The Cadets of Flemming Hall

by Anna Chapin Ray

Hilton was very beautiful, that year, with the on-coming of the spring; and the seniors watched it lovingly, with a tender regret that, for them, it was the last opportunity to see the buds swell into fresh green leaves, to hear the songs of the birds returning to the Hilton woodlands. A year from that time, they would all be scattered, while the familiar life of the old school would be going on just as usual, only without them.

One Saturday afternoon, early in May, Flemming Hall was quite deserted; not a face appeared at any of the windows, not a cadet was to be seen in any part of the grounds. It was the day of the annual regatta between the junior and senior classes, and the Flemming world had betaken itself to the lake.

Lake Hudson, as the cadets had named it, in honor of the river which rolls below the West Point bluff, lay two or three miles to the north of the village, in a small valley among the surrounding hills. It was a beautiful sheet of water, more than six miles long, and only broken by one little island near the southern end. Learned professors who had visited the spot, had examined it well, surprised at its lack of inlets, and had come to the only possible conclusion, that it was fed from underground sources. This gave an air of mystery to the little lake, which was heightened by a hollow, rumbling echo, to be heard at certain points along the shore, that suggested rocky caverns far below the surface. Lake Hudson had had its tragedy, too, like many another peaceful inland lake. The boys were all familiar with the sad story of the famous young musician who had been caught in a squall one day, while fishing in company with his older brother; how the boat had been overturned, and the older man had clung to its side in safety, only to see his brother struggle and sink before his very eyes.

But the lake looked quiet enough to-day, in the warm spring sun which lay over the water, turning it to a sheet of dazzling silver, broken here and there into the tiny golden ripples which came nearer and nearer, to creep through the rushes by the shore and splash up against the pebbles on the margin, with a gentle, lapping sound. Away to the north, the valley opened out before the eye, showing ranges of hills growing more and more distant until their green sides turned to a hazy blue, and then lost themselves against the hazier blue of the sky. The wooded shores sloped down to the road which ran along the very borders of the lake, affording scanty room for the throng of carriages which had gathered there, for the day of the regatta was a gala day for the surrounding towns, and ever since noon, the quiet country roads had been gay with the crowd that had assembled from far and near to watch the contest. Soon after dinner, the cadets had left Flemming, to walk up to the lake, and a little later the doctor and his wife, Lieutenant Wilde and Mr. Boniface had driven away in the same direction.

The three-mile course lay along beside the western bank, within full view of the road, and started from a point about half a mile from the foot of the lake, near the southern end of the little island, to take advantage of a long, unbroken sweep of shore which afforded an uninterrupted view of the boats, as they moved along parallel with the road. Far out, beyond the line of gayly decorated stakes which marked the half-mile points on the course, the water was dotted thickly with the little boats of every shape and color, in which the boys were paddling about as they waited for the crews to take their position at the starting-line.

“Rah! F. L. E. M. M. I. N. G! Fszt! Rah! Rah! Rah! Rah!”

The Flemming cheer came up from the lake, in a stormy chorus, as the doctor, with a tiny morocco case in his hand, stepped into the boat which was awaiting him, and was rowed away towards the upper end of the course, where a stake, adorned with the colors of the two classes, marked the goal. For a time, the Flemming was the centre of interest; then, as it slowly came round into position and dropped anchor, every eye was turned back, to look away to the southern end of the lake, where the crews were still hidden in the lee of the Flemming boat house.

To the eager watchers, it seemed as if they would never start out into sight; and they strained their eyes to catch the first glimpse of the red and blue jerseys. In all the history of Flemming regattas, there had never been so exciting a race as this one, for it was agreed on all sides that, in any event, it must be a very close victory. Both crews were in perfect condition, for they had been in training for months, and had taken to the water so soon as the spring thaws had cleared the lake of floating ice, and allowed them to go up for their daily pull over the course. Moreover, the seniors were resolved to wipe out the stain upon their football record, while the juniors were no less determined to maintain the advantage they had gained, and leave untarnished the name and glory of the class of ninety-two.

Some trifling collision between two of the little boats had directed the attention to the upper end of the lake, when an enthusiastic cheer from a tiny blue boat, turned every eye towards the boat house. Slowly the junior crew rounded the side and came into view, followed, at a little distance, by the seniors, and both rowed lazily down to the starting-point. The regular sweep of the oars, and the almost mechanical precision of the motion of the backs, as they rose and fell in perfect unison, were the only hints they gave of their power, as they came down towards their waiting schoolmates, who received them with loyal shouts,—

“Nine-ty-one! Rah! Nine-ty-one! Rah!”