grunt with which the coming toilers relieved the extra exertion now
demanded of them;--yet later, they saw them spring to their feet, reach
far back, and finish the long deep draw by falling, or rather toppling
backward to their seats.

Only the hamari eschewed the resort for the present. He cast a look
forward, and said quickly: "Attend, comrades!" Thereupon he added weight
to his left delivery, altering the course to an angle which, if pursued,
must widen the circle around the galley instead of contracting it.

On nearing the goal the rush of the boats grew fiercer; each foreman,
considering it honor lost, if not a fatal mischance, did he fail to be
first at the turning-point, persisted in driving straight forward--a
madness which the furious yelling of the people on the marker's deck
intensified. This was exactly what the hamari had foreseen. When the
turn began five of the opposing vessels ran into each other. The boil
and splash of water, breaking of oars, splintering of boatsides; the
infuriate cries, oaths, and blind striving of the rowers, some intent on
getting through at all hazards, some turned combatants, striking or
parrying with their heavy oaken blades; the sound of blows on breaking
heads; plunges into the foaming brine; blood trickling down faces and
necks, and reddening naked arms--such was the catastrophe seen in its
details from the overhanging gunwale of the galley. And while it went
on, the worse than confused mass drifted away from the ship's side,
leaving a clear space through which, with the first shout heard from him
during the race, the hamari urged his crew, and rounded the goal.

On the far Therapian shore the multitude were silent. They could dimly
see every incident at the turn--the collision, fighting, and manifold
mishaps, and the confounding of the banderoles. Then the Stenia colors