The Harvard crew, although it had started out so beautifully, had not the stamina to endure the strain. No. 3 was pulling out of the boat, while No. 5 showed signs of distress. Yale begins to spurt. Her men are working like machinery. No one could dream that one of them was suffering the tortures of a being on the rack, and still such was the truth. A hundred times it seemed to Frank Merriwell that he must give out; a hundred times he set his teeth and vowed that he would die before he would weaken. No one could know the almost superhuman courage and fortitude which enabled him to keep up and continue his work in the proper manner. Those who watched the crew closely fancied that he worked with the utmost ease, for all of the long pull. Collingwood had forgotten Merriwell's felon. He was reckoning on the final spurt to bring "Old Eli" to the front. Harder and harder he worked his men. Now the uproar along the river was deafening. The prow of the Yale boat was at Harvard's stern--and then Yale began to creep along by Harvard's side. No. 7 of the Harvard crew reeled on his seat. Then he braced up and went at it again. But he was not in stroke. The faces of both crews were set. They were like gladiators battling for their very lives. In the Yale boat was one who seemed to be growing blind and numb. In his heart he was praying for strength as earnestly as he would have prayed for the salvation of his soul. Only a few moments more--he must hold out. The boats were side by side, and the excitement was simply indescribable. Such a finish was unprecedented. It was a race to be remembered for all years to come--to be spoken of with pride and discussed with wonder. Then came the moment when Collingwood drove his men for all there was in them. He was pitiless, and Yale shot into the lead. The line was crossed. Then cannons boomed and whistles shrieked. But in the Yale boat was one whose ears were deaf to all this tumult of sound. Frank Merriwell had fallen in the bottom of the boat in a dead faint. But Yale--Yale had won! CHAPTER XVIII. AFTER THE BOAT RACE. "Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax! Breka Co ax Co ax Co ax! O--up! O--up! Paraboleau! Yale! Yale! Yale! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah! Yale!!!" Imagine a thousand, full-lunged, hearty, healthy American lads shouting this cry in unison! It was a sound never to be forgotten by those who heard it. The victorious blue fluttered everywhere. Harvard had made a gallant fight, and it had been "nobody's race" almost to the finish. The Yale crew proved superior, but it won purely by brawn and stamina. Old oars confessed that up to the last half mile Harvard had shown better coaching and had seemed to establish the superiority of the Oxford oar and stroke over American methods.