There could be no thought of not winning;
the imminence of the supreme test had served to fill him with the
consciousness of indomitable strength, to thrill his muscles with
the call for tremendous action.
As the shell swept around a point of land, a volume of sound rolled
across the waters. Out of the corner of his eye he caught view of
the long observation-train, vibrant with animation, the rival
colours commingled so that all emblem of collegiate affiliation was
lost in a merger of quivering hue. A hill near the starting-line on
the other side of the river was black with spectators, who indeed
filled points of vantage all down the four miles of the course. The
clouds above the western hills were turning crimson; the waters had
deepened to purple and were still and silent.
"There, you hell-dogs!" The voice of the coxswain rasped in its
combativeness. "Out there is Shelburne; ahead of us at the line. Who
says it'll be the last time she'll be ahead of us?"
Along the beautiful line of brown, swinging bodies went a low growl,
a more vicious rattle of the oarlocks.
Suddenly as Jim Deacon swung forward, a moored skiff swept past his
blade, the starting-line.
"Weigh all." The coxswain's command was immediately followed by
others designed to work the boat back to proper starting-position.
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