Harvard Stories: Sketches of the Undergraduate

by Waldron Kintzing Post

"That's all right; they'll spurt in a minute," shouted Randolph. So they did and gained a little, at least so it seemed to the Crimson wearers.

The shells were far out in the stream now, and how slowly those two centipedes were crawling! The two eights, that had dashed away from the starting-point (which is close to the bank), now seem to swing back and forth with aggravating deliberation.

"There! There! now Yale's coming up!" "Not much, sir, look at that!" Since the start that was the best struggle so far,—just before the Navy-yard, and there was no question that this time Harvard had gained. At the end of two miles she had a good length.

Again the Yale men spurt; gaining? no, but holding,—yes gaining,—there! Of course the train has gone behind the island just at the most exciting point. Everybody leans back and tries to take a long breath. For a minute nothing is heard but the chug, chug, chug of the train. Hark! the front cars are out, listen! But that spontaneous indefinite yell may come from the lungs of either, or both sides. "Yale! Yale! Yale!" the two crews are even! Bow and bow to the two and a half mile flag, and the stroke is high now. But high as it is Dane Austin is sending it higher, for Bender behind him knows the vital importance of leading at the three-mile flag, and has probably grunted "hit her up." Slowly the Harvard shell pokes ahead, a yard, two, a quarter of a length, "Harvard! Harvard! Harvard!" The Crimson coxswain shows in the middle of the Yale crew. "Can they hold it?" "Yale is spurting like fury too." "No, the red coxswain is dropping back." "They are even again." "No, by Jove! Yale is ahead!" "Ya-a-l-e!" Two miles and three quarters and Yale is ahead for the first time. Another desperate spurt and the Harvard bow comes up even again, but holds there less than a minute, and another beautiful effort of the Yale crew sends their boat farther ahead than before. The Cambridge men are not rowing as they were; they are ragged; can they be weakening? There is a break somewhere; seems to be in the middle. The Blue coxswain is going ahead fast now. Yes, there is a decided break right in the middle of the Harvard crew. "Hullo! no wonder! somebody is gone!" "What?" "No! Oh, d—— it all, no, not No. 4?" "Man alive, you don't know who No. 4 is." "Can't be!" "Yes, but it is though." "Rivers, by——Charlie Rivers!"

It was. Swaying irregularly, he was throwing himself back and forward all out of time.

"He is a passenger!" exclaimed a Yale man in the car. "It has been a fine race, but it will be a procession now. Those big men are no use in a boat."

"Hold on, my friend, look at that! If he is a passenger he is working his passage pretty hard still."

He did seem to gather himself for a moment, probably in response to a yell from the coxswain, and for a second the glimpse of open water between the boats was shut out by a Harvard spurt. It was no use. Yale drew away again faster than ever. Rivers was growing worse and worse. His head was loosening, but not falling yet; it was snapping back at the end of each stroke, a fault that showed he was still pulling hard, though all out of form and time.

Hollis Holworthy had not moved from his first position since the beginning of the race. He had taken no part in, and paid no attention to the exclamations, shouts, and cheers around him. He had grown paler, that was all. Only now he muttered to himself, "He is too old an oar to pull himself out in the first two miles."

Jack Rattleton sat beside him. "He is doing it deliberately, Hol," he said softly, with a quivering lip.