VICTORY AND THEN----
The precipice was not a bad place from which to view the finish. It
was not close enough to the excitement for most scouts, but it
afforded a good gallery seat. Danville was glad that no one came up
there. He had a big piece of charred wood with which he intended to
mark the name of the winner in big letters on the signal canvas as
soon as the race was over. Then he and Skinny would shout and draw
attention to it. He hoped for Skinny's sake that the name would be
Hollis.
The race, as you will see by the map, began at the northwestern end
of the lake, followed a southeasterly course and ended where the
shells passed an anchored skiff in which were spectators, who had a
good view of the approaching shells. The lake was dotted with boats
and canoes and it required a constant zigzagging about of the camp
launch to keep them off the course. It was a gala scene.
After a while the launch chugged away along the course and there were
fifteen or twenty minutes of tense waiting. Soon its shrill whistle
could be heard and Skinny was trembling with excitement as it
reappeared with its _clear the way_ pennant flying and its whistle
calling a warning to keep the course clear.
Then they came in sight, the three shells, red and shining in the
bright sunlight. They seemed to be abreast, throwing out three white
V's of light spray as on, on, on they came. Every nerve in Skinny's
little body was on edge as he stood near the brow of the precipice
trying to identify the salmon colored pennant of the Elks. Then he
saw it--yes, he saw it. It was one of the two shells that glided
abreast; the other had fallen behind. He could see the form of the
rower bent forward and back, the long oars feathering, the slender
shell moving nearer, nearer, under the impetus of that steady,
increasing leverage.
The third shell, manned by Ellis Carway, seemed now quite out of the
running. Its heroic Eagle was doing ragged and erratic work, never
getting the full benefit of his strokes. In that short course he
could never make up what he had lost. But the other two seemed
evenly matched. Suddenly Howell Cross's shell, with the blue pennant
of his patrol, shot ahead. Skinny trembled, his eyes stared, he
quivered with excitement.
He might have saved his fears. Howell had his spurt, and having
spent his reserve energy, could only maintain his former speed. The
time for a spurt is at the end and Holly Hollis knew this. Easily he
shot ahead in an excess of effort that would surely carry him past
the skiff. He would not have to pause for breath till he could pause
for good. Now he was half a length ahead. Now a full length. And
then amid a wild chorus of cheers and the waving of hundreds of
flags, he swept forward past the skiff. The Eagle of the Elk Patrol
had won them the cup and the trip to the Grand Canyon, and the glory
of being the banner patrol of Temple Camp. Skinny's patrol.
Then something happened which caused Danville Bently to run along the
cliff excitedly trying to make out just what the trouble was. There
was a sudden change in the tone of the shouting below. He came to a
point where he could descend with caution and as he did so, he
perceived the dreadful thing that had happened. Hollis had evidently
turned his victorious shell quickly so that the tremendous force of
its impetus would not carry it against the steep shore (see map) and
it had swept into the marsh and capsized. And there he was quite out
of reach of it, sinking in the treacherous rank growth. Danville
made out that he had tried to swim only to be caught in the mire.
From where Danville was descending cautiously the victim looked like
only half a boy, the upper half. He seemed standing up right in the
swamp.
"Do your feet touch?" Danville heard some one call.
"Help, help!" was the frantic answer.
It had always been said that there was death in this marsh. There
was a story of a duck hunter who had been swallowed up in it. If
Hollis had not tried to swim and remained by his inverted shell, he
would have suffered nothing worse than an inglorious climax to his
spectacular triumph. But he had somehow got to the very center of
the horrible place where no boat could penetrate. The excitement on
the neighboring shore was frenzied. Some one tried to pole a boat
into the marsh; it got stuck in the thickening growth and could not
be moved either way. And meanwhile, Hollis' frantic cry for help
rose as he sank lower, lower....
Then suddenly a great white thing seemed to fill the sky. It
tumbled, shook, like some airplane run amuck. And with a loud sound
of splitting wood it settled flat upon the enveloping marsh. They
saw, but they hardly knew what they were witnessing. They stared
aghast. Then as they saw a little living form reach out from the
safe area of canvas that lay flat upon that frightful consuming mud a
cheer went up--and another, and another, until the heavens seemed
rent with a swelling chorus of mad acclaim. But it was not for the
victorious Eagle they were screaming their lungs out as their fears
subsided. It was just for the little outcast scout who, in such a
sublime frenzy as only his trembling body could experience, had torn
and wrenched the signal easel from its lodgment and crashed down with
this spreading parachute to the rescue of the boy who had brought
glory to the Elk Patrol.