THE GREAT RACE
"Clifford leads!"
"This is what we've been waiting for!"
"Look at Bellport pull up, will you? Go it, you tigers! Hurrah!"
"Careful, Frank, careful, boy!"
Amidst the riot and confusion of sounds that listening ear of the young
Columbia coxswain caught this last shout through the megaphone.
He realized that it sprang from the coach, who was moving along the
road that skirted the river all the way up to Rattail Island, keeping
pace with the boats.
Frank knew what he was to do, and glanced immediately toward the spot
from whence the admonition had sprung. He saw Coach Willoughby waving
his arm in a certain way. That meant he was to slightly increase his
motion, and bring the pull of the oars up two strokes to the minute.
In a race of this sort each boat is looked upon as a unit, and every
man aboard reckons himself a spoke in the wheel, or a cog in the whole
machine. Every eye is supposed to be fastened exclusively on the figure
of the coxswain, and movements must be wholly regulated by his.
It matters not to the sturdy rowers that a competing boat begins to
crawl past them, foot by foot. They are not supposed to know the
circumstances, everything being left entirely in the care of the one
who is there to guide their destinies.
Against the current of the Harrapin they set themselves, and such was
the vigor of their stroke that they seemed to fairly fly up-stream.
"Did you ever see such splendid time? The four-oared race wasn't in the
same class as this!" cried more than one enthusiastic spectator, as
watches were compared after the three boats had vanished around that
bend.
Frank's crew consisted for the most part of young athletes who had
already distinguished themselves during the season on the baseball
diamond, and were instrumental in fetching the coveted pennant to
Columbia High.
Roderic Seymour was stroke oar; although he had just graduated from the
school he was eligible as a member of the crew, according to the rules
and regulations by which the three towns had bound themselves.
Besides this sturdy rower there were seven others, and each one capable
of filling the position he occupied. They came in the following order:
"Lanky" Wallace,
Paul Bird,
Jack Comfort,
"Chatz" McGregor,
Launcelot Jones,
Ben Allison,
"Crackers" Smith.
When the turn of the river shut out all view of the race from the great
crowds clustered about the home stake, their enthusiasm naturally waned
for the time being. They wanted to reserve their wind for the time
when the boats would once more shoot into view; and every minute was a
tremendous strain to the faithful adherents of the several schools.
Which crew would be leading when once more a glimpse could be had of
a shell? It was a question that just then overshadowed in the minds
of those boys all national subjects. A Babel of voices attested to
the fact that disputes were many, although, as a rule, these were
good-natured enough.
But while the shouting near the railroad bridge may have slackened, the
ears of the contestants had no rest. All along the road were posted
squads of wild lookers-on, who took up the refrain, and madly chanted
in unison the various school yells, until one would think that Bedlam
had broken loose.
Half way up to the island Columbia High seemed to be holding her own,
with Clifford pressing close at her side, and Bellport lingering just
in the rear, ready to push ahead at the least sign of a break.
Frank was holding his men in reserve to some extent. He knew the
stamina of that Clifford team. They had the reputation of being
tremendous finishers. It was the furious rush of that last half mile
that he dreaded; and all because of Jonsey, the weak spoke in the wheel.
The island loomed up ahead. Scores of Clifford people had taken up
their stations on it, so as to witness the turn. They knew everybody
could not be at the finish, and preferred half a loaf to no bread.
"Get out the way there with those boats! Do you want to have an
accident?"
It was Coach Willoughby roaring through his megaphone, and his voice
carried like a fog horn signal. A number of pleasure boats had
clustered about the upper end of the island, and unless they made a
hasty move it was possible that one of the contestants might collide
with a rowboat or a launch.
Immediately there was a scurrying. Boats fled to the right and left.
"Pull in closer to the shore, you fellows! Quick now!"
They seemed to recognize authority in that voice, and hastened to obey.
It was well that some one had taken the matter in hand in time; for a
possible chance for friction that would have caused ill feelings if
nothing more, was avoided.
Frank's wisdom in going over the course so frequently in a small boat,
so as to note each eddy or each snag that might bring ruin to the hopes
of the contestants, was justified.
But the other coxswains had done the same. During the week past
each of them had paid quiet visits to the island, and rowed down to
Columbia, with the same object in view. As a result there were no
serious accidents, such as getting aground, or striking half-concealed
rocks.
The committee had marked a number of bad places, and it was the
business of the keen-eyed steersman to avoid these obstructions.
Rounding the island, Columbia High was still in the lead. Indeed, Frank
had managed to increase the pace to such an extent that the prow of
Clifford's shell just balanced the stern of Columbia's; while Bellport
hung on to the immediate rear, very much after the manner of a bulldog,
awaiting its opportunity. At a sign of weakness on the part of either
of the others, Bellport had planned to shoot up and dislodge that
participant.
The waiting game has won many a race. At the same time frequently the
expected chance does not come until it is too late to overtake the
leader.
Once around Rattail Island and the chase was for home. Now the current
favored the hardy young rivals, and it might be expected that their
pace would increase to an extraordinary extent.
Frank settled himself for the terrific strain. Every nerve was on
edge. He kept his eyes moving to the right and left ahead, but never
once turned to see where the other boats might be. That was none of
his business, with a watchful coach on the shore to attend to all such
things.
Three times had the umpire called out warnings to one of the
contestants. Bellport was crowding into Clifford; or in another case
the former seemed to be taking water that by rights belonged to
Bellport, and thus preventing the other boat from shooting alongside if
so inclined.
There had been no actual fouling. These contestants were boys of honor,
who did not wish to win a race by trickery or jockeying methods. It
must be a clean win calculated to stand the closest scrutiny in order
to satisfy all parties.
Down the river they shot like arrows speeding from stout bows.
The din now was fairly deafening, and each rower's muscles were
strained to the utmost to hold out. Frank knew from the coach's
gestures that he had increased his lead to some two boat lengths, and
that Clifford was not gaining a foot despite the herculean efforts of
her trained rowers.
If the Columbia High boys could only hold their own the race was
already as good as won. But Frank began to be alarmed. He watched
the whole crew, but much of his attention was taken up with a single
member, and that, Jonsey.
The fellow had done nobly thus far. His ambition was tremendous, and in
fact he allowed himself to be carried away with it, so that there were
times when the port side seemed to be outpulling the starboard four.
Jonsey was showing positive signs of distress when the boats flew
around the bend, and came in sight of the goal. Oh! if he could only
hold out just so many seconds more! It was agony to Frank to see his
wobbly motions, as the boy strove to do his level best.
Half the distance had been covered, and the final dash was before them.
Would Clifford be able to make another spurt? If so there was a chance
for them to win.
But the pace had been so exceedingly hot all the way down from the
island stake that Clifford lacked the breath to add a single stroke to
their already rapid headway, much as they desired to do so. Perhaps the
watchful coxswain in the Clifford boat had already seen the tottering
form of poor Jonsey, and he was basing his calculations on what seemed
imminent.
Frank almost ceased to draw his breath, so intense was the strain. They
were now not more than two hundred yards from the railroad bridge, with
the clamor all around them. But Jonsey was weakening fast! He seemed to
move mechanically, and his pull lacked steam, so that his mates were
forced to put on extra efforts in order to counteract the disastrous
effect of his failing powers.
So far as utility went, Jonsey had already become "dead wood." What
Frank feared most was that in his collapse he might confuse the other
rowers, and break up the rhythm of the stroke, so that Clifford would
forge ahead at the finish.
And then the end came!
Jonsey just crumpled up, and fell over as though incapable of further
motion. He seemed to be making a move as if wishing to topple
overboard; but lacking the power simply curled backward.
A shriek from the shore in a thousand voices told that the adherents
of Clifford were fully awake to the great opportunity now presented to
their crew to make a desperate dash to overtake and pass Columbia!