CHAPTER XXVI.
THE RACE.
The day for the race came at last--a sunny day, with the air clear andcold. Just the right sort of a day for the best of work.
Everybody seemed bound for Lake Saltonstall. They were going out incarriages, hacks, coaches, on foot, by train, and in many other ways.The road to the lake was lined with people. The students were shouting,singing and blowing horns. One crowd of freshmen had a big banner, onwhich was lettered:
"'Umpty-eight, she is great, She will win sure as fate."
Evidently the sophomores had been informed about this banner in advance,for they carried one which declared:
"'Umpty-eight isn't in it, She'll be beaten in a minute."
How they shouted and taunted each other! How they raced along the road!How sure everybody was that he could pick the winner!
The scene at the lake was beautiful and inspiring, for the shore waslined with people and there were flags and bright colors everywhere. Onthe point there was a great mob, composed mostly of students, who wereyelling and cheering and flaunting their flags. The boats on the lakewere well filled and gay with colors. New Haven swell society was fairlyrepresented, and it certainly was an occasion to stir youthful blood.
The freshman-sophomore-junior race came fourth on the list, and it wasto be the event of the day. Strangely enough, the juniors were notreckoned as dangerous by either freshmen or sophomores. Between the lasttwo classes was to come the real tug of war.
In the boathouse the great Bob Collingwood, of the 'Varsity crew, gavethe freshmen some advice, and they listened to him with positive awe. Hehad heard of Merriwell's attempt to introduce the English stroke, and hedid not approve of it.
After he had got through Merriwell took his men aside into another partof the boathouse and warned them against thinking of anythingCollingwood had said.
"He is all right when he is talking to men who use his style of oar andthe regular American stroke, but you will be broke up sure as fate ifyou think of what he has said that disagrees with my instructions. It istoo late now to make any change, and we must win or lose as we havepracticed."
"That's right," agreed every man.
"We'll win," said Rattleton, resolutely.
They could hear the cheering as the other races took place, and at lastit came their turn. How their hearts thumped! And it was Merriwell thatquieted their unsteady nerves with a few low, calm words, which seemedto give them the bracer which they needed before going into the race.
'Umpty-eight yelled like a whole tribe of Indians, wildly waving flags,hats and handkerchiefs, as the freshman boat shot out upon the lake,with Merriwell at the stroke. They did not row in the buff, as theweather was too cold, but all wore thin white shirts, with"'Umpty-eight" lettered in blue on the breast.
Old rowers looked the freshmen over with astonishment, for they gave theappearance of well-drilled amateurs, and not greenhorns. There were afew expressions of approval. The novel stroke was watched andcriticised, and an old grad who was regarded as authority declared thatthe man who set the stroke for that crew was a comer, providing he wasbuilt of the right kind of stuff.
Then came the sophs and juniors, both pulling prettily and gracefully,and both being cheered by their classes. The juniors were light, butthey expected to walk away from the freshmen, as they had an expert atthe stroke and had been coached by Collingwood.
Soon the three crews lined up, and the voice of the referee was heard:
"Are you ready?"
Dead silence.
"Go!"
Away shot the boats, and the sophs took the lead directly, their short,snappy stroke giving the boat the required impetus in short order. Thejuniors held close on to them, while the freshmen seemed to takealtogether too much time to get away, striking a regular, long, swingingstroke that seemed to be "overdone," as a jubilant sophomore spectatorcharacterized it.
The sophs along the shore and on the point were wild with delight. Theydanced and howled, confident of victory at the very outset. The juniorswere enthusiastic, but not so demonstrative as the sophomores. Thefreshmen cheered, but there seemed to be disappointment in the sound.
"Whoop 'er up for 'Umpty-seven!" howled the sophs. "Whoop 'er up! 'Rah!'rah! 'rah! This is a cinch!"
"'Umpty-eight is in it; she will catch 'em in a minute," sang thefreshmen. "She is crawling on them!"
"All she can do is crawl!" yelled a soph, but his remark was drowned inthe wild tumult of noise.
"'Umpty-six is up to tricks!" shouted the juniors. "'Umpty-six, theyare bricks! Whoop 'er up! 'Rah! 'rah! 'rah!"
The yelling of the freshmen became louder, for their crew was holdingits own--was beginning to gain.
"That is the best freshman crew that ever appeared at Saltonstall,"declared a spectator. "Every man seems to be a worker. There's no oneshirking."
"And look at the stroke oar," urged another. "That fellow is the winner!He is working like a veteran, and he is setting a stroke that is boundto tell before the race is over."
This was true enough. The strong, long stroke of the freshmen kept theirboat going steadily at high speed once it was in motion, and theysteadily overhauled the juniors, who had fallen away from the sophs. Atthe stake the freshman crew passed the juniors, and the freshmenwitnesses had fits.
But that was not the end of the excitement. The speed of the freshmanboat was something wonderful, and it was overhauling the sophs, despitethe fact that they were pulling for dear life to hold the lead.
And now the shouting for 'Umpty-eight was heard on every side. The sophswere encouraging their men to hold the advantage to the finish, butstill the freshmen were gaining.
The nose of the freshman boat crept alongside the sophs, whose faceswore a do-or-die look. The suspense was awful, the excitement wasintense:
Then Rattleton was heard talking:
"Well, this is the greatest snap we ever struck! I wonder how the sophslike the Oxford stroke? Oh, my! what guys we are making of them! Itdon't make a dit of bifference how hard they pull, they're not in therace at all. Poor sophs! Why don't they get out and walk? They could getalong faster."
That seemed to break the sophs up, and then a great shout went up as thefreshman boat forged into the lead. They soon led the sophs by a length,and crossed the line thirty feet in advance.
Then Rattleton keeled over, completely done up, but supremely happy.
How the freshmen spectators did cheer!
"'Umpty-eight! 'Umpty-eight! Whoop 'er up! 'Rah! 'rah!' rah!"
It was another great victory for the freshmen--and Frank Merriwell, andthat night a great bonfire blazed on the campus and the students mademerry. They blew horns, sang, cheered and had a high old time.
The freshmen made the most noise, and they were very proud andaggressive. Never had Yale College freshmen seemed happier.
"Where is Merriwell?" was the question that went around.
A committee was sent to search for him, and they returned with him ontheir shoulders. He tried to get down, but he could not.
Uncle Blossom climbed on a box and shouted:
"Three cheers for 'Umpty-eight, the winners!"
The cheers were given.
Easy Street leaped on another box and yelled:
"Three cheers for Frank Merriwell, the winning oar!"
It seemed that the freshmen were trying to split their throats. And nota few juniors joined with them, showing how much admiration Merriwellhad won outside his own class.
Walter Gordon cheered with the others, but Roland Ditson stood at adistance, beating his heart out with rage and jealousy. He was allalone, for at Yale not one man was left who cared to acknowledge Ditsonas a friend.