outward-bounder made old man Burke's face beam like a nor'west moon.

"A chance for ye now, byes," he shouted. "An open race, bedad! Ye've
nothin' t' be afraid of if th' _James Flint_ goes t' sea by Saturday!"

Great was our joy at the prospect of the Yankee's sailing. The 'Frisco
Merchants' Cup was to be rowed for on Saturday. It was a mile-and-half
race for ships' boats, and three wins held the Cup for good. Twice, on
previous years, the _Hilda's_ trim gig had shot over the line--a
handsome winner. If we won again, the Cup was ours for keeps! But
there were strong opponents to be met this time. The _James Flint_ was
the most formidable. It was open word that Bully Nathan was keen on
winning the trophy. Every one knew that he had deliberately sought out
boatmen when the whalers came in from the north. Those who had seen
the Yankee's crew at work in their snaky carvel-built boat said that no
one else was in it. What chance had we boys in our clinker-built
against the thews and sinews of trained whalemen? It was no wonder
that we slapped our thighs at the prospect of a more open race.

Still, even with the Yankee gone, there were others in the running.
There was the _Rhondda_ that held the Cup for the year, having won when
we were somewhere off the Horn; then the _Hedwig Rickmers_--a Bremen
four-master--which had not before competed, but whose green-painted gig
was out for practice morning and night. We felt easy about the
_Rhondda_ (for had we not, time and again, shown them our stern on the
long pull from Green St. to the outer anchorage?), but the Germans were
different. Try as we might, we could never pull off a spurt with them.
No one knew for certain what they could do, only old Schenke, their
skipper, and he held his tongue wisely.