"There, Artie, there's the new pennant the young ladies offered as a prize last year, and Tom Hackett and Jim Burger, from Tarrytown, won it on the Eagle; but the boys say they didn't win it fairly, for they started ahead of the rest, and crowded one of our boats into an ice crack, and broke her runner."
"Now, boys, attention," ordered Mr. Nye, sharply. "Let her come into the wind."
"Are you ready?" came a clear voice down the wind; and a pistol report cracked on the air.
"Jib sheet—quick, Marc; more main sheet, Art; now sway down on the peak halyards, Joe; lie close, Haines. That's it—all snug;" and they were off on the race.
After our boys had attended to their duties, they had time to look about at the rest of the fleet.
Away on either side stretched a line of swiftly moving yachts, white sails flat as boards, flags fluttering, the wind humming through the rigging, while their glittering runners cut feathery flakes of glistening ice in their tracks.
"Oh, ain't it too bad!" cried Joe. "The Eagle and Icicle are both ahead of us."
"Never mind, boys; it's early in the race yet. Wait till we get on a wind," replied Haines. "Now watch the turning-point, sir; don't let the Snow Squall get inside of us; ready, about," and the three leading boats turned the stake together.
"Phew! how we fly!" cried Art. "Isn't she a hummer?"
"I wonder why they call a boat Jack, and then call it 'she,' as if it were a girl?" queried Joe.