An empty boat, insecurely moored to the bank, has got adrift, and is calmly floating up with the tide in mid- stream along our very course! What is to be done?
The other boat, being on the opposite side, can easily clear the obstacle, but not so ours.

Either we must put our bows across our enemy's water, and so run the risk of a "foul," and consequent defeat, or else we must lose ground by slackening our pace and going out of our course to avoid the unlucky boat.

There are not ten seconds in which to decide; but that suffices me to choose the latter alternative, trusting to the rowing powers of our crew to make up the disadvantage.
"Look to your oars, stroke side!" I cry, and at the same time pull my rudder line quickly.
It was as I expected.

The boat lost ground instantly, and I could see, out of the corner of my eye, the Old Boys' boat shoot forward with a quickened stroke, and hear the triumphant shouts of their partisans.
A second or two sufficed to get past the obstructing boat, our oars on the stroke side just scraping it as we did so; but as we headed again into our proper course, we saw our opponents two clear boats' lengths in front, their men pulling with all the energy of triumph and confidence.
It was a sight to make one despair.

How were we ever to make up that tremendous gap?
"How much ?" Blades inquires, as he swings forward towards me.
"Two!" I reply.
He sets his face determinedly, and quickens his stroke.