Harvard Stories: Sketches of the Undergraduate

by Waldron Kintzing Post

Few people realize through what a man must go who tries for a university crew. Even those who have been to the rowing colleges cannot fully appreciate it unless they have themselves trained with the big crew, or been closely associated with some man who has done so. True, it is only to lead a very regular abstemious life, and to do a good deal of healthful, though hard work. It may seem easy to do this for seven months—perhaps it is so for those superior to the little vices that make life pleasant for us weaker ones. But you, my friend, who like a good dinner and a cigar, and the merry company of your fellow-men, you try it,—particularly if you are living in the midst of men who are enjoying their youth to its utmost. Leave them before ten o'clock and go to bed just as Tom is preparing to make a Welsh rarebit, and Dick is brewing a punch, and Harry has got out his banjo. Gaze day after day on your favorite pipes that look beseechingly at you from the mantel-piece. Run five miles every day, and row ten or fifteen while the coach and coxswain take turns at telling you how utterly useless you are; then try to study all the evening for an examination. Watch your friends starting off without you on moonlight sleigh rides, and theatre sprees, and yachting and coaching parties. Go to a dinner and refuse everything indigestibly tempting that is put under your nose, look on the wine when it is red and don't drink it, and smell the other men's cigars. For six or seven months out of the nine of a college year he must do all this who would be one of the 'Varsity Eight; and at the end of the seven months he may be appointed substitute, or thrown off altogether for a better man. No doubt it is quite wrong to consider such a proper mode of life as a sacrifice; nevertheless it is a great one to most of the young men who go through it, and particularly to such a one as Rivers. Yet this sacrifice he had made all through his college course.

But hard as the training is to a man in the full flush of health and spirits, it is ten times harder to one who is troubled and depressed. When in such a condition the incessant and monotonous exercise is apt to wear on his nerves, and make him more despondent. If used to tobacco he wofully misses the great comforter. So poor Charlie found it, for in this, his Senior year, one thing happened after another to grieve and worry him. In the winter his father died, and Rivers keenly felt the loss, for his father had been his best friend. Added to his natural grief was a new feeling of responsibility, as though left to fight a battle unsupported, his reserves having been destroyed. On his own account he would not have been troubled by this, but a young sister had been left to him—and very little else. He would have left college at once, but it had been his father's earnest wish that he should take his degree, and there was little chance of finding anything to do before Commencement. So the little sister was quartered with an aunt, and Rivers came back to Cambridge, and went to work again with the crew. The training wore on him more than ever before. He did not miss the fun that was going on around him, but, oh! how he did long for his pipe. He kept grimly on, however, more with the determination of the man (trivial though the object may seem) than with the former enthusiasm of the boy. Holworthy used to do his best in the evenings to lighten his chum's mood, and never smoked himself when the latter was with him.

Besides these troubles, Hollis strongly suspected that there was another; he had not been altogether frank with Bender on the subject. One day some one and her mother came on to Boston for a fortnight, and Rivers at the same time became bluer and more restless than ever. He put all his pipes out of sight, and would tramp up and down the room, or sit and look into the fire for an hour at a time. Nevertheless he would go into Boston nearly every day, and get back only just in time for crew practice.

When some one and her mother came out to see Cambridge, a luncheon had to be given in the room. There was the usual borrowing of furniture, ruthless clearing up, and upsetting of all established disorder in the room, all of which Holworthy suffered in silence. He watched his patient narrowly all through lunch; but when they went out to see the lions, he no longer had any doubt about the case. For Rivers took Mamma, leaving Hollis to convoy the younger craft.

Before the two weeks were up, Rivers did a very foolish thing. He came to the conclusion that, in any event, hell would be better than purgatory. That was of course illogical, but a man in purgatory is not logical. Furthermore when he makes up his mind to jump out of that middle place, he shuts his eyes and always hopes, with or without reason, that he will not go the wrong way. If he were in a comfortable state and could reason at his ease, he might not delude himself with unfounded hope. Charlie Rivers thought he had argued coolly with himself. To the prospect of his responsibilities and narrow means, he answered that he had strength, energy, and education, and that his little sister needed more than money. To the cold reflection that he had never been shown the slightest glimpse of anything more than the dictates of natural gentleness and good manners, he replied that perhaps it was not right for a girl to show more until a man told her that he loved her. At any rate he would not trust his untutored perceptions to tell whether she cared anything for him or not; the only way was to ask her and find out. If he was afraid to do so he was a coward and did not deserve her. Then he argued himself into the idea that it was his duty to tell her squarely how he stood, and give her the opportunity to send him away if she so pleased and put a stop to attentions that might be irksome to her. This was all very silly and boyish. If he had known all about such things, as of course do you and I who read and write about them, he would have spent that Sunday, on which there was no rowing, in his room, reading Thackeray, or gone out with Rattleton and Holworthy in the former's dog-cart, as he was asked to do. Instead of either of these safe and normal Sabbath amusements, he hurried away from his untasted lunch at the training-table (making Bender's blood run cold by showing that he was "off his feed"), spent an hour in dressing, and then went in to Boston.

That afternoon as Holworthy and Jack Rattleton were driving through a suburb of Boston, they saw walking ahead of them a big, familiar form, towering beside another form of very different proportions. Rattleton laid the whip over his horse and went by the couple at a pace that precluded any sign of recognition. Holworthy was as much surprised as pleased at this thoughtful act on Rattleton's part; and concluded that he must in some way have guessed that things were serious with Rivers, and no subject for teasing. Nor did Jack say a word about the pair of pedestrians, or hint that he had recognized Rivers, which reticence confirmed Holworthy's conclusion. On this drive Rattleton did not talk a great deal about anything. He had been quite despondent lately and unlike himself, probably on account of the uncertainty of his Commencement, though the dreaded end of Senior year was still a good way off by Jack's ordinary computation. On two evenings within that past week had he been found in his room, "grinding" for that degree, when the examinations were still two months away.

It was dark when they got back to Cambridge, and went up to Holworthy's room to sit until dinner-time. There was a dark mass on the couch, and when they lit the gas they saw Rivers. The young giant was lying on his chest, his great arms over his head and his face in the cushions.

"The old boy is over-trained and tired," whispered Rattleton. "I had better clear out and not waken him," and he left the room.

Had Jack recognized Rivers that afternoon or not? wondered Holworthy. He hoped not. He turned the light out again, not knowing exactly why. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he went up and laid his hand gently on the shoulder of his prostrate room-mate. Let us not turn the gas up again on those two. We will go down-stairs instead with Jack Rattleton.

As he closed the door gently after him Jack gave a little low whistle. Then he went slowly down-stairs and into the Yard, followed by the dog, Blathers. "Come along, pup," he said to his constant companion; "let's go take a walk." He walked a long way and came back to his club table rather late for dinner.