THE BOAT-RACE.
T LAST!" After the strain of long expectation, and the
access of wild delirious excitement as the race flitted past the limited view of each spectator, this was probably the first instinctive feeling of the great majority of the countless thousands who lined the banks of the Thames for full five miles on Wednesday last. For nine weary, bitter years Cambridge has had to endure defeat after defeat, now narrowly missing a victory through sheer ill-luck, now rowing a race that was hopeless from the first with the doggedest of dogged pluck, but always having to bear the burden of the galling sense of inferiority so inseparable from defeat in athletic struggles. And on the whole, she bore it grandly throughout her time of trial. Prometheus himself could not restrain an occasional wail of impatient suffering, and Cambridge men may be fairly pardoned for having sometimes, in bitterness of heart, repined at the lot which condemned them to practise on a narrow and tortuous river, at the larger term of years during which a first-class oar was available to their opponents, and at their persistent ill-luck as to choice of station. The victors, despite a certain amount of i43prs, manifested chiefly amongst the junior and non-rowing mem- bers of the University, have taken their long series of triumphs chivalrously ; but none the lighter —perhaps the greater—has been the weight of humiliation to be borne by Cambridge. And when, this year, nothing daunted by traditions of defeat bequeathed through three generations of undergraduate life, the Cam- bridge crew came to Putney and set themselves to work to prepare for the struggle, they had the sympathy and good wishes, if not the confidence, of nearly everybody, except those intimately and exclusively connected by personal ties with the sister University. Still, the prestige accumulated by Oxford during a triumphant decade weighed heavily upon the spirits of their well-wishers, and "I hope they may win !" was more fre- quently heard than "I believe they will win." Oxford, it was known, however, had been in trouble about a stroke, and until the much-reviled Houblon, who was guilty of the unpardonable crime of being under eleven stone in training, was replaced by the veteran, skilled, and determined Darbishire, the dwellers on the Isis were gloomy. Neither Willan nor Yarborough were to be had, and the gigantic Cornishman, who used to look as though he could pull the race all by himself if he only had arms enough, was also unable to row. But there were others trained in the same school, and as Oxford par- tizans hoped, as worthy to serve as champions of the Dark Blue as their predecessors. After the arrival of the crews at Putney, there set in the usual flood of criticism as to their "style," "form," and "fitness." Of course, as every human being who had ever handled an oar, or seen a boat-race, was bound to give an opinion on the matter, and as nine out of ten of the men who expressed opinions knew very little indeed about high- class rowing, there was naturally a good deal of nonsense talked during the fortnight previous to the race. But as the day of the race drew near, it began to be pretty generally understood that Oxford was not what Oxford bad been, and that Cambridge was represented by a very formidable crew. Betting—for there was betting, we regret to say, con- siderably beyond the proper boat-race limits of modest sovereigns and six-and-a-half gloves—ranged at 6 and even 7 to 4 on Oxford. There never was, however, any real foundation for odds like these, it being manifest from the first that the Cantabs were a powerful crew, strong-limbed for their size, in the perfection of training, and certain to improve every day under the judicious and untiring coaching of Mr. Morrison. No one who witnessed even the earlier stages of the Cambridge practice could have any doubt as to the staying power of the crew, and the results of Mr. Morrison's persistent efforts to remedy their defects in style were soon appa- rent. Day after day they acquired a steadier stroke, a longer reach, and abetter " catch," and by Wednesday morning it was generally acknowledged that a crisis was at hand, and that there was no likelihood of a runaway race, either way. Whatever happened, it was clear that the performance of the previous years would not be repeated, and the Pall Mall Gazette actually went so far as to prophesy that the race would be the exact converse,—that Oxford would lead up to Chiswick, and then yield to the superior strength of Cambridge. As it turned out, Oxford never did actually lead, but the Pall Mall's estimate of the crew was fully justified by the result. The race was virtually over at Chiswick.
It is not surprising, therefore, that under these circumstances, with every prospect of a splendid race, to be rowed at conveui- ent time in the afternoon, the crowd assembled was, by general admission, the greatest ever seen on a boat-race day. The weather was simple perfection,—" Derby-Day weather" of the best kiud. The road, or rather any one of the half-dozen roads leading to the course, very much resembled the road at Sutton, except that there were fewer drags and less chaff ; and that, in consideration of the shorter distance, there was even more cruelty to animals inflicted, —horses of the smallest and feeblest kind having to drag even larger carts filled with heavier men than could possibly be dragged over the longer course. The railway companies had to suspend ordinary trains and treble their fares, in order to keep their traffic- within manageable limits. The river, from Westminster Bridge upwards, looked like Limehouse Reach on a Whit-Monday, being covered with boat-loads of excursionists, not half of whom could ever have got as far as Putney, still less seen anything of the race. The wonder is how anybody ever got there after three o'clock. Yet everybody was there, and old inhabitants declare that London was never so deserted even on a Derby Day. The Prince of Wales was there, to the great delight of his backers— we mean those who, relying on his superhuman activity and endurance, had given odds on his appearance — and to take the boat-race at five, between a levee at two and a State dinner party, was a feat even for him. The Oriental personage, so essential a feature in the programme on all great occasions nowadays, was represented by a youthful Egyptian, who probably considered the actors in the scene maniacs and the spectators idiots. Ladies were in greater force than ever, some in dark blue, some in light, and some in inter- mediate shades which, after the race, were declared by their wearers to be light. Everybody knows that the prettiest girls in the world are to be seen between Putney and Mortlake on a boat-race day, just as the ugliest are to be seen at an ultra- classical concert ; and such was the case on Wednesday, as on pre- vious occasions. Girls of the period were represented,—not, on the whole, reflecting any very great credit on the period. Old ladies were there, heartily enjoying the scene, and looking as comely as only English old ladies can ; and little fluffy- haired girls, just old enough to be vehement partizans, were in the frantic excitement of their first boat-race. Country parsons were there by the hundred, of all kinds and parties, excepting of course those to whom a boat-race comes within the prohibited degrees of amusement during Lent. They, of course, abstained, and the weak point in the form of the majority present certainly was not over-training. Portly and rubicund, how happy they looked !—and yet there was a manifest touch of sadness in the face of many a rector as the scene before him recalled the days of his youth—days when there were no conscience-clauses to bother his head and fret his heart, and hardly any newspapers to revile him for voting for men after his own heart at Univer- sity elections. Thousands of old University men belonging to the graver professions and walks of life were there, and imparted the peculiar air of order and respectability which so markedly distinguished the crowd on Wednesday from an Epsom, or even a Wimbledon-Common crowd. Roughs there were, of course,—hoarse in voice, foul in language, coarse in mien, and when opportunity offered, brutal in behaviour ; but they were evidently a little out of their element. The crowd,. in the main, in fact was eminently respectable for a crowd, the most objectionable element being, as usual, the thousands of greasy-looking youths smoking filthy cigars, out of hideous cigar- tubes, managing their aspirates with that peculiar vocalization which is not dropping them, but the substitution of something else quite different, and as indefinable as the digamma ; ornamented with huge dark or light-blue neckties and rosettes; and by a coarse-• bumptious swagger effectually distinguishing themselves from the University men whom many of them credulously imagined they resembled in appearance. There did not seem to be much betting going on on the banks, what there was being chiefly the result of
the wish to hedge of the backers of Oxford. Stock Exchange men were there, with miraculously constructed books, by which they stood to win on either side; and youthful Civil servants were there, who had followed the exactly opposite principle, but there was no evidence on the course of the very heavy betting said to have taken place before the day.
As for the race itself, the few who saw it throughout say it was one of the best, closest, and most gallantly contested ever rowed on the Thames ; and of those who saw it from the banks, each one declares that the particular fragment of it that he saw was the beat bit of racing ever known. Certain it is, that the struggle in Corney Reach, and the final drawing-away of Cambridge after passing the point so often fatal to them, was intensely exciting. The race was not a fast one in point of time, but the distance was a trifle longer than usual, and it was rowed on the very top of the flood, which was all but spent at the finish. And it cannot be said that there was any very striking display of style. Oxford in fact was a most uneven crew, and superioras the Cambridge crew was to any- thing hailing from the Cam of late years, it was far from faultless. They have unlearnt a great deal that was bad, but they still have a good deal to learn. We doubt if they could have won had Tinne, Yarborough, and Willan been against them. But as it was they did win, and they won by sheer hard rowing. Not only is the dispiriting spell broken, but there is every practical reason for Cambridge to look forward to the future with confidence. They have fairly abandoned their vicious style, thanks, no doubt, in great measure to the patient, unwearying efforts of Mr. Morrison— it was touching to hear, when he was coaching them, the earnest and affectionate tones of his voice as he remonstrated with them on their besetting sins—and they certainly possess the secret of bringing themselves to the start in good condition. Our own impression is that half the crews are spoiled by over-training and training too early, and Mr. Goldie so managed matters that every man of his powerful crew was in possession of full strength and endurance. Rarely have we seen a crew leave off with so much left in them. Oxford, on the other hand, showed very evident signs of distress. If Cambridge can only secure a similar amount of strength and pluck next year, and continue in well-doing as to style, it will require a very different crew from that which repre- sented Oxford on Wednesday to defeat her.
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