CHAPTER XXIII

SPORT ON THE RIVER

Alf’s prophecy regarding the weather on Saturday proved correct. It turned out to be a perfect spring day――warm and bright, with just enough breeze from the marshes to keep one from feeling lazy. By half past ten the river bank in the vicinity of the boat-house was alive with contestants and spectators, all in a very light-hearted mood. Many of the fellows who were to take part in the races had had to make up for the lack of bathing suits as best they could, and some of the improvised costumes appealed strongly to the humor of the throng, and elicited good-natured comment and criticism.

Mr. Bendix, assisted by two of the instructors and some of the older boys, had been kept pretty busy, but the first event, a quarter of a mile canoe race for single paddles, was called only a few minutes behind the scheduled time. The competitors started near Flat Island and paddled down river with the current, finishing just below the boat-house. This race had fourteen entries, and proved one of the most exciting events of the morning. The boys, kneeling in the sterns of the light craft, dug their paddles for all that was in them, and for the first two hundred yards it was a mad scramble for position. The river was so narrow that not more than four or five canoes could stay abreast, and there were some exciting moments until the fortunate ones had proved their right to precedence. There were two upsets, which only added to the fun and confusion. Most of the audience raced along the river path, encouraging their respective heroes at the tops of their voices; and had an outsider wandered on the scene, he would doubtless have jumped to the conclusion that he had unwittingly stumbled into the grounds of a lunatic asylum!

A hundred yards from the finish, the race had narrowed down to three canoes, in one of which Tom Roeder was doing finely. But Tom had luck against him that day, for near the line he broke his paddle short off above the blade; and, although he tried desperately to finish out with what was left him, Graydon, a Second-Class boy, won by two canoe lengths.

The diving competition followed, while some fifteen or sixteen adventurous youths were preparing for the barrel race. Dan, in spite of his having, in his own words, invented diving, was outclassed by many of his rivals, and failed to win even, as Alf put it, a kind word! The barrel race proved excruciatingly funny. Most of the entrants were Preparatory or Fourth-Class youngsters, but one chap, a long, lanky youth named Prince, was participating for the honor of the First Class. It was Prince who afforded most of the fun. It is no easy matter to bestride a barrel, using your feet for paddles to propel yourself, even when you are short and the center of gravity is near the surface of the water. When you measure nearly six feet you find that keeping on the barrel, which displays a most aggravating propensity to roll and tip, is almost impossible. And once off, to regain your position is a feat demanding patience and perseverance――especially perseverance. Prince was in the water most of the time, generally with one long leg pointing skyward over the top of his craft.

It was a wild scene. The distance to be traversed was less than fifty feet, but none of the boys could keep their places that long, and so the water was filled with rolling barrels and struggling youths, while from the shore came laughter and shouts of encouragement. In the end a small, stout, pink-and-white Preparatory boy crossed the line, both legs around the barrel and his head under water, amid the wild acclaim of the onlookers. After that event the tub race was comparatively tame, and many of the spectators followed the competitors in the half-mile canoe race up the river, to the starting point above Flat Island.

There were seven canoes entered, each with its crew of two boys. In one canoe were Tom and Alf, and in another Dan and Paul Rand. Every one wore a bathing suit or trunks――or their equivalent!――and all were prepared for a ducking. And three of the seven crews were not disappointed. They were sent off side by side, but the stream was too narrow for them to stay in that position, and so there was a merry battle for the right of way in which paddles were sometimes used in a manner not provided for in the rules of the contest. Two canoes were overturned then and there, while the third upset occurred half way down the course, when Goodyear and Teller, being all intent on keeping up with Tom and Alf, ran into a snag at the side of the stream. They managed to pull the canoe up, empty out the water, and re-embark in what must have been record time, but the others hadn’t waited for them; and, though they managed to make up some of the lost distance, they were never dangerous.

Tom and Alf and Dan and Paul Rand had been among the fortunate ones, and had started out at the head of the procession, almost side by side. It was a hard race between them the whole distance, with two other crews proving dangerous until almost the end. Dan had been fortunate in his choice of a partner, for Rand was a fine paddler, and from his place in the stern he kept the canoe headed as straight as a die all the way. In spite of his pessimistic opinion of the craft’s condition it showed no symptoms of dissolution, and proved a very good goer. Near the finish the rival crews were only two lengths distant from each other, Dan and Rand leading. Along the bank raced the crowd, shouting and cheering.

“Dig, Rand, dig, you old Indian!”

“Come on, you Dyer! Come on, Loring!”.

“Keep it up, Dan, you’ve got ’em beat!”

Tom and Alf did their best to cut down the lead, but Rand and Dan pushed their canoe across a good length and a half ahead, receiving a salvo of applause and, later, a pair of pewter mugs. While the applause was at its height, Tom and Alf, trying to turn their defeated canoe around toward the float, collided with a tub occupied by a small Prep boy, and added a sensational anticlimax to the event by going heels-over-head into the river!

More swimming races followed, keeping up the interest and excitement until what Alf called “the piece of resistance” was announced. This was the obstacle race for canoes manned by two boys. Tom and Alf were entered, and so were Roeder and Norcross; and there were four other crews besides. The start was at the boat-house, and the finish was above the railroad bridge, downstream. Between start and finish were the obstacles. First of all, there was a thirty-foot ladder placed across the course, roped at each end to stakes driven in the bank in such a way that it formed a low fence. A little way below the ladder Mr. Bendix had gathered the barrels together, end to end, and these, too, formed a river-wide barrier. At Loon Island, farther downstream, the contestants were to pull up their canoes on the farther side, carry them across the narrow strip of land, and re-embark. Beyond the island poles were lashed together to form the final obstacle. The audience anticipated a good deal of fun, and was not disappointed.

As the river was wider at the boat-house than farther upstream, there was no difficulty in lining the six canoes up abreast. From the float and the banks came a fusillade of advice as the crews awaited the word.

“Whatever happens, Jim, don’t give up the ship!”

“Any last word for your relatives, Tom?”

“Ted’s got a life-preserver under his shirt, fellows! See it?”

“All aboard!”

“Elbows in, Jack! Remember your form!”

“Are you ready?” cried Mr. Bendix. “_Go!_”

Twelve paddles bent together, and the six canoes shot away, side by side, toward the first barrier. A babel of shouts and shrieks from the shore. Six canoes dashing wildly downstream, amid showers of spray. “Hold hard!” Paddles gripping the water and canoes slowing down at the ladder. Then the fun! One crew drove their craft against the farther bank, lifted it, and carried it around the end of the barrier, tripping in their excitement over the rope and nearly wrecking their canoe. Cries of “Foul! Foul!” “O you babies!” and “Squealers!” greeted this trick. Meanwhile the other crews were having their troubles. Some swung their canoes broadside to the ladder and, climbing out onto it, strove to lift the crafts over. One couple succeeded very well, but the others had their mishaps. Tom and Alf jumped into the water, and tried to lift their canoe over bow forward. Any one who has ever trod water, and attempted to lift the bow of a canoe eighteen inches above the surface, will have a fairly good conception of the struggle that ensued. In the end, they got the bow onto the ladder and then, shoving and floundering, pushed the rest of it over, dived underneath, and scrambled back into their places. One canoe never passed the ladder at all, the obstacle proving too much for its crew. The other five went on at last, the one that had been taken around by the bank far in the lead.

But this one met retribution at the line of barrels. Tom had evolved the wonderful scheme of leaping nimbly to one of the casks and there, maintaining his balance in some manner not explained, lifting the bow of the craft from the water. He made the leap beautifully, but the barrel acted just as any normal barrel will act under such circumstances; and the youth went into the river, head foremost, about ten feet on the other side, leaving his companion in the stern of a canoe, which, nose in air, proceeded to turn circles. On the bank boys held their sides, the tears streaming from their eyes, or frankly laid themselves down and rolled over and over in their glee.

Alf, from the bow of his canoe, squirmed onto one of the barrels and held the craft, while Tom, laboring manfully, tried to push the nose of it over. That wasn’t a success, and so Tom dropped his paddle and dived overboard. Alf seized that moment to slide from his precarious position, and the canoe started to go its own way. Yet, in spite of all such misadventures, their canoe was the first over, and they were in it again and paddling hard before the next crew had surmounted the obstacle. And they maintained their lead without difficulty to the island, and disappeared behind it on the farther side while their adherents on land cheered joyously.

Three canoes took up the pursuit, but before the first of the trio had reached the island, Tom and Alf were seen pushing their way through the bushes to the little strip of beach on the nearer side. Then they threw themselves into their canoe, seized paddles, and went on their way again. They were fifty or sixty yards to the good by this time, and, barring accidents, were pretty sure to win. Consequently, interest concerned itself with the remaining three canoes which were well bunched at Loon Island. Roeder and Norcross re-embarked first, but Norcross lost his paddle in the excitement, and so one of the other canoes got away ahead of them. But they were not to be denied; and, paddling together like mad, they pulled down the canoe ahead and passed it before the last obstacle was reached.

Tom had advised attempting the poles without getting out of the canoe, and his plan worked beautifully. As they neared it they sent the canoe ahead at full tilt, and Alf scrambled back toward the stern, almost overturning the craft in doing it. The bow of the canoe shot over the boom, and Tom paddled frantically to keep the current from swinging it broadside. Meanwhile Alf hurried forward again, and as soon as his paddle was in the water, Tom crept after him. Relieved of the weight in the stern, the canoe consented to being pushed over. After that the race was never in doubt. Tom and Alf had it their own way, and, paddling slowly, watched their adversaries negotiate the final obstacle.

Roeder and Norcross had decided to try Tom’s method, but they made a sad mess of it, their craft turning broadside on to the boom. In the end, they were forced to take to the water, and by that time they had lost second place. They finished a bad third, with the fourth and last contestant close at their heels.

When Tom and Alf paddled to shore, they were given a reception worthy of the victory, and Mr. Bendix, in his best manner, presented each with a book of English poets! Alf stuffed his hurriedly under his arm, to the detriment of its binding, since his bathing suit was still sopping wet, and shot an eloquent glance at Dan that made that youth, already tired with laughing, chuckle anew.

There was a hearty cheer for Mr. Bendix, and then the boys scurried up the hill, for it was almost dinner-time. The Aquatic Carnival had been the biggest sort of a success, no matter which way you looked at it!