Ossokosees in general and two to Philip Touchtone!
“Yes, they are!” exclaimed another. “Gracious! what ails the Victors? Pull, you sluggards, pull, I say! Those boys are gaining on you every second with that stroke. It must be nearly forty.” Louder and louder rang the clamor from all sides as the stake-boat was left behind by the belated Victors, not after all so much in arrear of the Ossokosees. Every body knew that the most remarkable “finish” ever to be dreamed of for Ossokosee Lake was begun. The carriages rolled quicker and quicker back to the goal, and began to pack together in the open meadow, abreast of the judge’s barge. Shouting boys and men ran frantically along the road and side-paths, waving hats. From the knots of on-lookers, the crowded Victors’ club-house, the private boats moored by the ledges, fluttered handkerchiefs, veils, and shawls in the hands of standing spectators; and every thing increased in intensity, of course, as the two glittering objects flashed forward nearer, nearer, until the bending backs of the six rowers in each could be seen, crimson and yellow—and the panic-struck yellow sweeping onward last!