All Aboard; or, Life on the Lake<br />A Sequel to "The Boat Club" by Oliver Optic (fantasy novels to read .TXT) 📕

Keep both eyes on me, and think only of having your stroke perfectly accurate, perfectly in time with the others. Now, remember, don't look at the Butterfly; if you do, we shall lose the race. It would distract your attention and add to your excitement. If she gets two or three lengths ahead of us, as I think she will on the first mile, don't mind it. Pull your best, and leave the rest with me."

"Ay, ay!" replied several, quietly.

"Do you think we shall win, Frank?" asked Charles, who had put the same question a dozen times before.

"We must think that we shall," replied Frank, with a smile. "Here comes the Butterfly. Now, give her three cheers. One!"

"Hurrah!"

"Two!"

"Hurrah!"

"Three!"

"Hurrah!"

This compliment was promptly returned by the Butterfly, as she came alongside the Zephyr.

"Quarter of three, Frank," said Tony.

"Time we were moving then," replied Frank, as he ordered the oars out, and the boats started for the spot where the Sylph, the judges' boat, had taken position.

They pulled with a very slow stroke, and not only did the respective crews keep the most exact time, but each timed its stroke with the other. It was exhibition day with them, and they were not only to run the race, but to show off their skill to the best advantage. Hundreds of people, their fathers and their mothers, their sisters and their brothers, were observing them from the shore, and this fact inspired them to work with unusual care.

It was a very beautiful sight, those richly ornamented boats, their gay colors flashing in the bright sunshine, with their neatly uniformed crews, their silken flags floating to the breeze, and their light, graceful oars dipping with mechanical precision in the limpid waters. As they glided gently over the rippling waves, like phantoms, to the middle of the lake, a long and deafening shout from the shore saluted their ears. The white handkerchiefs of the ladies waved them a cheerful greeting, and the Rippleton Brass Band, which had volunteered for the occasion, struck up Hail Columbia.

"Cease—rowing!" said Frank, as he rose in his seat.

Tony followed his example, though this movement had not been laid down in the program.

Frank then took the American flag which floated at the stern, and Tony did the same.

"All up!" said he. "Let us give them three cheers."

"Mind the coxswain of the Zephyr," added Tony, "and let them be all together and with a will."

"Hats off, and swing them as you cheer."

The cheers were given with all the vigor which stout lungs could impart, and the flags waved and the hats swung.

The salute was reiterated from the shore, and above the martial strains of the band rose the deafening hurrahs.

"Ready—pull!" and the boats resumed their slow and measured stroke, and the band changed the tune to the Canadian Boat Song.

When they reached the judges' boat, the two coxswains drew lots for the choice of "position," and the Butterfly obtained this advantage. The two boats then took their places, side by side, about two rods apart, ready to commence the race.

"Tony," said Frank, rising, "before we start I have a word to say. Whatever may be the result of the race, for myself and my crew, I pledge you there shall be no hard feeling among the Zephyrs."

"No, no, no!" added the club, earnestly.

"If you beat, it shall not impair our friendship; there shall be no envy, no ill-will. Do you all say so, Zephyrs?"

"Ay, ay!"

The Butterflies clapped their hands vigorously, in token of their approbation of the pledge, and Tony promised the same thing for his club.

"Now we are ready," added Frank. "Keep perfectly cool, and mind all I have said. Ready!"

Uncle Ben stood in the bow of the Sylph, with a burning slow match in his hand, ready to discharge the cannon which was to be the signal for starting. It was a moment of intense excitement, not only to the crews of the boats, but to hundreds of spectators on the shore.

It was undeniably true that the Zephyrs, in spite of the warnings which Frank had given them, were very much excited, and various were the expedients which the boys used to calm their agitation, or at least to conceal it. But it was also true that the Butterflies were much more excited. Discipline and experience had not schooled them in the art of "being mere machines," and they found it much more difficult than the Zephyrs to subdue their troublesome emotions.

The eventful moment had come. The oarsmen were bent forward ready to strike the first stroke, and the coxswains were leaning back ready to time the movement. Captain Sedley was gazing intently at the dial of his "second indicator," prepared to give Uncle Ben the word to fire.

"Ready, Ben—fire!"

Bang! went the cannon.

"Pull!" shouted Frank and Tony in the same breath.

Fortunately every oarsman in both boats hit the stroke exactly, and away leaped the gallant barks.

As Frank had deemed it probable, the Butterfly shot a length ahead of her rival after pulling a few strokes; but though the noise of the oars informed his crew of their relative positions, not an eye was turned from him, not a muscle yielded in the face of the dispiriting fact, and not a member quickened his stroke in order to retrieve the lost ground. Even Tim Bunker, who was supposed to have more feeling in regard to the race than the others, maintained an admirable self-possession. However much the hearts of the crew beat with agitation, they were outwardly as cool as though the Butterfly had been a mile behind them.

It is true, some of the Zephyrs, as they continued to gaze at Frank's calm and immovable features, wondered that he did not quicken the stroke; but no one for an instant lost confidence in him. "Frank knew what he was about." This was the sentiment that prevailed, and each member looked out for himself, leaving all the rest to him.

The Butterflies were quickening their stroke every moment, and consequently were continuing to increase the distance between the two boats. Every muscle was strained to its utmost tension. Every particle of strength was laid out, until Tony, fearful that some of the weaker ones might "make a slip," dared require no more of them. But they were already more than two boats' lengths ahead of their rival, and he had everything to hope.

Still the Zephyr pulled that same steady stroke. As yet she had made no extraordinary exertion. Her crew were still fresh and vigorous, while those of her rival, though she was every moment gaining upon her, were taxing their strength to the utmost.

They rounded the stake boat, which had been placed nearly opposite the mouth of the Rippleton River, and the Butterfly was still three lengths ahead. They had begun upon the last two miles of the race. Though the Zephyr still pursued her former tactics, her rival was no longer able to gain upon her. The latter had thus far done her best, and for the next half mile the boats maintained the same relative positions.

Frank was still unmoved, and there was some inward grumbling among his crew. An expression of deep anxiety had begun to supplant the look of hope and confidence they had worn, and some of them were provoked to a doubt whether Frank, in the generosity of his nature, was not intending to let Tony bear off the honors.

"Come, Frank, let her have, now!" said Tim, who could no longer restrain his impatience.

"Silence! Not a word!" said the self-possessed coxswain.

It was in the "order of the day" that no member should speak during the race; and none did, except Tim, and he could easily have been pardoned under the circumstances.

Not yet did Frank quicken the stroke of the Zephyr, though at the end of the next half mile she was only two boats' lengths astern of her competitor, which had lost this distance by the exhaustion of her crew. They had pulled three miles with the expenditure of all their strength. They lacked the power of endurance, which could only be obtained by long practice. "It is the last pound that breaks the camel's back;" and it was so with them. With a little less exertion they might have preserved some portion of their vigor for the final struggle, which was yet to come.

They had begun upon the last mile. The crew of the Butterfly were as confident of winning the race as though the laurel of victory had already been awarded to them; and though their backs ached and their arms were nearly numb, a smile of triumph rested on their faces.

"Now for the tug of war," said Frank, in a low, subdued tone, loud enough to be heard by all his crew, but so gentle as not to create any of that dangerous excitement which is sometimes the ruin of the best laid plans.

As he spoke the motions of his body became a little quicker, and gradually increased in rapidity till the stroke was as quick as was consistent with perfect precision. The result of this greater expenditure of power was instantly observed, and at the end of the next quarter of a mile the boats were side by side again.

"They are beating us!" said Tony, in a whisper. "Dip a little deeper—pull strong!"

The exciting moment of the race had come. The spectators on the shore gazed with breathless interest upon the spectacle, unable, though "Zephyr stock was up," to determine the result.

Not a muscle in Frank's face moved, and steadily and anxiously his crew watched and followed his movements.

"Steady!" said he, in his low, impressive tone, as he quickened a trifle more the stroke of the crew.

The Butterflies were "used up," incapable of making that vigorous effort which might have carried them in ahead of the Zephyr.

"A little deeper," continued Frank. "Now for it!"

As he spoke, with a sudden flash of energy he drove his oarsmen to their utmost speed and strength, and the Zephyr shot by the judges' boat full a length and a half ahead of the Butterfly.

"Cease—rowing!" said he. "Ready—up!"

The Butterfly came in scarcely an instant behind, and her oars were poised in air, like those of her rival.

A long and animating shout rang along the shore, when the result of the race was apparent, and the band struck up "See the conquering hero comes."

CHAPTER IX. LITTLE PAUL.

"You have won the race, Frank, and I congratulate you," said Tony
Weston, as the Butterfly came alongside the Zephyr.

"Thank you, Tony; that is noble and generous," replied Frank.

"But it is the feeling in our club—isn't it, fellows?"

"Ay, ay, that it is!" shouted Little Paul. "Let us give them three cheers, to show the folks on shore that there are no hard feelings."

The cheers were given lustily—at least, as lustily as the exhausted condition of the Butterflies would permit. Each member of the defeated club seemed to feel it his duty to banish even the semblance of envy; and it was pleasant to observe how admirably they succeeded.

I do not wish my young readers to suppose that Tony's crew felt no disappointment at the result; only that there were no hard feelings, no petty jealousy. They had confidently expected to win the race, even up to the last quarter of a mile of the course; and to have that hope suddenly dashed down, to be beaten when they felt sure of being the victors, was regarded as no trivial misfortune. But so thoroughly had Tony schooled them in the necessity of keeping down any ill will, that I am sure there was not a hard feeling in the club. Perhaps they displayed more disinterestedness in their conduct after the race than they really felt. If they did, it was no great harm, for their motives were good, and they were all struggling to feel what their words and their actions expressed.

"Zephyr, ahoy!" hailed Mr. Hyde, from the Sylph.

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"The prize is ready for the winner."

The oars were dropped into the water again, and the Zephyr pulled up to the judges' boat.

"You have won the prize handsomely, Frank, and it affords me great pleasure to present it to you," said Mr. Hyde, as he handed him a purse containing the prize. "After the noble expressions of kindness on the part of your rival, I am sure the award will awaken no feeling of exultation in