Ernest Bracebridge: School Days

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Ernest said that he should be delighted to race his brother Frank, but advised him to curb his impetuosity.

“Oh, never fear! I’ve no other notion of going ahead but by putting on all the steam. My engines don’t work at half-pressure,” answered the midshipman. “Who’ll start us? Buttar, will you?”

“With all my heart,” answered Buttar. “Now get in line. Remember, the course is right round the pond, in and out into all the bays, and between all the islands. Now, once to make ready, twice to prepare. Once, twice, thrice, and—” Frank was so eager, that he was off almost before the word was out of Buttar’s mouth—“away!”

Off went the racers, the rest of the party following, but making short cuts so as to observe their proceedings. The contrast between the two brothers’ style was very amusing. Ernest’s was all science or art, which enabled him to move gracefully along without any apparent exertion. All he did was to keep his hands waving slowly, to expedite his movements as he swept round an island or into a bay, and to preserve his balance. Frank, on the contrary, had very little skill or science. All he did was by sheer muscular power, with a determination to keep his legs, and to go on ahead. The skates went deeply into the ice as he struck out, and he seemed rather to be running than skating, with such rapidity did he put one foot before the other. All the time his arms were in violent motion, while he flourished a stout oak stick, thick enough to fell a buffalo, and at the top of his voice kept shouting and shrieking with laughter, calling on Ernest to heave-to for him, or to port or starboard his helm, or to keep along in shore, and not attempt to make short cuts.

Ernest was very much amused at his nautical brother’s mode of proceeding, and he could not help suspecting that Frank was assuming a considerably greater amount of roughness than he really possessed. However, Ernest found that he had to skate his very best to keep ahead of him, when going in a direct line, though he beat him hollow whenever they had to make turns between the islands and the mainland, or to pass along the sinuosities of the bays. Still it seemed surprising, considering the little practice he had had, how perfectly at home Frank was on his feet. Ernest made a remark of that sort to him.

“Not a bit surprising, old fellow,” he answered. “It is simply because I know the skates can do the work I put them to. A fellow who has learned to stand on the deck of a ship, rolling her guns in the water, and pitching bows under, and has had to furl top-gallant sails with a hurricane blowing in his teeth, can easily do anything of this sort, if he has the mind to do it. I am not like you, Ernest; you see I have been scorching under tropical suns, while you have had time to practise the art of skating.”

They could not, however, talk very much as they went flying round the pond. Buttar and Bouldon, and Ellis and others sung out, “A race, a race, a race!” and attracted the attention of the rest of the people on the ice, who all stopped skating to look at them. It seemed still a doubtful point which would get in the first. Perhaps Ernest had not gone as rapidly as he might, that he might give Frank the pleasure of keeping up with him. There was a long clear run nearly from one end of the pond to the other. They were just about to do it. Ernest was a little ahead of Frank, so that he could turn his head over his shoulder to talk to him. Ernest came gliding smoothly on. “Skurry, skurry, skurry; clatter, clatter; ez–z–ez,” came Frank. I cannot better describe the noise made by his skates. Utter fearlessness was evidently the secret of his power. On he came, as little fatigued, in spite of all his exertions, as when he started.

“Heave-to, old fellow, I say; heave-to! Give us a tow, then, for I see how it is; you intend to keep ahead, though how you do it I can’t tell,” he continued to cry out as he approached the end of the pond, where Buttar and the rest stood ready to receive them. Ernest, as might be supposed, came in first, and gracefully wheeled round after he had touched Buttar’s hand. On came Frank, hurrahing and shouting, “Second in, at all events.” Touching Buttar’s hand, on he went. Was the bank to stop him? Not it. Up it he went, across the gravel walk, through the bushes, and down a bank into a meadow below, where was another piece of water, across which he shot, and then over another walk into the long canal pond, down which he went, shouting and laughing louder than ever.

“Our race is to the end of the ponds, Ernest, remember that. Ponds, old fellow! why don’t you come on?”

Tom Bouldon, delighted, went after him, as did two or three other boys from the neighbourhood who were not skating; but Ernest was afraid of spoiling his skates, by giving them such rough usage, and left Frank to enjoy his fun, and to boast that he had beaten him in the long run. It was some time before Frank returned, his exploit causing a great deal of amusement to all present. Some time before this a fire, with a large screen of matting to keep off the wind, had been seen to blaze up, and now a horn sounding, the party on the ice assembled round it. They found servants roasting potatoes under the ashes, which were served out with plates of salt, and butter, and toast, to all who asked for them, while at the same time hot punch was handed about to the visitors.