The Eight-Oared Victors: A Story of College Water Sports
Page 36
CHAPTER XXXV
THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS
"Here they come, boys! Get ready!" yelled Bean Perkins, wildly wavinghis megaphone. "Here they come!"
"Oh wow!" shouted Joe Jackson. "For the love of Caesar tell us who'sahead."
"It's hard to see from here. But I think----"
"Oh, who cares what you _think_?" interrupted a lad. "Don't give us anyfalse information."
"Get ready boys!" cried Bean again. "The college cheer when they getopposite the old boathouse, and then the 'Conquer or Die' song. We'vegot to pull 'em on!"
All was excitement. A hundred voices mingled in expressions of hopes andfears. The rival college cheers blended into one riotous conglomerationof sound. The three shells were sweeping on to victory--victory for justone!
"Oh, Madge!" cried Ruth. "I daren't look. Here, you take the fieldglasses, and tell me who's ahead."
Her own college colors slipped from her dress unheeded, and there wasdisclosed the tiny knot of Randall's maroon and yellow.
"Ruth!" expostulated Mabel, as she pointed to the traitorous hues.
"I don't care!" replied Ruth, as her hand went to where her restoredbrooch was at her throat.
"Who's ahead?" demanded Helen Newton, as Madge peered through theglasses.
"Fairview!"
"What?"
"She is! She is! Oh, girls, Fairview is going to win!"
"Who--who is second?" demanded Mabel.
"Randall!" came the reply.
Then there was silence. The girls looked at one another. What theythought, who shall say?
On came the three shells. The cheers increased. There was a din of hornsand rattles. The band played madly--no one knew what the tune was--andcared less.
"Steady all!" cried Jerry, as he noticed a tendency to quicken. "Steadyall!"
On came the Randall shell. Just a little to her rear was BoxerHall, struggling desperately and with breaking hearts to offset thedisadvantage of overtraining and over-confidence. For that is just whatit amounted to. It looked hopeless for them now.
As for Fairview, she had maintained the lead she had unexpectedly gainedover Randall, and the eager--almost bursting--hearts in the boat hopedthat the co-educational college could row it out unto the end. But therewas no disguising the fact to themselves that they were rowing againstsuch a rival as they had never before met.
For a moment after Jerry had given the word to increase the stroke, hischums thought that he would keep them on that for a hundred yards or so,and then hit up the pace still faster. But he did not. Instead, coollyand calmly, he glanced critically at the Fairview shell, and kept on atthe same rate.
"Hang it all, why doesn't he give the word to spurt?" thought Frank, ashis broad back rose and fell to the measured rhythm. "We can do it!"
But Jerry was a wise little coxswain. Not for nothing had he spied outthe course, so that he knew every foot of it, and by marks previouslynoted, he could tell exactly how far they were from the finish mark.
Nearer and nearer to it came the eight-oared shells. Boxer Hall wasstruggling hard to pull up, but for once she had met her match--two, infact, for it was easy now to see that the race, barring accidents, laybetween Randall and Fairview.
"And, oh! May we win!" prayed Tom and his chums. And they could notunderstand why Jerry would not put them at their limit. True, theirhearts were pumping at an abnormal rate, their muscles strained as theynever had before, and their breath came labored, and went out gaspingly.
And then, when Coxswain Jerry, with his eager eyes, saw a certain oldgnarled tree on the river bank, and when he had noted that Fairview hadadded another stroke per minute, then and not until then did he give theword.
He had slid down into his seat, feeling the tiller lines as a horsemanfeels with the reins the mouth of his pet racer. Gently, as if the shellwere some delicate machine, did Jerry guide her on the course. Now thetime had come!
Up he sat, like one electrified. Through the megaphone strapped to hismouth came the words:
"Row, boys! Row as you never rowed before! Put all you can to thestroke. I call for thirty-three! Give it to 'em! Give it to 'em!"
It seemed as though the Randall shell was suddenly galvanized intoaction. Reaching forward over their toes, eight sturdy backs bent forthe stroke. Then it came.
A pull that seemed to lift the frail shell from the water--a pull thatstrained on the outriggers--a pull that made the stout oars creak andbend! A stroke that sent the water swirling aft in rings, circles,whirlpools and a smother of foam! A stroke that told!
"Row! Row!" screamed Jerry.
Daring another glance, Frank, at stroke, saw the Fairview boat seeminglyat a standstill. But it was not so. It was that Randall had shot up toher.
From the shores, from the boathouse, from the other craft, came a riotof sound--shouts, yells, the tooting of horns, the clatter of rattles.
There was a veritable flower garden of waving colors. The shrill voicesof the girls mingled with the hoarser shouts of the men and boys.Whistles blew, and dogs barked to add to the din.
"Row! Row!" Jerry fairly screamed.
"Pick it up, boys!" pleaded the Fairview coxswain. He had not thoughtthat his rivals had this spurt in them.
"Can't you do it? Can't you get up to them?" begged Pinky Davenport, ofhis Boxer lads, and there were unashamed tears in his eyes as he madehis last appeal. But Boxer was "all in."
"Now boys, now!" shouted Jerry. "It's your last chance! A hundred yardsmore--only three hundred feet! Row! Row! We must win."
"Don't let 'em pass us!" came from the Fairview coxswain. "A fewstrokes--only a few more!"
The boats were even! Pandemonium had now broken loose. The band wasdrowned out by shouts. Ruth found herself hammering Madge on the back,and shouting--she knew not what--in her ear. Madge was crying--she didnot know why.
As for the Randall lads, they were mere machines. There was no morethought left in them. They saw nothing, but each man in front of himviewed his fore-man's back--Frank could not see the face of Jackson, buthe could hear his rasping voice.
"Row! Row!"
How Frank heaved! How he dug at the giving water at the end of hisblade as though he would tear it from the river and fling it aloft in arainbow arch.
And how Bricktop Molloy took up the stroke, his honest Irish face wetwith sweat--his red hair plastered down on his forehead. Back and forthhe bent. After him came Holly Cross picking up the stroke masterly--thenKindlings--good old Kindlings with something of the fire of his name inhis sturdy muscles--then Housenlager--all the desire for horseplay gonefrom him. Then Sid, who had been shifted back to Number Three almost atthe last moment. Then Phil, and then Tom.
And how they rowed! Surely the ancient gods--surely even Hercules at histwelve labors--never toiled more Titanically than these eight rowers.No galley slave, chained to the oar, with the vessel on fire above him,with the shrieks of the dying in his ears, the stench of Greek fire inhis nostrils, ever rowed more desperately.
"Row! Row!" screamed Jerry.
"Row! Row!" echoed Roger Barns.
The finish line was but a hundred feet away. Slowly, oh, so slowly, didthe Randall boat creep up on her rival.
Now she was past! Another electric thrill went through Jerry.
"Row! Row!" he screamed, and his voice was hoarse. His hands, tense andgripped, were clasped so tightly on the tiller ropes, that afterwardthey had to loosen them for him. The muscles had gone dead, but hesteered with the skill of a veteran.
It grew black before Tom's eyes. He felt that his lungs were bursting.Frank knew that if he dipped the oar in the water again he would nothave strength to pull it out.
But, somehow he did!
And then with one last spurt, a spurt that seemed to wrench the veryroots of their hearts, a pull that seemed to tear their very musclesloose, the lads in the Randall shell sent their boat over the finishline a winner--a winner by half a length--a winner! They were theeight-oared victors!
And,
as they realized this--as it came to them--their eyes that saw notlighted up--their faces, seamed and lined with the contracted muscles,broke into smiles, and then Tom toppled over on his oar, and Frank fellweakly back on Molloy.
"Easy there, me lad, easy," panted Bricktop. "It's all over. Youcollapsed at the right minute! Oh, wow, but I'm thirsty!"
Jerry Jackson was struggling with the tiller lines wound about hisnerveless hands. Ready chums loosed them, and helped him from the shellonto a boat, the crew having recovered sufficiently to put their broadblades out on the water to steady the shell.
And then, following the hush that came after the hysterical outburstwhich greeted the winners, came floating over the heads of the greatthrong:
"_Aut Vincere! Aut Mori!_"
But Randall had conquered, though she had nearly died.
* * * * *
Somehow the crew heard the cheers for themselves, for their coach andfor the plucky little coxswain. Somehow they managed to cheer Fairviewand Boxer Hall, and then they were hurried into the dressing rooms.
"I knew you could do it! I knew you could do it!" cried Mr. Lighton,capering about like a boy. "I knew we could make a rowing crew in oneseason with the material we had."
"Faith, an' ye did, me lad!" declared Bricktop, while Housenlager feeblypunched Tom in the ribs, a bit of horseplay that our hero was too tiredto resent.
"Someone to see Mr. Parsons!" called Wallops, the college messenger, whowas helping out at the boathouse. He peered into the anteroom of thedressing apartments.
"I can't see anyone now," declared Tom. "Who is it?"
"He says his name is Farson, and----"
"The jeweler!" cried Tom. "Show him in!" and he came from under a showerand grabbed up some garments. "There must be something doing!" he addedto Sid and Phil, who had heard the words.
Somewhat bewildered by the athletic throng about him, the jewelerentered.
"Where are you, Mr. Parsons?" he asked.
"Here!" cried Tom. "What is it?"
"Everything! I have just received word from the police that they havearrested that pawnbroker. He has all the Boxer Hall cups, and mostof the other jewelry. Nearly everything is recovered. All but thatold-fashioned brooch you told me about. That he says he never had."
"And he's right," added Tom. "I recovered that. But who took the things?"
"Blasdell. The island caretaker took them out of my box when the boatlanded on the island, and disposed of them. Then he hid the pawn ticketsin the shack, taking away the brooch he had previously hidden there.
"Blasdell has been arrested too. He has made a full confession. He andthe pawnbroker have been in with a bad set, and were planning othercrimes. But I will soon have nearly everything back. I thought you mightbe glad to know, so I came here as soon as I heard. I had to wait untilafter the race, though."
"We are glad to hear the news," spoke Frank. "So Mendez is not in itafter all."
"No, the confessions of the others completely clear him. I must go tellthe Boxer Hall boys the good news."
"And it is almost as good news to us as to them," said Tom, as he wentin to finish dressing.
The regatta was over. Randall, in spite of heavy odds and in spite oflosing all but one race, was proclaimed champion of the Tonoka LakeLeague.
"But we'll do you next year!" prophesied Pinky Davenport. "I think theloss of our cups was a hoodoo to us."
"Maybe," admitted Tom. "But next year is--well, next year, and we'renot greenies any more."
"I guess you never were," admitted his rival.
"And now let's go see the girls, and tell them how sorry we are that webeat them," proposed Sid.
If the girls felt badly they did not show it much.
"What I can't understand," said Phil, a little later, when he and hischums, and his sister and her chums were talking it all over at a littlesupper in Haddonfield, "what I can't understand is how Boswell knew Ruthhad lost her pin, and wanted to give her another."
"He didn't know it--stupid!" exclaimed Ruth, with a blush. "Only Tomknew it."
"But Boswell was going to give you a pin."
"Oh, can't a fellow give a girl a pin without knowing that she has lostone or you making a fuss over it?" asked Sid.
"But--but----" faltered Phil.
"He heard that I was fond of old-fashioned jewelry," explained Ruth,blushing, "and I suppose, instead of--er--well--say candy, he huntedup an old-style pin. He had bought one for his mother from Mendez, andwanted one for me. It was lucky that Blasdell did not pawn my pin withthe other stuff. Instead he sold it to Mendez, who, in turn, sold it toMr. Boswell, and Tom--well, Tom did the rest."
"And you were without grandmother's pin all that while, and never leton!" cried Phil. "Oh, you're a sly one, Sis!"
"And the colored handkerchiefs, and Boswell were useless as clues," wenton Sid. "They were just false alarms. But I wonder why Mendez was soanxious to see Boswell that day we went on our little picnic?"
"Mendez explained that," said Tom. "He had had some intimation that hisselling of smuggled cigars was likely to be dangerous, and, as Boswellhad bought some he wanted to talk about it, and get his advice. That wasall. It seems that when Boswell and the Mexican were together on theisland one day Mendez cut his finger and Boswell tore off a strip of thesilk handkerchief. Boswell told me that."
"And I guess that explains everything," remarked Phil. "I want some moreice-cream. We've broken training now, you know."
And so the merry little party feasted and laughed and softly sang theircollege songs until the girls protested that they must get back, or MissPhilock--well, various opinions were expressed about that lady.
"Stop that infernal clock!" grunted Tom, a little later, as he lay halfasleep on the old sofa in the common room.
"Stop it yourself," murmured Phil, sprawled in one easy chair, whileFrank occupied another. Sid had declared himself done up after therace, and had gone to bed. From his room he murmured in a sleepy voice:
"Sounds like Jerry calling--'Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!' doesn't it?"
"Cut it out!" said Phil. "I don't want to see an oar for six monthsagain."
"It will be pigskin punts from now on," spoke Tom, as he returned fromjabbing a toothpick into the clock's interior, and turned over to dozeagain.
"And then good old Winter!" exclaimed Frank. "I say, fellows, what'sthe matter with getting up some iceboat races," and he galvanized intouprightness.
"Talk about it to-morrow," sleepily murmured Sid, but the suggestionbore fruit, as you may learn by reading the next volume of this series,to be called "Rivals of the Ice; A Story of Winter Sports at College."It will tell how, after a strenuous football season, the lads formed anice league, for skating, hockey playing, and ice-yacht racing.
Outside the college there was singing and the building of bonfiresto celebrate the victory of the crew. But in their room, four of theeight-oared victors dozed dreamily on, living over again in fancy thatstrenuously-fought-out race which they had so labored over. And there,for a time, we will leave them.
THE END
THE COLLEGE SPORTS SERIES
BY LESTER CHADWICK
_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in Colors_
_=Price per volume, $1.00, postpaid=_
_Mr. Chadwick has played on the diamond and on the gridiron himself._
1. THE RIVAL PITCHERS _A Story of College Baseball_
Tom Parsons, a "hayseed," makes good on the scrub team of RandallCollege.
2. A QUARTERBACK'S PLUCK _A Story of College Football_
A football story, told in Mr. Chadwick's best style, that is bound togrip the reader from the start.
3. BATTING TO WIN _A Story of College Baseball_
Tom Parsons and his friends Phil and Sid are the leading players onRandall College team. There is a great game.
4. THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN _A Story of College Football_
After having to reorganize their team at the last moment, Randa
ll makesa touchdown that won a big game.
5. FOR THE HONOR OF RANDALL. _A Story of College Athletics_
The winning of the hurdle race and long-distance run is extremelyexciting.
6. THE EIGHT-OARED VICTORS _A Story of College Water Sports_
Tom, Phil and Sid prove as good at aquatic sports as they are on track,gridiron and diamond.
_Send For Our Free Illustrated Catalogue_
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
SEA STORIES FOR BOYS
BY JOHN GABRIEL ROWE
_Large 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Colored jacket_
_=Price per volume, $1.00 Net=_
_Every boy who knows the lure of exploring and who loves to rig up hutsand caves and tree-houses to fortify himself against imaginary enemieswill enjoy these books, for they give a vivid chronicle of the doingsand inventions of a group of boys who are shipwrecked and have to makethemselves snug and safe in tropical islands where the dangers are tooreal for play._
1. CRUSOE ISLAND
Dick, Alf and Fred find themselves stranded on an unknown island withthe old seaman Josh, their ship destroyed by fire, their friends lost.
2. THE ISLAND TREASURE
With much ingenuity these boys fit themselves into the wild life of theisland they are cast upon in storm.
3. THE MYSTERY OF THE DERELICT
Their ship and companions perished in tempest at sea, the boys areadrift in a small open boat when they spy a ship. Such a strangevessel!--no hand guiding it, no soul on board,--a derelict.
4. THE LIGHTSHIP PIRATES
Modern Pirates, with the ferocity of beasts, attack a lightshipcrew;--recounting the adventures that befall the survivors of thatcrew--and--"RETRIBUTION."
5. THE SECRET OF THE GOLDEN IDOL
Telling of a mutiny, and how two youngsters were unwillingly involved inone of the weirdest of treasure hunts,--and--"THE GOLDEN FETISH."
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CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
--Printer, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
--Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
--Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.