The few days that intervened between the Saturday of Brown's party and
the Wednesday of the great race were days of restless suspense in
Willoughby. Even Welch's caught the contagion, and regretted at the
last hour that they had withdrawn from the all-important contest. As to
the other two Houses, there never had been a year when the excitement
ran so high or the rivalry grew so keen. Somehow the entire politics of
Willoughby appeared to be mixed up in the contest, and it seemed as if
the result of this one struggle was to decide everything.
The crews had worked hard up to the last, watched morning and evening by
anxious spectators from the bank. The trials had been carefully noted
and times compared, the variations in style had been eagerly criticised,
the weights of the rowers had become public property, and in short every
detail likely to influence the result was a subject of almost painful
interest to the eager partisans on either side.
And every hour seemed to promise a closer race. Not that Parrett's had
fallen off. On the contrary, they still remained what they had been all
along, the smartest and strongest crew that Willoughby had ever put upon
the river. But the schoolhouse boat had made wonderful strides. It was
long since it had ceased to be the laughingstock of the hostile juniors,
and it was some time since its appearance and work had begun to cause a
shade of uneasiness in the minds of a few of the rival house.
Fairbairn, far from Bloomfield's match in physique or style, had yet
displayed an amount of steady, determined work which had astonished most
fellows, and inspired with confidence not only his partisans on the
bank, but the three oarsmen at his back. By dint of patient, untiring
practice he had worked his crew up to a pitch of training scarcely hoped
for, and every day the schoolhouse boat had gained in style and speed.
Had the race been a fortnight or three weeks later few boys would have
cared to prophesy definitely as to the result. As it was, though
Parrett's was morally bound to win, it was clear the race would be a
fierce one, and hardly fought every foot.
Such was the general opinion in Willoughby that Tuesday evening after
the last practice had come to an end, and when the boats were finally
housed for the night only to reappear next day in racing trim.
Young Wyndham, as he sat in Riddell's study with his books before him,
could as soon have done a stroke of work as fly over the schoolhouse
elms. Indeed, it was such a farce for him even to make the attempt that
he shut up his books and gave up the idea.
"I say, Riddell," he said, presently, addressing the captain, who,
though excited too after his own fashion, was poring determinedly over
his work.
"Well?" asked he, looking up.
"I say, _do_ you think there's any chance of our boat winning?"
The boy asked the question so anxiously that one might have supposed his
whole happiness in life depended on the answer.
"It's very hard to say," said Riddell. "I think we have some chance, at
any rate."
"You did the course in as good time as Parrett's yesterday, didn't you?"
said Wyndham.
"Yes, but we had a better tide," said Riddell.
Wyndham's face clouded, for he knew it was true.
"You _must_ win, I say," said he, almost fiercely.
Riddell smiled.
"I mean to oblige you if I can, for one," said he.
"If they win," said Wyndham, "it'll be--"
But what it would be the youthful enthusiast lacked words to express.
Riddell turned again to his writing.
"Hadn't you better finish your work?" said he.
"Oh, I can't!" exclaimed Wyndham. "Who could work just before the
race?"
So saying, he got up and gathered together his things.
Riddell was sorry for this. He had hoped the boy would stay. Amid all
his fresh duties the new captain had kept his eye on his old friend's
brother, and of late he had seen things which made him uneasy. Wyndham
was on friendly terms again with his two undesirable patrons, and
simultaneously his work in the library and his visits to Riddell's own
study had become less regular. It all meant something, Riddell knew;
and he knew, too, that that something was not any good. He made one
attempt to detain the boy.
"You aren't going?" he said kindly.
"Yes. It's really no use grinding, to-night, Riddell."
"Won't you stop and keep me company, though?" asked the captain.
"You're working," said the boy. "I'll come to-morrow. Good-night."
And he went, leaving Riddell very uncomfortable. Why should he be so
eager to go? Why should he always seem so restless now whenever he was
in that study? Why should he always avoid any reference to--
Ah! here he was back again. A gleam of hope shot through Riddell's
breast as he saw the door open and Wyndham re-enter. Perhaps, after
all, the boy was going to stay and give him a chance. But no, Wyndham
had come back for his knife, which Riddell had borrowed for sharpening a
pencil. That was all he wanted; and having recovered it he departed
quickly.
Riddell spent the rest of that evening in low spirits. He had been
baulked, and worse than that, he felt other hands were playing their
game more successfully, and that amongst them all young Wyndham was
going wrong.
So the eve of the great boat-race was anything but a cheerful evening
for the new captain.
But with the morning even Riddell could hardly harbour any thoughts
outside the event of the day. Morning school that Wednesday was a farce
all over Willoughby. Even the doctor seemed absent-minded, while one or
two of the junior masters gave up the attempt in despair.
The race was fixed for three o'clock, when the tide would be running up
at its fastest, and long before that hour every advantageous point of
view on the banks was secured by eager spectators. These were by no
means all Willoughby boys, for the school boat-race was always more or
less of an event in Shellport itself, whose inhabitants flocked in large
numbers to the scene of the contest.
Carnages lined the banks on either side for a considerable distance, and
as usual the doctor's party assembled in great force on Willow Point.
The towing-path was jealously kept clear for the schoolboys, who trooped
down in force the moment after lunch, and took possession of their
places along the course. Some crowded at the starting-point. These
were chiefly the more athletic heroes of the school, whose flannels and
running-shoes bespoke their intention of following the race on foot.
Others, less actively inclined, massed at various critical points along
the course, some at the finish, but more opposite Willow Point, which
being just three-quarters of the way down, and almost within view of the
goal, was generally considered the most advantageous point of view of
the whole race.
At this point, in a snug corner above the path, with a fine view of the
sharp bend of the river, and of the reaches up and down stream which met
there, sat Gilks and Silk. They knew probably as well as any one that
the crisis of the race was pretty sure to be played out at Willow
Corner, and not a few late comers looked up at their commanding perch
with envy.
"Where's the young 'un?" said Silk.
"Running with the race," said Gilks. "I couldn't dissuade him. He's
gone daft over the thing."
Silk laughed.
"I'm afraid it'll be a blow to him, then. Young fool. I say, he was at
his father confessor's last night. I wonder if he'll let out about
Saturday night?"
"Not he. That is," said Gilks, viciously, "I don't think he will."
"Well, it might be warmish for him if he did."
"Very warmish," said Gilks, with a scowl, which it was just as well for
Wyndham's comfort he did not see.
There was a silence, during which Gilks whistled to himself, and Silk
regarded his ally with a smile.
"You are a nice boy!" he broke out presently. And the laugh which
greeted this very unoriginal observation closed the conversation for a
time.
Meanwhile, down at the boat-house things were getting very lively.
Telson, Philpot, Pilbury, Cusack, King, and other of our juvenile
friends, who, with their usual modesty, proposed to run along with the
race, and now formed part of the crowd which awaited the start, kept up
a boisterous chorus of shouts, some of defiance, some of derision, some
of applause, addressed alternately to foe and friend.
The young Welchers especially, having no personal interest in the race,
felt themselves delightfully free to make themselves objectionable to
all parties, and took full advantage of the circumstance.
They howled at everybody and everything. Whenever King and Bosher
greeted the appearance of the Parrett's boat with a friendly cheer they
hooted; and no sooner did Telson sing out to welcome the crew of his
house, but they caterwauled derisively in the same direction.
"Jolly lot _they_ know about rowing!" yelled Cusack.
"Why don't you give them some lessons?" retorted Telson, hotly.
"Boo--hoo! Who got kicked out his boat! Young muller, couldn't steer a
tub."
"I'll tub you, young Pilbury, see if I don't, presently," replied
Telson.
"Never mind them," shouted King, "can't even make up a boat; pack of
funks, all of them!"
"Hullo! who are you?" cried Philpot, rounding on these new assailants.
"We'd have a boat, never fear, if there was any chance of fair play."
"Lot of fair play you'd want, to turn the boat round and round and catch
crabs every other second!"
"There are our fellows!" cried Wyndham, raising a loud cheer as
Fairbairn, Coates, Porter, Crossfield, and Riddell appeared on the
landing stage.
"Hurrah! schoolhouse, hurrah!"
"Ye-ow, look at them--there's a lot!" hooted the Welchers.
"There's old Parson!" yelled Telson, Bosher, and King, as the youthful
hero in question strutted magnificently down to the landing.
"What cheer, stuck-up jackass?" howled the Welchers, with an insulting
laugh; "why don't you grin?"
This remark was suggested by Parson grandly waving his handkerchief and
smiling to his admiring friends.
But it is time to quit these friends and make our way to the boats
themselves, which now lie waiting for their crews to embark.
This is always a tedious process for onlookers. The shifting of
stretchers, the getting-out of oars, the arrangement of rudder strings,
and the delicate trimming of the boat, may be interesting enough to the
crews themselves, but only feed the impatience of onlookers.
And as usual hitches are bound to occur. Coates has got the oar
belonging to Crossfield. And when this mistake has been remedied,
Bloomfield in the other boat suddenly discovers that his stretcher is a
little weak, and insists on waiting till a new one is brought.
Finally everything is ready, and the two boats slowly swing out into
mid-stream. The schoolhouse boat has won the toss, for it takes up the
inside berth, amid the triumphant cheers of its partisans.
"Hurrah! you're inside," they cry.
"Mind you put them into the bank," is the derisive echo of the enemy.
"Now, Fairbairn; now, you fellows," cries Wyndham's voice.
"Now, boss Riddell--mind your eye. Pull your left when you want to go
right," shout the facetious Welchers.
Riddell had long got past the stage of being flurried by shouts from the
bank. He feels nervous undoubtedly, but he does not look it, as he
quietly tries his rudder-lines and settles himself on his seat.
Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting
for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally
composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.
But the Parrett's crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside
berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are
undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.
Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past,
and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they
forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like
mad.
"Bravo Parrett's. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You're to win."
Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.
"Go it, you cripples!" cries Cusack, encouragingly; "no milksop
captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!"
All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the
little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies
himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat
and shouts the usual question.
The next moment he gives the word, and the two boats dart forward like
arrows from a bow, and the race has begun.
Gilks and Silk up above Willow Corner heard the shout which greeted the
start, and turned anxiously towards the direction from which it came.
"They're off now!" said Silk, trying to appear more unconcerned than he
really was.
"Yes; no mistake about it!" said Gilks, whose anxiety was certainly not
less than that of his friend.
"How long before we see them?"
"Three minutes; they ought to get into the School Reach by then."
Neither spoke for a minute. Then Silk said, "What a row the fellows are
making!"
"Yes," said Gilks; "there's a bigger crowd than I ever saw down this
year."
Another silence. And then presently in the far distance, at the end of
the School Reach, they could see first the smoke of Mr Parrett's
launch, then a black moving crowd on the bank, and finally two white
specks on the water.
"There they are!" said Gilks.
"Can you tell which is which?" asked Silk.
"No, not yet."
An anxious minute followed. The doctor and his party on the point
opposite left their tent and came down to the water's edge; spectators
who had been getting tired of waiting now freshened up and made final
and desperate attempts to improve their position, while those who meant
to fall in with the runners buttoned their jackets and turned up their
trouser ends.
"Schoolhouse inside!" exclaimed Gilks, suddenly, as the sun momentarily
caught the blue oars of the inside boat.
This was all that could be ascertained for the moment. From where they
sat the blue and the red flags seemed to be coming towards them exactly
abreast.
The crowd advanced with a roar, above which it was impossible to hear
the name of the leading crew. But presently, as the two boats
approached the corner, a slight turn inwards enabled them to answer the
question for themselves.
"We lead!" exclaimed Silk.
Silk was a Welcher and Gilks a schoolhouse boy, but "we" meant
Parrett's.
Yes, the red flag was ahead, though only a little.
"How long before they're at the point?"
"Half a minute. I say, how splendidly the schoolhouse are steering,
though!"
Silk laughed. "More than Parrett's are! Young Parson's taking them
round rather sharp, isn't he?"
"No; he always turns in like that; it's better than the long sweep. Now
look out!"
During this brief dialogue the two boats had come on towards the corner.
As far as Gilks and Silk could see at present Parrett's led by about
half a length, which advantage, however, it stood to lose owing to its
outside position at the corner. Parson, however, knew what he was about
even better than Riddell, who had kept a magnificent course down the
reach, but who now seemed afraid to take full advantage of the sharp
corner. The Parrett's coxswain, on the other hand, with his half-length
to the good, began turning his boat's head early, even at the risk of
running dangerously close on his rival's water, and so saved as much as
possible of the lost ground.
It was an anxious moment, for as the boats came round that corner so the
race usually depended. The crowd on the banks well knew the crisis, and
shouted out their warnings and encouragements to the rival coxswains
with redoubled eagerness.
"Now then, Riddell! round you go! Pull your right!"
"Steered indeed, Parrett's! Bravo, Parson!"
The corner was half-turned, the boats lay nearly level, each coxswain
pulling hard with his right line, when suddenly there was a shock in the
Parrett's boat, followed by a loud shout from Parson, and next moment
the boat was shooting helplessly straight towards the bank, from which
it was only saved by a prompt order to "Backwater all!" from Bloomfield.
What could it be? The shouts on the bank died away into sudden
stillness, and fellows forgot even to keep up with the schoolhouse boat,
which, followed by the steam-launch, rowed steadily on towards the
winning-post.
What was it? The answer soon became known, when Parson, standing in his
boat, waved the broken end of a rudder-line above his head. At the
critical point of the race this had failed, and in consequence all the
efforts of the rowers were useless, and--and the schoolhouse boat was
Head of the River!
The rage, excitement, and disappointment at such an unlooked-for
termination to the great struggle was beyond description, as the reader
may imagine. A general rush was made for the unlucky boat, and shouts
and recriminations and taunts and condolences bore witness to the mixed
feelings of the spectators.
Some demanded a fresh race there and then, some suggested foul play,
others urged the boat to row on and make the best race they could of it,
others boldly claimed the victory for Parrett's, since they led at the
moment of the accident.
Amidst all this tumult the unlucky boat slowly backed into mid-stream,
and turned towards home, Parson steering no longer by rudder but by word
of mouth. As it did so, a distant report announced that the schoolhouse
boat had reached the winning-post; whereat the Parrett partisans set up
a loud defiant shout, which they maintained during the entire homeward
progress of their ill-starred boat.
Among the few who remained on the scene of the accident were Gilks and
Silk, both pale and agitated.
The latter, as has been said, was painfully interested in the result of
the race. To him the defeat of Parrett's meant more than the mere
disappointment of a hope or the humiliation by a rival. It meant the
loss of a good deal more money than he possessed, and the miscarriage of
a good deal which he had expected with absolute confidence to win. No
wonder then that his face was white and his voice trembling as he
rounded on his friend.
"You fool!" exclaimed he, with an oath.
It was rather hard surely on Gilks, who may have encouraged his friend
to rely on the victory of the Parrett's boat, but who certainly was as
much astounded and mortified by the accident as he was.
"There must be another race," said he, hurriedly. "They can't take this
as decisive, I tell you. They _must_ have another."
"You wouldn't have said so if the right boat had won," said Silk, with a
sneer.
"I can't make it out," said Gilks, looking very miserable.
"Fools never can," snarled Silk, turning on his heel.