Captain of the Crew

  CHAPTER XXVII

  AT THE FINISH

  “Bow side, raise your hands!” yelled the cox. “Get her level! Six,throw more weight out-board. That’s better! Now hard, all! We can do ityet!”

  Dick, with dismay at heart, had seen the rival boat creep up and passthem, and had listened despairingly to cox’s words:

  “Four’s given out!”

  Then came the command to Five to throw water over Trevor. Dick, notdaring to turn his head for an instant, rowed on desperately, watchingKeene’s face for any glimmer of hope that might show thereon.

  “No use,” said cox presently in low tones. “He’s a goner! His oar’strailing. Hello! Easy now!”

  Dick saw the light of hope creep into the other’s eyes.

  “Mind oars, Five and Seven! Four’s gone over the side!”

  And then Dick caught sight of a brown arm gleaming just under thesurface, and as he once more took up the stroke, far astern a drippinghead emerged, was visible for a moment, and again disappeared under thedancing wavelets. Dick closed his eyes, an awful horror gripping him.Trevor had gone down!

  “Careful, Stroke! Take your time!” cautioned Keene.

  Dick opened his eyes again and looked up the stream, and hope came tohim. One of the launches--it looked like the Terrible--had crossedinto the wakes of the shells. If Trevor only came up again! Dick criedwithin him. And even while his thoughts took the form of a wild,incoherent prayer he saw the launch circle to port and stop. And whenshe once more swung about the sunlight glowed on a dripping crimsonshirt.

  “Safe!” cried Dick aloud. Keene nodded and glanced anxiously ahead.Dick with thankful heart tugged stoutly at his oar.

  “Where are they?” he gasped.

  “Three lengths ahead,” answered Keene. “We’re holding them now.” Heraised his voice. “Six, you’ve got to do two men’s work now! Long andsteady does it! Bow, you’re late! Steady all!”

  The mile buoy was far astern. St. Eustace, rowing well at thirty-six,was, as Keene had said, three lengths in the lead. Trevor’s deadweight and dragging oar had given her her chance. Her crew had seenthe trouble in the Hillton shell, and, whatever their emotions were,they were now confident of success, for a three-length lead and eightoars to seven spelled victory for the Blue. The St. Eustace coxswainglanced back over his shoulder and gave a command to the men. Thedistance had not increased since the Crimson’s Number 4 had goneoverboard; that wouldn’t do. The blue-clad eight hit up their stroke.But Keene had been watching and waiting. He would rather have had thestruggle come later, in the last half mile; but there was no help forit.

  “Now, fellows, ten hard ones and together! Swing out and use your legs!One!... Two!... Three!...”

  For the first time in the race the seven boys put every bit of weightand muscle into their strokes. They all knew what the words meant; St.Eustace, somewhere ahead there, was spurting and trying to draw away;if she succeeded it was all up with them. Backs bent and sprang, slidessped from stop to stop, arms and legs straightened and doubled untilmuscles knotted like ropes beneath tanned skin, blades cleaved thesurface like ruddy knives and emerged yards distant to skim and flashover the swirling, racing water for the next grip, breaths came in deepgasps, and the shell flew forward, seeming rather to skim the surfaceas a darting swallow skims the bosom of a pond, than to cleave theglinting water.

  “_Seven!... Eight!... Nine!... Ten!_” counted the coxswain. “Don’tslacken! Keep her going! We’re gaining on them hand over fist! Hard,all, hard, and use your legs for all that’s in ’em!”

  And gaining they were. With seven oars instead of eight, with a boatthat listed plainly to bow-side, they were gaining! St. Eustace’scoxswain looked back again; again shrieked to his crew. But this timethe response was not evident. They were doing their best. As thebeginning of the last half-mile was reached the voice of the bobbingfigure in the stern of the St. Eustace shell came to Dick’s ears, andhis heart leaped at the sound:

  “_Hit her up! Hit her up! Hit her up!_”

  Dick, his face streaming with perspiration, his hands burning on theoar-handle, peeked out of the corners of his eyes to the left fora glimpse of the screaming cox. But not yet. His boat was gaining,swiftly, steadily, but three lengths is a long distance to cut downwith your rivals rowing at forty strokes to the minute.

  “Lengthen out, Stroke!” called Keene.

  The seven rowers steadied down and swung longer. The mile and one halfpoint was already far astern, and Keene could see the faces of thecrowds at the finish distinctly. For the first time since the start hemet Dick’s eyes and smiled. Then, and as it seemed to Dick, from almostat his side, came a shrill cry:

  “Eyes in the boat, Seven! Finish out, Six, finish out!”

  It was the St. Eustace coxswain, and at the same moment a specktrembled just within the field of Dick’s vision at the left. Thenext instant it took shape; he could see the rival boat’s rudder, aportion of the stern, with the steering lines white and gleaming inthe sunlight. They were almost even! He was conscious of a new sound,quite distinct from the working of the slides, the rattle of the locksand the rush of oars--a confused murmur that gradually took shapeand resolved itself into the cheering of human voices. Surely thefinish-line was at hand! He glanced at Keene. That youth, white beneaththe tan of his face, with perspiration standing upon his forehead inlittle glistening beads, was looking straight ahead, with every thoughtstraining toward the goal.

  “Now, once more, all!” screamed the St. Eustace coxswain. “Pick her up!You’re not half rowing! Five, steady down! Four, you’re late, you’relate! Row! Row!”

  And then the little red-haired youth also crept into Dick’s sight; apale-faced, despairing figure, crouching there in the stern, bobbingforward and back as though to hurl his boat across the line by his ownunaided efforts. One glance at his face brought a flood of joy to Dick!St. Eustace was already beaten--and that white-faced cox knew it! Inthe next minute a qualm of pity for the struggling opponents came tohim, only to be swallowed up in a great wave of triumph as he foundhimself opposite to the St. Eustace stroke. The three lengths were goneand the two boats were even at last!

  The shouting from the shore was louder, and Dick could distinguish thecheers of his schoolmates from the slogan of St. Eustace’s supporters.But how he wished for the end! His breath seemed gone, and everyrespiration shook his body from head to feet. The perspiration on hisface had turned to little drops of ice-water. The river danced andwavered in his sight. His arms were like bars of lead, and his legsfrom hips to toes seemed no longer connected with the upper portion ofhim, but were dead, benumbed; he could have put his hand on the veryplace where they had been cut off. Surely they were at the line now!Surely it was time to get into the lead! He glanced appealingly atKeene.

  The latter drew the port rudder-line to him slowly for an inch. Thenhe turned toward the speeding boat beside him and looked it over, upand down; Two was splashing badly; Four was rolling on his seat like adrunken man; Stroke was plainly worked out; his eyes met those of thered-haired cox; the latter glared across at him vindictively. He turnedagain and ran his eyes over his own boat: Bow was weakening, but stillsteady; Six was struggling blindly with half-closed eyes; the balanceof the seven were still strong for that period of a two-mile race. Helooked ahead at the boats and the bridge above, dark with humanity.

  “Two hundred yards!” shrieked the St. Eustace coxswain. “Now pick herup! We’ve got the race if you’ll only take it! Stroke, for Heaven’ssake, man, pick her up! Row!... Row!... Row!”

  Two hundred yards! Dick looked at Keene; the latter nodded. Dickrattled his hands away quickly.

  “Hit her up all!” cried Keene. “Here’s the finish! Row now, row forHillton! We’ve got to win!”

  “Now then, fellows!” gasped Dick. His blade went under for a hard,desperate stroke, and the next moment seven bodies were straining atthe oars in a last, heroic endeavor.

  “Well done, all! Keep it up! Keep it up! Once more! Well ro
wed,fellows! Well rowed! We’re gaining! Use your legs! Well rowed!”

  Keene’s voice arose loud and full of encouragement. From across thelittle path of intervening water came the shrill reiterant appeals ofthe other coxswain:

  “Hard! Hard! We’ve got them! Keep going! Another stroke or two! Hard!Row hard!”

  The air was full of the cheers of the excited watchers and the blatantscreams of the whistles of surrounding craft. To Dick it was all aconfused babel of awful sound. He had closed his eyes, fearing tosee the rival boat slipping from sight. But now, gathering courage,he looked. They were in a lane of assembled craft, from which arosestreams and clouds of steam; beyond the noisy gathering the river bankwas lined with moving throngs; beside him---- His heart sank; theSt. Eustace boat was gone! The little bobbing coxswain, the toilingstroke oar, were no longer beside him! He looked despairingly at Keene;something in the latter’s expression sent his glance beyond, andjoy rushed back to his heart. The rival boat was a length behind! Heclosed his eyes again from sheer happiness, and tugged on at the oar.The uproar was deafening, but suddenly, above it all, he heard thecoxswain’s voice:

  “_Let her run!_”

  * * * * *

  When he looked up again, raising his head from his hot, tremblinghands, he found to his surprise that his eyes were wet. They were inshadow now, and he glanced up to find the arches of the bridge abovethem. The noise was less. He blinked through wet lashes at Keene. Thelatter was grinning happily, foolishly.

  “Length and a quarter, about,” he said.

  From the bridge overhead and from the throng beyond came cheers forHillton.