The members of the racing crew hurried to their quarters, and, at four o'clock sharp, appeared on deck, clad only in short trunks and shoes. Each man carried an oar, which he stood butt down on the deck in front of him.
The officers ran their eyes over the twelve muscular young men. The glances of all finally dwelt on Dan Davis and Sam Hickey and murmurs of surprise ran over the assemblage. Sam's arms were knotted with muscles, as were his back and legs. But it was Seaman Davis who, of the twelve, attracted the most attention.
Dan's muscles were not bunched like those of his companion; they were rounded in beautiful curves, symmetrical like those of a well-groomed race horse.
"No wonder Dynamite put a cauliflower ear on old Kester," laughed a shipmate.
"He's in wonderful condition," confided the captain to one of his officers. "That boy is a born athlete."
The gig was swinging over the side in a sling, being lowered by a big crane.
"Stand by," commanded the boatswain's mate, who was the coxswain of the gig.
The crew of the gig lined up at the rail.
"All over!"
They piled down the sea ladder, taking their places in the small boat.