THE FOUR-OARED RACE
Following the conversation between Colonel Colby and Mr. Garrison
Gif called upon his father and the two held a talk lasting the best
part of an hour. When the son was ready to leave his face glowed with
satisfaction.
“It’s dandy of you, Dad! Just dandy!” he said, catching his parent by
the hand. “And won’t the others be surprised!”
“Are you going to tell them now, Gif? Before I arrange those details?”
“I suppose I might. But, no! I think I’ll keep them guessing for a
while. I’ll just hint at what is coming.”
“You are to have some boat races here soon, I believe?”
“Yes, Dad. They come off Saturday.”
“Of course you hope to win?”
“We certainly do! You see, I’m at the head of the student athletic
committee, and that, of course, takes in rowing here. The races are to
be against Longley Academy, the place that has been recently turned
into a military school.”
That day Mrs. Garrison appeared to see her husband and was glad to know
that he was not injured nearly as much as she had anticipated. She
remained with him for several days, being the guest of Colonel Colby,
whom she knew quite well.
In a large school like Colby Hall there were, of course, many who could
row well, and in the past there had been a number of races on the river
and the lake. There were, in fact, a number of regular crews, and the
school possessed an eight-oared shell, two four-oared shells, and a
dozen or more singles and doubles.
“There will be three races,” announced Gif. “A race for the singles,
one for the four-oared, and one for the eight-oared.”
“What about the motor-boat?”
“Colonel Colby wouldn’t think of that. He said that these contests must
be contests of muscle, not gasoline.”
There had been a general try-out of all the available material for
races in the school, and as a result of this three cadets had been
chosen to represent Colby in the singles against three cadets from the
rival academy. Then four other cadets with a coxswain were entered for
the four-oared shell and eight cadets with a coxswain for the final
event.
“Hurrah! we’re in the four-oared event,” cried Randy, catching his twin
by the arms. “We’re to row in that race along with Spouter and Dan
Soppinger.”
“Gee, I hope we win!” was the reply.
“Oh, we’ve got to win!”
“Of course you’ve got to win,” broke in Fred. “If you don’t win I’ll
lambaste the life out of you!”
“You’ve got to do it for the glory of Colby!” exclaimed Jack. “We’ve
got to smother Longley Academy.” Secretly it fretted him and Fred not a
little to think that as officers of the school battalion they could not
participate in any of these contests.
“What is Gif going to do? Just sit and look on?” questioned Andy.
“No. He’s to be coxswain of the eight.”
“And who will manage our four?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet; but it will probably be Walt Baxter.”
“Well, he’s all right,” answered Andy.
Every afternoon after the school session was over those who were to
participate in the various races went down to the river to practice.
Gif and his assistants were here, there, and everywhere directing the
work. And even old Si Crews, the gymnastic instructor, did what he
could to aid the cadets.
“If only it doesn’t rain on Saturday!” said Jack.
He had heard through Martha that the girls at Clearwater Hall were to
come down to Haven Point and occupy a dock which had been hired for the
occasion. This dock and a number of others were to be gayly decorated
with bunting supplied by Colonel Colby. To make the occasion more
festive the colonel and the owners of Longley Academy had hired a local
brass band.
At last the all-important day arrived, and although it was rather
cloudy early in the morning by eleven o’clock the sun came out
brightly, much to everybody’s satisfaction.
The races were to start at two o’clock, and shortly after one the
visitors from all directions began to come in; those from across the
lake in various kinds of boats and others by carriage and automobile.
Soon the docks at Haven Point were crowded and a row of men, women and
young people lined the lake for a mile or more.
The Colby cadets had a dock to themselves directly next to that
occupied by the girls from Clearwater Hall. The boys were in fine
fettle, and no sooner had they assembled than they boomed out with
their well-known refrain:
“Who are we?
Can’t you see?
Colby Hall!
Dum! Dum! Dum, dum, dum!
Here we come with fife and drum!
Colby! Colby! Colby Hall!”
And the singing of this refrain was followed by a blare from tin horns
and the noisy sound of many rattles.
But Longley was also at hand with a song of its own, followed by wild
cheering and a number of catcalls.
“Here is where Colby Hall gets snowed under!”
“They won’t be in it with good old Longley!”
“Make it three straight victories, boys! Three straight victories!”
And to this the cadets of Colby Hall answered with equal vigor.
“Colby to the front, first, last, and all the time!”
“There is only one military academy on this lake, and that’s good old
Colby!”
“Don’t forget to show ’em what real rowing means!”
And then came cries and toots and rattles from both schools until the
noise was fairly deafening and the girls, who were between the two
factions, had to hold their ears.
“Oh, I do hope Colby Hall wins!” whispered Ruth to Martha.
“You don’t wish it any more than I do,” was the quick reply.
“Spouter is going to row with Andy and Randy and Dan Soppinger,” put in
May. “Oh, I do hope they come out ahead!”
“I just heard something,” put in another girl, Alice Strobell by
name. “Tommy Flanders is going to row in the four-oared race and Paul
Halliday and Billy Sands and another cadet are to be with him.”
“Oh, in that case they’ll row against our crowd!” cried Annie Larkins,
her chum. And then the brass band struck up and everybody listened to
the music.
The three cadets from Colby Hall to enter the singles were Bart White,
Darrell Harkness, and Peter Floyd. They had wanted to be officers of
the battalion, but having failed of election and still being somewhat
popular Gif had given them the chance of representing the school on the
water.
After all of the preliminaries had been arranged and the judges were
in their places, the first race was called. It was for a little over a
mile, around one of the small islands and back to the starting point.
Soon the six single shells were lined up and at a report of a pistol
they were off.
“Go it, boys! Go it for all you’re worth!” cried Jack enthusiastically.
But this call was swallowed up in a volume of sound from several
hundred throats.
The Colby Hall contestants held out well until the island, which was
the turning point, was almost reached. Then, however, they began to
lose ground, and when the island had been passed it was seen that the
three oarsmen from Longley were in the lead.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! What did we tell you!” came from the cadets of the
rival academy. “That’s the way to do it!”
“Come on, boys! The race is already yours!”
“Pull, Colby, pull!” screamed Fred, even though it was doubtful that
his voice could carry such a distance. “Pull as you never pulled
before!”
Swiftly the six single shells approached the finishing point of the
race. Now it could be seen that one of the Longley oarsmen was slowly
but surely dropping behind, while one of the rowers from Colby was just
as surely forging ahead.
“Bart White is crawling up!”
“Pull, Bart! Pull!” was the cry from a Colby supporter. “You can win
yet if you try!”
The finishing line was still ten yards off when suddenly Bart White
passed the fellow from Longley who was dropping behind. Then he fought
nobly to catch the two still ahead.
But the distance was too short to do this, and while he was crawling
up steadily, before he could come within a length of the two forward
shells they crossed the line amid yells from Longley which were
deafening. The first race stood Longley first, second and fourth, with
Colby third, fifth and sixth. As there had been but two prizes for this
race, both went to Longley.
“Oh, dear! I hope we have better luck in the next event,” murmured May.
She thought a great deal of her cousin Spouter, and wanted him to win.
Inside of half an hour the four-oared shell race was called, and out
from one of the docks shot the Colby boat with Andy, Randy, Dan, and
Spouter in their places and Walt Baxter as coxswain. From another dock
shot the Longley shell containing Flanders, Halliday, Sands, and two
cadets who were unknown to our friends.
It was plainly to be seen that in this race Longley Academy was “out
for blood,” as the saying goes. Tommy Flanders’ face looked so stern
that it was almost hateful, while Sands and Halliday showed that they
were going to do everything possible to down their former schoolmates.
The intense rivalry resulted in some rather sharp maneuvering around
the starting point, and some thought the Longley cadets endeavored to
foul the Colby boat and possibly damage it. This led to some sharp
remarks, which, however, were quickly stopped by those in charge of the
affair. Both crews were ordered to their places and given very definite
instructions regarding the race. Then came the word to get ready. Bang!
went the pistol. They were off!
This race was to be an affair of about two miles around another one of
the numerous islands which dotted the lake. The course had been laid
out with care and motor-boats were doing their best to keep it clear.
The start was a beautiful one, and for a full half mile the two
four-oared shells kept almost side by side. Then Colby Hall crept a
little bit ahead.
“Hurrah! Hurrah! Colby is gaining!”
“That’s the way to do it, boys!”
“The race is ours!”
But this last remark a moment later was seen to be premature, for with
a mighty effort Longley increased its stroke and slowly but surely came
up to the Colby shell and then with equal sureness passed it.
“Longley is ahead!”
“Stick to the front, boys! Don’t let ’em catch you!”
These and numerous other cries came from the supporters of the academy
from across the lake. Thus encouraged, Longley kept forging ahead until
a distance of at least a hundred feet separated them from Colby.
“Oh, dear!” moaned May. “We’re going to lose this race too!”
“Perhaps not,” answered Ruth Stevenson hopefully.
“Gee! why don’t our boys get a move on?” whispered Fred to Jack. The
two young officers were side by side and the face of each showed his
intense anxiety.
“Maybe Walt is holding them in a little,” answered the young major.
“Those Longley boys may be using up their muscle too quickly.”
Presently the island was rounded and the two four-oared shells started
for the finishing line. Longley was still a hundred feet or more in
advance and kept that distance in spite of what the other boat seemed
to be doing to overtake them.
“It’s our race! It’s our race!” yelled the Longley cadets
enthusiastically, and caps, rattles, and horns were thrown wildly up
into the air.
Then came the last quarter of the race, and now it could be seen that
the coxswain of the Colby shell was talking earnestly to those under
him. At once the stroke of the Colby oarsmen was increased, and slowly
but surely the craft began to creep closer and closer to that ahead.
“That’s the stuff, Colby! Go to it!” yelled Jack at the top of his
lungs. “Colby! Colby! Colby!” and this cry was taken up over and over
and over again, ringing out up and down and across the lake.
And now the finish of the race was but a hundred yards off. Longley was
still nearly a hundred feet ahead, but the oarsmen in that craft, and
especially Tommy Flanders, looked all but winded. They tried in vain to
increase their stroke. It could not be done, and the only result of the
effort was to throw Paul Halliday out of stroke and thus for an instant
to disorganize the whole crew. Then slowly but surely, with set teeth
and eyes that seemed to strain from their sockets, the Colby crew came
on.
“Row! Row!” called out Walt Baxter sharply. “Row! Row!” suiting the
words to the movement of his body.
And the cadets under him did row as they had never rowed before, and
when the finishing line was still ten yards away they flashed past the
other crew and came in victorious by half a length.