It was a moment of intense excitement, not only to the crews of the boats, but to hundreds of spectators on the shore.
It was undeniably true that the Zephyrs, in spite of the warnings which Frank had given them, were very much excited, and various were the expedients which the boys used to calm their agitation, or at least to conceal it.

But it was also true that the Butterflies were much more excited.

Discipline and experience had not schooled them in the art of "being mere machines," and they found it much more difficult than the Zephyrs to subdue their troublesome emotions.
The eventful moment had come.

The oarsmen were bent forward ready to strike the first stroke, and the coxswains were leaning back ready to time the movement.

Captain Sedley was gazing intently at the dial of his "second indicator," prepared to give Uncle Ben the word to fire.
"Ready, Ben--fire!" Bang! went the cannon.
"Pull!" shouted Frank and Tony in the same breath.
Fortunately every oarsman in both boats hit the stroke exactly, and away leaped the gallant barks.
As Frank had deemed it probable, the Butterfly shot a length ahead of her rival after pulling a few strokes; but though the noise of the oars informed his crew of their relative positions, not an eye was turned from him, not a muscle yielded in the face of the dispiriting fact, and not a member quickened his stroke in order to retrieve the lost ground.
Even Tim Bunker, who was supposed to have more feeling in regard to the race than the others, maintained an admirable self-possession.