"Hold it there steady!"
The "Long Island's" gig forged ahead a little. They were now half way to the battleship.
"Thirty-five!"
The little boat was beginning to send a shower of spray over the backs of the oarsmen. Other boats were astern of them now, but four leaders had a good start.
"Thirty-eight! Make a good showing. We're going to pass our ship now. Give them a run for their money. 'Idaho,' 'Georgia' and 'Connecticut' now have the lead. Take it easy, boys; don't get excited. We'll drive them out pretty soon. 'Idaho' is splashing and 'Georgia' just caught a crab."
The gig was rapidly closing the gap that lay between it and the three boats ahead of them. The fourth one was abreast, the others, a short distance astern.
"We've got them, boys. They shot their big guns at the start. Now keep her going as if you were an old family clock."
A roar sounded in their ears as they plunged past the battleship. The huge cage masts were white with jackies, yelling and swinging their hats, while every inch of rail on that side of the ship was occupied by officers and men. The turn was made. The "Long Island's" gig was leading the second boat by three boat lengths.
"Snap!"
The stroke oar tumbled over backwards. Sam's oar had snapped short off.