IN THE RACING GIG
Sam Hickey had been given the place nearest to the coxswain, with Dan
just behind him. Some of the others were inclined to grumble at that,
for Sam was next to the stroke oar, a position of honor.
Joe Harper, however, had his own ideas. He wanted the Battleship Boys
near him, so that he might watch their work more closely.
"A little quicker on the recovery, there, Hickey. That's better.
Davis, you're doing well. You pull like an old-timer. Number one,
there, you're lagging. Swing your body from the hips and come forward
as if you were going to throw yourself on your face. That's it! Now
get in time as I count. When I say one, every man have his blade in
the water and begin to pull. Now, one! one! one! one! one! one! Keep
it up!"
The gig danced over the water at increasing speed.
All at once Sam Hickey uttered a yell. In attempting to turn his head
to wink at Dan he had turned the blade of his oar forward. Of course
he caught a crab. The boat was moving so swiftly that the force of the
blow that Hickey got from the oar doubled him up, knocking him clear
back into Dan's lap.
"O-u-u-u-ch!" yelled Sam, holding his stomach, his face working
convulsively in his effort to control himself.
"Hurt you?" questioned Dan.
"I--I think it turned me around inside."
"You lubber, what did you do that for?" demanded the coxswain.
"Wha--what did I do--it for! Do you think I did that for fun? Do you
think I did it on purpose?" Sam groaned again.
"You were looking around; you weren't attending to your business."
"I was not looking around. I was just trying to look around. If I'd
been looking around I wouldn't have fallen on my back, would I?"
The men had ceased rowing, at command of the coxswain. Some of them
were laughing at Hickey's predicament, while others were grumbling.
"Nice kind of a lubber to put aboard the gig!" growled a voice.
"Silence!" commanded the coxswain. "I'm commanding this boat just now.
Hickey, sit up there!"
Sam did so, at the same time making a wry face.
"Are you able to go on? If not, we'll return to the ship and get a man
who is."
Sam straightened up instantly.
"I'm all right, sir. I'll never go fishing for crabs in a gig again,
sir."
The crew roared with laughter, but the red-headed boy was as solemn as
an owl.
Once more they fell to their oars. Hickey redeemed himself during the
rest of the practice. He caught no more crabs, but pulled a steady,
quick stroke that brought nods of approval from the coxswain.
As for Seaman Davis, he never missed a stroke, and as the boat shot on
he seemed to pick up in strength like a powerful gasoline motor under
low speed on a steep hill. His oar swung with the precision of a piece
of automatic machinery.
By this time the gig had gotten so far away that she could be made out
from the ship only by the glasses of the officers. Finally they
rounded a point of land, and the coxswain steered his boat into still
water.
"Toss oars!" he commanded.
Eleven oars were raised upright, standing in two even rows.
"Well done, lads. Out oars!"
The oars struck the water with a single splash.
"I'd like to see any boat crew beat that for drill," announced the
coxswain. "Lads, if you do as well when we get in an actual race as
you have done to-day, barring Hickey's crab-fishing, you may not get
the flag, but you will be well up toward the head of the line, and
that's no joke. When in a race you should row just as if you were out
for practice. Never get excited. Never mind what the other fellow is
doing. The coxswain is supposed to attend to that. If he wants you to
know he will tell you. Put every other thought out of your mind except
your rowing. At every stroke keep your eyes on your stroke oar. We
will now take a sprint, when I shall give you no commands. Rely wholly
on your stroke oar."
At command the men began pulling. They did remarkably well, only two
of them getting out of time during the entire run, which was a mile
straight away.
"Very well done," announced the coxswain in an approving voice.
"Davis, will you take the stroke-oar seat?"
"Yes, sir; if you wish."
"I want to see how you will hold the seat."
Dan and the stroke oar changed places.
"I want you all to be familiar with the work in every part of the boat.
Stroke, I have no intention of displacing you permanently."
"I understand. That's all right, sir."
"How fast a stroke do you wish me to hit?" questioned Davis.
"About twenty to the minute. I thought you knew something about the
game. Let's see if you can hit twenty."
The coxswain took out his watch.
"All ready. Stand by. Give way together."
Dan bent far forward, allowing just enough time to elapse before
straightening his back to permit the other men to get into position.
Then every oar hit the water at the same instant and the gig started
away, but at a slightly lower speed than they had been rowing before.
"Minute's up. Exactly twenty strokes," announced the coxswain. "That
was fine. Where did you learn how to time a boat! Were you ever in a
race?"
"Not a big one, but I have watched the college crews practising. What
little I know I have just picked up; that's all."
"You're a mighty good picker-up, then, that's all I've got to say about
it," answered the coxswain, with a short laugh.
"The battleship is making signals, sir," spoke up Dan.
"How do you know?"
"I caught the flutter of a flag up aloft."
"No need of telescopes when you are around," said the coxswain, placing
a glass to his eyes.
"Recall for the gig is up," he said. "Get under way. Davis, you hold
the stroke oar on the way back."
"How fast, sir?"
"About eighteen strokes to the minute for a time. We will increase it
to twenty and so on up. Don't wear your men out before you get home,
though."
"No, sir; I won't."
The men settled down to the long, leisurely stroke, which they kept up
until they were within about a mile of the ship.
"Shall I hit her up?"
"Yes."
"How fast?"
"Use your judgment. Do you want to make a finish?"
"Yes, sir; it will do us all good."
"Go ahead."
From eighteen strokes to the minute Dan worked it up to thirty, but so
gradually that the men did not realize how fast they were going. They
were drawing near the ship.
"Now, every man of you look alive to his work," warned the coxswain.
"We do not want to make an exhibition of ourselves when we get near the
ship. The whole ship's crew would have the laugh on us. Row as if you
were in a race. Watch your stroke oar. That's it. Settle right down
and saw wood."
The boat leaped ahead. Thirty-two strokes to the minute rolled up,
then thirty-five.
The white foam was shooting from the bow of the gig, while the coxswain
was stooping forward, his glistening eyes fixed on the battleship.
With a great burst of speed the gig dashed up, every man pulling, every
back glistening, under the salt spray that covered it.
The rails were lined with jackies. They set up a great cheer as the
boat drew in and the command, "Toss oars!" was given.
It had been a great practice cruise and the ship's company was filled
with wild excitement and anticipation. Dan had made a wonderful sprint
as the stroke oar.