I think Ruth has written you about our stay in London, so I will say
nothing about it except to advise you to avoid "private hotels."
Ruth has so many fine qualities that there must be some flaws or she
would not be long with us! One of them is this: If a person of whom
she is fond advised her to go to--well, I won't say it! no argument
would have any effect upon her. She would wish to start at once!
Well, that is over for the time, so let us forget it.
By good chance we met the Ingrams from Boston at the hotel, and they
told us, what any porter at a real hotel would have known, that the
race between Harvard and Cambridge was to take place that day, so we
started early in the car to get a good place on the river-bank. We
drew up near Mortlake, where there is a bend in the river, and which,
I was told, was the best place because the leading boat at that spot
has seldom, if ever, been passed.
It was one of those perfect days which redeems the English climate,
and shows that the poets must have had some experience of heavenly
weather, and not, as the cynics on our side of the water have
suggested, imagined the weather which they describe! The river was a
sight not soon to be forgotten. There were hundreds of punts on the
river and more pretty girls and stalwart young men than could be
assembled in any other country in the world, I suppose. All of those
were not on their way to the boat-race, however, but were the usual
Saturday crowd "out for a good time." We saw scores of punts tied up
to the trees on the river-bank, in which the girls were busy making
tea, and the boys, clad in white flannels, were smoking their
brierwoods. I suppose there was the usual amount of sentiment but it
was not in evidence. Indeed, both girls and boys seemed keen for tea!
The right bank of the river was lined with motors, while the path
through the meadows on the opposite side was crowded with those who
had come from town on buses and trams, and were now running along the
bank, seeking the best places from which to view the struggle. But
how a race could be rowed on that river was more than I could guess.
One could not have moved a skiff through the mass of boats which
crowded it from bank to bank. Yet nothing was done to clear the
course. I feared a foul. But just before the time for starting, a
little motor-boat shot out from the bank, and without any blowing of
whistles or shouting or confusion of any sort, but apparently in
answer to the simple request of the official standing in the bow of
the launch, boats and punts disappeared, as if by magic, and in a
twinkling the course was clear! I thought with shame of what would
be seen at home in like conditions--the noise and bullying, on the
one hand, and the overflowing of the course as soon as the backs of
the police were turned! But this was a striking exhibition at once
of the law-abiding spirit of the English and the equal respect of
individual rights. For, as I have said, the liberty of the
individual was respected up to the last moment, and then the crowd
willingly conceded the rights of the community.
Half New York seemed to be there, and one heard the shrill voices of
our charming compatriots as the word was passed along: "They are off!"
The betting was in favor of the English crew, and when the boats
appeared around the bend of the river, it was easy to see why it
should have been.
Harvard had the outside--slightly longer--course, but even so, it was
evident that they were outclassed. Better form I never saw than
Harvard showed. The men moved like a machine. There was no
splashing and no sound was heard as the boat swept by. Not so
Cambridge: the water was churned as if with a screw, and there was
much shouting. It may have been only the voice of the coxswain, but
I thought I distinguished several voices, but the boat _moved_, or,
rather, it seemed to leap, after each stroke, while the Harvard shell
seemed to settle and wait after each stroke for the next. Just as
they passed us Harvard spurted, and a gallant effort it was, but too
late, and Cambridge shot under the Mortlake bridge, nearly two
lengths ahead. Then I heard what I had never heard before--and what
I suppose cannot be heard out of England--the roar of a great
multitude. Our college yells seemed thin in comparison--the silence
settled down, and the river was filled again with the little boats,
which had scuttled to the banks to let the racers go by.
We went on our way wondering why it was that no amateur American crew
had ever beaten an English one in a four-mile race. When the car was
blocked by a mass of motors a little distance above the bridge, a
punt floated slowly by, and a nice-looking lad called out to me:
"Which won?" It never occurred to me that he, less than a mile from
the finish, did not know the result, when crowds were at that moment
reading the bulletins in Times Square and men were discussing it in
the clubs in Hong Kong.