and the few amongst us suspected of any
alliance with it were peremptorily ostracised.
"When the rival boat—the Eagle—made her
first voyage, we were generally of opinion
that some special visitation of Providence
would befall her—that her boiler would
burst, or, at least, that she would founder on
the bar at the river-mouth. So prevailing
was this expectation, that I doubt whether
any amount of premium would have induced
the branch offices in our town to insure the
lives of her passengers. In spite, however, of
all prognostics, the Eagle had the presumption
to arrive, not only safely, but an hour in
advance of the British Empire. It is true that
this audacity was rebuked by shouts of
execration from the populace, and the directors
and their dupes had to land under an escort
of constables, which they had prudently
secured. But still I think the impression
gradually deepened—that a vessel which
could perform a voyage in four hours must
be considered swifter than one which required
five for the same purpose, and that superior
speed might possibly result in superior
custom. To meet this emergency the vicar,
who had doubtless specific reasons, for
pronouncing eight miles an hour impious, urged
the prompt construction of a boat which
should ply at the orthodox rate of ten.
Our company accordingly built the Mercury,
which achieved a complete triumph over the
Eagle. Nothing daunted—the opposition set
a new vessel upon the stocks. She was to
eclipse competition at once and for ever. She
was to combine lightness with solidity—power
with speed. She was to work with double
engines, and her bow was to cleave the water
like a blade.

This paragon was duly launched and
named the Victory; then towed to London
for her fittings. On the day that she was to
perform her first passage against the Mercury,
public excitement in Winborough was at its
climax. As two o'clock (the possible hour of
arrival) drew near, both banks of the river
and the houses that overlooked it were
crowded with spectators. All the wealth,
beauty, and fashion of the neighbourhood
were assembled on the line of route. The
expectant mass at a tournament could hardly
have been more varied or more eager than we.
The people spoke but in whispers or in that
subdued undertone which marks the emotion
of suspense. The interest was indeed painful,
for our townsfolk had little hope as to the
result of the day. They thought of the Victory's
double engines, and prepared sternly for
defeat; nor had they any faith, as before, that
Providence would concern itself to frustrate
the enemy. At length two boomed slowly
from the old church-steeple. The wind which
lay towards the river bore to us the lingering
echoes which sounded to many like a
knell.

From this moment every eye was strained
up the winding banks to catch the first
smoke-wreath from the approaching rivals.
It was an oppressive thought that, before
another hour was pealed from the belfry,
their fate would be decided. For my part, I
almost wished we could have put back the
clock, so thrilling grew the crisis. The crowd
hardly breathed. An elderly gentleman,
seized with a fit of coughing, was rebuked
with a concentrated gaze of sternness, as if
he had committed some profane act. A boy,
who, spite of the solemn occasion, gave vent
to one of those shrill whoops, in which all
gamins delight, actually cowered before the
clenched fists which on all sides radiated to his
face like the spokes of a wheel to its centre.
At this juncture a member of the Midland
Hunt, whose course had lain up the river,
was seen galloping up on the opposite bank.
When within ear-shot he drew rein, and
shouted from stentorian lungs: "The Victory's
at Mallett's Dean, and half-a-mile a-head!"
Having said this, he turned to the right and
plunged into Lea Thicket.

The oracle had been uttered. The crowd
gave a heavy sigh, but it was partly of relief.
We had scarcely looked for better news, and
it was something that, though beaten, we
should not be disgraced. For a few minutes
there was a slight hum, which again lapsed
into silence. At length a cry broke forth,
"There, there by the poplars!" Looking to
that curve of the mazy river where groups of
those trees stood like sentinels, we saw a
trail of fire flash along their clumps. An
intervening hill for a moment baffled our
view, but almost instantly the red stream
rounded the hill-base. Not till then did we
see that the flame—flame without smoke—
issued from a black funnel, in front of which
a tall slender mast stood defined. There was
no longer doubt. It was the Victory! On
she came with spectral speed—flags streaming
from bow, mast, and stern; funnel flaring
from her heart of fire. And behind her—
rounding the hill with grand emulation, and
with billows of ebon smoke blown behind her
like hair—dashed the Mercury.

"Half-a-mile behind!" cried one; "not a
hundred yards."

"A hundred!—Say fifty," replied another,
after an interval.

"That was two minutes since," was the
rejoinder; "for see, neighbour, she gains—
she gains!"

Yes; for, as we afterwards learned, the
Victory's engines were too heavy for her
build. In passing our terrace, the Mercury
(she had reserved her power for a grand
dénouement) shot by her antagonist, and
from the decks of the former, till then silent,
burst forth the air of the Conquering Hero,
drowned in the hurrahs that rolled from
bank to bank, and in the pealing bells, which
on the mere chance of such a result, had been
ordered to proclaim it. I can well remember
how I clapped my hands in sympathy with
honest Roxby, who thought the subject epic