Frank Armstrong at College

by Matthew M. Colton

  CHAPTER VII.

  A WRECK AT THE HARBOR.

  The excitement of football had passed like most things in college andout of it. The 'Varsity had triumphed over Princeton, and tied withHarvard in a stirring, up-hill game, and now the students had settleddown to the ordinary routine. While it was late in November, the fallhad been such an open one that the crews, eager to get every day ofpractice possible, stuck to their work in the harbor. Codfish heldmanfully onto the job of coxswain in the Second Freshmen eight, thelong-looked-for place on the First still eluding him. He was hopeful,however. "I'll get it before the rowing stops, and if not then, whenit starts in the spring," he boasted to his roommates. "Watch me."

  This afternoon he was perched on the window seat, legs crossed,lolling back on the cushions, and tickling the guitar.

  "For the love of Mike," cried Frank from his room, where he had goneto nab an elusive French irregular or two, "isn't that 'stoogent fromCadiz' ever going to graduate?"

  "Why so peevish?" inquired the Codfish, keeping up his strumming andhumming. "There are fourteen different keys, you know, Mr. Armstrong,and as you never know which one you're going to be caught in, I'vegot to be a Spanish student in every one of them. I only have tenmore to fix in my retentive memory, so the agony will soon bethrough."

  "How many have you circumvented?"

  "Six to date. I'm going to tackle the minors to-night; plaintivelittle things, those minors, they get the heart-throb stuff."

  "Heavens!" said Frank. "Why don't you hire a hall somewhere out inHampden? I'll go halves with you to get rid of you."

  "'Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast,'" quoted the Codfish,"but not the football player."

  "Music did you say?" growled Frank.

  "No soul, no soul at all for the beautiful," sighed the guitarplayer. "Such music ought to move you to tears."

  "It does, bitter tears, very bitter tears. Please desist, stop andquit. I'm having trouble with this dose of Romance language. I wonderwhy they ever called them Romance languages?"

  "Give it up." Then, throwing down the guitar: "I say, Frank, chuck itand come down to the harbor. We are going to have a bit of a brushwith the First Freshmen crew, and you've never seen your old pal holdthe tiller ropes. Maybe I can get you into the launch. We go out atthree. Where's Turner and David?"

  "David is probably grubbing on his Lit. stuff, and there's no use intrying to get him. Jimmy went over to Chapel street to get something,and ought to be back here in a minute. Here he comes now. I'll go ifhe does."

  Turner came into the room whistling a merry tune, threw himselfon the couch and elevated his heels to the end of the desk in thenational attitude.

  "Gee whiz, but it's a great day! Why don't you fellows get out? Notmany more days like this between now and next May."

  "The Codfish has just invited us down to the harbor to see how wellhe can't steer a boat, and I said I'd go if you would. I've someFrench here, but there's no hope of doing it when this musical bugis doing his stunts."

  "I'm your man," said Turner, jumping up at once. "I know the coachand maybe we can get on the launch."

  "I'll attend to that," said the Codfish, majestically. "I haven'tbeen knocking around that old boathouse two months for my health. Youare my guests to-day."

  "Go it, old skate. So long as we get aboard we don't mind who doesthe trick."

  "Lead on, Macduff," quoted Frank, and like playful dogs newlyunleashed, they broke for the street. Racing over to Chapel street,they caught a steamboat car at the York street corner, and, after afifteen-minute ride, reached their destination.

  On the float was a scene of great activity. The crews of half a dozenboats were standing around waiting their turn to embark. Some carriedoars in their hands, others were stretched at full length on therunways, taking in to the full the rays of the warming late fall sun.Most of them were stripped to the waist as in summer, for the day hadan uncommon warmth. One crew had just landed, evidently from a smartrow, for sweat glistened on their bare and brawny backs, as theyunshipped their oars and at the word of their coxswain snapped theirshell out of the water and turned it upside down over their heads inone splendid free sweep.

  They were just in time to see the 'Varsity go out, eightclean-limbed, stalwart young fellows, who carried their shell easily,with a quick and springy step, and with almost military precision.Without a word spoken, the long sweeps were quickly adjusted in therow-locks. At a word from the captain, the men stepped to theirseats, bent and fastened their feet into the sandal-like attachmentsat the footboards. Then the boat was shoved off until the long sweepswere free to catch the water on both sides of the boat.

  "Row," snapped the coxswain, and eight blades cut the water likeknives, sending up a little spurt of water in the front of each oneof them. Like a machine the bodies swung back and forth, the bladesdipped rhythmically, and in a minute the crew was but a dot in thewaters of the lower river where the 'Varsity launch, the "ElihuYale," waited.

  "By Jove," said Frank, admiration showing on his face, "that wasabout as pretty a thing as I can imagine."

  "Don't you wish you had gone out for the crew?" inquired Turner."They don't twist your ankles and knees down here, or muscle-bruiseyou."

  "No, but they break your back and freeze you to death in the coldwinds down here," said someone laughingly. "I just heard yourfriend's remark, and thought I'd enlighten you. Don't you rememberme, Turner? We wrestled this fall one night, about a thousand yearsago. Francis is my name."

  Both then recognized the wrestler whom Turner threw over his head thenight of the rush. He extended a frank hand. "Coming down to look usover?"

  "Didn't know you rowed," said Turner, taking the proffered hand.

  "Yes, I'm trying it. Not much good, either, but maybe I can help topush some other fellow up a peg higher. That's all we scrubs are goodfor, you know." He said it without any heat, merely stating the fact."We help to cultivate the flowers, but we can't pick them. It's apart of the Yale training.

  "Ta, ta, there's my call," and he dashed into the boathouse where hiscrew were preparing to take the shell out.

  Following the Second 'Varsity, came the First Freshmen crew, andthen on the heels of the First came the Second, the Codfish busyinghimself with an air of great importance.

  Permission having been given Armstrong and Turner to watch thepractice from the Freshman launch, which lay at the end of the float,they climbed in with alacrity. The launch preceded the two crews downto the bridge where it waited till the shell came up.

  "Take it easy, now," said the Freshman coach as the crews lined upalongside. "Keep your stroke to about twenty-six and pull it through.Ready? ROW!"

  Both crews dropped their blades in the water, pulled a long, slowstroke, and slipped rapidly up the river, the little launch dartingfirst to one and then the other while the coach shot words ofcriticism at the oarsmen through a short megaphone.

  "Number Five, don't slump down on the catch!"

  "You're very short in the water, Number Two, finish it out and getyour hands away quickly."

  "Don't buck your oar, Four, on the finish; sit up straight."

  "For heaven's sake," this to the Codfish. "Can't you keep that boatstraight? What are you wabbling all over the river for?"

  "'Vast, 'vast," he yelled as the rowing grew ragged. "'Vast" is shortfor "Avast," the usual signal to stop rowing.

  When the crews came to rest on their oars, the coach shot a torrentof criticism at the men. No one escaped.

  "Exactly like football," said Frank grinning. "No one ever gets itquite right."

  "Only difference from football is," said Jimmy, "that the otherfellow is getting the hot shot now. I guess I'll take mine on thefield."

  "Me, too," said Frank. "It doesn't strike me as inspiring, this crewbusiness."

  "And the Codfish isn't such a whirlwind as he tries to make usthink," commented Turner.

  The coxswain was coming in for a fire of criticism from the coachwith the megaphone. "Now
try it again and watch yourselves--you getworse every day."

  "Doesn't it sound natural?" laughed Frank. "No more of that in oursfor a year."

  The crews, stopping and starting, but always under a shower of advicefrom the coach, drove their way up to the upper bridge where theywere ordered to turn around and line-up for the race down stream.After much dogged paddling by fours and high-pitched orders by thecoxswains, for the boats were difficult to swing around in the swiftrunning current, they finally got about and were sent off with aword from the coach who had previously ordered them to keep belowtwenty-eight to the minute.

  Down the river the boats flew, each crew striving with might andmain. For a little time it was nip and tuck, but by degrees theFirst crew edged ahead, and half a mile from the start had a lead ofthree-quarters of a length and were rowing easily, while the windedSecond was splashing along and dropping further back at every stroke.The Codfish was steering a serpentine course which further retardedhis boat.

  When the crews drew up at the end of the mile, both badly pumped outfrom the sprint, the coxswain of the Second came in for a raking bythe coach.

  "You wabbled down that course like a drunken man," he said hotly."You ought to be on an oyster boat. What's the matter with you? Can'tyou see?"

  "Poor Gleason, he's getting his this afternoon," said Frank.

  For another hour the crews were kept on the jump and then, as thedusk was beginning to come down over the hills, the coach orderedthem in.

  "Race it for the float," he commanded, "and look out for the sand barby the bridge. It's low water. GO!"

  The Second was lying about a length ahead of the First boat when theorder was given, and, seeing his opportunity, the Codfish shouted:"Now we've got them, beat 'em to it. Row, you terriers!"

  Throwing what science they had learned to the winds, the SecondFreshman crew drove their oars into the water and, at a stroke farabove what the coach wanted, tore off for the boathouse, the shellswaying and the water flying while the Codfish urged them on at thetop of his voice.

  "Sock it through, you huskies, don't let them get you!"

  The First crew, not to be outdone, started after the Second. At firstthey kept the stroke down, but the coxswain, seeing his chance ofoverhauling the renegades in the short distance to go, called on hisstroke to "hit it up," which that individual was nothing loath to do.

  "Cut them out before they get to the float," cried the coxswain ofthe First crew. Up went the stroke, and the race was on in earnest.The coaching launch had drifted down toward the bridge on theoutgoing tide, before the coach saw what was in progress. He wavedhis arms, bawled through the megaphone, and gesticulated in anendeavor to stop the wild pace, but neither crew heard, nor wanted tostop if they had heard. This was not a race under instructions. Itwas only a private scrap and, as such, it stood, for the launch wastoo far off to overhaul the flying, splashing crews.

  Foot by foot the First crew gained on the Second, which now, withthe stroke over forty to the minute, merely stabbed their oars inthe water and jerked them out again, while the spray flew from eachassault of the blades. The better trained First crew kept the strokelonger, and in coming to the float were only a few yards behind.Edging in, they crowded the Second from their course, and in order toavoid a collision, the luckless Codfish steered his crew widely tothe left. He knew, but had forgotten in the excitement of the race,that a narrow sand bar almost awash at low tide, was just below thecentral pier of the drawbridge.

  "Look out there, Second crew," came the warning cry from the floatnow directly opposite the racing shells.

  The coxswain in the Second heard, but it was too late. Straight ontothe sand bar, on which rippled less than an inch of water, ran theslender nose of the shell. The brake thus suddenly applied to thefrail craft checked the speed, and when the boat stuck midway of thebar, with each end suspended above deep water, every oarsman wasthrown from his seat.

  Immediately an ominous cracking was heard, and the front end began tosag with its load of more than five hundred pounds.

  "Jump," yelled the captain, who rowed the bow oar; but before any ofthe forward four could free themselves from their foot harness, theslender boat snapped squarely in the middle, where it rested on thebar, and both pieces, with their crews aboard, slipped off into deepwater, filled and sank.

  For a moment it looked serious, but, fortunately, every member of theSecond, with the exception of the Codfish, could swim. As they foundthemselves deeply immersed, they shook themselves free from theirfoot fastenings and struck out in the cold water for the float only afew rods distant, all excepting the Codfish. He kept his seat in theshell and held to the tiller ropes for dear life, while the currentswept him down stream in the path of the oncoming launch.

  As the rear end of the broken shell swung across the bow of thelaunch, the coach reached down, grabbed the ill-fated coxswain bythe back of his coat, and jerked him into the launch. Then with aboat-hook both ends of the ruined craft were captured, for both ends,released from their weight, now floated buoyantly, and were towed tothe float.

  "I forgot about the sand bar," said the Codfish meekly, as he stoodon the cockpit of the launch, the water running from him in streams.

  "And you forgot my instructions, too," said the coach, his eyesblazing at the luckless coxswain. "This will do for you. Pack up yourduds and don't come down here again. If I see you around this floatagain, I'll chuck you overboard." The bedraggled oarsmen had all madethe float in safety, and enjoyed the discomfort of their coxswain whoin his zeal had inadvertently given them a cold bath.

  "How was I to remember the blooming sand bar?" complained the Codfishthat night, radiant now in dry raiment. "We were winning. What's asand bar in the glory of victory?"

  "Are you going down again," inquired Frank, "and take the chances ofa ducking?"

  "Not on your tin-type," said the ex-coxswain. "The thing wasbeginning to pall on me. No diversity in the job, no spectators tourge you on as you have out at the field, nothing but work. I'veresigned the job."

  "Another way for saying you're fired, eh?" said Turner, smiling atthe imperturbable roommate.

  "Have it any way you want to, old sport. One thing," continued theCodfish, "even if I have lost the chance to shine in aquatics, Istill have the Mandolin Club left. I'll put a dent in that by andby."

  And curling himself up on the couch, with the pillows properlyarranged at his back, he struck into the Spanish Fandango, the newestaddition to his not very extended r?pertoire.