Oxford steers out from the Surrey bank to shoot the bridge, and "Little Corpus" makes a circuit to avoid an eddy where the tide is bad, while Burnham is mad enough to go away from the race by giving room to Darbishire's boat, whose coxswain never loses an inch by weak or ill-judged steering, Burnham going out of his way too much to accommodate Oxford, instead of keeping on and taking Oxford's water in a direct line. It was at this place that Harvard lost the race, wholly by Burnham's bad steering and Loring's nervousness. "Oh, my God! what are you doing Burnham, why do you steer so?" shouts an excited Yale man in the Press boat thinking vainly that Burnham will hear him; but Harvard is too far on our bow to hear the warning voice, and here she loses a full half length. The excitement is now beyond description. From all the vast stagings that are erected on the Surrey side, decorated with English bunting and covered with thousands of people, comes a glad swell of triumph, borne on the breeze, and striking despair to every American heart. Now, at this moment, after shooting Hammersmith bridge, Loring's oar seems to hang loosely from the gunwale of the boat, and his head is bent forward as if he were about to faint. In an instant the coxswain, Burnham, dashes water into his face and chest, and repeats the ablution five or six times, throwing the water also on Simmonds, who is weakened from the pace he has been pulling. The Harvard stroke now goes down to 42, to 41, and to 40; for Loring is knocked up, and the pulling is being done by Fay, on the bow side, in despair. Elliott, the boat-builder, standing on the paddle-box of the Lotus, is black in the face from shouting, "Harvard! Harvard!" "Pull up Harvard!" [Sidenote: OXFORD'S VENGEANCE STROKE.] There goes that same steady, wonderful, glorious stroke of Oxford, like the knell of doom, not to be stopped until victory perches on her gallant crew. At Chiswick Island Loring spurted and made a despairing effort; but the man is sick and gone for the race, and it is no use hallooing now, for Oxford forges past the Harvard boat with a will and power that calls forth a shout from the assembled multitude, which rings in the ears of Loring's crew like a sentence of death.