“All right!” cried the officer, without a glance, and I slid down the falls and seized the bow oar.
In another moment the officer followed me, getting into the stern, and we cast off.
“You git that boat for me, Mr. Barney!” bawled Cap’n Si, over our heads. “Don’t you let them fellers from the Gullwing beat ye.”
“We’ll do our best,” responded Mr. Barney, waving his hand. Then to us he said: “Give way, men! See what you can do. Bend the ash!”
Before we had left the deck of the Seamew we knew that the Gullwing’s boat was off ahead of us. It looked as though the drifting boat was about as far from one vessel as she was from the other. The air being so light, we would have lost time trying to beat down to the spot. The race was between the six-oared boats, and I do not believe any college regatta was ever pulled amid more intense excitement.
At first, however, as we were so low in the water, we could not see our rival. Nor could we scarcely observe the object of our race.
But over these gentle waves we could pull a mighty stroke, and I found that the men with me at the oars were practiced hands. The strokeman set a pace that made us bend our backs in good earnest. This was a race!
Mr. Barney was using a steering oar, and using it well. He stood up to the work, and therefore he could see much farther than we at the oars. By glancing now and then over my left shoulder, however, I could see the black hulk of the drifting boat rising and falling upon the gentle waves.
And at first I saw nothing about the boat to express life saving the fluttering rag. It was a flag. After some minutes of hard pulling it was revealed to us that it was a British flag, set union down.
As I pulled I saw that Mr. Barney was looking across at some other object than the mysterious black craft. His eyes were squinted up as he gazed into the rising sun, and the expression of his face was mighty grim.