One! I am level with the stroke of the Old Boys' boat.

Two! Our fellows pull as if they had another half-mile to go still.

Three! The judge at the winning-post is lifting his hand and cocking his pistol.
Four! Crack goes the signal! and as our men cease rowing, and the boat shoots forward with the impetus of that last terrific stroke, amid the cheers and shouts of the assembled crowd, I breathe again, knowing that the Parkhurst boat has won, by three yards, the grandest race in which it was ever my lot to take part..