“A grand race,” said every one around.  “A grand race”—­but old Burke had something to say when he steamed up to put our cox’n among us.  “Byes, byes,” he said, “if there had been twinty yards more the Rhondda would have won.  Now d’ye moind, Takia, ye divil . . . d’ye moind!  Keep th’ byes in hand till I give ye th’ wurrd! . . .  An’ whin ye get th’ wurrd, byes! . . .  Oh, Saints!  Shake her up when ye get th’ wurrd!”

The third heat was closely contested.  All three boats, two Liverpool barques and a Nova Scotiaman, came on steadily together.  A clean race, rowed from start to finish, and the Tuebrook winning by a short length.

The afternoon was well spent when we stripped for the final, and took up our positions on the line.  How big and muscular the Germans looked!  How well the green boat sat the water!  With what inward quakings we noted the clean fine lines of stem and stern! . . .  Of the Tuebrook we had no fear.  We knew they could never stand the pace the Germans would set.  Could we?

Old Burke, though in a fever of excitement when we came to the line, had little to say.  “Keep the byes in hand, Takia—­till ye get th’ wurrd,” was all he muttered.  We swung our oar-blades forward.

“Ready?” The starter challenged us.

Suddenly Takia yelped!  We struck and lay back as the shot rang out!  A stroke gained!  Takia had taken the flash; the others the report!

The Jap’s clever start gave us confidence and a lead.  Big Jones at stroke worked us up to better the advantage.  The green boat sheered a little, then steadied and came on, keeping to us, though nearly a length astern.  The Tuebrook had made a bad start, but was thrashing away pluckily in the rear.

So we hammered at it for a third of the course, when Takia took charge.  Since his famous start he had left us to take stroke as Jones pressed us, but now he saw signs of the waver that comes after the first furious burst—­shifting grip or change of foothold.

“’Trok!—­’trok!—­’trok!” he muttered, and steadied the pace. “’Troke!—­’troke!—­’troke!” in monotone, good for soothing tension.

Past midway the green boat came away.  The ring of the German’s rowlocks rose to treble pitch.  Slowly they drew up, working at top speed.  Now they were level—­level! and Takia still droning “’troke!—­’troke!—­’troke!”—­as if the lead was ours!

Wild outcry came from the crowd as the green boat forged ahead!  Deep roars from Schenke somewhere in the rear!  Now, labouring still to Takia’s ’troke!—­’troke! we had the foam of the German’s stern wash at our blades!  “Come away, Hilda’s!” . . . “Shake her up, there!” . . . “Hilda-h! Hilda-h!”—­Takia took no outward heed of the cries.  He was staring stolidly ahead, bending to the pulse of the boat.  No outward heed—­but ’troke!—­’troke! came faster from his lips.  We strained, almost holding the Germans’ ensign at level with our bow pennant.