Chapter XXVI: The Boat-Race

I think Ruth has written you about our stay in London, so I will say nothing about it except to advise you to avoid "private hotels." Ruth has so many fine qualities that there must be some flaws or she would not be long with us! One of them is this: If a person of whom she is fond advised her to go to--well, I won't say it! no argument would have any effect upon her. She would wish to start at once! Well, that is over for the time, so let us forget it.

By good chance we met the Ingrams from Boston at the hotel, and they told us, what any porter at a real hotel would have known, that the race between Harvard and Cambridge was to take place that day, so we started early in the car to get a good place on the river-bank. We drew up near Mortlake, where there is a bend in the river, and which, I was told, was the best place because the leading boat at that spot has seldom, if ever, been passed.

It was one of those perfect days which redeems the English climate, and shows that the poets must have had some experience of heavenly weather, and not, as the cynics on our side of the water have suggested, imagined the weather which they describe! The river was a sight not soon to be forgotten. There were hundreds of punts on the river and more pretty girls and stalwart young men than could be assembled in any other country in the world, I suppose. All of those were not on their way to the boat-race, however, but were the usual Saturday crowd "out for a good time." We saw scores of punts tied up to the trees on the river-bank, in which the girls were busy making tea, and the boys, clad in white flannels, were smoking their brierwoods. I suppose there was the usual amount of sentiment but it was not in evidence. Indeed, both girls and boys seemed keen for tea!

The right bank of the river was lined with motors, while the path through the meadows on the opposite side was crowded with those who had come from town on buses and trams, and were now running along the bank, seeking the best places from which to view the struggle. But how a race could be rowed on that river was more than I could guess. One could not have moved a skiff through the mass of boats which crowded it from bank to bank. Yet nothing was done to clear the course. I feared a foul. But just before the time for starting, a little motor-boat shot out from the bank, and without any blowing of whistles or shouting or confusion of any sort, but apparently in answer to the simple request of the official standing in the bow of the launch, boats and punts disappeared, as if by magic, and in a twinkling the course was clear! I thought with shame of what would be seen at home in like conditions--the noise and bullying, on the one hand, and the overflowing of the course as soon as the backs of the police were turned! But this was a striking exhibition at once of the law-abiding spirit of the English and the equal respect of individual rights. For, as I have said, the liberty of the individual was respected up to the last moment, and then the crowd willingly conceded the rights of the community.

Half New York seemed to be there, and one heard the shrill voices of our charming compatriots as the word was passed along: "They are off!"

The betting was in favor of the English crew, and when the boats appeared around the bend of the river, it was easy to see why it should have been.

Harvard had the outside--slightly longer--course, but even so, it was evident that they were outclassed. Better form I never saw than Harvard showed. The men moved like a machine. There was no splashing and no sound was heard as the boat swept by. Not so Cambridge: the water was churned as if with a screw, and there was much shouting. It may have been only the voice of the coxswain, but I thought I distinguished several voices, but the boat _moved_, or, rather, it seemed to leap, after each stroke, while the Harvard shell seemed to settle and wait after each stroke for the next. Just as they passed us Harvard spurted, and a gallant effort it was, but too late, and Cambridge shot under the Mortlake bridge, nearly two lengths ahead. Then I heard what I had never heard before--and what I suppose cannot be heard out of England--the roar of a great multitude. Our college yells seemed thin in comparison--the silence settled down, and the river was filled again with the little boats, which had scuttled to the banks to let the racers go by.

We went on our way wondering why it was that no amateur American crew had ever beaten an English one in a four-mile race. When the car was blocked by a mass of motors a little distance above the bridge, a punt floated slowly by, and a nice-looking lad called out to me: "Which won?" It never occurred to me that he, less than a mile from the finish, did not know the result, when crowds were at that moment reading the bulletins in Times Square and men were discussing it in the clubs in Hong Kong.

So, thinking he was "pulling my leg," I answered "Harvard."

"Hard luck," was all he said, as his punt slipped quickly by.

I was therefore considerably startled when a man in the car next ours remarked, in an indignant tone:

"You had no right to say that. You know it is not true!"

"Why," I replied, "so did he."

"Not at all, or he would not have asked."

"Well, I am sorry; I supposed he was poking fun at me."

But this only made matters worse. For he now shouted:

"You had no right to assume that. The lad was evidently a gentleman and would not have been guilty of such an unsportsmanlike thing."

By this time I felt as if I had poisoned the favorite for the Derby, and in desperation said:

"Well, after all, no great harm was done."

"That is more than you know," replied this uncompromising individual; "he may have had something on it!"

Now I felt as if I had picked the lad's pocket, and did what any pickpocket would do, escaped as soon as possible!

We drove to Maidenhead for tea and had the good luck to find there the Siegels. I don't think you know them. He is one of the so-called "Pittsburgh crowd"--inventor of a patent car-seat or something of the sort--and has made a mint of money. I have been told that in Pittsburgh he is called "Chilled Steel"! Well, he is anything but that when one meets him away from business. He overflows with kindness and fun.

After cordial greetings I told him of my experience on the towing-path, and he was greatly amused.

"But," he said, with mock solemnity, "you ought to have known better than to monkey with sport in England. It is their religion. It was like crying 'To Hell with the Pope' on St. Patrick's Day."

I said it was too bad Harvard was beaten.

"What did you expect?" he asked, and then: "Did you have much on it?"

"Nothing but interest," I replied.

"That's where you are ahead of me," he said. "I had some capital on it!"

"Did you expect Harvard to win?"

"Who, I? Not in a thousand years; but just to cheer the boys up a bit I put a few pounds on them. Well, it's all gone, but I guess I'll charge it up to the 'Charity Fund,' and so have a few coppers left for a cigar after dinner."

"No," he said, speaking seriously for a moment, "I went down to the Harvard quarters yesterday to see Tom Burch's son, who is in the crew, and, say, I hadn't been there five minutes when all the 'pep' began to ooze out of me. Those boys have been training for three weeks in this muggy climate, and it has sapped 'em. I don't say they could have won, anyway, for I understand that that Cambridge bunch is a hard proposition--one of the best crews they have turned out in years--but they might just as well have given our boys a dose of bromide every morning before breakfast as to train them in the Thames valley. If I had the handling of a crew over here, I'd put them on the river the day before the race, so as to learn their way through this winding creek they call a river, and the next day I'd call the race, while those boys still had some U.S. ozone in them. Well, it's all in the family," he continued, "and it will serve as a set-off to the cup races and the polo games, and as long as it was not a German crew that won, I don't much care." I saw by the twitching of his lips that there was a story coming, and was not disappointed. But it is too long for this letter, and so will have to be given in my next.