It was undeniably true that the Zephyrs, in spite of the warnings which Frank had given them, were very much excited, and various were the expedients which the boys used to calm their agitation, or at least to conceal it.  But it was also true that the Butterflies were much more excited.  Discipline and experience had not schooled them in the art of “being mere machines,” and they found it much more difficult than the Zephyrs to subdue their troublesome emotions.

The eventful moment had come.  The oarsmen were bent forward ready to strike the first stroke, and the coxswains were leaning back ready to time the movement.  Captain Sedley was gazing intently at the dial of his “second indicator,” prepared to give Uncle Ben the word to fire.

“Ready, Ben—­fire!”

Bang! went the cannon.

“Pull!” shouted Frank and Tony in the same breath.

Fortunately every oarsman in both boats hit the stroke exactly, and away leaped the gallant barks.

As Frank had deemed it probable, the Butterfly shot a length ahead of her rival after pulling a few strokes; but though the noise of the oars informed his crew of their relative positions, not an eye was turned from him, not a muscle yielded in the face of the dispiriting fact, and not a member quickened his stroke in order to retrieve the lost ground.  Even Tim Bunker, who was supposed to have more feeling in regard to the race than the others, maintained an admirable self-possession.  However much the hearts of the crew beat with agitation, they were outwardly as cool as though the Butterfly had been a mile behind them.

It is true, some of the Zephyrs, as they continued to gaze at Frank’s calm and immovable features, wondered that he did not quicken the stroke; but no one for an instant lost confidence in him.  “Frank knew what he was about.”  This was the sentiment that prevailed, and each member looked out for himself, leaving all the rest to him.

The Butterflies were quickening their stroke every moment, and consequently were continuing to increase the distance between the two boats.  Every muscle was strained to its utmost tension.  Every particle of strength was laid out, until Tony, fearful that some of the weaker ones might “make a slip,” dared require no more of them.  But they were already more than two boats’ lengths ahead of their rival, and he had everything to hope.

Still the Zephyr pulled that same steady stroke.  As yet she had made no extraordinary exertion.  Her crew were still fresh and vigorous, while those of her rival, though she was every moment gaining upon her, were taxing their strength to the utmost.

They rounded the stake boat, which had been placed nearly opposite the mouth of the Rippleton River, and the Butterfly was still three lengths ahead.  They had begun upon the last two miles of the race.  Though the Zephyr still pursued her former tactics, her rival was no longer able to gain upon her.  The latter had thus far done her best, and for the next half mile the boats maintained the same relative positions.