A GREAT VICTORY
"They're off!"
"Mechanicsburg leads!"
"Yes, she does, smarty; better look again! They're tied, neck and
neck!"
"But watch that stroke, will you; did you ever see anything so fine?
Oh! you poor Riverport, get your tear-rags ready to weep!"
"Wait a little. You'll be laughing out of the other side of your mouth,
Crabtree!"
So the various backers of the two teams bantered each other as they
kept their eyes fixed on the rival shells. Thef boats were pushing up
against the strong current of the Mohunk, steadily biting into it, and
increasing the distance between them and the stakeboat that was
presently to mark the closing scene of the river drama.
Steadily they kept on, nearing the bend that would shut them out from
the sight of the great crowds gathered on either bank near the judges'
boat. If the cheering diminished in volume at that point, it was taken
up above, until one long wave of sound arose, every conceivable noise
being used to create an uproar, from horns and whistles to megaphones,
and class yells from the various schools.
It was a time long looked forward to, and which would last for so short
a period that everyone seemed to think it necessary to exhaust himself
or herself as speedily as possible.
"There they are, turning the bend now!" declared the anxious Cissy.
"Oh! which one leads, Flo; tell me, please?"
"As near as I can make out, they seem to be running evenly," the other
girl replied, with the glasses to her eyes, as though she could not
drop them, or even gratify the curiosity of her best chum by allowing
her a peep.
"And do you see Sid, and is he showing all the others how to keep cool,
and hold himself in reserve against the last home quarter-stretch?"
demanded Cissy.
"Well, I like that, now!" exclaimed the indignant Flo, who, as we
chance to know, also had someone she admired in that school crew; "just
as if there didn't happen to be seven other fellows rowing alongside
Sid Wells. I know one at least who plays second fiddle to nobody."
"There they go around the bend!" cried another girl.
"And listen to the roars above there; will you?" called a boy passing
by, who was decked out in Riverport colors. "Why, there must be a whole
mob of people up to see 'em turn the other boat. I'd like to be there
right now, if I could jump back here to see the finish."
"Watch the signals!" now arose on every hand.
Everybody knew what this meant, and consequently the eyes of the entire
multitude began to be fastened on a particular place up at the bend.
Here arrangements had been made by those in charge of the race, whereby
the news would be flashed to those far down the stream which one of the
rival boats had managed to make the turn ahead.
"Which are the signals?" one boy asked, as though he had become
slightly confused, owing to the excited condition of his mind; and
which, after all, was not to be wondered at, with all that racket
around him, and his pulses thrilled with the hope he hugged to his
heart that Riverport might win.
"Red if Mechanicsburg is ahead, and blue if Riverport turns first!"
someone obligingly called out.
"There goes the flag up!" shrieked a voice just then.
There was a tall pole at the bend, and they could see some dark object
mounting rapidly upward. The flag was bunched in some manner, to be
released when it reached the top of the mast And how those few seconds
did seem like hours to the anxious hearts of the onlookers, who were
holding their very breath in suspense.
Then a mighty shout broke out that was like the great billows dashing
on a rock-bound coast:
"It's blue! Riverport turns first!"
"Oh! you Mechanicsburg, how we pity you right now!"
"A runaway! They'll never be in sight when we cross the line!"
"The easiest thing ever! Football, baseball, and now rowing; why,
you're not in it at all, Mechanicsburg!"
"Sure they are--in the soup!"
However, in spite of all this brave talk, those who taunted the
up-river boys understood that it was quite too soon to do much crowing.
What if Riverport had succeeded in getting the inside track of their
rivals, so as to turn the upper boat first, that did not mean the
others would lie down, and allow their old-time enemies of many a
hard-fought game to triumph over them. Mechanicsburg players had the
reputation of being stayers, who would not admit defeat until the last
man was out, or the concluding yard been passed over.
Doubtless both boats were even now coming down the river at a marvelous
pace. The question remained to be seen whether Mechanicsburg could
throw enough power into their strokes to cut down the lead their rivals
had obtained, and forge ahead as they drew near the goal.
"Will Colon overdo himself again?"
That was the question one white-faced Riverport boy put to a mate as
they stood there, with their eyes glued on the bend above, around which
the boats must come flying at any second now.
"Aw! come off with you, Tatters," was the immediate and scornful reply;
"you know mighty well what made him drop that other time. Hadn't he
been pretty near drowned the day before, so that his nerves shut up on
him like a jack-knife? He's fit as a fiddle now, they say; and Bristles
Carpenter is pulling like a race-horse. You watch and see. We're bound
to win this race in a walk."
"There they come!"
The boats shot around the bend, and it was seen that while Riverport
still held the lead, it was only by a margin of part of a length. As
yet, then, it might be called anybody's race, since a very slight thing
would serve to turn the tables.
On the river road could be seen the car belonging to Judge Colon,
racing along from point to point; and above all other sounds the
spectators could hear the sharp, shrill voice of Coach Shays as he
shouted words of cheer to his crew; or warned them against some
possible fatal blunder.
Despite the gruelling pull against the current that had marked the
first half of the fiercely contested race, both young crews seemed to
be keeping in perfect rhythm with the movements of their coxswains. And
doubtless those shrewd leaders were keenly on the alert for any
advantage that might come to them through either a quickening of the
pace, if they thought the rowers capable of standing it, or some other
change in the existing conditions.
Louder grew the shouts and songs as the two boats came flying down the
stream, the young oarsmen pulling like mad to either retain or secure
an advantage. Hope flickered up again in the hearts of the loyal
Mechanicsburg rooters, who had well nigh taken a slump when they
learned that their favorites were behind at the half-way boat.
How they did cheer their boys on! It was enough to almost make any
fellow try to perform impossibilities, and strain himself to the
breaking point, to hear how his comrades were banking all their hopes
on him in particular. Loud and dear sounded each name of the
Mechanicsburg rowers through a megaphone, backed by a voice that had
Semi-Colon's put out of the running:
"Hennessy--Sherley--Harkness--Gould--Smith--Boggs--Waterman--Jones--
Wagner--_everybody pull!_"
And they did certainly pull for all they were worth, desperately
anxious to overcome that half boat-length that still lay between them.
But, on the other, hand, an equal number of young athletes in the other
shell were just as doggedly determined not to yield one inch, if it
could be held by any power of theirs. Brad believed he could call for
just one more little advance in the stroke, and he was only waiting
until they reached a certain spot marked in his mind as the place where
the final spurt must be made.
"Now, Riverport, once more, and for the last time, _give way!_" came in
the shrill tones of the coach.
Immediately the final spurt was on. Mechanicsburg, too, had been
holding just a mite in reserve for this killing last quarter of a mile.
As a consequence, the two boats seemed to retain about the same
relative position as before, despite this change of stroke to a faster
one.
The excitement ashore, as they drew rapidly nearer the line, was
tremendous. Some fellows jumped up and down, waving their hats, and
shrieking; while girls swung their colored banners frantically any way,
in order to add to the confusion.
But there was not a single one who would remove their eyes for even a
second from the stirring spectacle of those two shells, spinning side
by side down the river, with only the little space of a second, as it
were, marking the difference between victory and defeat.
Now they were close on the line, and Mechanicsburg gave one mighty
pull, as if hoping to send their boat at least level with that of their
antagonists, so that the chances of a tie might be improved.
"Look at Riverport, would you? They've been keeping it back all the
time!"
"Oh! my, what a spurt! See 'em go, boys! We win! we win! Riverport
takes the race! Hurrah! whoop! R-i-v-e-r-p-o-r-t! Siss! boom! ah!"
Amidst the roar of uncounted voices, the booming of several cannon held
in readiness for just this very purpose, the bleating of horns, and
everything else that could be utilized to create a racket, the
Riverport shell shot pass the deciding stakeboat, fully a length ahead
of their rivals.
It had been a clean race, with not a single note of discord. Although
beaten, Mechamcsburg had carried their colors with honor; and a mighty
shout from friend and foe alike attested to the satisfaction felt by
all who had witnessed the close contest.