"Clear away the bowlines!" roared the Lieutenant. "Man the after-braces! Be lively, lads--lower away!" With a cheer, the men of the crew--picked oarsmen and ex-whalemen they were--Nantucket and New Bedford fellows--jumped to the side. The long, narrow boat was lowered with half her crew in her. The other half slid down the falls. Mr. Edwards leaned over the side, holding his hat on with both his hands. "Mr. Emmett," cried he, "you bring back that man; don't let the Britishers beat you!" The midshipman looked up, touched his cap, and grinned. The man handling the steering-oar was a grizzled, hawk-nosed down-easter. Many a time had he brought his boat up to the side of a whale when the seas were running high, and when it would have appeared that a small boat could not have lived, much less fight the greatest, strongest beast to be found on all this earth. The excitement of the moment cut into the blood of the oarsmen. They were going down with the wind, and they fairly jumped the boat from one wave-crest to the other. But occasionally, as a heavier sea would come up astern of them, they would race down and lag for an instant in the hollow until lifted by the next. The tall Yankee must have been reminded of the time when he raced with the other rival boats in order to get fast with the harpoon first, for he began encouraging in the old whaleman fashion:-- "Give way, my lads, give way! A long, steady stroke now! Do ye love gin? A bottle of gin to the best man!" forgetting that he was no longer the first mate of the old _Penobscot_. "Oh, pile it on while you have breath! pile it on! On with the beef, my bullies!" The men, with set teeth and straining backs, were catching together beautifully, despite the fact that the wind threatened to twist the oars out of their grasp. The little middy, sitting in the stern sheets, had folded his arms; but he was swinging backward and forward to every lift and heave, with the same strange grin upon his face. And now the steersman caught sight of the English boat as she hove up to the top of a great wave. It was plain that they had lost sight of the object they were seeking. "Oars!" cried the steersman. The men ceased rowing, and watched him with anxious and nervous eyes, waiting for the word to get down to it again. "There he is, Mr. Emmett! about a half a mile away there, sir, almost dead ahead! And egad, they see him too!" for just as he had spoken the English sweeps had caught the water with a plash. Once more the boat-steerer's tongue was set awagging. It was a race now down the two sides of a triangle; a fair race and a grand one. "Every devil's imp of you pull! No talking; lay back to it! Now or never!" yelled the steerer. The heavy English cutter, with her eight men at the oars, had caught the fever too, and the five rowers in the Yankee boat had work cut out for them. The midshipman was now standing up, balancing himself easily, with his legs spread wide apart.