# The Boys of Columbia High on the River/Chapter 14

CHAPTER XIV
THE GREAT RACE
"Clifford leads!"
"This is what we've been waiting for!"
"Look at Bellport pull up, will you? Go it, you tigers! Hurrah!"
"Careful, Frank, careful, boy!"
Amidst the riot and confusion of sounds that listening ear of the young Columbia coxswain caught this last shout through the megaphone.
He realized that it sprang from the coach, who was moving along the road that skirted the river all the way up to Rattail Island, keeping pace with the boats.
Frank knew what he was to do, and glanced immediately toward the spot from whence the admonition had sprung. He saw Coach Willoughby waving his arm in a certain way. That meant he was to slightly increase his motion, and bring the pull of the oars up two strokes to the minute.
In a race of this sort each boat is looked upon ​as a unit, and every man aboard reckons himself a spoke in the wheel, or a cog in the whole machine. Every eye is supposed to be fastened exclusively on the figure of the coxswain, and movements must be wholly regulated by his.
It matters not to the sturdy rowers that a competing boat begins to crawl past them, foot by foot. They are not supposed to know the circumstances, everything being left entirely in the care of the one who is there to guide their destinies.
Against the current of the Harrapin they set themselves, and such was the vigor of their stroke that they seemed to fairly fly upstream.
"Did you ever see such splendid time? The four-oared race wasn't in the same class as this!" cried more than one enthusiastic spectator, as watches were compared after the three boats had vanished around that bend.
Frank's crew consisted for the most part of young athletes who had already distinguished themselves during the season on the baseball diamond, and were instrumental in fetching the coveted pennant to Columbia High.
Roderic Seymour was stroke oar; although he had just graduated from the school he was eligible as a member of the crew, according to the rules and regulations by which the three towns had bound themselves.
​Besides this sturdy rower there were seven others, and each one capable of filling the position he occupied. They came in the following order:
"Lanky" Wallace, Paul Bird, Jack Comfort, "Chatz" McGregor, Launcelot Jones, Ben Allison, "Crackers" Smith.
When the turn of the river shut out all view of the race from the great crowds clustered about the home stake, their enthusiasm naturally waned for the time being. They wanted to reserve their wind for the time when the boats would once more shoot into view; and every minute was a tremendous strain to the faithful adherents of the several schools.
Which crew would be leading when once more a glimpse could be had of a shell? It was a question that just then overshadowed in the minds of those boys all national subjects. A Babel of voices attested to the fact that disputes were many, although, as a rule, these were good-natured enough.
But while the shouting near the railroad bridge may have slackened, the ears of the contestants had no rest. All along the road were posted squads of wild lookers-on, who took up the refrain, and madly ​chanted in unison the various school yells, until one would think that Bedlam had broken loose.
Half way up to the island Columbia High seemed to be holding her own, with Clifford pressing close at her side, and Bellport lingering just in the rear, ready to push ahead at the least sign of a break.
Frank was holding his men in reserve to some extent. He knew the stamina of that Clifford team. They had the reputation of being tremendous finishers. It was the furious rush of that last half mile that he dreaded; and all because of Jonsey, the weak spoke in the wheel.
The island loomed up ahead. Scores of Clifford people had taken up their stations on it, so as to witness the turn. They knew everybody could not be at the finish, and preferred half a loaf to no bread.
"Get out the way there with those boats! Do you want to have an accident?"
It was Coach Willoughby roaring through his megaphone, and his voice carried like a fog horn signal. A number of pleasure boats had clustered about the upper end of the island, and unless they made a hasty move it was possible that one of the contestants might collide with a rowboat or a launch.
Immediately there was a scurrying. Boats fled to the right and left.
"Pull in closer to the shore, you fellows! Quick now!"
​They seemed to recognize authority in that voice, and hastened to obey. It was well that some one had taken the matter in hand in time; for a possible chance for friction that would have caused ill feelings if nothing more, was avoided.
Frank's wisdom in going over the course so frequently in a small boat, so as to note each eddy or each snag that might bring ruin to the hopes of the contestants, was justified.
But the other coxswain's had done the same. During the week past each of them had paid quiet visits to the island, and rowed down to Columbia, with the same object in view. As a result here were no serious accidents, such as getting aground, or striking half-concealed rocks.
The committee had marked a number of bad places, and it was the business of the keen-eyed steersman to avoid these obstructions.
Rounding the island, Columbia High was still in the lead. Indeed, Frank had managed to increase the pace to such an extent that the prow of Clifford's shell just balanced the stern of Columbia's; while Bellport hung on to the immediate rear, very much after the manner of a bulldog, awaiting its opportunity. At a sign of weakness on the part of either of the others, Bellport had planned to shoot up and dislodge that participant.
The waiting game has won many a race. At the ​same time frequently the expected chance does not come until it is too late to overtake the leader.
Once around Rattail Island and the chase was for home. Now the current favored the hardy young rivals, and it might be expected that their pace would increase to an extraordinary extent.
Frank settled himself for the terrific strain. Every nerve was on edge. He kept his eyes moving to the right and left ahead, but never once turned to see where the other boats might be. That was none of his business, with a watchful coach on the shore to attend to all such things.
Three times had the umpire called out warnings to one of the contestants. Bellport was crowding into Clifford; or in another case the former seemed to be taking water that by rights belonged to Bellport, and thus preventing the other boat from shooting alongside if so inclined.
There had been no actual fouling. These contestants were boys of honor, who did not wish to win a race by trickery or jockeying methods. It must be a clean win calculated to stand the closest scrutiny in order to satisfy all parties.
Down the river they shot like arrows speeding from stout bows.
The din now was fairly deafening, and each rower's muscles were strained to the utmost to hold out. Frank knew from the coach's gestures that he ​had increased his lead to some two boat lengths, and that Clifford was not gaining a foot despite the herculean efforts of her trained rowers.
If the Columbia High boys could only hold their own the race was already as good as won. But Frank began to be alarmed. He watched the whole crew, but much of his attention was taken up with a single member, and that, Jonsey.
The fellow had done nobly thus far. His ambition was tremendous, and in fact he allowed himself to be carried away with it, so that there were times when the port side seemed to be outpulling the starboard four.
Jonsey was showing positive signs of distress when the boats flew around the bend, and came in sight of the goal. Oh! if he could only hold out just so many seconds more! It was agony to Frank to see his wobbly motions, as the boy strove to do his level best.
Half the distance had been covered, and the final dash was before them. Would Clifford be able to make another spurt? If so there was a chance for them to win.
But the pace had been so exceedingly hot all the way down from the island stake that Clifford lacked the breath to add a single stroke to their already rapid headway, much as they desired to do so. Perhaps the watchful coxswain in the Clifford boat ​had already seen the tottering form of poor Jonsey, and he was basing his calculations on what seemed imminent.
Frank almost ceased to draw his breath, so intense was the strain. They were now not more than two hundred yards from the railroad bridge, with the clamor all around them. But Jonsey was weakening fast! He seemed to move mechanically, and his pull lacked steam, so that his mates were forced to put on extra efforts in order to counteract the disastrous effect of his failing powers.
So far as utility went, Jonsey had already become "dead wood." What Frank feared most was that in his collapse he might confuse the other rowers, and break up the rhythm of the stroke, so that Clifford would forge ahead at the finish.
And then the end came!
Jonsey just crumpled up, and fell over as though incapable of further motion. He seemed to be making a move as if wishing to topple overboard; but lacking the power simply curled backward.
A shriek from the shore in a thousand voices told that the adherents of Clifford were fully awake to the great opportunity now presented to their crew to make a desperate dash to overtake and pass Columbia!