Harvard Stories Part 24

"Got a weed?" asked Jack.

"Yes."

"Give it to me." He bit off the end of the cigar nervously, and lit it with thick puffs. "Gad!" he muttered, "I'm glad I'm not training for the crew. How did he ever stand it! But Charlie Rivers is a very different breed of cats from me."

Holworthy looked on a moment in silence, and tried to pull an idea out of his moustache.

"What is the matter with you, Jack?" he asked, gently.

"Nothing--only that I am such a poor sort of a thing. No ambition, no backbone, no sand. Just a worthless, dissipated loafer. Let's go lush up with the rest of the crowd,--that is all I'm good for."

"Don't talk like a fool," replied Hollis, by way of comfort.

"A disgrace to the University. Haven't you always told me the same thing?" asked Jack, with a ghastly grin.

"That is no reason why you should think so yourself and get so blue about it. I never thought you would ever take it to heart so. You know I never meant half that I said. I used to lay it on thick in hopes that a little would soak in."

"I wish it had all soaked in long ago," answered Jack, ruefully. "Don't take any of it back, old man; you haven't soured me. Come along, let's go back to the old gang. You are all a very bad lot and don't properly appreciate my faults; even you, you old prig. Come along, Blathers."

He tucked his arm through Holworthy's and they went back to the hotel, Hollis musing much.

Meanwhile, in the billiard-room the good work was going on to Ned Burleigh's deepest gratification. He himself, mounted on the pool-table, was beating time with a broken cue for a choir of sweet singers. They had cheered each member of the crew and the c.o.xswain, declaring in the time-honored measures that each was a jolly good fellow, and intimating the mendacity of any one who might deny the fact. Grateful for his degree, and being in a broad and liberal frame of mind, Burleigh had also proposed each member of the Faculty of Harvard College for similar honors, prefacing each nomination with a few well-chosen remarks.

"And now, dearly beloved brethren," said he, "omitting the next fifty-three stanzas, let us all unite in singing the one hundred and forty-fifth; and as I look upon your happy, up-turned faces, I cannot help being touched by the spirit of those beautiful lines. All sing!"

The earnest chorus roared, with cheerful zeal, the one hundred and forty-fifth verse, as exhorted.

"What ho!" shouted the Lord of Misrule, "What is yon tall form i' the doorway. Is it the melancholy Jacques, forsooth? Or is it our long-lost wandering Brother Rattleton returning to the fold? Pull off his coat, somebody, and look for strawberry-marks. Joy, joy, mark his old time smile! Throw him up here. Once more now, all sing, 'For he's a jolly good fellow!'"

III.

The day was beautiful and the water perfect, a most unusual combination for the 'Varsity race day. All the steam yachts had gone up the river, and most of the others towed up also and anch.o.r.ed along the course near the finish. It would be waste of time to try to describe the picture of the great annual event of oardom, a picture that is done every year in the sumptuous paints of the press, with the sky and the river and the yachts and the crowds, and above all the two colors everywhere. It is painted every year, but no one can appreciate it who has not seen the original. It is not for this spectacle, however, that all these tremendous crowds gather; it is to see two long thin yellow streaks, each surmounted by nine bodies, eight of which swing back and forth in a most monotonous, uninteresting manner. That is all that the race looks like to most of the spectators--then why do they go to see it? Because they know that those sixteen men are going through about the hardest physical strain that men can bear. To the layman there is in tennis and base-ball four times the skill and pretty playing that there is in foot-ball, and in rowing there is none at all. Yet a tennis match excites the least interest of all college sports, base-ball comes next in the rising scale, and both of these combined do not rouse a quarter of the enthusiasm provoked by a foot-ball game. But at the head and front of all athletic contests is rowing--because it hurts the most.

Foot-ball, it is true, requires a das.h.i.+ng courage and disregard of breaks and bruises (though "das.h.i.+ng courage" and all that sort of thing never occurs to the struggling youngsters), but there is always the great relief of frequent short rests during the game; in a four-mile boat-race there is no let-up. The half-back makes his rush and plunge, is slammed on the hard ground and buried under hard muscle, is picked up, rubbed a little, and with the cheers of the crowd in his ears again goes at the line, head first, as hard as ever. But for the oarsman there is only the incessant pull, pull, pull, with the bees in his brain and the growing hole in his stomach, the aching legs and leaden arms, and before him, growing dimmer and dimmer, the bare back that will never stop rising and falling, and that he must follow, it seems, to death.

Oh! it does hurt, and that is why the great crowd goes to see it and goes wild. Yes, fair and gentle one, that is just why even you go to the Thames as your predecessor went to the Colosseum. There is this vast difference, however, between you and Octavia--the Roman Vestal looked at hired gladiators, and prisoners who were forced to hurt each other, whereas you go to see Tom, and Jack, and dear Mary's brother Mr. Brown, hurt themselves; and, G.o.d bless you, I hope you always will. So long as you do, this republic will never fail from the effeminacy of its young men.

The "gang" had got seats in the same car on the observation-train and were waiting for it to start.

"What were you doing with that Yale man just now?" Hudson demanded of Randolph, as the latter joined the group on the platform.

"That was an old schoolmate of mine," answered Randolph, evasively.

"Oh, yes; and I suppose you were talking over your happy childhood days, with a bunch of bills in your fist. Fie! Johnny, you have been betting."

"You needn't put on airs. You were the first backslider of the lot,"

answered Randolph.

"I haven't put up a cent," protested Hudson.

"No, because you met a man who knew you and bet on tick. I heard you."

"A man who _didn't_ know him, you mean," corrected Burleigh. "You are all a set of weak, reprehensible young men. I am ashamed of you. I depend upon you, at least, Hollis, my son, not to indulge in this wicked vice of betting."

"Yes," laughed Holworthy, "there must be some one left to float you home, if we lose."

"Now you mention it," Ned suggested, "perhaps you had better lend me an X now, in case we should get separated after the race. I want to prevent the spread of this athletic fever and the evils that follow in its train. I am afraid my governor may become too enthusiastic. If I go home to him again C. O. D. he will begin to take a real interest in seeing Harvard win, and I fear even a pecuniary one."

"This betting is indeed a deplorable evil," said Stoughton, solemnly, "in off years. Listen to me, my children. Two years ago I, even I, who now stand before you, was a reckless, unG.o.dly Soph.o.m.ore. I went----"

Just then the whistle blew, and Stoughton jumped for the car to get a front seat before the rest of the crowd. The long observation-train, a peculiar feature of the New London race, moved slowly out from the station on its way to the starting-point, four miles up the river. Then the cheering began, one car taking it up after another, the sharp quick cheers of the Yale men mingling with the slower full-mouthed three-times-three of Harvard. Every one is always in great spirits before the race begins,--it is different afterwards. They chaffed each other, and shouted, and laughed, and the enthusiastic choruses of "Here's to good old Yale, drink her down," were answered with the stirring, swelling cadences of "Fair Harvard."

When they got to the starting-point, of course the crews were not yet there. Across the river, however, at Red Top, the H. U. B. C. quarters, tall forms were seen entering the boat-house.

"Oh, how I wish I were like those chaps," sighed little Gray, who was already beginning to tremble with excitement. "What wouldn't I give to be able to pull an oar to-day."

"I have thought of it myself," said Burleigh; "but they wouldn't build the boat to suit my figure."

"The only thing I could do for the glory of Harvard was to try for c.o.xswain," went on Gray, ruefully, "and they wouldn't have me."

"Was that the best you could do for Alma Mater?" said Holworthy. "What a pity you couldn't succeed in putting such laurels on her brow!"

"There, Gray, take that," chuckled Stoughton; "that is the time Pegasus fell down and got his neck stepped on."

"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, you hot-headed little poet," put in Hudson, gravely. "How can you speak so thoughtlessly, even when sitting right beside Holworthy, the Superb? Can you, a member of the Oldest and Greatest take such a childish interest in a paltry boat-race?"

"You are forgetting all about the atmosphere, and the traditions, and all that sort of game," added Randolph. "What difference does it make to us whether we win or lose? Remember the true glories and blessings of our ancient University."

"For instance," drawled Rattleton, "whether we want to celebrate or console ourselves, we have all the royal crimson juices with which to do it, whereas those poor Elis can't find a blue drink to save their souls."

"Jove! I never thought of that. Glad I didn't go to Yale, aren't you, Gray?" exclaimed Stoughton.

"I don't believe the color of their booze troubles them much, as long as we pay for it," reasoned Burleigh. "Still, that is the proper spirit and the right way to look at these comparative collegiate advantages. Isn't it, Gray?"

"If you chaps think you can get a rise out of me," answered Gray to all this, "you are mistaken; but for your own sakes you had better not try to be so funny in public. As for you, Hol, there is no use at all in your trying to play the lofty indifferent. You are as much excited as any man; you look as if you were going to row the whole thing yourself.

I have been watching you biting your knuckles and clenching your fist and staring over at----"

He was interrupted by a great shout, and everybody jumped to his feet.

Out of the boat-house opposite, came the long sh.e.l.l borne by the Crimson eight. As they put it in the water another shout went up, and a volley of cheers, for at that moment the Yale crew shot round the point from Gale's Ferry, with a beautiful snap and dash, and "let her run" in front of the train. They were not kept waiting long for the Cambridge men got quickly into their boat and came swinging across, showing but one crimson back until they turned. There was perfect precision and splendid power in their sweep. There were five men in the boat who had never pulled an oar in the four-mile race, but they were all good ones. Four had rowed on their cla.s.s crews; the fifth, though a Freshman, had taken hold wonderfully, had a magnificent physique, and had come up with a good reputation from St. Paul's. And there was Dane Austin, L.S., at stroke, the hero of four 'Varsity races, and behind him at 7, old Billy Bender, the iron captain who, with all luck against him, had made a winning crew before, and certainly must have done so this year with such material. These two could surely "hit up" the stroke indefinitely, and in the middle of the boat towered Charlie Rivers, looking as if he could do all his own share and that of the three men behind him, if need might be.

Now both crews backed up to the starting boats, and off came the jerseys. They were right opposite the car. "Attention!" "Ready!" Rivers leaned forward and buried his blade alongside of Yale for his last chance. He had never won. Holworthy, bent almost double, gripping his chin in his hand, watched that statue. He could see no expression whatever in the sunburned profile and the motionless eye fixed on the neck before it. He wondered,--"Row!" He saw the oar bend so that his heart stopped for a moment in the fear that the spruce would break. A mingled roar that sounded like "YAYAVARD!" then silence so that he could hear the clear, cool tones of Varnum, the c.o.xswain. He saw the mighty shoulders heave back, and swing forward again in one motion, the arms rigid as steel pistons. Again, with not a movement of the arms. "Row!" A third time, and this time the great muscle leaped up and the arm was bent until the oar b.u.t.t touched the chest, then shot out again like a flash, "Row! That's good; steady, now hold it." The roar burst out again, and this time it sounded clear enough. HAR--AR--VARD! Holworthy took his eyes from his chum and looked at the whole picture. The little red c.o.xswain was even with No. 3 in the Yale boat! It had been a perfect racing start; those three tremendous lightning strokes had shot the Harvard eight nearly half a length ahead of their rivals. There was no question as to which were the stronger men, but strength is the least thing of all that wins a boat-race. After this first leap the Yale crew hung right where it was, and would not fall clear of the Crimson oars.

At the mile flag Harvard had not increased her lead perceptibly.

"That's all right; they'll spurt in a minute," shouted Randolph. So they did and gained a little, at least so it seemed to the Crimson wearers.

The sh.e.l.ls were far out in the stream now, and how slowly those two centipedes were crawling! The two eights, that had dashed away from the starting-point (which is close to the bank), now seem to swing back and forth with aggravating deliberation.

"There! There! now Yale's coming up!" "Not much, sir, look at that!"

Since the start that was the best struggle so far,--just before the Navy-yard, and there was no question that this time Harvard had gained.