As for Seaman Davis, he never missed a stroke, and as the boat shot on he seemed to pick up in strength like a powerful gasoline motor under low speed on a steep hill. His oar swung with the precision of a piece of automatic machinery.
By this time the gig had gotten so far away that she could be made out from the ship only by the glasses of the officers. Finally they rounded a point of land, and the coxswain steered his boat into still water.
"Toss oars!" he commanded.
Eleven oars were raised upright, standing in two even rows.
"Well done, lads. Out oars!"
The oars struck the water with a single splash.
"I'd like to see any boat crew beat that for drill," announced the coxswain. "Lads, if you do as well when we get in an actual race as you have done to-day, barring Hickey's crab-fishing, you may not get the flag, but you will be well up toward the head of the line, and that's no joke. When in a race you should row just as if you were out for practice. Never get excited. Never mind what the other fellow is doing. The coxswain is supposed to attend to that. If he wants you to know he will tell you. Put every other thought out of your mind except your rowing. At every stroke keep your eyes on your stroke oar. We will now take a sprint, when I shall give you no commands. Rely wholly on your stroke oar."
At command the men began pulling. They did remarkably well, only two of them getting out of time during the entire run, which was a mile straight away.
"Very well done," announced the coxswain in an approving voice. "Davis, will you take the stroke-oar seat?"
"Yes, sir; if you wish."