The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1874-04-04 00:00:00

All the long-pent stream of life
Dashed downward In a cataract.

The boats, Oxford pulling 37 strokes a minute jand
Cambridge 38, lie together for nearly a mile. At the
bend by the Grass wharf the Umpires boat, steaming
ahead, shuts out our view for a few brief moments,
and when we steam abreast we find that Cambridge
has got ahead, and is leading by a full length.
The bend in the river, of which Cambridge has
here had the advantage, is partly accountable for
this, aml over the straight Oxford, amid the cheers
of the multitude which line the banks and run
along to watch the race, pulls steadily up till its
bow lies amidship of the other. Louder and
louder grow the cheers as the crowd thickens, fed
by the stream constantly flowing from the starting
point For whom are the cheers? We cannot tell,
though we strive to distinguish. There is only a deep
confused roar, like that of the sea beating on rocks
at the mouth of a cavern. Occasionally we make out
that cries of "Bravo, Oxford!" are mingled with
shouts of "Well, rowed, Cambridge!" Oxford cannot
hear the friendly wish meant to cheer it, neither can
Cambridge catch the words designed for its com-
fort and encouragement. But if the sustained
roar which follows and accompanies them makes
to beat quicker the pulse of the mere on-looker,
what must it be for the sixteen men in the boats
there, who, with lips firmly set and eyes that look
neither to the right nor to the left, sway backwards
and forwards, tugging at the water as if the crew of 1
the first boat to pass the winning barge were to be '
crowned kings, and the crew of the second to be shot?
Hammersmith-bridge is crowded with living beings,
who swarm on the railings and the footpath, and cling
like monkeys to the chains above. As we pass under
the bridge we plainly hear the roar, "Oxford has lost !"
and so it seems, for Cambridge is again leading by a
full length. A belated swan, startled at the roaring
of the multitude, comes swimming right out into
the middle of the stream, and turning round
' and round, forlornly makes up its mind to go
back just in time to escape the sharp prow of the Ox-
ford boat. At Chiswick Oxford is again nearly level
with the Light Blue boat At the bend it comes
abreast, and in the straight that follows it decidedly
leads, taking kindly to the rough water which the wind,
blowing right in the teeth of the rowers, has created. At
Chiswick Church Oxford is still leading, and the excite-
ment on the crowded banks grows intense. Here the
course is narrowed by the boats and barges moored on
either side, every boat and barge alive with men and
women, who clap and cheer, and wave hats and hand-
-1 kerchiefs as the boats sweep by. From Chiswick to
Barnes-bridge the crowd is all in motion along the
1 towing path, running at a steady trot behind the
reeds and bushes that line the banks. Barnes-bridge
is a great station, spectators being massed tier on
tier on both sides of the bridge. Cambridge, rowing
easily and well within itself, has now once more got
ahead, and the wail goes up from the wearers of Dark
Blue favours, "Cambridge has been playing with
them ! " Perhaps Oxford, like thousands of people
who saw the race at Chiswick, thought it was winning,
and lost its presence of mind when one by one the eight
oars tipped with light blue slowly pawed it in view of
Barnes-bridge. However it be explained, it is certain
that for once Oxford was steered badly; and shooting
the bridge in an irresolute manner added half a length
to the advantage Cambridge had gained by superior
rowing.

After this it was plain that all was over. Oxford,
had "gone to pieces ' as Mortlake came in sight, and
the throng here—before the immensity of which Barnes
and Hammersmith are as Liverpool to London—beheld
Cambridge rowing in steadily and strongly three and a
half lengths ahead of the Dark Blue crew, who, albeit
they, were plainly distressed and hopelessly: beaten,
still doggedly, bent to their oars. As the pistol was
fired over the heads of the Cambridge crew the roar-
ing of the multitude, which had continued without in-
termission all the way from Putney, ceased as sud-
denly as it had commenced. The coxswain of the
Cam-bridge boat, taking off his hat, waved it over his
head. But there was no answering cheer. The
people seemed to have shouted themselves out, and
Oxford rowed in amidst a silence that seemed profound
by contrast with the hubbub of the preceding twenty
minutes. It was 13 minutes and 40 seconds past
eleven when the boats started from Putney, and it was
36 minutes and 15 seconds past the same hour when
the pistol was fired at 'Mortlake. Twenty-two
minutes and thirty-five seconds is not absolutely a fast
race, when we call to mind that the race of last year
was rowed in 19 minutes and 36 seconds. But, re-
garding the strong headwind under which it was rowed,
it will not suffer by comparison of speed with any of
its predecessors, whilst the varying changes of position
by which the course war marked made it one of the
most exciting struggles in the long record of University
Boat-races.

The Floor gives the following humorous description of
some of the accompanying scenes of the Boat-race

There were ales swinge and merry-go-rounds, machines
for testing the weight, strength, power of hitting, and
ability to endure electric shocks, photographic institu-
tions, and stalls for the sale of such light refreshments
as cakes, nuts, shell fish, and sweetstuff together with
"prime ale at 6d. a quart," lemonade, ginger beer,
coffee, and sundry nondescript concoctions retailed
out of elaborately ornamented tubs. Indeed, the rule
with these latter fluids seems to be the more gor-
geous the vessel the more insipid the contents.
Establishments for the capture of the impaled cocoa-
nut by means of the deftly hurled bludgeon, and for
the demolition by the same process of suspended
crockery, also abounded, together with numberless
shooting galleries presided over by young ladies in the
most brilliant attire, who kept thrusting the butts of
their loaded rifles into the faces of passers by, with so-
companying invitation to take a shot in an abrupt
manner calculated to upset the equanimity of a person
of nervous temperament. Nor were such minor games
as skittles, shooting for nuts, ringing knives, bowling
at two upright pegs, and all the minor fry wanting.
The keenest patrons of these sports appeared to be
those ragged urchins who vend cigar lights, and who,
no matter how dilapidated their attire, always seem
able to fish up halfpence from the recesses f their tat-
tered nether garments to gratify their gambling propen-
sities. "Nothing like a game where you can get 'em,"
was the remark if the hairy capped proprietor of a
knife ringing board, though whether the truncated
premien was meant, to apply to the sharpy stuck up-
right in the board or the fiats preparing to throw nay
he *pen te queetioa. The tribe et nomads who erop up