If all the civil world had been on the alert during the previous day’s contest, certainly all the little Navy world assembled at New London was on the alert that afternoon.  The decks of the Chicago and Olympia were crowded with friends.  The ships’ launches were darting about like distracted water-bugs, and innumerable “shore boats” were bringing guests from every direction.

Presently, however, the course was cleared, the signals given and the heavy oars took the water as only “man-o-war’s men’s” oars ever take it:  as though one brain controlled the actions of the entire crew.

The start was pretty even, the huge sweeps dipping into the water simultaneously and cleanly.  Then the Chicago’s men began to pull slowly away from the Olympia’s, the coxswain right at the outset hitting up the stroke faster than the Olympia’s coxswain considered good judgment so early in the race, for that triangle had three sides, as is the rule of triangles, and each side presented a pretty good distance.

But the people on the Chicago were cheering and yelling like bedlamites, pleased to the very limit to see their men putting up such a showing, and confident of their ability to hold it to the finish.  They did not pause to reason that they had begun at a stroke which meant just a degree more endurance than most men are equal to, but they were sanguine that their ship was to hold a function in their honor.

Just astern the Chicago’s boat the Olympia’s coxswain was keeping up his steady “Stroke!  Stroke!  Stroke!  Stroke!” which sent the boat boiling through the water as though propelled by a gasoline engine.  The Olympia’s men were holding their own if not breaking a record.

“Hold her steady.  Keep the stroke.  We won’t try to set the Thames afire —­not yet,” were the coach’s significant words from his launch.

Lowell nodded quick understanding but kept his steady weight against the oar which was setting the stroke for the men behind him, and Durand’s eyes hardly left the sway and swing of that splendid broad back just in front of him as on they rushed to the first flag-boat, making the turn of the triangle just a length astern of the Chicago’s men, and amidst the cries of: 

“Hit it up, Olympia!  Overhaul ’em!  Pull down that lead!” from the launch following, in which several officers were yelling like Comanches.

“Takes better men.  You didn’t know how to pick ’em,” were the taunting cries from the Chicago’s launch on their starboard beam.

“Wait till they round the next stake-boat.  They’re only playing with you now.”

“Playing out?  They’ve got to do better than this to overhaul us.  We are rowing some,” were the laughing answers.

“Now we’ll play for fair.  Hit her up to thirty-six,” was the order of the Olympia’s coxswain, and the oars flashed response to the order, the cutter seeming to fly.

There was a quick exclamation from the coxswain of the Chicago’s cutter, a sharp command, and the stroke jumped to thirty-eight which sent the boat boiling forward.  Another command on the Olympia’s as the second stake boat was neared and the Olympia’s crew was holding it at forty, a slip to tell, and the boats rounded the second stake-boat bows even.