"Toss!" The oars were raised upright. "Out oars!"
The oars were placed in the rowlocks.
"Cast off!"
The gig was shoved clear of the ship.
"Give way together!"
Eleven lusty sailors put their strength into the oars and the racing gig shot away from the side of the battleship, sending up a shower of white spray as it plunged into a rising swell.
CHAPTER XXI
IN THE RACING GIG
Sam Hickey had been given the place nearest to the coxswain, with Dan just behind him. Some of the others were inclined to grumble at that, for Sam was next to the stroke oar, a position of honor.