CHAPTER IV. THE CHESTERFIELDS HANG OUT THEIR BANNERS.
"Not a fellow will speak without orders," said Dory Dornwood, as the Winooski approached Sandy Beach.
The coxswain of the barge felt that a great responsibility rested upon him. He had no doubt the young gentlemen of the Chesterfield Collegiate Institute would indulge in epithets when they came within hail of the Beech Hill boat, for they never failed to do it whenever the opportunity was presented. Matt Randolph was still laying down the law to his crew, and the Gildrock was not within a mile of the little cove at the head of which was Sandy Beach.
If the crew of the Winooski retorted, as they were disposed to do, there would be a war of epithets, and the affair would not be likely to end without a fight. No one on board questioned the coxswain's pluck. Some of them called him a "conundrum," because they could not understand him.
Oscar Chester had the reputation of being the greatest fighting character in the school, though he had earned his name in other fields. Yet Dory had "knocked him out" in the twinkling of an eye. But the coxswain always did his best to avoid a quarrel of any sort, and never bullied or crowded anyone.
Now he would not allow his crew to retaliate upon the Chesterfields, whatever they said, or however abusive they became. The crew of the second class boat had never seen a fellow like him. But he had proved that he was able to take care of himself and of them, and they were disposed to follow his lead.
The three boats were approaching the cove, the course of the Winooski being at right angles with that of the Institute boats. They were now near enough to enable Dory to take the measure of the rival craft, and their crews. Under the lee of the west shore the water was quite smooth, so that the Chesterfields had no sea to contend against.
To the experienced eyes of the coxswain of the Winooski it was plain at a glance that the gentlemanly oarsmen had no skill in rowing, and had had no proper instruction in the art. A few days' practice enabled them to pull together; but this was about all that could be said of their operations. As it was understood on board of the Beech Hill barges, there was no such thing as discipline in them. The crew were turning and twisting about on the thwarts, all of them engaged in noisy conversation.
The Chesterfields were staring with all their eyes at the Winooski, and their remarks evidently applied to her. They were out for a good time, and they seemed to be having it. Dory's crew had put themselves on their good behavior, and not one of them looked to the right or the left, much less behind him. They pulled a very easy stroke, and they all worked as though they were parts of the same machine. But those in the other boats did not seem to be at all impressed by the ease and grace of their movements.
The three boats came to the mouth of the cove at the same time. The attention of every student in the Chesterfield boats was directed towards the Winooski. They were giving more thought to the Beech Hill craft than to their own.
"Go it, Tinkers," yelled one of them, as the boats came within hailing distance.
"Put her through, Chip-splitters," shouted another.
"Let her drive, Cog-greasers," yelled a third.
"Shove her along, Shaving-makers," screamed a fourth; and all of them cried as though they meant to be heard.
The blood of the Beech Hillers boiled in their veins; but when they looked at the coxswain, and saw a smile upon his face, they repressed their indignation as well as they could, and tried to be as cool as Dory Dornwood. The two barges came nearer, and the offensive epithets were repeated, with many new ones added. Still Dory Dornwood smiled serenely in the consciousness that he and his companions had not yet become blackguards.
"Stand by to toss!" called the coxswain, while the disagreeable names were still showered upon them.
Tossing the oars is a complimentary naval salute; and Dory was determined to treat the young gentlemen of the Collegiate Institute politely, whether they deserved it or not. Probably the crew of the Winooski did not relish this idea of "turning the other cheek also," but they had promised to obey orders, and they meant to do it this time, if it killed them.
"Toss!" added Dory, at the proper time; and the twelve oars went into the air as though the oarsmen were in love with the Chesterfields.
"The Greasers are showing off!" exclaimed some one in the leading barge.
"Set them up again!" cried another.
"Let fall!" said Dory, giving no heed to the shouts.
The oars dropped into the water all as one, and Dory added the order to give way.
"They don't understand the salute," said the coxswain, as the boys resumed their stroke with as much precision as though there had been nothing to divert their attention.
The steady pulling on board of the Winooski set her into the cove some distance ahead of the two barges, and by this time the crew could see the occupants of the other craft without breaking the rule. When they saw the awkward rowing of the Chesterfields, they could hardly repress their mirth, but they succeeded in confining it to smiles, in some cases exaggerated into broad grins, but not one of them uttered the shouts of derision that were at the ends of their tongues.
On the bow of the leading boat Dory saw the name Dasher, and a glance at the other showed that she was the Racer. As these names had no doubt been selected by the gentlemanly students themselves,—for Colonel Buckmill would certainly have chosen classic appellations,—they conveyed some idea of the boating views of their crews. Racer was suggestive of trials of speed, and they would not have been boys if they had not desired and expected to beat something. Dasher was hardly less suggestive, and perhaps took in the additional idea of breaking something.
The Dashers and the Racers had given so much attention to the Winooski that they lost sight of their own beautiful craft; and they began to "catch crabs," punch each other with the handles of the oars, and allow things generally to fall out of joint, so that they were soon in a sweet snarl. The crew of the Winooski were on the very point of breaking out into a roar of derision, for the sight was too much for them.
"Steady, fellows," said Dory, in a mild tone. "Keep her just as she is."
The words restored the crew to their self-possession, and they straightened their faces with a hard struggle. The coxswain of the Dasher spoke a few sharp words to his crew, and restored order in his boat.
"I say, Greasers," shouted he, a moment later, making a gesture as if beckoning to the Winooski.
Dory did not heed the call or the sign.
"Halloo! I say, you fellows from the Tinkers' Institute!" yelled Wash Barker, coxswain of the Dasher, as his name and style were afterwards found to be.
The crew of the Winooski still pulled their easy stroke, and Dory took no notice of the offensive hail.
"I say, you Chip-makers! Are you all deaf? Don't you hear me?" screamed Wash Barker in a still louder tone.
But Dory would not have heard him if his voice had been an earthquake while he mixed an epithet into his remark.
"Don't you want to race with us, Tinkers?" called Mad Twinker, the coxswain of the Racer, which had now come up abreast of the Dasher.
"Steady, fellows," said Dory in a low tone.
"I should like to try a race with those fellows," added Life Windham; and half a dozen others indorsed the wish.
"It would be no race at all; if we should give them a mile, we could beat them in going two," replied Dory.
"It will do them good to beat them," suggested Ned Bellows.
"While they call us names I shall have nothing to say or do with them," added the coxswain.
"I should like to get even with them in some way," said Ben Ludlow; for, "though beaten, he could argue still."
"I don't want to get even with them. We are a long way ahead of them in gentlemanly conduct, and we should have to fall back a long distance to be even with them," answered the coxswain.
This remark satisfied most of the crew, and was even comforting to Ben Ludlow. The Chesterfields continued to yell at the Winooski, exercising their inventing powers in inventing new terms of derision to apply to the Beech Hill students. Dory maintained his policy of silence to the end, and very likely the collegiate gentlemen thought they were treated with contempt.
The Winooski ran up to the beach at the head of the cove, and her crew landed. The Gildrock was not yet in sight, and it was apparent that Matt Randolph was taking his defeat very much to heart, and was training his crew. The second class boat was carefully secured, and in a few minutes more the crew were swimming at some distance from the shore, for they had to go out at least ten rods to find water that was over their heads.
The boys were enthusiastic in this recreation, as they were in the boats, and they soon forgot the scenes in which the Chesterfields had taken part. They had received plenty of instruction in swimming, and what they needed now was abundant practice. But by this time there was not a single one of them who could not sustain himself and make fair progress in the deep water.
The Dasher and the Racer had also run to the beach, and their crews had landed. Dory supposed they were going into the water, and he hardly gave a thought to them. For a time they gathered in knots on the shore, and seemed to be busy talking together. Then they began to walk about, and extended their ramble to a considerable distance. They did not go into the water, and at the end of half an hour they embarked in their boats and pulled out of the cove.
But they did not go a great way. At the entrance to the cove, half a mile distant, they lay upon their oars. Thus far the Winooskis had been so busy with their sports in the water that they hardly heeded the Chesterfields. The young gentlemen had departed, and the skirmishing for that day appeared to be at an end.
"What are those fellows about?" shouted Corny Minkfield, when the operations of the Chesterfields attracted his attention.
Every member of the Winooski's crew glanced in the direction from which the two barges had been last seen. The boats were at rest at the entrance of the cove; but their crews were not laying on their oars. Each one of them had raised something like a flag or a rag on his blade. They were all yelling like maniacs, and flaunting these banners in the air. The Winooskis swam to shallow water, and stood upon their feet. It was time to go out, and they went ashore.
The Chesterfields had stolen their clothes; and these garments were the banners they flaunted.