The Eight-Oared Victors/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST TRIAL
"Well, now we have it, what shall we do with it?"
"Say, but it's a frail thing all right!"
"Looks as if one good stroke would split it in two."
"And that will hold eight men!"
"Nine, counting the coxswain, you gump! Didn't you ever see an eight-oared shell before?"
"Not so close at hand! Say, but it's flimsy all right."
"Oh, I guess we'll find it stiff enough for us."
These were only a few of the comments, and questions, propounded by the students of Randall as they gathered about the new shell—or, rather, the second-hand one—that had been purchased in order to give them practice while the new outfit was being made.
Following the enthusiastic announcement of Kindlings, as detailed in the last chapter, the more eager of the rowing contingent, including our four heroes, had gone to the freight depot, and, procuring a truck had, with great care and patience, transported the boat, well swathed in burlap, to the river. Later, under the direction of Coach Lighton, they had attached the outriggers, gotten out the oars, given the boat another coat of varnish, oiled it well, and now it rested in the water alongside the dock, as lightly as a swan, if not as gracefully.
"It looks more like a water-spider than anything else," commented Jerry Jackson, one of the Jersey twins.
"Here! Can that!" cried Tom. "No finding fault with our boat, or we'll duck you."
"That's what!" declared Dutch Housenlager. "Let's get in and take a try!" he proposed, starting toward the frail craft, and preparing to step in it.
"Here! Hold on!" cried Mr. Lighton, in accents of alarm. "That's no way to get into a shell. Now you fellows just hold your breaths until I give you a few points."
The lads—a score or more—all of whom hoped to make the eight, while others felt that they would be satisfied in the fours, or singles, had gathered around. They had all helped to get the shell into shape, pending the arrival of some more of the second-hand craft. Now they were eager to try their skill.
"It is too early to pick out the crew yet," said Mr. Lighten, "as I don't know what any of you can do. So I suggest that you all have a try, and those that develop the most aptitude will come In for more consideration. Have you thought of anyone for permanent captain? Wait, though, I guess you'd better let that go until you see how you make out In rowing. And, as for the coxswain—who want's to be coxswain?" he asked.
"Don't all speak at once," he added whimsically. "Remember that, while it's a post of honor, the coxswain doesn't row, though by steering he assumes almost as much responsibility as all the rest put together, for a well-steered boat often means a winning one. We want a light weight for coxswain," and he looked over the assembled group.
No one volunteered and the coach went on:
"Well, at the risk of seeming egotistical, I'll assume that post myself, for the time being, though I'm a bit heavy. I think I can coach you better from that position—at least at the start. Now then, I guess we're ready. Whom shall we try first?"
Once more he looked around.
"Holly Cross," he called, and that lad stepped forward, then: "Kindlings, Phil Clinton, Tom Parsons, Frank, Sid," went on the coach.
A pause.
"Yes, come ahead, Housenlager," said the coach, as Dutch made an eager move. "Let's see, that's seven. Where's Bricktop. Not here. Joe Jackson."
"I'm afraid I'm a bit light," said the Jersey twin.
"Well, perhaps you are. You may fill in later, though, as coxswain, or row in one of the other boats. I guess"
"I'd like to row!" exclaimed someone.
Reginald Boswell stepped forward, a smile of confidence on his face.
"I've done considerable of it," he added, with an air of assurance. To do him justice he was a well-built lad, and those who had seen him out on the river knew he could pull a good oar. Whether he had racing qualities in him remained to be seen.
"Very well," said the coach, quietly. "We'll give you a trial. That makes the eight. Now then, who'll be for stroke? Simpson, I think I'll try you. You look as though you could set the pace. For number seven—um! Parsons, you try that, though we may change later. Remember that number seven, who sits directly behind stroke, has almost as important a position, for he has to pick up the stroke promptly, and the rest of the crew is dependent. In a great measure, on what number seven does.
"Now, let me see. Boswell, you'll be bow oar. Phil Clinton number two, Sid Henderson at three, Housenlager at four, Woodhouse number five, and Cross at six. Now I guess we're all ready. Steady the boat there, some of you, while the crew gets in."
Dutch Housenlager once more eagerly started for the boat, and extended his foot to step down into it at his designated seat.
"Wait! Wait!" cried the coach. "Don't get into a shell that way. Remember that it's almost as thin as its name indicates. Put your foot lengthwise of the keelson, not athwart, or you may force your heel or toe through the sides. Have all of you your rubber-soled shoes on?"
"Sure," replied Dutch, a bit abashed. A glance showed that all were in sufficiently regular rowing costume.
"Now, while we're at it, I might as well tell you how properly to get in a shell," went on the coach. "You may all listen, as you can't tell whom it may fit.
"In the first place take your oar, and, if you're to row on the side of the shell that happens to be nearest the float at the time, lay your blade on the platform. If you're on the water side, lay the blade flat on the surface of the water.
"Now get in, facing the stern, being careful to step lengthways, as I told Housenlager. Stoop down, with a hand on either gunwhale, and lower yourself into your seat. You will of course notice the seats slide back and forth, that you have outriggers instead of gunwhale oarlocks, and that there are stretchers, or loops under which to thrust your toes.
"Once in your seat, ship your oar by thrusting the handle in through the outrigger oarlock from outside. Sit straight, not to one side, and squarely face the handle of your oar, have your shoulders a bit back, and your elbows close to your flanks. I'll give you more points as we go along.
"Hold your oar with the outside hand close to the end of the handle, but not over the edge of it. You get more power from your outside hand, remember. The 'outside' hand, strange as it may seem, is the one nearest the centre of the boat, and the inside one, that nearest the 'loom,' spoon, body or blade of the oar. Put the other hand not more than two and a half inches from the outside hand. Thumbs underneath, or toward the bottom of the boat, of course; though some men row with the thumb of one hand in the same position as the fingers.
"And now then, to give you brief instructions in how to row. First give a full, fair reach out over your toes, with both arms perfectly straight, dip your oar in the water—plunge it in with force. Get a good hold on the water with the blade, and the instant it is immersed, pull with all your might, and then follow through, as we say, with a long, firm stroke without vibration or wavering.
"Then, with a light finish, get your oar blade clear of the water cleanly, feather light, low and quick—into the water again all together with a 'chug'—another pull and—there you are—you're rowing!"
There was silence for a moment, and then Tom remarked:
"Sounds easy; doesn't it?"
"Yes, and some of you will find it easy," remarked Mr. Lighton, with a smile. "Others will not. But we can tell soon who the rowers are going to be, though that is not saying that, with practice, some of those who seem the least fitted may not become very proficient."
"I once belonged to a swell New York club," remarked Reginald Boswell.
"Why did they put you out, Bossy?" asked Kindlings, with a wink at Sid.
"They didn't—I resigned," and the rich lad shot an indignant glance at his tormentor.
"Same thing," remarked Kindlings.
"Now then, get into the shell, and we'll try a little spin," called the coach, and he watched carefully as each of the eight lads followed his instructions more or less accurately. Some were a bit awkward, but all were careful to at least step into the shell properly.
"Push off," commanded the coxswain-coach, as he took his seat in the stern, with the tiller ropes in his hands. "You will notice that some of you are on what is called the stroke side—that is, with your oars on the same side as Frank Simpson, who faces me. So when I say 'stroke side pull,' it means that only those on that side, or at my right hand, are to row.
"Oppositely, some of you are on what is known as the bow side, or with your oars on the side on which sits Boswell, the bow oar. That is on my left. Though, of course, you all sit in the middle of the boat. So when I give orders for the stroke oars to do certain things I mean for those on Frank's side to obey. Now then, row, stroke oars!"
Four blades shot back and took the water, not all at once, as they should have done, but fairly well for the first time. As the craft was heading down stream, with the stroke oars nearest the float, this manoeuver tended to swing the craft farther out into the river to clear the dock.
"Row, bows!" came the order, and the others, dipping their blades, slewed the craft around until she was straight again, and far enough out to enable a good start to be made.
"Very good!" complimented the coach. "Now then, row all!"
The frail shell, like some grotesque water spider, darted ahead, the water swirling under the broad blades.
"Hurray!" yelled the crowd along the bank and on the dock.
"They're off!" shouted Jerry Jackson.
"The first spin!" added his brother. "I wonder if we can turn out a winning crew?"
"Of course we can, Joe me lad!" cried Bricktop Molloy, coming up at that moment. "Of course that's not sayin' it wouldn't be much better with me in the boat, but it can't be helped now. I'm a bit late," he added. "Ten thousand maledictions on Pitchfork for detainin' me. But who's that at bow?"
"Bossy," some one told him.
"That calf! Sure he can row though!" the Irish student added, half-admiringly, as he watched the efforts of the rich lad. The shell was well out in the river now, spinning along at a rapid pace. Of course it was far from being at racing speed, but even a little power sent the knife-like boat along at a great rate, so little resistance was there.
"Steady all!" called Mr. Lighton, in a low voice, as he noticed a tendency to splash on the part of some. "Get your oars in the water with force. Get hold of the water all together. When you do, it will sound like a stone falling in—a chug—a noise like a 'rotten egg', as it is called. Try for that. The eight oars ought to sound like a single pair when you learn to row in unison.
"Pick it up a little faster, bow!" he called to Boswell.
"This is the way I learned to row," came the retort from the bow oar.
"Well, you'll have to unlearn some things," retorted the coach, grimly.
"Don't look so worried, Tom," he went on a little later. "You're picking up your stroke fairly well. Frank, a little more forward—reach out well over your toes. That's better. Now let's hit it up a little."
They had been rowing about twenty strokes per minute—rather slow, and, as Mr. Lighton indicated an increase, Frank followed, until they were doing twenty-four, a substantial advance. As they rowed along, Tom glanced away from Frank's rising and falling back, and said in a low voice:
"Here comes Boxer Hall!"