Before half the distance back was covered he showed unmistakable signs of going to pieces, and--a very ominous sign--took to changing from one side to another at very frequent intervals.
Of course we "fivers" howled with delight! Our man had never turned a hair, and was now pulling up at every stroke.

As he drew level, Chesney gathered up all his remaining strength for a spurt.

But it came to nothing.

Jim held on his way almost remorselessly, and headed his man fifty yards from the winning-post; and the next thing we saw was Chesney pulling up dead, and making for the bank in a very feeble condition.
Jim quietly swam on amid our frantic plaudits, and landed pretty nearly as fresh as when he started.
So far so good.

Loud and long were our exultations, for we had hardly expected to win this race; we had put our chief confidence on the hundred yards, which was to follow.