_In Which We Have a Good Race In Earnest_
And I had an idea that if I asked the captain to go in the boat, or
suggested it to Mr. Barney, I’d get an immediate refusal. I had a
decided belief that Captain Somes didn’t wish me to get aboard the
Gullwing again. Not that he needed my services particularly--although
my work was costing him nothing but my grub and the cast-off clothes I
had been given; but Captain Si feared that Captain Joe needed me, and
my remaining with the Seamew was crippling his rival. Which, by the
way, was likely to be the facts in the case.
So, with this scheme in my mind, I expect I was even more cautious than
was necessary. I might have been unnoticed had I jumped right into the
boat as it went overboard.
But when I heard Mr. Barney call off the men’s names, I noted that Job
Perkins was among the chosen. I had sized up Job for what he was. I
grabbed him as he passed me on the run and shot into his ear:
“Listen! ten dollars when we reach Baltimore if you’ll let me take your
place in the boat.”
“Huh?” said Job, wonderstruck for a moment. But it was only for a
moment. The old fellow had all his wits about him and in working order.
“It’s a bargain, boy,” he whispered, and the next moment he fell
sprawling over a coil of rope and scrambled up again right before Mr.
Barney.
“Hullo! what’s the matter with you, old man?” demanded the second
officer.
“Ow-ouch!” groaned Job, rubbing his arm.
“Hurt you?” snapped Mr. Barney.
“By gravey! I _did_ wrench my arm,” groaned Job, his face writhing with
an expression of pain.
I stepped in at once. “I’ll take his place, sir,” I said.
“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.
“He sees the Gullwing’s boat,” I thought.
“Pull, you fellows!” he suddenly barked at us. “Why don’t you pull?”
And we _were_ pulling. I could stand the pace for a bit longer, I
thought; but the stroke was certainly bending his back and driving his
oar with a vigor that left little more to be expected from mortal man.
“Pull!” yelled our mate. “Pull, or those lubbers will beat you to it.”
There was no feathering of oars, or any fancy work. This was just the
hard, deep pull of the deep-sea oarsman. We breathed heavily; the
sweat poured from our limbs; we neither spoke nor looked back over our
shoulders now. We became veritable pieces of mechanism, set to do this
certain stroke, and to do it until we broke down completely!
“Keep it up! Break your backs!” yelled the second mate.
I had an idea that there was an added incentive for Mr. Barney’s
excitement. His twin brother more than likely commanded the boat from
the Gullwing. But we at the oars could not see her yet.
Nearer and nearer we came to the drifting boat. Our craft sprang
through the sea at the end of every stroke. Had one of the oars broken
I believe we would have been capsized.
Once more I glanced around. Not a sign of life in that floating mystery
with its signal floating from the broken mast. But there _was_ a bit of
canvas spread forward of that mast, like an awning.
Mr. Barney saw me look back and he swore at me good and plenty.
“You want us to lose this race, you sawney!” he exclaimed.
I was convinced that, for his part, he was more anxious to beat the
Gullwing’s crew--and incidentally his brother--than to save any life
there might be remaining on the wreck.
But perhaps I misjudged Mr. Alfred Barney. We were all excited. Even
I, who had no reason for wishing to see the Seamew’s boat win, pulled
my oar with every last ounce of strength I possessed. Mr. Barney had
accused me without warrant of trying to throw the race.
The two racing boats were not head-on to each other, but were
approaching the wreck at an angle that now brought each in sight of the
other. When the Gullwing’s boat flashed into the range of my eyes I saw
half a dozen of the men I knew. There was Thankful Polk, heaven bless
him, and Mr. Jim Barney at the steering oar. The sight of them made me
feel good all over.
But I could not see the wreck now without twisting my head around. And
if I did that I knew I should bring the wrath of our second mate upon
me. The Gullwings cheered. For a moment I did not know what for. Could
they be winning?
And then Thank’s jolly voice reached me across the stretch of sea:
“Hurray, Clint! Go it, old boy! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”
But I had no breath with which to answer. And I reckon if he had been
pulling his oar as I was, he would not have been so boisterous.
The strain of the last few minutes of the race was terrific. My breath
came in great sobs, and I heard the other men with me groan as they
strained at the heavy oars. We were about all in.
“Pull, you tarriers!” barked Mr. Alf Barney again.
“Keep it up, boys!” yelled Mr. Jim Barney in the other boat.
I saw scowling looks exchanged between the twin brothers. It must be
true, as Job Perkins had said, the two Barney boys were deadly enemies!
Then suddenly our cox shouted: “In oars! Way all!”
I felt the nose of the boat bump something behind me. I dropped my oar
and turned to seize the broken gunwale of the drifting hulk we had
pulled so hard to reach. We of the Seamew had won the race.