The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-03-31

sons of the sea-these marine dudes that
viii 90 at the bugle note from the BARRIERS
chair to the battery, or from the inspection
line to the assembly for battle and die by
the gun, their blood staining the clean blue
and white of their mastering clothes.
On shore the man of the navy is out OF
his element. He is q wheel lost from the
fighting machine OF which he forms so i'm
portant a part but no sailor ever left his
post on board while the flag was at the
peak. The glory of the navy is an eternal
sunburst across the sea, and history is full
ofdeeds wrought
When death careering on the gale
Swept darkly round the bellied sail.
But to the boatrace The forecastle
athletes man the thwarts and the beautiful
craft sinks like a wlnglng swan down into
her native element. For weeks they have
been working her over for the coming con-
test. Every superhuous timber has been
removed, and even the ribs have been
taken from her frame until she is as fragile
as a zephyr and almost as light, and only
the utmost care will keep the crew from
falling through her bottom. She has been
slung in on deck, capsized and sun-dried
until she threatens to blow away like a
flake of foam. She has been rolled and
handled until she is as timber as logline,
and her planking planed, pumice-stoned
and vanished, smeared with the whites OF
.
tional eel is rattail file in comparison.
Away she goes under the electric IMPULSE
of her double bank of oars that swing in
the perfect rhythm of song, and the
anxious hearts of her ship sail in her.
Under the bows of the vessel the cox
thin blades together until they stand YER
tical on the thwarts and the challenge is
complete.
Now is heard another call, and second
boat pulls out from her ships gangway,
following the challenger to the marking
buoy, whence they will spring, arrowlike,
away in a contest where mighty muscles,
with perfect discipline, vie for supremacy.
Miles down the stretch is the stake where
a turn must be made, a maneuver SO deli
cate that the swerving of the tiller hair
breadth from the necessary angle may
deaden Roadway or foul an oar and oring
on the disaster of defeat. Let one luckless
rover in that double line of human ma
chimes that rise and fall, rise and fall, ever
get the infnitesimal fraction of beat out
of time or catch the ghost OF a "crab," let
him dip his feathery blade one stroke i'm
perceptibly deeper than his mates, and a
catastrophe is upon them. So thorough
has been their practice that the muscle
force of each man has been gagged to the
ounce and his endurance tested to the Sec
ond, so that in perfect equipolse OF power
the racer will carry a midship helm until
she curves for the homeward work and the
straight stretch away for the finish.
No need is there TO follow these feet
and graceful galleys in their tug -of-war
over miles of water, their weakened frames
frightening out and drawing together
with the elasticity of rubber under the
beat OF the straining oars. The racing
coxswain, standing in the. stern-sheets
with swaying hand and body, moves his
men with one impulse and they never take
their eyes from his, knowing that victory
can only come, if come it will, from that
incessant stare. They watch him with the
hungry look of desperate longing, and lie
GIBBS low in that deadly struggle. The
broken, bubbling water rushes Kissing
away astern, and the distinct eddy made
by the fall of each oar can be seen In two
lines OF foam spots on each side OF the
white wake long after the boat has passed
ahead, as though the eternal flow, and
reflow of the tide was for the time being
checked. Then sounds the ending gun,
and at the order of "oars" the crew sit
still with their blades resting horizontally
in the rowlocks. Somebody hoists the
cock-fiag in the victorious bow and the
speedy racer comes back to her davits,