Walter Brown held the nose of the Harvard boat, and John Phelps, a rugged looking Thames waterman, had his grip fastened on the Oxford boat, waiting for the word to go. Loring's eyes are blazing with unwonted fire; Darbishire seems confident and easy, with his ears dilated like a pointer, and a death-like silence reigns all over that swarming river--just now the noise was deafening; the Americans have ceased to drink any more brandy and soda; Tom Hughes looks up the river to see if all is clear; Mr. Lord, of the Thames Conservancy, reports all clear--and the bulky figure of Blakey, the starter of the race, is seen to ascend the paddle-box of the Lotus steamer, and his voice rings over the water, and is heard with a thrill, for the decisive moment has come at last. "I shall ask," says Blakey, "are you _Ready_--are you _Ready_, and if you do not stop me I shall give the word Go, after which God speed you both." "Are you ready?" "No!" shouts Darbishire. "Are you ready?" "No!" again, distinct and clear, from Darbishire. "Are you _Ready_?" No answer this time from either crew. "GO!" A hundred thousand throats, as if made of cast-iron, bellow forth: a hundred thousand eyes are dazzled for a moment as the diamond drops fall from the upraised blue blades of Oxford and the white blades of Harvard. Walter Brown executes a war dance in an instant after he has sent the Harvard shell a full length on its way. The 'Rah, 'Rah, 'Rah, of Harvard pierces the air; the masses on the banks of the river begin to show incipient symptoms of madness. Both boats are off, Harvard pulling like demons, and Oxford has just got into her careless, easy swing, pumping away like machines. The two steamers start on a helter-skelter race, and the greatest boat race the world ever saw has just begun for better or for worse. [Sidenote: HARVARD'S LIGHTNING STROKE.] No man that day who witnessed the start of the two boats--the terrific spring of the Harvard crew, and the cool, rythmical measure of the Oxford stroke--can ever forget that moment of moments, unless, indeed, his blood be thinner than water and his pulse of ice. The Harvard crew caught the water first, and were well on their way before the crowds were recovered from the shock. Loring swept away like a tiger after his prey, and Burnham--who had won the toss for choice of position, steered in on the Middlesex shore, the Oxford crew having won a blank, and having to keep in, consequently, on the Surrey side--showing very good judgment at first, and keeping his boat well under way. It was but a minute, and Harvard was a full length clear in the water of the Oxford boat, Loring pulling forty-two strokes a minute, and Simmond's elbows going backward and forward like a steam engine.