CHAPTER XXIII
THE SQUALL
The first college eight went off to Gillings, and, as it was only a fewmiles by rail, half the student body, at least, went to root for thecrew. The Ardmore boat was beaten.
"Oh, dear! To come home plucked in such a disgusting way," groanedHelen, who, with Jennie, as well as Ruth, was among the disgruntled anddisappointed girls who had gone to see the race. "It is awful."
"It's taught them a lesson, I wager," Ruth said practically. "We haveall been rowing in still water. The river at Gillings is rough, and thelocal eight was used to it. I say, girls!"
"Say it," said Jennie, gruffly. "It can't be anything that will hurt usafter what we've seen to-day. Three whole boatlengths ahead!"
"Never mind," broke in Helen. "The races with Hampton and Beardsley willbe on our own lake."
"And if there is a flutter of wind, our first eight will be beatenagain," from Jennie Stone.
"No, no, girls!" Ruth cried. "I heard the coach tell them that hereaftershe was going to make them row if there was a hurricane. And that's what_we_ must do."
"_Who_ must do, Ruthie? What do you mean?" asked Helen.
"The freshman eight."
"E-lu-ci-date," drawled Jennie.
"We must learn to handle our shell in rough water. If there is a breathof wind stirring we mustn't beat it to land," said Ruth, vigorously."Let's learn to handle our shell in really rough water."
"Sounds reasonable," admitted Jennie. "Shall we all take out accidentpolicies?"
"No. All learn to swim. That's the wisest course," laughed Ruth.
"Ain't it the _trewth_?" agreed Jennie, making a face. "I'm not much ofa swimmest in fresh water. But I never could sink."
The freshmen with the chums in the eight-oared shell proved to be allfair swimmers. And that crew was not the only one that redoubled itspractice after the disastrous race at Gillings College.
Each class crew did its very best. The coaches were extremely stern withthe girls. Ardmore had a reputation for turning out champion crews, andthe year before, on their own water, the Ardmore eight had beatenGillings emphatically.
"But if we can win races only on our own course," _The Jasper_, the Ardmore College paper declared, "what is the use of supporting an athletic association and four perfectly useless crews?"
They had all been so sure of victory over Gillings--both the studentbody and the faculty--that the disgrace of their beating cut all thedeeper.
"It is fortunate," said the same stern commenter, "that our races with Hampton, and again with Beardsley, will be on Lake Remona. At least, our crew knows the water here--on a perfectly calm day, at any rate."
"I see Merry Dexter's fine Italian hand in _that_," Ruth declared, whenshe and her chums read the criticism of the chief college eight. "And ifit is true of the senior shell, how much more so of our own? We must beready to risk a little something for the sake of pulling a good race."
"Goodness!" murmured Helen. "When we're away off there in the middle ofthe course between the landing and Bliss Island, for instance, and asquall threatens, it is going to take pluck, my dear, to keep us allsteady."
"I tell you what!" exclaimed Jennie Stone.
"Tell it, if you're sure it won't hurt us," laughed Helen.
"Let's get the coach to have us circle the island when we're out inpractice. It's always a little rough off both ends of Bliss Island, andwe should get used to rough water before our final home races."
For, before the season was over, the four Ardmore eights would compete,and that race was the one which the three under-classes particularlytrained for.
Jennie's suggestion sounded practical to her chums; so there were threealready agreed when it was broached to the freshmen eight. The coachthought well of it, too; for there was always a motor boat supposed tobe in sight of the shells when they were out at practice.
This was in April, and, in Ardmore's latitude, a very uncertain monthApril is--a time of showers and smiles, calms and uncertain gales.Nevertheless, so thoroughly were the freshmen eight devoted to practicethat it had to be a pretty black looking afternoon, indeed, that keptthem from stepping into their boat.
The boatkeeper was a weather-wise old man, who had guarded the Ardmoregirls against disaster on the lake for a decade. Being so well used toreading the signs he never let the boats out when he considered theweather threatening in any measure.
One afternoon, when there had been a call passed for the freshmen eightto gather at the boathouse immediately after recitations, Johnnie, asthe boatman was called, had been called away from his post. Only a greenassistant was there to look after the boats, and he was much too bashfulto "look after the girls," as Jennie, giggling, observed.
"I don't see why they don't put blinders on that young man," she said."Whenever he has to look at one of us girls his freckles light up asthough there was an electric bulb behind each individual one."
"Oh, Heavy! Behave!" murmured Helen, yet amused, too, by the bashfulnessof the assistant.
"We _are_ a sight, I admit," went on Jennie. "Everything in the shell,girls? Now! up with it. Come on, little Trix," she added to thecoxswain. "Don't get your tiller-lines snarled, and bring your'nose-warmer'"--by which inelegant term she referred to the megaphonewhich, when they were really trying for speed was strapped to thecoxswain's head.
The eight oarswomen picked the light shell up, shoulder high, andmarched down the platform to the float. Taking their cue from thetam-o'-shanters the seniors had made them wear early in their collegeexperience, the freshmen eight wore light blue bandannas wound aroundtheir heads, with the corners sticking up like rabbit-ears, blueblouses, short skirts over bloomers, and blue stockings with whiteshoes. Their appearance was exceedingly natty.
"If we don't win in the races, we'll be worth looking at," Helen oncesaid pridefully.
The assistant boatkeeper remained at a distance and said not a word tothem, although there was a bank of black cloud upon the western horizoninto which the sun would plunge after a time.
"We're the first out," cried one of the girls. "There isn't another boaton the lake."
"Wrong, Sally," Ruth Fielding said. "I just saw a boat disappear behindBliss Island."
"Not one of _ours_?" cried Jennie, looking about as they lowered theshell into the water.
"No. It was a skiff. Came from the other side, I guess. Or perhaps itcame up the river from the railroad bridge."
"Now," said Trix Davenport, the coxswain, "are we going to ask that boyto get out the launch and follow us?"
"Oh, goodness me! No," said Helen, with assurance. "We don't want himtagging us. Do we, girls?"
"Perhaps it might be better," Ruth said slowly.
But the chorus of the other girls cried her down. Besides, she did notbelieve there was any danger. Of course, a rowing shell is an uncertainthing; but she had never yet seen an accident on the lake.
All stepped in, adjusted their oars, and the coxswain pushed off. Havingadjusted the rudder-lines, Trix affixed the megaphone, and lifted herhand. The eight strained forward, and the coxswain began to beat time.
Ruth set the pace in a long, swinging stroke, and the other seven fellinto time. The shell shot out from the landing just as the coachappeared around the corner of Dare Hall, on her way down from thegymnasium. She gave one glance at the sky, and then started to run.
"Those foolish girls!" she exclaimed. "Where's Johnny?"
The freshman eight was far out upon the lake when she reached theboathouse, and she quickly saw that the old boatkeeper was not in sight.She tried to signal the crew of the shell to return; but the girls inthe frail craft were too interested in their practice to look backtoward the shore. Indeed, in a very few minutes, they swept through theslightly rough water at the eastern end of the island and disappearedbehind it. The coach, Miss Mallory, beckoned the assistant boatman andordered out the launch. But there was something wrong with the engine,and he lost some time before getting the cra
ft started.
Meanwhile, the cloudbank was rolling up from the west. The sun suddenlywas quenched. A breath of cold wind swept down the lake and fretted thetiny waves. They sprang up in retaliation and slapped the bow of thelaunch, which finally got under its sputtering way.
Then a squall of wind swooped down and Miss Mallory was almost swept offher feet. The boatman steered carefully, but the engine was not yetworking in good fashion. The coach made a mistake, too, in directing thelaunch. Instead of starting directly up the lake, and rounding the headof the island to meet the freshman shell, she ordered the boatman totrail the boat that had disappeared.
The launch was some time in beating around the lower end of the island.