THE RACE
The shells had now gotten away and were maneuvering to get into a good
position at their stake boats, far beyond the sight of the gay company
on hoard the Frolic, which could only guess how things were progressing
by the rocketing cheers all along the line of anxiously waiting
spectators.
Along the course the launches of the committee were darting thither and
yonder like water-bugs in their efforts to keep the course clear.
Presently arose the cries:
"They are off! They are off! They are coming! They are coming," and far
up the line the puffing of the observation train could be heard with now
and again an excited, hysterical tooting of the engine's whistle, as
though in the midst of so much excitement it had to give vent to its
own.
Presently two dots were visible, looking little more than huge water-
bugs in the perspective, the foreshortening changing the long sixty-foot
shells into spidery creatures with spreading legs.
The observation train following along the shore presented an animated,
vari-colored spectacle, with its long chain of cars filled with
beautifully gowned women and girls, and men in all the bravery of summer
serges and white flannels. Banners were waving and voices cheering, to
be caught up and flung back in answering cheers from the craft upon the
river.
Peggy and Polly stood as girls so often do in stress of excitement, with
arms clasped about each others' waists. The boys stood in characteristic
attitudes: Durand with his hands upon his hips--lithe and straight as an
arrow, but intent upon the onrushing crews; Shortie with his arm thrown
over Wheedles' shoulder subconsciously demonstrating the affection he
felt for this chum from whom he would so soon be separated and for how
long he could not tell. The friendships formed at the Academy are
exceptionally firm ones, but with graduation comes a dividing of the
ways sometimes for years, sometimes forever. It is a special provision
of Providence that youth rarely dwells upon this fact, and the feeling
is invariably expressed by:
"So long! See you later, old man." Captain Stewart and Commander Harold
were a striking evidence of this fact. They had not met until years had
elapsed and the common tie of daughter and niece had re-united their
interests. But, another strange feature; they had as much in common
today as though their ways had divided only the week before.
They now stood watching the approaching crews with powerful glasses,
their terse comments enlightening their friends as to what was taking
place beyond their unaided range of vision. Peggy and Polly were fairly
dancing up and down in their eagerness.
On came the shells growing every second more defined in outline,
although from their distance from the Frolic their progress seemed slow,
only the flashing of the blades in and out of the water indicating that
the men were not out for a pleasure pull, and the blue ripples astern
telling that sixteen twelve-foot sweeps were pushing that water behind
them for all they were worth.
Thus far Harvard was in the lead by half a length, and holding her own
as she drew near the three-mile flag, where the Frolic swung and tugged
at her anchors. But it must be admitted that the sympathies and hopes of
all in the Frolic centered in the Yale shell; a Yale coach had drilled
and scolded and "cussed" and petted the Navy boys to victory only a few
weeks before, and Ralph, if no one else, felt that all his future rested
in the ability of that Yale coach "to knock some rowing sense into his
block."
"Daddy Neil! Daddy Neil, yell at them! Yell!" screamed Peggy, breaking
away from Polly to run to her father's side and literally shake him, as
the crews drew nearer and nearer.
"I AM yelling, honey. Can't you hear me?"
"I mean yell something that will make those Yale men put--put oh,
something into their stroke which will overhaul the red blades."
"Ginger? You mean ginger? To make 'em pull like the very--ahem. Like the
very dickens? Hi! Shortie, whoop up the Siren--there are only about a
dozen of us here but give it hard. Give it for all you're worth when the
Yale crew crosses our bow. You girls know it and so do the older women,
and the crew can make a try at it. Now be ready. Whoop it up!"
Shortie sprang into position as cheer-leader pro-tem and if wild
gyrations and a deep voice lent inspiration certainly nothing more was
needed, for as the shells came rushing on
"Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oooo!
Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oooo!
Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oooo!
Hoo--oo--oo--oo--oooo!
Navy! Navy! Navy!
Yale! Yale! Yale!"
was wailed out over the water, and as upon many another occasion back
yonder on the old Severn it had acted as a match to gunpowder to a
losing cause with the Navy boys, so it now startled the men in the Yale
boat, for they had many friends in the Navy School and had heard that
yell too often when they were in the lead in some sport not to know the
full significance of it. It meant to the losing people: "Get after the
other fellows and beat them in spite of all the imps of the lower
regions!"
The Yale men had no time to acknowledge the cheer; all their thoughts
and energies must center upon the O-n-e, T-w-o, T-h-r-e-e, F-o-u-r, F-i-
v-e, etc. of the coxswain and his "Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!" But that
yell had done what Peggy hoped and secretly prayed it would:
The long blades flashed in and out of the water quicker and cleaner,
cutting down Harvard's lead, until just as they swept by the Frolic that
discouraging discrepancy was closed and the two shell's noses were even.
Yale had made a gallant spurt.
"Up anchor and after them," ordered Captain Boynton and the crew sprang
to obey orders, eagerness to see the finish lending phenomenal speed to
their fingers, and the Frolic was soon in hot pursuit of the shells,
Yale now pulling a trifle ahead of her adversary in that last fateful
mile.
How those eight bare backs swayed back and forth. Harvard's beautiful,
long, clean sweep was doing pretty work, but that Siren Yell seemed to
have supplied the "ginger" necessary to spur on the Yale men.
"Give 'em another! Give 'em another!" shouted Captain Stewart, as the
Frolic came abreast of the Yale crew, and fairly shaking Captain Harold
in his excitement.
"Avast there! Give way, man! Do you want to yank me out of my coat?" he
laughed.
"I'll yank somebody out of something if those Yale boys don't pull a
length ahead of those Johnny Harvards," sputtered Neil Stewart.
"Whoop it up fellows--AND friends. The four N Yell for old Yale," bawled
Shortie in order to make himself heard above the din and pandemonium of
screaming sirens and the yelling, and in spite of it all the Yale crew
heard
"N--n--n--n!
A--a--a--a!
V--v--v--v!
Y--y--y--y!
Yale! Yale! Yale!"
and laid their strength to their sweeps. Chests were heaving and breath
coming in panting gasps, but the coxswain of the Yale crew was abreast
of number three in the Harvard shell, and inch by inch the space was
lengthening in favor of the blue-tipped blades.
"Yale! Yale! Yale!"
yelled the crowd as only such a crowd can yell. Then clear water showed
between the shells and the four-mile flag fluttered like a blur as the
Yale crew rushed by it. Slower plied the blades, shoulders which had
swayed backward and forward in such perfect rhythm drooped, and one or
two faces, gray from exhaustion, fell forward upon heaving chests. Then
the rowing ceased, the long oars trailed over the water, as Harvard's
crew slid by and came to a standstill. Friends flocked to the shells to
bring them alongside the floats where, nerve-force coming to the rescue
of physical exhaustion, the big fellows managed to scramble to the
floats and fairly hug each other as they did an elephantine dance in
feet from which some stockings were sagging, and some gone altogether.
But who cared whether legs were bare or covered!
The Frolic came boiling up to the float at a rate calculated to smash
things to smithereens if she did not slow down at short order, everybody
yelling, everybody shouting like bedlamites.
"Best ever! Best ever! The Siren started it and the Four N. did the
trick!" shouted Captain Stewart, while all the others cheered and
congratulated in chorus.
"Give 'em again. Give 'em again. By Jove, I'm going to get up a race of
my own and all you fellows will have to come to yell for us," cried
Captain Boynton, and again the Navy Yell sent a thrill through those
weary bodies upon the float. Then gathering together all the "sand" left
in them they gave the old Eli Yell for their friends of the Navy with
more spirit than seemed possible after such a terrific ordeal as they
had just undergone.
And all those months of training, all that endless grind of hard work,
for a test which had lasted but a few minutes, ending in a certain
victory for one shell and a certain defeat for the other, since victory
surely could not possibly result for both.
"See you all at the Griswold tonight," called Captain Boynton, as the
launch shoved off and got under way.
"Sure thing! Have our second wind by that time we hope," were the cheery
answers.
"Take the helm again, little skipper," ordered Captain Boynton. "Your
Daddy is just dying to have you but modesty forbids him to even look a
hint of it."
"May I really?" asked Peggy.
"Get busy," and Peggy laughed delightedly as she took the wheel from the
coxswain who handed it over with:
"Now I'll take a lesson from a man-o-war's lassie."
Shortie, Happy and Wheedles had now gone aft to "be luxurious" they
said, for wicker chairs there invited relaxation and the ladies were
more than comfortable. Ralph, Durand and Jean had gone forward to the
wheel to watch the little pilot's work, Durand's expressive face full of
admiration for this young girl who had grown to be his good comrade.
Durand was not a "fusser," but he admired Peggy Stewart more than any
girl he had ever known, and the friendship held no element of silly
sentimentality.
How bonny they both looked, and how strikingly alike. Could there, after
all, have been any kindred drop of blood in their ancestry? It did not
seem possible, yet how COULD two people look so alike and not have some
kinship to account for it?
Peggy was not conscious of Durand's close scrutiny. She was too intent
upon taking the Frolic back to the Griswold's dock without being stove
in, for in the homeward rush of the sightseers, there seemed a very good
chance of such a disaster.
Nevertheless, there always seems to be a special Providence watching
over fools, and to judge by the manner in which some of those launches
were being handled, that same Providence had all it could handle that
afternoon.
They had gone about half the distance, and Peggy was having all she
wanted to do to keep clear of one particularly erratic navigator, her
face betokening her contempt for the wooden-headed youth at the helm.
The badly handled launch was about thirty feet long, and carrying a
heavier load than was entirely safe. She was yawing about erratically,
now this way, now that.
"Well, that gink at the helm is a mess and no mistake," was Durand's
scornful comment. "What the mischief is he trying to do with that tub
anyhow?"
"Wreck it, ruin a better one, and drown his passengers, I reckon,"
answered Peggy.
"And look at that little child. Haven't they any better sense than to
let her clamber up on that rail?" exclaimed Polly, for just as the
launch in question was executing some of its wildest stunts, a little
girl, probably six years of age, had scrambled up astern and was trying
to reach over and dabble her hands in the water.
"They must be seven kinds of fools," cried Durand. "Say, Peggy, there's
going to be trouble there if they don't watch out."
But Peggy had already grown wise to the folly--yes, rank heedlessness--
on board the other launch. If any one had the guardianship of that child
she was certainly not alive to the duty.
"I'm going to slow down a trifle and drop a little astern," she said
quietly to Durand. "Don't say a word to any one else but stand by in
case that baby falls overboard; they are not taking any more notice of
her than if she didn't belong to them. I never knew anything so
outrageous. What sort of people can they be, any way?"
"Fool people," was Durand's terse rejoinder and his remark seemed well
merited, for the three ladies on board were chatteringly oblivious of
the child's peril, and the men were not displaying any greater degree of
sense.
Peggy kept her launch about a hundred feet astern. They had passed the
bridge and were nearing the broader reaches of the river where ferry
boats were crossing to and fro, and the larger excursion boats which had
brought throngs of sightseers to New London were making the navigation
of the stream a problem for even more experienced hands, much less the
callow youth who was putting up a bluff at steering the "wash tub," as
Ralph called it.
The older people in the Frolic were not aware of what was happening up
ahead. The race was ended, they had been tinder a pretty high stress of
excitement for some time, and were glad to settle down comfortably and
leave the homeward trip to Peggy and the coxswain who was close at hand.
Never a thought of disaster entered their minds.
Then it came like a flash of lightning:
There was a child's pathetic cry of terror; a woman's wild, hysterical
shriek and shouts of horror from the near-by craft.
In an instant Durand was out of his white service jacket, his shoes were
kicked off and before a wholesome pulse could beat ten he was overside,
shouting to Peggy as he took the plunge:
"Follow close!"
"I'm after you," was the ringing answer.
"Heaven save us!" cried Captain Stewart, springing to his feet, while
the others started from their chairs.
"Trust him. He is all right, Daddy. I've seen him do this sort of thing
before," called Peggy, keeping her head and handling her launch in a
manner to bring cheers from the other boats also rushing to the rescue.
It was only the work of a moment for Durand swimming as he could swim,
and the next second he had grasped the child and was making for the
Frolic, clear-headed enough to doubt the chance of aid being rendered by
the people on the launch from which the child had fallen, but absolutely
sure of Peggy's cooperation, for he had tested it under similar
conditions once before when a couple of inexperienced plebes had been
capsized from a canoe on the Severn, and Peggy, who had been out in her
sailboat at the time, had sped to their rescue. A boat-hook was promptly
held out to the swimmer and he and his burden were both safe on board
the Frolic a moment later, neither much the worse for their dip, though
the child was screaming with terror, answering screams from one of the
women in the other launch indicating that she had some claim to the
unfortunate one.
"She's all right. Not a hair harmed. Keep cool and we'll come
alongside," ordered Captain Stewart. "Not the least harm done in the
world."
But the woman continued to shriek and rave until Mrs. Harold said:
"I would like to shake her soundly. If she had been paying any attention
to the child the accident never could have happened."
The dripping baby was transferred to her mother, Captain Harold had
clapped Durand on the back and cried: "Boy, you're a trump of the first
water," and the rest of the party were telling Peggy that she was "a
brick" and "a first-class sport," and "a darling," according to the
vocabulary or sex of the individual, when the second feminine occupant
of the launch which had been the cause of all the excitement,
electrified every one on the Frolic by exclaiming:
"Why, Neil! Neil Stewart! Is it possible after all these years? Don't
you know me? Don't you know Katherine? Peyton's wife!"
For a moment Neil Stewart looked nonplussed. His only brother had
married years before. Neil had attended the wedding, meeting the bride
then, and only twice afterward, for his brother had died two years after
his marriage and Neil had never since laid eyes upon Peyton's wife. If
the truth must be told he had not been eager to, for she was not the
type of woman who attracted him in the least. Yet here she was before
him. By this time the launches had been run up to one of the docks upon
the West shore of the Thames. Naturally, both consolation for the
emotional mother of the child as well as introductions were now in
order, Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart offering their services. These,
however, were declined, but Mrs. Peyton Stewart embraced the opportunity
to rhapsodize over "that darling child who had handled the launch with
such marvelous skill and been instrumental in saving sweet little
Clare's life." Durand, drying off in the launch, seemed to be quite out
of her consideration in the scheme of things, for which Durand was duly
thankful, for he had taken one of his swift, inexplicable aversions to
her. But Madam continued to gash over poor Peggy until that modest
little girl was well-nigh beside herself.
"And to think you are right here and I have not been aware of it. Oh, I
must know that darling child of whose existence I have actually been
ignorant. I shall never, never cease to reproach myself."
Neil Stewart did not inquire upon what score, but as soon as it could be
done with any semblance of grace, bade his undesirable relative
farewell, promising to "give himself the pleasure of calling the
following day."
"And be sure _I_ shall not lose sight of THAT darling girl again," Mrs.
Peyton Stewart assured him.
"I'm betting my hat she won't either," was Durand's comment to Wheedles,
"and I'd also bet there's trouble in store for Peggy Stewart if THAT
femme once gets her clutches on her. Ugh! She's a piece of work.
"A rotten, bad piece, I'd call it," answered Wheedles under his breath.
When Mr. and Mrs. Harold, Captain Stewart and Peggy returned to the
launch one might have thought that they, instead of Durand, had been
plunged overboard. They seemed dazed, and the run across to the Griswold
dock was less joyous than the earlier portion of the day had been.