THE BOAT RACE.
The balance of that school year was a season of hard study for Joel. It
was not in his nature to remain long despondent over the loss of the
Goodwin scholarship, and a week after the winter term commenced he was
as cheerful and light-hearted as ever. But his failure served to spur
him on to renewed endeavors, and as a result he soon found himself at
the head of the upper middle. Rightly or wrongly--and there is much to
be said on both sides--he gave up sports almost entirely. Now and then
West persuaded him to an afternoon on the links, but this was
infrequent. The hockey season opened with the first hard ice on the
river, and West joined the team that met and defeated St. Eustace in
January. There was one result of his application to study that Joel had
not looked for. Outfield West, perhaps from a mere desire to be
companionable, took to lessons, and, much to his own pretended dismay,
began to earn the reputation of a diligent student.
"You won't talk," growled West, "you won't play chess, you won't eat
things. You just drive a chap to study!" As spring came in the school
talk turned to baseball and rowing. For the former Joel had little
desire, but rowing attracted him, and he began to allow himself the
unusual pleasure of an hour away from lessons in the afternoon that he
might go down to the boathouse with West, and there, in a sunny angle of
the building, watch the crews at work upon the stream. Hillton was
trying very hard to turn out a winning crew, and Whipple, who was
captain of the first eight, toiled as no captain had toiled before in
the history of Hillton aquatics.
The baseball season ended disastrously with a severe drubbing for the
Hillton nine at the hands of St. Eustace on the latter's home ground.
The fellows said little, but promised to atone for it when the boat race
came off. This occurred two days before class day, which this year came
on June 22d, and very nearly every pupil traveled down the river to
Marshall to witness it. The day away from school came as a welcome
relief after the worry and brain-aching of the spring examination, and
Joel, although he knew for a certainty that he had passed with the
highest marks, was glad to obey Outfield's stern decree and accompany
that youth to the scene of the race.
They went by train and arrived at the little town at noon. After a regal
repast of soup and sandwiches, ice cream and chocolate ├ęclairs, the two
set out for the river side. The Hillton crew had come down the day
before with their new shell, and had spent the night at the only hotel
in the village. The race was to be started at three, and West and Joel
spent the intervening time in exploring the river banks for a mile in
each direction from the bridge, and in getting their feet wet and their
trousers muddy.
By the hour set for the start the river sides were thronged with
spectators, and rival cheers floated across the sparkling stream from
bank to bank. That side of the river whereon St. Eustace Academy lies
hidden behind a hill held the St. Eustace supporters, while upon the
other bank the Hillton lads and their friends congregated. But the long
bridge, something more than a mile below, was common ground, and here
the foes mingled and strove to outshout each other.
The river is broad here below Marshall, and forms what is almost a
basin, hemmed in on either side by low wooded bluffs. From where Joel
and West, with a crowd of Hillton fellows, stood midway upon the bridge,
the starting point, nearly a mile and a half up stream was plainly
visible, and the finish line was a few rods above them. West was
acquainted with several of the St. Eustace boys, and to these Joel was
introduced and was welcomed by them with much cordiality and examined
with some curiosity. He had accomplished the defeat of their Eleven, and
they would know what sort of youth he was.
While they were talking, leaning against the railing of the bridge, Joel
suddenly caught West's arm and drew his attention to a boy some distance
away who was looking toward the starting point through a pair of field
glasses. West indulged in a long whistle, plainly indicative of
amazement.
"Who's that fellow over there?" he asked. One of the St. Eustace boys
followed the direction of his gaze.
"Well, you ought to know him. He knows you. That's Bartlett Cloud. He
was at Hillton last term, and left because he was put off the Eleven; or
so he says."
"Humph!" ejaculated Outfield West. "He left to keep from being
expelled, he did. He left because he was mixed up in some mighty dirty
work, and knew that, even if they let him stay in school, no decent
fellow would associate with him. And you can tell him from me that if he
says I know him he's a liar. I don't know him from--from mud! I should
think you'd be proud of him at Eustace."
"We didn't know that," answered the St. Eustace boy in perplexity. "We
thought--"
"What?" demanded West as the other paused.
"Well, he said that the coach was down on him, and gave his place to
your friend here, and--"
"No," answered Joel quietly. "I didn't take his place. He tried to
strike me one day at practice, and Remsen, our coach, put him off. That
was all. Afterward he--he--But it isn't worth talking about."
"But I didn't know that St. Eustace made a practice of taking in
cast-off scamps from other schools," said West. The other lad flushed as
he answered apologetically:
"We didn't know, West. He said he was a friend of yours and so--But the
other fellows shall know about him." Then there was a stir on the bridge
and a voice cried, "There they go to the float!"
Up the stream at the starting point two shells were seen leisurely
paddling toward a float anchored a few yards off the right bank. The
colors were easily distinguishable, and especially did the crimson of
Hillton show up to the eager watchers on the bridge. Every eye was
turned toward the two boats, and a silence held the throng, a silence
which lasted until sixteen oar-blades caught the water almost together,
and the two boats began to leave the float behind. Then cries of
"They're off!" were raised, and there was a general shoving and pushing
for places of observation on the up-stream side of the structure, while
along the banks the crowds began to move about again.
It was Joel's first sight of a boat race, and he found himself becoming
very excited, while West, veteran though he was, breathed a deal faster,
and talked in disjointed monosyllables.
"Side by side!... No, Hillton's ahead!... Isn't she?... Eh ... You
can't... see from here ... which is ... leading.... Get another hold on
my ... arm, ... Joel; that one's black ... and blue! ... Hillton's
ahead! Hillton's ahead by a half length!"
But she wasn't. Side by side the two shells swept on toward the first
half-mile mark. They were both rowing steadily, with no endeavor to draw
away, Hillton at thirty strokes, St. Eustace at thirty-two. The course
was two miles, almost straight away down the river. The half-mile buoy
was not distinguishable from where Joel stood, but the mile was plainly
in sight. Some one who held a stop-watch behind Joel uttered an
impatient growl at the slow time the crews were making.
"There'll be no record broken to-day," he said. "They're eight seconds
behind already for the first quarter."
But Joel didn't care about that. If only those eight swaying forms might
pass first beyond the finish line he cared but little what the time
might be. The cheering, which had ceased as the boats left the start,
now began again as they approached the finish of the first quarter of
the course.
"Rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah; rah-rah-rah, Hillton!" rang out from the
right bank.
"S, E, A; S, E, A; S, E, A; Saint Eustace!" replied the left bank with a
defiant roar of sound that was caught by the hills and flung back in
echoes across the water. "Saint Eustace! Saint Eustace! Saint Eustace!"
"Hillton! Hillton! Hillton!"
Then the cheering grew louder and more frenzied as, boat to boat, the
rival eights passed the half-mile buoy, swinging along with no
perceptible effort over the blue, dancing water.
"Anybody's race," said Outfield West, as he lowered his glasses. "But
Hillton's got the outside course on the turn." The turn was no more than
a slight divergence from the straight line at the one-mile mark, but it
might mean from a half to three quarters of a length to the outside
boat should they maintain their present relative positions. For the next
half mile the same moderate strokes were used until the half-course buoy
was almost reached, when Hillton struck up to thirty-two and then to
thirty-four, and St. Eustace increased her stroke to the latter number.
It was a race for the position nearest the buoy, and St. Eustace won it,
Hillton falling back a half length as the course was changed. Then the
strokes in both boats went back to thirty-two, Hillton seemingly willing
to keep in the rear. On and on they came, the oars taking the water in
unison, and shining like silver when the sun caught the wet blades. And
back, the wakes seemed like two ruled marks, so straight they were.
There was no let up of the cheering now. Back and forth went challenge
and reply across the stream, while the watchers on the bridge fairly
shook that iron-trussed structure with the fury of their slogans.
As the boats neared the three-quarter buoy it was plain to all who
looked that the real race was yet to come. Hillton suddenly hit up her
stroke to thirty-four, to thirty-six, to thirty-eight, and, a bit ragged
perhaps, but nevertheless at a beautiful speed, drew up to St. Eustace,
shoved her nose a quarter length past, and hung there, despite St.
Eustace's best efforts to shake her off.
Both boats were now straining their uttermost, and from now on to the
finish it was to be the stiffest rowing of which each was capable.
Hillton _was_ ragged on the port side, and bow was plainly tuckered.
But St. Eustace also showed signs of wear, and there was an evident
disposition the length of the boat to hurry through the stroke. Joel was
straining his eyes on the crimson backs, and West was vainly and
unconsciously endeavoring to see through the glasses from the wrong end.
The three-quarter mark swept past the boats, and Hillton still
maintained her lead.
The judges' boat, a tiny, saucy naphtha launch, had steamed down to the
finish, and now quivered there as though from impatience and excitement,
and awaited the victor. Suddenly there was a groan of dismay from the
St. Eustace supporters. And no wonder. Their boat had suddenly dropped
behind until its nose was barely lapping the rival shell. Number Four
was rowing "out of time and tune," as Joel shouted triumphantly, and
although he soon steadied down, the damage was hard to repair, for
Hillton, encouraged by the added lead, was rowing magnificently.
But with strokes that brought cries of admiration even from her foes St.
Eustace struggled gloriously to recover her lost water. Little by little
the nose of her boat crept up and up, until it was almost abreast with
Number Three's oar, while cries of encouragement from bridge and shore
urged her on. But now Green, the Hillton coxswain, turned his head
slightly, studied the position of the rival eight, glanced ahead at the
judges' boat, and spoke a short, sharp command.
And instantly, ragged port oars notwithstanding, the crimson crew seemed
to lift their boat from the water at every stroke, and St. Eustace,
struggling gamely, heroically, to the last moment, fell farther and
farther behind. A half length of clear water showed between them, then a
length, then--and now the line was but a stone-throw away--two fair
lengths separated the contestants. And amid the deafening, frenzied
shrieks of their schoolmates, their crimson-clad backs rising and
falling like clock-work, all signs of raggedness gone, the eight heroes
swept over the line winners by two and a half lengths from the St.
Eustace crew, and disappeared under the bridge to emerge on the other
side with trailing oars and wearied limbs.
And as they went from sight, Joel, stooping, yelling, over the railing,
saw, with the piercing shriek of the launch's whistle in his ears, the
upraised face of Green, the coxswain, smiling placidly up at him.