At the challenge of
the judges we showed our gear. "Spare oar--right! Rowlocks--right!
Sea-anchor--right! Bottom boards and stern grating--right. Painter,
ten fathoms; hemp. . . . A bit short there, _Compton_! Eh? . . .
Oh--all right," said the official, and we manoeuvred into position, our
sterns held in by the guard-boats. Some of the ships' captains had
engaged a steam-launch to follow the heats, and old Burke was there
with his trumpet, shouting encouragement already.
"Air yew ready?"
A pause: then, pistol shot! We struck water and laid out! Our task
was not difficult. The _Ardlea's_ gig was broad-bowed and heavy; they
had no chance; but the _Compton's_ gave us a stiff pull to more than
midway. Had they been like us, three months at boat-work, we had not
pulled so easily up to the mark, but their ship was just in from
Liverpool, and they were in poor condition for a mile and a half at
pressure. We won easily, and scarce had cheered the losers before the
launch came fussing up.
"Come aboard, Takia," shouted old Burke. "Ye come down wit' me an' see
what shape the German makes. He's drawn wit' th' _Rhondda_ in this
heat!"
Takia bundled aboard the launch and we hauled inshore to watch the
race.
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