CHAPTER XVIII.
FOOTBALL IN JUNIOR YEAR.
After college closed Frank Armstrong and Jimmy Turner joined a partyof engineers and their assistants, whose work it was to survey a newrailroad through the heart of New Brunswick, one of the Maritimeprovinces of Canada, and for two months they enjoyed the life ofveritable savages in the open air. Following the pointing fingerof the compass they burrowed through the tangled forests, sleepingsometimes rolled in blankets with a bunch of fragrant hemlockboughs for a pillow, and, only when the weather was bad, under theprotecting service tents, several of which had been brought alongfor bad weather. Many nights, however, the tents were never set upat all, and the whole party of young men slept with only the starsfor their roof. Frank made himself invaluable at river crossings,of which there were many, for bridges were few and far between. Itwas his duty to swim the barring river with the engineers' "chains"which he did with such success that he was nicknamed "the torpedo."Later he was followed by other members of the party on homemadecatamarans.
The life agreed with both the boys, and when the party finishedits work and took train at the little station of Harcourt on theIntercolonial railroad, with clothing ragged from the rough caress ofthe tangled woods and shoes guiltless of blacking, they might wellhave been mistaken for young lumbermen instead of college students.
Ten days later they were in football clothes on Yale field, obeyingthe call for early fall practice before college opened. Frank hadput on ten pounds during the summer, and for the first time felthimself strong enough to withstand the punishing work of the game. Hewas hard as nails, in perfect condition and eager for any work thecoach might set him at. Again he was placed at end in practice byCoach Hanley, and made such good progress that in the middle of thefirst game he was called in to play the position, where he acquittedhimself with such credit that he earned a word of praise from CaptainBaldwin.
Through the long, hard grueling work of the fall he fought forhis place, alternating between the 'Varsity and the second eleven,learning something every day under the tuition of this or that coachfor the purpose of helping Yale turn out a winning team. Turner wasfirmly established at right halfback, and gave promise of becoming agreat player. His irresistible smashes earned many yards for Yale inthe minor games of the season, and it was a common prediction thathe would be first choice for the place in the championship games. Hesucceeded not by any great speed but by his instinct for the openinghis linemen made and his almost uncanny ability to keep his feet andburrow for a gain through the worst tangle of human bodies. It wasTurner who was always given the ball down near the goal line to carryit across, and he rarely failed to accomplish his end.
The uncertainty regarding who was to play right end was banishedin the Brown game which preceded the Princeton game by one week.The game was a hard one, and neither side could score a touchdown.Frank was called in at right end to replace Saunders, and on thesecond line-up took a well delivered forward pass and scored withpractically a free field. Twice again before the game was over heproved his ability in this particular play. His baseball helped himin the handling of the football, and his speed and elusiveness inan open field added to his chances. It was therefore no surprise toanyone in the college when he was slated to go in the first line-upagainst Princeton.
"I'm putting you in, Armstrong," said Coach Hanley, "in spite ofthe fact that Saunders has had more experience. In other words, I'mtaking a chance with you. Don't fall down. This Princeton team hasa strong line and we've got to fox them with the forward pass. Keepcool, and use your head all the time."
The instructions sounded easy enough, but when Frank took his placeat right end on the day of the game, under the eyes of thirtythousand people, to say that he was nervous expressed only a smallpart of his feelings. While the big Yale center placed the ball atmidfield for the kick-off he lived, like other high-strung playersbefore him, what seemed a whole year of his lifetime. He was almostovercome by the sudden fear that he might not be able to do what wasexpected of him, and the barking cheers from the Yale side of thefield added to his nervousness instead of encouraging him. TwiceBiddle, the center, placed the ball, and twice the stiff breezetopped it over. Frank's heart was pounding, and he felt weak andineffective, but at the shrill scream of the whistle, and as the ballrose in the air and soared off in the direction of Princeton's goal,his mind cleared like a flash. He regained his grip on himself, andsped off down the field like the wind, feeling a moment later thegrim joy of shock and strain as his arms closed around the legs ofthe man with the ball, who came sweeping up the field, behind whatseemed like a wall of interference. How he reached the runner, henever knew, but the fact that he had reached him seemed to give himthe strength of ten men.
Twice the Princeton backs were shot at his end. Once he got therunner, and the second time he spilled the interference, leavingTurner to take the man with the ball, which he did with a joltingtackle that jarred the Princeton man's very being.
Up and down the field surged the tide of battle, while the standsunder the urging of the cheer-leaders gave out on the one side or theother an almost steady roar of cheers. In spite of their volume theyseemed strangely far away to the players whose energies were engagedentirely with the matter in hand.
Once the new right end was drawn in, and a Princeton back slippedaround him for fifteen yards. The sharp reprimand from the captainwas not necessary for he was raging at himself, savage at beingtricked. A moment later he was tricked again: the back made a feintat the end, went inside him and was stopped by Turner.
"That's the place," yelled a Princeton coach, "put it there again!"It looked like a weak place indeed, and the Princeton quarter, aftermaking his distance on the other side of the line, again shot hiscatapult at right end.
This time Frank went through the interference, and tackled soviciously that there were hisses from a few in the Princeton stand.He was fighting mad, crazy to hurt and to be hurt. Again and again hehurled himself blindly against the Princeton onrush only to be bornebackwards.
Suddenly he realized what the matter was. The coach's words came tohim: "Keep cool, play your game and keep your head working." It waslike a dash of cold water, and he was immediately cool. He had agrip on himself in a moment, and he now smiled back into the mockingeyes of his opposing end where a moment before he had glared in hate.He had obtained the mastery over himself.
Again the play swung around to his end, but this time he met itcoolly and deliberately, and checked it without the gain of a foot,while the Yale stand announced its approval with a mighty andspontaneous shout. Time after time the Princeton attack at the rightend was met and turned back, and Saunders, who had been told to getready to replace Armstrong, sat down again at the motion of CoachHanley, and wrapped his blankets around his shoulders. This muchFrank saw out of the corner of his eye, and a thrill of satisfactionwent through him. He had learned his lesson and was making good.
It is not our intention to tell the story of Frank's baptism offire, nor how the two evenly matched teams battled to a tie at theend of four desperately fought periods. Frank played through threeof these periods, and although he played well and did all of hisduty, he never had a clear chance at a forward pass. The ball wasthrown either too far or not far enough on the half dozen tries atthe pass, or the attempt to throw was spoiled by the eager Princetonforwards who crowded through the line. At the end of the thirdquarter he was taken out weak and staggering from his exertions, andSaunders went in.
But the coach's "All right, Armstrong," was music to his ears as hecame over to the side-line to be immediately wrapped in a big blanketby the trainer.
That night, while the team was dressing in the Gymnasium, the coachesgave the men the benefit of some advice. "You fellows forgot most ofthe time," said Hanley, "that you were a team. You were playing everyman for himself. You should have licked that Princeton team, and theonly reason you didn't was that you were not a Yale team. We don'twant brilliant individual stuff. One must help the other. If you g
ettogether before next Saturday we can beat Harvard. If you play as youdid to-day, Harvard will lick you out of your boots, because she hasa great team and it is together. You are just as good, but you arenot together." It was straight talk, and it sank deep.
Monday was a day of rest at the field, but on Tuesday the finalpreparation for Harvard began. Behind locked gates under the urgingsof the half a score of coaches who had hurried to New Haven, theprevious practice and even the Princeton game were like child's play.Armstrong was at right end, a position which he had fairly won, butSaunders on the Second eleven fought tooth and nail to displace him.It seemed to Frank that the Second eleven coaches had a particulargrudge at his end, for he was called upon to stop more than his shareof attacks. But he was able to do what was expected of him, backedup as he was by the sturdy and omnipresent Turner who withstoodeverything with a never-failing energy.
Wednesday's practice, fiercer than the day before, if that could be,found Frank Armstrong still in possession of his place at right end,but it was with a sigh of relief that he heard the welcome "That'sall," of Coach Hanley. He watched with interest the usual celebrationof the Second eleven which marks the end of the year's practice.
On Thursday the 'Varsity, with substitutes, a score of coaches andheelers, took the afternoon train to the north, and were quarteredat a hotel just outside of Cambridge. A brief signal practice washeld in the towering Stadium on Soldiers Field Friday, where the lastinstructions were given to the men. It would be too much to say, andnot the truth, that the night was a peaceful one for most of theYale eleven. Turner and Armstrong were quartered in separate beds inthe same room. The former slept like a log, apparently free from allthoughts of the morrow. Frank, on the other hand, tossed and turned,got up in the night and sat at the window while his companion snoredcontentedly. In the early hours of the morning he finally droppedinto a sleep which was disturbed by dreams of the Harvard runnersslipping past just beyond his reach. How he got through the morninghe never knew, but he did get through somehow, and finally foundhimself dressed for the fray and in the big 'bus with the rest of theeleven, headed for the Stadium.
"There go the Yaleses!" sang out an urchin.
"Dey won't look so nice as dat when de Harvards get through wit'dem," shouted his companion.
Occasionally the 'bus passed Yale sympathizers, and then it got acheer or: "Go to it, Yale, you're the boys who can do it!"
From every direction throngs of people were heading toward the greatconcrete structure whose huge gray bulk seemed to fill the horizon.Already thousands swarmed in its arches, and even at this hour littleblack specks of human beings were seen outlined on its upper heightsagainst the sky. Progress became slower as the 'bus neared the field,and it finally took the combined efforts of a squad of police tobreak the crowd sufficiently to let the Yale players through to theLocker Building within the shadow of the Stadium walls.
The game was to be started at two o'clock, and at a quarter of thathour it would have been difficult to find a vacant place in all thosetowering tiers. Yale occupied the south and Harvard the north sideof the field. The cheer-leaders were tuning up, as it were. Back andforth across the field were flung songs and cheers, and in this lullbefore the battle each applauded the other's efforts.
Five minutes before the hour the Harvard captain, with hisred-jerseyed and red-stockinged warriors at his heels, dashed throughthe gate at the northwest corner of the field. A great wave ofcrimson seemed to sweep the Harvard stand from end to end as thethirty thousand Harvard sympathizers rose to their feet, waving flagsand red bandannas. A crackling cheer like musketry rolled acrossthe field. While the Harvard cheer-leaders called for a cheer forthe team, the Yale stand sat motionless. A minute later, however,it sprang into life as Captain Baldwin led his men onto the fieldthrough the same gate at a loping run. The Yale crowd was smaller,but what a noise it did make!
After a few minutes of signal practice, the two captains with theofficials met at the center of the field and tossed for choice ofsides. The coin which was flipped in the air by the referee fellheads, which was the side Captain Randall of Harvard, had called, andhe indicated with a sweep of his hand that he would take the westend of the field. What little wind was then blowing at his back wasthe only advantage he had. Both elevens quickly dropped into theirplaces, the whistle shrilled and the game was on.
That was a game which went down in history as one of the fiercest andhardest ever played between the two old rivals. It was clean andfree from bad feeling which sometimes marks close games, but intensefrom the first line-up to the last. Harvard, after receiving theball on the kick-off, cut loose a smashing attack through the line,reeling off the yards with terrible, tremendous force, a force thatYale did not seem to be able to meet successfully.
Down over the white lines went the Harvard machine, plays timed toperfection and gaining wherever they struck, not much, but enough inthree tries to carry them the necessary yards for a first down. Aperfect roar of cheers boiled up from the Harvard side of the fieldwhile Yale seemed paralyzed. Only after the ball had been pushed wellinto Yale territory did her cheer-leaders begin to get something likea cheer of volume.
But Yale was learning, and before Harvard had progressed to thedanger zone the advance was stopped, and Yale took the ball, an actthat was approved by a mighty cheer.
Turner bored through for eight yards on the first play, and followedit up with enough to make a first down, but there the advancestopped. Porter, the Yale fullback, who was doing the punting,was hurried by the rush of the Harvard forwards, and his kickalmost blocked. It traveled diagonally across the field for a barefifteen-yards gain, and was Harvard's ball.
"Now stop 'em right here! Take it away," commanded Captain Baldwin."You can do it!"
But Harvard was not to be stopped just then. Playing like red demons,they fought their way foot by foot into Yale's territory, andthreatened the Yale goal. Turner and Armstrong were on the bottom ofevery heap when the play came at their side, but the best they coulddo was to keep the gains down. They could not entirely stop them. Butthe gallant Yale line rallied less than ten yards from their goal,and again checked the crimson attack. So determined were the Harvardteam to make a touchdown that they scorned to try a field goal, anddepended on a forward pass to make the necessary distance.
Armstrong, alert for just such a move, intercepted the ball and againit was Yale's. Yale's rushing attack was stopped short and Porter wassent back to punt.
"Block it! block it! block it!" yelled the Harvard partisans butalthough the red line tried desperately to do this, Porter succeededin getting his kick off, but the ball went high, was held back bythe wind which at that moment was blowing a stiff breeze, and itdropped into the Harvard quarter's hands a bare twenty yards backof his line of scrimmage. A groan went up from the Yale hosts asHarvard, for the third time, took up the march down the field.