Meanwhile Mnestheus in the _Pristis_, and Sergestus in the _Centaur_, were still rowing a keen race, and as they neared the turning point the _Centaur_ was leading by half a length. Seeing the wild steering of the _Chimæra_, which was yawing and losing way under the unskilful hand of Gyas, Mnestheus strode up and down the gangway, calling loudly to his crew: “Now show your mettle, my braves! Ye who have fought at Hector’s side, and defied a thousand perils on land and sea, save your captain from the dishonor of coming in last.” His men respond gallantly to the call; the huge hull of the _Pristis_ trembles under their mighty strokes, and the white wake boils and foams behind them. And as they strain and tug at their ponderous oars, with parched throats and heaving chests, suddenly a loud crash announces that fortune has come to their aid; for the _Centaur_, taking the curve too short, has stuck fast on a projecting ridge, and hangs, with shattered prow and broken oars, on the rocks. While the crew are busy with long poles, trying to get her off, the rival _Pristis_ sweeps triumphantly past her, clears the dangerous shallows, and enters deep water again, homeward bound. And first she passes the _Chimæra_, who has lost her helmsman, and cannot keep a straight course; then hard after the _Scylla_ she flies, and seems gaining on her with every stroke. Nearer and nearer creeps the _Pristis_; louder and louder grow the shouts of the waiting multitude on the shore, whose feelings have been wound up to the wildest excitement by the sudden changes of fortune and the startling incidents of this memorable race. Already the prow of the _Pristis_ is overlapping the stern of the _Scylla_, when a sudden fury seems to enter into the crew of the leading vessel, and, as if thrust forward from below by a giant’s hand, she makes a great bound in advance of her pursuer, and gains the harbor. The race was over, and the victorious captains, crowned with laurel, were flaunting their honors proudly before their admiring comrades. Cloanthus, the captain of the _Scylla_, received as first prize a rich mantle, with a double waving border of Tyrian purple, on which was embroidered the story of the rape of Ganymede—a living picture, showing the lovely boy, seized in the midst of his woodland sports, and borne skyward in the talons of a gigantic eagle; while below him were seen his dogs, leaping and baying in wild excitement, and a group of aged attendants, with hands uplifted, and lips parted in speechless dismay. A hundred eyes were curiously scanning this rare device when a loud laugh from the crowd on the shore announced the return of the unlucky _Centaur_. Like a wounded snake, crushed by the wheel of a passing wagon, she came crawling slowly through the harbor mouth, and landed her crestfallen crew, among whom was Menœtes, the _Chimæra’s_ helmsman, still damp from his involuntary bath. [1] Shark. THE FOOT RACE By H. L. Havell