Transcriber's Notes

Sequences of plates are grouped together at the end of the relevant chapter or major section.

Detailed notes on the text (listing any changes made for correction of typographical errors) are found at [the end of the book].

[Frontispiece]
[Title Page]
[CONTENTS.]
[LIST OF PLATES.]
[Publisher's catalogue (advertisements).]

THE ISTHMIAN LIBRARY: A Series of Volumes dealing popularly with the whole range of Field Sports and Athletics.

Edited by B. Fletcher Robinson, and Illustrated by numerous Sketches and Instantaneous Photographs. Post 8vo, cloth, 5s. each.

Vol. I. Rugby Football. By B. Fletcher Robinson, with chapters by Frank Mitchell, R. H. Cattell, C. J. N. Fleming, Gregor MacGregor, and H. B. Tristram, and dedicated by permission to Mr. Rowland Hill.

Vol. II. The Complete Cyclist. By A. C. Pemberton, Mrs. Harcourt Williamson, and C. J. Sisley.

Vol. IV. Rowing. By R. C. Lehmann, with chapters by Guy Nickalls and C. M. Pitman.

Vol. V. Boxing. By R. Allanson Winn.

Other volumes are in preparation, and will be duly announced.

ROWING

The Isthmian Library
Edited by B. Fletcher Robinson

No. 4

ROWING

BY
R. C. LEHMANN

WITH CONTRIBUTIONS BY
GUY NICKALLS, G. L. DAVIS, C. M. PITMAN,
W. E. CRUM, and E. G. BLACKMORE

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON
A. D. INNES & COMPANY
LIMITED
1898

AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF FRIENDSHIP
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO
MR. HERBERT THOMAS STEWARD,
CHAIRMAN OF THE AMATEUR ROWING ASSOCIATION;
CHAIRMAN OF THE COMMITTEE OF MANAGEMENT, HENLEY REGATTA;
AND PRESIDENT OF THE LEANDER CLUB.

AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

My thanks are due to the proprietors of the Daily News and of the English Illustrated Magazine for permission to include in this book the substance of articles originally contributed to their columns. I have not added to the Appendix any lists of winning crews, as these are to be found very fully and accurately set out in the Rowing Almanack, published every year at the office of the Field.

For the rest, I have endeavoured to make the rowing instructions which will be found in this book as concise as was compatible with perfect clearness, assuming at all times that I was addressing myself first of all to the novice. No doubt other oarsmen will differ here and there from my conclusions. Absolute unanimity on every detail of rowing is not to be expected.

All I can do is to assure my readers that nothing has been set down here the truth and accuracy of which I have not proved—at least, to my own satisfaction.

The illustrations are reproduced from photographs by Messrs. Stearn, of Cambridge; Messrs. Gillman, of Oxford; Messrs. Marsh, of Henley-on-Thames; Messrs. Hills and Saunders, of Eton; Messrs. Pach Brothers, of Cambridge (Mass.); and Mr. J. G. Williams, of East Molesey.

R. C. L.

October, 1897.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF PLATES.

ROWING.

CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.

My object in the following pages will be not merely to give such hints to the novice as may enable him, so far as book-learning can effect the purpose, to master the rudiments of oarsmanship, but also to commend to him the sport of rowing from the point of view of those enthusiasts who regard it as a noble open-air exercise, fruitful in lessons of strength, courage, discipline, and endurance, and as an art which requires on the part of its votaries a sense of rhythm, a perfect balance and symmetry of bodily effort, and the graceful control and repose which lend an appearance of ease to the application of the highest muscular energy. Much has to be suffered and

many difficulties have to be overcome before the raw tiro, whose fantastic contortions in a tub-pair excite the derision of the spectators, can approach to the power, effectiveness and grace of a Crum or a Gold; but, given a healthy frame and sound organs inured to fatigue by the sports of English boyhood, given also an alert intelligence, there is no reason in the nature of things why oarsmanship should not eventually become both an exercise and a pleasure. And when I speak of oarsmanship, I mean the combined form of it in pairs, in fours, and in eight-oared racing boats.

Of sculling I do not presume to speak, but those who are curious on this point may be referred to the remarks of Mr. Guy Nickalls in a later chapter. But of rowing I can speak, if not with authority, at any rate with experience, for during twenty-three years of my life I have not only rowed in a constant succession of boat-races, amounting now to about two hundred, but I have watched rowing wherever it was to be seen, and have, year after year, been privileged to utter words of instruction to innumerable crews on the Cam, the Isis, and the Thames. If, then, the novice will commit himself for a time to my guidance, I will endeavour to

initiate him into the art and mystery of rowing. If he decides afterwards to join the fraternity of its votaries, I can promise him that his reward will not be small. He may not win fame, and he will certainly not increase his store of wealth, but when his time of action is past and he joins the great army of "have-beens," he will find, as he looks back upon his career, that his hours of leisure have been spent in an exercise which has enlarged his frame and strengthened his limbs, that he has drunk delight of battle with his peers in many a hard-fought race, that he has learnt what it means to be in perfect health and condition, with every sinew strung, and all his manly energies braced for contests of strength and endurance, and that he has bound to himself by the strongest possible ties a body of staunch and loyal friends whose worth has been proved under all sorts of conditions, through many days of united effort.

It has often been objected to rowing, either by those who have never rowed, or by those who having rowed have allowed themselves to sink prematurely into sloth and decay, that the sport in the case of most men can last only for a very few years, and that having warred, not without glory,

up to the age of about twenty-five, they must then hang their oars upon the wall and pass the remainder of their lives in an envious contemplation of the exploits of old but unwearied cricketers. Judging merely by my own personal experience, I am entitled to pronounce these lamentations baseless and misleading, for I have been able to row with pleasure even in racing boats during the whole period of nineteen years that has elapsed since I took my degree at Cambridge. But I can refer to higher examples, for I have seen the Grand Challenge Cup and the Stewards' Cup at Henley Regatta either rowed for with credit, or won by men whose age cannot have been far, if at all, short of forty years, and of men who won big races when they were thirty years old the examples are innumerable. But putting actual racing aside, there is in skilled rowing a peculiar pleasure (even though the craft rowed in be merely a fixed seat gig) which, as it seems to me, puts it on a higher plane than most other exercises. The watermanship which enables a party of veterans to steer their boat deftly in and out of a lock, to swing her easily along the reaches, while unskilled youths are toiling and panting

astern, is, after all, no mean accomplishment. And in recent years rowing has taken a leaf out of the book of cricket. Scattered up and down the banks of the Thames are many pleasant houses in which, during the summer, men who can row are favoured guests, either with a view to their forming crews to take part in local regattas, or merely for the purpose of pleasure-rowing in scenes remote from the dust and turmoil of the city. Let no one, therefore, be repelled from oarsmanship because he thinks that the sport will last him through only a few years of his life. If he marries and settles down and becomes a busy man, he will enjoy his holiday on the Thames fully as much as his cricketing brothers enjoy theirs on some country cricket field.

Of the early history of boats and boat-racing it is not necessary to say very much. It is enough to know that the written Cambridge records date back to 1827, though it is certain that racing must have begun some years previously; that Oxford can point to 1822 as one of the earliest years of their College races; that the two Universities raced against one another for the first time in 1829; and that Henley Regatta was established

in 1839, when the Grand Challenge Cup was won by First Trinity, Cambridge. Opposite is a facsimile copy of the programme of this memorable regatta.

Those who desire to go still further back, have the authority of Virgil for stating that the Trojans under Æneas could organize and carry through what Professor Conington, in his version of the "Æneid," calls "a rivalry of naval speed." The account of this famous regatta is given with a spirit and a richness of detail that put to shame even the most modern historians of aquatic prowess. After reading how Gyas, the captain and coach of the Chimæra—

"Huge bulk, a city scarce so large,
With Dardan rowers in triple bank,
The tiers ascending rank o'er rank"

—how Gyas, as I say, justly indignant at the ineptitude and cowardice of his coxswain, hurled him from the vessel, and himself assumed the helm at a critical point of the race, it is a mere paltering with the emotions to be told, for instance, that "Mr. Pechell, who owes much to the teaching of Goosey Driver, steered a very good course," or that he "began to make

the shoot for Barnes Bridge a trifle too soon." How, too, can the statement that "both crews started simultaneously, Cambridge, if anything, striking the water first," compare with the passage which tells us (I quote again from Professor Conington) how

"at the trumpet's piercing sound,
All from their barriers onward bound,
Upsoars to heaven the oarsman's shout,
The upturned billows froth and spout;
In level lines they plough the deep—
All ocean yawns as on they sweep."

It may be noted in passing that no one else seems to have felt in the least inclined to yawn, for

"With plaudits loud and clamorous zeal
Echoes the woodland round;
The pent shores roll the thunder peal—
The stricken rocks rebound;"

which seems, if the criticism may be permitted, a curious proceeding even for a stricken rock during the progress of a boat-race. Finally, a touch of religious romance is added when we learn that the final result was due, not to the unaided efforts of the straining crew, but to the intervention of Portunus, the Harbour God, who, moved by the prayer of Cloanthus, captain of the Scylla, pushed that barque along and carried her triumphantly

first into the haven—invidious conduct which does not appear to have caused the least complaint amongst the defeated crews, or to have prevented Cloanthus from being proclaimed the victor of the day. Only on one occasion (in 1859) has Father Thames similarly exerted himself to the advantage of one of the University crews, for during the boat-race of that year he swamped the Cambridge ship beneath his mighty waves, and sped Oxford safely to Mortlake. Lord Justice A. L. Smith, amongst others, still lives, though he was unable to swim, to tell the exciting tale.

Before I take leave of this Virgilian race, I may perhaps, even at this late date, be permitted as a brother coach to commiserate the impulsive but unfortunate Gyas on the difficulties he must have encountered in coaching the crew of a trireme. Not less do I pity his oarsmen, of whom the two lower ranks must have suffered seriously as to their backs from the feet of those placed above them, while the length and weight of the oars used by the top rank must have made good form and accurate time almost impossible. A Cambridge poet, Mr. R. H. Forster, has sung the woes of the Athenian triremists and their instructor

—

"Just imagine a crew of a hundred or two
Shoved three deep in a kind of a barge,
Like a cargo of kegs, with no room for their legs,
And oars inconveniently large.
Quoth he, 'παντες προσω' and they try to do so.
At the sight the poor coach's brains addle;
So muttering 'οιμοι,' he shouts out 'ἑτοιμοι,'
And whatever the Greek is for 'paddle.'
Now do look alive, number ninety and five,
You're 'sugaring,' work seems to bore you;
You are late, you are late, number twenty and eight,
Keep your eyes on the man that's before you."

So much for the trireme. But neither the Greeks nor any other race thought of adapting their boats merely to purposes of racing until the English, with their inveterate passion for open-air exercise, took the matter in hand. African war-canoes have been known to race, but their primary object is still the destruction of rival canoes together with their dusky freight. In Venice the gondoliers are matched annually against one another, but both the gondola and the sandolo remain what they always have been—mere vessels for the conveyance of passengers and goods. The man who would make war in a racing ship would justly be relegated to Hanwell, and to carry passengers, or even one "passenger," in such a boat is generally looked upon as a certain presage

of defeat. Consider for a moment. The modern racing ship (eight, four, pair, or single) is a frail, elongated, graceful piece of cabinet work, held together by thin stays, small bolts, and copper nails, and separating you from the water in which it floats by an eighth of an inch of Mexican cedar. The whole weight of the sculling-boat, built by Jack Clasper, in which Harding won the Searle Memorial Cup, was only nineteen pounds, i.e. about 112 pounds lighter than the man it carried. Considering the amount of labour and trained skill that go towards the construction of these beautiful machines, the price cannot be said to be heavy. Most builders will turn you out a sculling-boat for from £12 to £15, a pair for about £20, a four for £33, and an eight for £55. But the development of the racing type to its present perfection has taken many years. Little did the undergraduates who, in 1829, drove their ponderous man-of-war's galleys from Hambledon Lock to Henley Bridge, while the stricken hills of the Thames Valley rebounded to the shouts of the spectators—little did they imagine that their successors, rowing on movable seats and with rowlocks projecting far beyond the side

would speed in delicate barques, of arrowy shape and almost arrowy swiftness, from Putney to Mortlake—in barques so light and "crank" that, built as they are without a keel, they would overturn in a moment if the balance of the oars were removed. The improvements were very gradual. In 1846 the University race was rowed for the first time in boats with outriggers. That innovation had, however, been creeping in for some years before that. Mr. Hugh Hammersley, who rowed in the Oriel boat which started head of the river at Oxford in 1843, has told me that in that year the University College boat, stroked by the famous Fletcher Menzies, was fitted with outriggers at stroke and bow; and the bump by which University displaced Oriel was generally ascribed to the new invention.

In 1857 the University race was rowed in boats without a keel, and oars with a round loom were used for the first time by both crews. At the Henley Regatta of the preceding year the Royal Chester Rowing Club had entered a crew rowing in this novel style of keelless boat for the Grand Challenge and the Ladies' Cups. Her length was only fifty-four feet, and her builder was Mat Taylor,

a name celebrated in the annals of boat-building, for it is to him, in the first instance, that our present type of racing-boat owes its existence. "The Chester men," Mr. W. B. Woodgate tells us in his Badminton book on boating, "could not sit their boat in the least; they flopped their blades along the water on the recovery in a manner which few junior crews at minor regattas would now be guilty of; but they rowed well away from their opponents, who were only College crews." They won, as a matter of fact, both the events for which they entered.

One might have thought that with this invention improvements would have ceased. But in course of time the practical experience of rowing men suggested to them that if they slid on their seats, both the length and power of their stroke through the water would be increased. At first they greased their fixed seats, and slid on those. But it was found that the strain caused by this method exhausted a crew. In 1871 a crew of professionals used a seat that slid on the thwarts, and beat a crew that was generally held to be superior, and from that moment slides, as we now know them, came into general use. In 1873 the University

crews rowed on sliding seats for the first time. Since then the length of the slide has been increased from about nine inches to fifteen inches, or even more, a change which has made the task of the boat-builder in providing floating capacity more difficult; but in all essentials the type of boat remains the same. It ought to be added that the Americans, to a large extent, use boats moulded out of papier maché, but this variation has never obtained favour in England, though boats built in this manner by the well-known Waters of Troy (U.S.A.) have been seen on English rivers. The Columbia College crew won the Visitors' Cup at Henley in 1878 in a paper boat, and she was afterwards bought by First Trinity, Cambridge, but she never won a race again.

[Text representation of the Plate originally facing page 6.]

HENLEY REGATTA
June 14th, 1839.
[royal crest]
Entrances for the
GRAND CHALLENGE CUP.

• OXFORD.—Brasen Nose College,—Blue Cap, with Gold Tassel; Rosette, yellow, purple, and crimson.
• CAMBRIDGE.—Trinity Boat Club,—Blue stripe Jersey and Trowsers; Rosette, French blue.
• OXFORD.—Etonian Club,—White Jersey, with pale blue facings; Rosette, sky blue.
• OXFORD.—Wadham College,—White Jersey, with narrow blue stripes, dark blue cap, with light blue velvet band, and light blue scarf.

Entrances for the
TOWN CHALLENGE CUP.

• WAVE.—White Jersey, pale blue facings.
• DREADNOUGHT.—Blue Striped Shirt, blue Cap
• ALBION.—Blue Striped Jersey, crimson scarf.

TURN OVER.

ORDER OF THE RACES.

GRAND CHALLENGE CUP.

The first trial heat will commence at FOUR o'clock precisely.

The second trial heat will follow immediately.

The final heat will take place at SEVEN o'clock precisely.

The Race for the
TOWN CUP,
Will take place at SIX o'clock precisely.

Previous to each Race, a Signal Gun will be fired at the Bridge to clear the course, another when the course is clear, a third at the Island when the Boats start, and a fourth at the Bridge to announce that the race is ended.

Lithographic Drawings of the Cups,
Two Shillings per pair,
And the Henley Guide, Two Shillings,
May be had of Hickman & Kinch, Post-Office.
Hickman & Kinch, Typ. Henley.

CHAPTER II.
FIRST LESSONS ON FIXED SEATS.

If the tiro who aspires to be an oarsman has ever seen a really good eight-oared crew in motion on the water, he will probably have been impressed not so much by the power and the pace of it as by the remarkable ease with which the whole complicated series of movements that go to make up a stroke is performed. The eight blades grip the water at the same moment with a perfect precision, making a deep white swirl as they sweep through; the bodies swing back with a free and springy motion; the slides move steadily; and almost before one has realized that a stroke has been begun, the hands have come squarely home to the chest and have been shot out again to the full extent of the arms, the blades leaving the water without a splash. Then with a balanced swing the bodies move forward again, the oar-

blades all in a level line on either side, and, presto! another stroke has been started. Nothing in these movements is violent or jerky; there are no contortions—at least the tiro can see none, though the coach may be shouting instructions as to backs and shoulders and elbows—and the boat glides on her way without a pause or check.

What sort of spectacle, on the other hand, is afforded by a thoroughly bad eight? The men composing it have chests and backs together with the usual complement of limbs that make up a human being; they are provided with oars; their ship is built of cedar and fitted with slides and outriggers—in short, as they sit at ease in their boat, they resemble in all outward details the crew we have just been considering. But watch them when they begin to row. Where now are the balance, the rhythm, the level flash of blades on the feather, the crisp beginning, the dashing and almost contemptuous freedom of bodies and hands in motion, the even and unsplashing progress of the ship herself? All these have vanished, and in their place we see a boat rolling like an Atlantic liner, oars dribbling feebly along the water or

soaring wildly above it, each striking for the beginning at the sweet will of the man who wields it, without regard to anybody else; eight bodies, cramped and contorted almost out of the semblance of humanity, shuffling, tumbling, and screwing, while on eight faces a look of agony bears witness to such tortures as few except Englishmen can continue to suffer without mutiny or complaint. It is not a noble or an inspiring sight; but it may be seen at Oxford or at Cambridge, on tidal waters, and even at Henley Regatta.

What, then, is the main cause of the difference between these two crews? It lies in good "style"—style which is present in the one crew and absent from the other. And this style in the rowing sense merely sums up the result, whether to individuals or to a crew, of long and patient teaching founded upon principles the correctness of which has been established ever since rowing became not merely an exercise, but a science in keelless racing ships. And here one comment may be added. It is the habit of every generation of rowing men to imagine that they have invented rowing all over again, and have at last, by their own intelligence and energy, established its principles on a firm foundation.

Within my own experience, five at least of these generations believed that for the first time the virtues of leg-work had been revealed to them, four thought they had made out a patent in the matter of body-swing, and six were convinced that they had discovered length of stroke and firmness of beginning. In the eyes of these young gentlemen, the veterans whom they occasionally condescended to invite to their practice were harmless and well-meaning enthusiasts, who might have made a figure in their day, but who were, of course, utterly unable to appreciate the niceties of rowing as developed by their brilliant and skilful successors.[1] Amiable presumption of youth and innocence! The fact is, of course, that the main principles of good rowing are the same now as they have always been, on long slides or on short slides, or even on fixed seats. And, personally, I have always found that the hints I gathered from such men as Dr. Warre, Mr. W. B. Woodgate, Mr. J. C. Tinne, or Sir John Edwards-Moss, whose active rowing days were

over before sliding seats came into use, were invaluable to me in the coaching of crews.

[1] I shall never forget the tone of kindly patronage in which the stroke of my college crew once observed to his coach, a man about fifteen years older than himself: "Ah, I suppose, now, they all used to row in top-hats in your day!"

How is a novice to be taught so that he may some day take his seat with credit in a good crew? I answer that there is no royal road; he must pass through a long period of practice, often so dull that all his patience will be required to carry him through it. His progress will be so slow, that he will sometimes feel he is making no headway at all; but it will be sure none the less, and some day, if he has in him the makings of an oar, he will realize, to his delight, that his joints move freely, that his muscles are supple, that his limbs obey his brain immediately—that, in short, the various movements he has been striving so hard to acquire have become easy and natural to him, and that he can go through them without the painful exercise of deliberate thought at every moment of their recurrence.

Every oarsman must begin on fixed seats. This statement is to an English public school or University oar a mere platitude; but in America, and even in some of our English clubs outside the Universities, its force and necessity have been lost sight of. Here and there may be found a

born oar, whose limbs and body do not require an arduous discipline; but in the case of ordinary average men like the immense majority of us, it is impossible, I believe, to acquire correct body movement without a stage, more or less prolonged, of practice in fixed-seat rowing. For it is on fixed seats alone that a man can learn that free and solid swing which is essential to good oarsmanship on slides.

I will, therefore, ask my novice reader to imagine that he is seated on one of the thwarts of a fixed-seat tub-pair, while I deceive myself into the belief that I am coaching him from its stern. My first duty will be to see that all his implements are sound and true and correct, since it is probable that faults are often due as much to the use of weak or defective materials as to any other cause. I must satisfy myself that his oar is stiff and of a proper length; that when pressed against the thole in a natural position it can grip the water firmly and come through it squarely;[2] that the stretcher is properly set, and that the straps pass

tightly over the root of the toes. I must also see that he is properly dressed, and not constricted about the waist by impeding buttons. A belt is never permissible. Now for instruction.

[2] The breadth of beam of an ordinary in-rigged fixed-seat gig for the use of novices may be stated at 3 ft. 10 in. A line drawn horizontally across the boat, at right angles from the rowing thole, would be from 11½ in. to 12 in. distant from the aft, or sitting edge of the thwart. Oars should measure 12 ft. over all, with an in-board length of 3 ft. 5 in. to 3 ft. 5½ in. Breadth of blades 5½ in. to 5¾, not more.

(1) Sit erect on the aft edge of your seat, exactly opposite the point at which your heels touch the stretcher. The feet must be placed firm and flat upon the stretcher, the heels touching one another, and forming an angle of about forty-five degrees. The knees must be bent to about one-third of their scope, and set a shoulder's breadth apart. Shoulders must be well set back, the chest open, and the stomach well set out.

(2) Now swing your body slowly forward as far as you are able from the hips, without bending the back, being careful to let your head swing with your body. Repeat this movement several times without holding the oar.

(Note.—The ideal swing is that which takes the whole unbending body full forward till it is down between the knees. This, to a novice, is impossible, and the coach must therefore be content to see the

first efforts at swing very short. It is better that this should be so than that a man should prematurely attain length by bending his back, doubling in his stomach, and over-reaching with his shoulders, faults that, once acquired, it is extremely difficult to eradicate.)

The swing must be slow and balanced, for "the time occupied in coming forward should be the body's rest, when the easy, measured swing, erect head, braced shoulders, and open chest, enable heart and lungs to work freely and easily, in preparation for a defined beginning of the next stroke."[3]

[3] From an article by Mr. S. Le Blanc Smith.

(3) Take hold of your oar, the fingers passing round it, thumbs underneath, and the hands one hand's-breadth apart. The grip on the oar should be a finger-grip, not the vice-like hold that cramps all the muscles of the arm. It is important, too, to remember that, while the arms are presumably of the same length, the outside hand (i.e. the hand at the end of the oar) has, during stroke and swing forward, to pass through a larger arc than the inside hand. The inside wrist should, therefore, be slightly arched even at the beginning of the stroke, thus shortening the inside arm, but without

impairing its use during the stroke. This arch, too, will give the inside hand a greater leverage and ease for performing the work of feathering, which devolves mainly upon it.

(4) Draw your oar-handle slowly in till the roots of the thumbs touch the chest, the elbows passing close to the sides, and the body maintaining the erect position described above in [instruction (1)], but slightly inclined beyond the perpendicular. I assume that the blade of the oar is covered in the water in the position it would have at the finish of a stroke.

(5) Drop your hands; in fact, not merely the hands, but the forearms and hands together. This movement will take the oar clean and square out of the water.

(6) Turn your wrists, more particularly the inside wrist, with a quick sharp turn. This movement will feather the oar.

(7) Without attempting to move your body, shoot your hands sharply out to the full extent of your arms, taking care to keep the blade of the oar well clear of the water. Repeat these last three movements several times, at first separately, then in combination.

(Note.—These three movements are sometimes spoken of incorrectly as the finish of the stroke. Properly speaking, however, the finish, as distinguished from the beginning, is that part of the stroke which is rowed through the water from the moment the arms begin to bend until the hands come in to the chest. The movements I have described are in reality part of the recovery, i.e. they are the movements necessary to enable the oarsman's body to recover itself after the strain of one stroke, and to prepare for the next. Smartly performed, as they ought to be, they have all the appearance of one quick motion. As to the dropping of the hands, the novice must practise this so as to get his oar square and clean out of the water. It is, however, necessary to guard against exaggerating it into the pump-handle or coffee-grinding style, which merely wastes energy and time. Later on, when an oarsman is rowing in a light racing ship, a very slight pressure will enable him to release his oar, the movement and elasticity of the boat helping him.)

(8) You have now taken the blade out of the water, feathered it, and have shot your hands away, the blade still on the feather, to a point beyond the

knees. In so doing you will have released your body, which you must now swing forward slowly and at a perfectly even pace, in a solid column from the hips, as described in [instruction 2].

(9) Obviously, if you keep your arms stiff in the shoulder-sockets, you will eventually, as your body swings down, force your hands against the stretcher, or into the bottom of the boat, with the blade of the oar soaring to the level of your head. To avoid this windmill performance let your hands, especially the inside hand, rest lightly on the oar-handle, and as the body swings down let the hands gradually rise, i.e. let the angle that the arms make with the body increase. You will thus, by the time you have finished your swing, have brought the blade close to the water, in readiness to grip the beginning without the loss of a fraction of a second.

(10) During the foregoing manœuvre keep your arms absolutely straight from shoulder to wrist. Many oarsmen, knowing that they have to get hold of the beginning, cramp their arm-muscles and bend their elbows as they swing forward, the strain giving them a fictitious feeling of strength. But this is a pure delusion, and can only result in waste, both of energy and of time.

(11) As you swing, use the inside arm and hand to shove against the oar. You will thus keep the button of the oar pressed up against the rowlock, a position it ought never even for a moment to lose; you will help to steady your swing, and you will go far towards keeping both shoulders square. Most novices and many veterans over-reach badly with the outside shoulder.

(12) While you are carrying out the last four instructions, your feet, save for a slight pressure against the straps during the very first part of the recovery ([see instruction 23]), must remain firmly planted, heel and toe, against your stretcher. During your swing you should have a distinct sense of balancing with the ball of your foot against the stretcher. This resistance of the feet on the stretcher helps to prevent you from tumbling forward in a helpless, huddled mass as you reach the limit of your forward swing.

(13) As to taking the oar off the feather. Good oars vary considerably on this point. Some carry the blade back feathered the whole way, and only turn it square just in time to get the beginning of the stroke. Others turn it off the feather about half-way through, just before the hands come over

the stretcher. For a novice, I certainly recommend the latter method. Turn your wrists up and square your blade very soon after the hands have cleared the knees. It will thus be easier for you to keep your button pressed against the rowlock; your hands can balance the oar better, and you will not run the risk, to which the former method renders you liable, of skying or cocking your blade just when it ought to be nearest the water, so as to catch the beginning. A good and experienced waterman, however, ought certainly to be able to keep his oar on the feather against a high wind until the last available moment. The movement of returning the blade to the square position ought to be firm and clean.

(14) As the body swings, your hands ought to be at the same time stretching and reaching out as if constantly striving to touch something which is as constantly evading them.

(15) When you are full forward, the blade of your oar should not be quite at a right angle to the water, but the top of it ought to be very slightly inclined over, i.e. towards the stern of the boat. A blade thus held will grip the water cleaner, firmer, and with far less back-splash than

a blade held absolutely at right angles. Besides, you will obviate the danger of "slicing" into the water and rowing too deep. At the same time, I am bound to admit that I know only a few oars who adopt this plan. One of them, however, is the present President of the Oxford University Boat Club, Mr. C. K. Philips, as good a waterman as ever sat in a boat. I am quite firmly convinced that the plan is a sound one, and I believe if it were more generally followed, we should see far less of that uncomfortable and unsightly habit of back-splashing, which is too often seen even in good crews.

(16) I have now brought you forward to the full extent of your swing and reach. Your back is (or ought to be) straight, your shoulders are firm and braced, your chest and stomach still open, though your body is down somewhere between your open knees. Your hands have been gradually rising, and your oar-blade is, therefore, close to the water. Now raise your hands a little more, not so as to splash the blade helplessly to the bottom of the river, but with a quick movement as though they were passing round a cylinder. When they get to the top of the cylinder the blade will be covered

in the water. At the same moment, and without the loss of a fraction of a second, swing the body and shoulders back as though they were released from a spring, the arms remaining perfectly straight, and the feet helping by a sharp and vigorous pressure (from the ball of the foot, and the toes especially) against the stretcher. The result of these rapid combined movements will be that the blade, as it immerses itself in the water, will strike it with an irresistible force (a sort of crunch, as when you grind your heel into gravel), created by the whole weight-power of the body applied through the straight lines of the arms, and aided by all the strength of which the legs are capable. This, technically speaking, is the beginning of the stroke. The outside hand should have a good grip of the oar.

(17) Swing back, as I said, with arms straight. The novice must, especially if he has muscular arms, root in his head the idea that the arms are during a great part of the stroke connecting rods, and that it is futile to endeavour to use them independently of the body-weight, which is the real driving power.

(18) Just before the body attains the limit of its

back-swing, which should be at a point a little beyond the perpendicular, begin to bend your arms for the finish of the stroke, and bring the hands square home until the roots of the thumbs touch the chest about three inches below the separation of the ribs. Here you must be careful not to raise or depress the hands. They should sweep in to the chest in an even plane, the outside hand drawing the handle firmly home without lugging or jerking. As the hands come in, the body finishes its swing, the elbows pass close to the sides, pointing downwards, and the shoulders are rowed back and kept down. The chest must be open, but not unduly inflated at the expense of the stomach, the head erect, and the whole body carrying itself easily, gracefully, and without unnecessary stiffness.

(19) Do not meet your oar, i.e. keep your body back until the hands have come in. If you pull yourself forward to meet your oar, you will certainly shorten the stroke, tire yourself prematurely, and will probably fail to get the oar clean out of the water or to clear your knees on the recovery.

(20) Do not try to force down your legs and flatten the knees as if you were rowing on a sliding seat. The mere movement of the body on the

back swing and the kick off the stretcher will cause a certain alteration in the bend of the knees, but this tendency should not be consciously increased. Remember that fixed-seat rowing is not now an end in itself. It is a stage towards skilled rowing on sliding seats, and its chief object is to give the novice practice in certain essential elements of the stroke, and particularly in body-swing, which could not be so easily taught, if at all, if he were to begin at once on sliding seats. Swing is still, as it always has been, all important in good rowing, and if a novice attempts to slide (for that is what it comes to) on fixed seats he will begin to shuffle and lose swing entirely.

(21) Do not let your body settle down or fall away from your oar at the finish. Sit erect on your bones, and do not sink back on to your tail. The bones are the pivot on which you should swing.

(22) The blade of the oar, having been fully covered at the very beginning of the stroke, must remain fully covered up to the moment that the hands are dropped. If the oarsman, when he bends his arms during the stroke, begins to depress his hands, he will row light, i.e. the blade will be

partially uncovered, and will naturally lose power. On the other hand, if he raises his hands unduly, he will cover more than the blade, and will find great difficulty in extracting it from the water properly. The outside hand should control the balance of the oar, and keep it at its proper level.

(23) As to the use of the stretcher-straps. Many coaches imagine that when they have said, "Do not pull yourself forward by your toes against the straps," they have exhausted all that is to be said on the matter. I venture, with all deference, to differ from them. I agree that in the earlier stages of instruction it is very useful to make men occasionally row in tub-pairs without any straps, so as to force them to develop and strengthen the muscles of stomach and legs, which ought to do the main work of the recovery. But later on, when a man is rowing in an eight, and is striving, according to the instructions of his coach, to swing his body well and freely back, he can no more recover properly without a slight toe-pressure against the straps—the heels, however, remaining firm—than he could make bricks without straw. The straps, in fact, are a most valuable aid to the recovery. Take them away from a crew and you

will see one of two things: either the men will never swing nearly even to the upright position, and will recover with toil and trouble, or, if they swing back properly, they will all fall over backwards with their feet in the air. This slight strap-pressure just helps them over the difficult part of the recovery; as the body swings forward the feet immediately resume their balance against the stretcher. Indeed, if these movements are properly performed, you get a very pretty play of the toes and the ball of the foot against the stretcher, you counteract the tendency of the body to tumble forward, and you materially help the beginning from that part of the foot in which the spring resides. Totally to forbid men to use their straps seems to me a piece of pedantry. On this point I may fortify myself with the opinion of Mr. W. B. Woodgate, as given in his "Badminton Book on Boating." I am glad, too, to find that Mr. S. Le Blanc Smith, of the London Rowing Club, a most finished and beautiful oarsman, whose record of victories at Henley is a sufficient testimony to his knowledge and skill, agrees with me. In an article published during a recent rowing controversy, he remarks, "I think Mr. —— will

find that all men, consciously or unconsciously, use the foot-strap more or less, to aid them in the first inch or two of recovery. If he doubts this, let him remove the strap and watch results, be the oarsman who he may." I need only add that this pressure should never be greater than will just suffice to help the body-recovery. If exaggerated, its result on slides will be to spoil swing by pulling the slide forward in advance of the body.

I have now, I think, taken you through all the complicated movements of the stroke, and there for the present I must leave you to carry out as best you can instructions which I have endeavoured to make as clear on paper as the difficulties of the subject permit. But I may be allowed to add a warning. Book-reading may be a help; but rowing, like any other exercise, can only be properly learnt by constant and patient practice in boats under the eyes of competent instructors. Do not be discouraged because your improvement is slow, and because you are continually being rated for the same faults. With a slight amount of intelligence and a large amount of perseverance and good temper, these faults will gradually

disappear, and as your limbs and muscles accustom themselves to the work, you will be moulded into the form of a skilled oarsman. Even the dread being who may be coaching you—winner of the Grand Challenge Cup or stroke-oar of his University though he be—had his crude and shapeless beginnings. He has passed through the mill, and now is great and glorious. But if you imagine that even he is faultless, just watch him as he rows, and listen to the remarks that a fearless and uncompromising coach permits himself to address to him. And to show you that others have suffered and misunderstood and have been misunderstood like yourself, I will wind up this chapter with "The Wail of the Tubbed," the lyrical complaint of some Cambridge rowing Freshmen.

"Sir,—We feel we are intruding, but we deprecate your blame,
We may plead our youth and innocence as giving us a claim;
We should blindly grope unaided in our efforts to do right,
So we look to you with confidence to make our darkness light.

"We are Freshmen—rowing Freshmen; we have joined our college club,
And are getting quite accustomed to our daily dose of tub;
We have all of us bought uniforms, white, brown, or blue, or red,
We talk rowing shop the livelong day, and dream of it in bed.

"We sit upon our lexicons as 'Happy as a King'
(We refer you to the picture), and we practise how to swing;
We go every day to chapel, we are never, never late,
And we exercise our backs when there, and always keep them straight.

"We shoot our hands away—on land—as quick as any ball:
Balls always shoot, they tell us, when rebounding from a wall.
We decline the noun 'a bucket,' and should deem it—well, a bore,
If we 'met,' when mainly occupied in oarsmanship, our oar.

"But still there are a few things that our verdant little band,
Though we use our best endeavours, cannot fully understand.
So forgive us if we ask you, sir—we're dull, perhaps, but keen—
To explain these solemn mysteries and tell us what they mean.

"For instance, we have heard a coach say, "Five, you're very rank;
Mind those eyes of yours, they're straying, always straying, on the bank.'
We are not prone to wonder, but we looked with some surprise
At the owner of those strangely circumambulating eyes.

"There's a stroke who 'slices awfully,' and learns without remorse
That his crew are all to pieces at the finish of the course;
There's A., who 'chucks his head about,' and B., who 'twists and screws,'
Like an animated gimlet in a pair of shorts and shoes.

"And C. is 'all beginning,' so remark his candid friends;
It must wear him out in time, we think, this stroke that never ends.
And though D. has no beginning, yet his finish is A1;
How can that possess a finish which has never been begun?

"And E. apparently would be an oar beyond compare,
If the air were only water and the water only air.

And F., whose style is lofty, doubtless has his reasons why
He should wish to scrape the judgment seat, when rowing, from the sky.

"Then G. is far too neat for work, and H. is far too rough;
There's J., who lugs, they say, too much, and K. not half enough;
There's L., who's never fairly done, and M., who's done too brown,
And N., who can't stand training, and poor O., who can't sit down.

"And P. is much too limp to last; there's Q. too stiffly starched;
And R., poor fool, whose inside wrist is never 'nicely arched.'
And, oh, sir, if you pity us, pray tell us, if you please,
What is meant by 'keep your button up,' and 'flatten down your knees.'

"If an oar may be described as 'he,' there's no death half so grim
As the death like which we hang on with our outside hands to 'him;'
But in spite of all our efforts, we have never grasped, have you?
How not to use 'those arms' of ours, and yet to pull it through.

"S. 'never pulled his shoestrings.' If a man must pull at all,
Why uselessly pull shoestrings? Such a task would surely pall.
But T.'s offence is worse than that, he'll never get his Blue,
He thinks rowing is a pastime—well, we own we thought so too.

"Then V.'s 'a shocking sugarer,' how bitter to be that!
X. flourishes his oar about as if it were a bat;
And Y. should be provided, we imagine, with a spade,
Since he always 'digs,' instead of 'merely covering his blade.'

"Lastly, Z.'s a 'real old corker,' who will never learn to work,
For he puts his oar in gently and extracts it with a jerk.
Oh! never has there been, we trow, since wickedness began,
Such a mass of imperfections as the perfect rowing man.

P.S. by Two Cynics.

"So they coach us and reproach us (like a flock of silly jays
Taught by parrots how to feather) through these dull October days.
We shall never understand them, so we shouldn't care a dam[4]
If they all were sunk in silence at the bottom of the Cam."

[4] Dam—an Oriental coin of small value.

CHAPTER III.
FIRST LESSONS ON SLIDING SEATS.

Let me assume (I am still addressing my imaginary novice) that you have passed through the first few stages of your novitiate. If you are an Oxford or a Cambridge freshman you will have been carefully drilled in a tub-pair, promoted later to a freshmen's four or eight, and during the next term may have been included in the Torpid or Lent-Boat of your College. At any rate, I am assuming that you have by now rowed in a race or a series of races for eight-oared crews on fixed seats. But I prefer to leave the general subject of combined rowing, whether in eights or fours, to a later chapter, while I attempt to explain the mysteries and difficulties of the sliding seat.

The slide may be described as a contrivance for increasing the length of the stroke (i.e. of the period during which, the oar-blade remaining covered in

the water, power is applied to the propulsion of the boat), and for giving greater effect to the driving force of the oarsman's legs. Long before the actual sliding seat had been invented professional oarsmen and scullers had discovered that if they slid on their fixed thwarts they increased the pace of their boats, and even amongst amateurs this practice was not unknown. Mr. R. H. Labat has told me that so far back as 1870 he and his colleagues fitted their rowing trousers with leather, greased their thwarts, and so slid on them. In 1872 slides were used at Henley Regatta, and in 1873 the Oxford and Cambridge crews for the first time rowed their race on slides, Cambridge winning in 19 mins. 35 secs., which remained as record time until 1892. This performance, though it was undoubtedly helped by good conditions of tide and wind, served to establish slides firmly in popular favour, and from that time onwards fixed seats were practically retained only for the coaching of novices and, in eights, for the Torpids and Lent Races at Oxford and Cambridge. Now, proceeding on the principle that rowing is meant to be an exercise of grace, symmetry, and skill, as well as of strength and endurance, I think I

may lay it down as an essential rule that it is necessary on slides to observe those instructions which made fixed-seat rowing in the old days a pleasure to the eye. In the very early days of slides, while men were still groping for correct principles, this important axiom was too often neglected. It was imagined that swing was no longer necessary, and accordingly the rivers were filled with contorted oarsmen shuffling and tumbling and screwing on their slides. Veteran oars and coaches, to whom "form" was as the apple of their eye, were horror-struck, and gave vent to loud lamentations, utterly condemning this horrible innovation, which, as they thought, had reduced oarsmanship to the level of a rough and tumble fight. "If both Universities," wrote the Rev. A. T. W. Shadwell in his "Notes on Boat-building," published in the "Record of the University Boat Race" in 1881, "would condescend to ask Dr. Warre to construct for them, and if their crews would also either learn to use the sliding apparatus effectively, or to discard it as pernicious and as an enemy to real oarsmanship when not thoroughly mastered, then we should be treated again to the welcome spectacle of boats

travelling instead of dragging, riding over the water instead of the water washing over the canvas, combined with that still more-to-be-desired spectacle of faultless form and faultless time—eight men ground into one perfect machine. Nothing short of that result will satisfy those who know what eight-oared rowing ought to be, and lament its decadence." Yet Cambridge had produced the 1876 crew, Oxford the 1878 crew, both of them models of style, unison and strength, and Leander both in 1875 and in 1880 had won the Grand Challenge Cup with admirable crews composed exclusively of University men. It would seem, therefore, as if Mr. Shadwell's strictures were undeserved, at least by the better class of University oars. The fact is that by that time, and for some years before that time, the true principles of sliding had been acquired, and the more serious defects of form had once more become the cherished possession of inferior college crews. But then, even in the glorious old fixed-seat days, College crews were not always remarkable for the beauty and correctness of their form. I am not going to deny that the difficulty of teaching good style has been increased by the addition of the sliding seat;

but there have been innumerable examples during the last quarter of a century to prove that this difficulty can be faced and entirely overcome. Four crews I have already mentioned. I may add to them, not as exhausting the list of good crews, but as being splendid examples of combined style and power, the London Rowing Club crew of 1881, which won the final of the Grand from the outside station against Leander and Twickenham; the Oxford crews of 1892, 1896 and 1897; the crews of Trinity Hall, the Oxford Etonians, and the Thames Rowing Club in 1886 and 1887; the Cambridge crew and the Thames Rowing Club crew of 1888; the London Rowing Club crew of 1890; the Leander crews of 1891, 1893, 1894 and 1896; and the New College and Leander crews of the present year. It is fortunate that this should be so, for, the proof of the pudding being in the eating, it is hardly likely that crews will abandon a device which, while it has actually increased pace over the Henley course by close on half a minute, has rendered skill and watermanship of higher value, and has given an additional effect to physical strength.

During my undergraduate days at Cambridge, and for some years afterwards (say, up to about

1884), the slide-tracks in racing boats were sixteen inches long.[5] This, allowing seven inches as the breadth of the seat itself, would give the slide a "play," or movement, of nine inches. The front-stop, which forms the limit of the forward movement of the slide, was fixed so as to bring the front edge of the slide to a point five inches from the "work," i.e. from a line drawn straight across the boat from the back, or rowing, thole. At the finish of the stroke, therefore, when the slide had been driven full back, its front edge was fourteen inches away from the work. To put it in technical language, we slid up to five inches from our work and finished fourteen inches away from it. Since that time slides have become longer, and there are but few racing boats in which the slide-tracks are less than twenty-two or even twenty-three inches long, giving the slide a play of fifteen or sixteen inches. The front edge of the slide now moves forward (when I say "forward" I speak in relation to the movement of the body and not in relation to the ends of the boat) to a point which is level with the work. In other words, we now slide up to our work and finish fifteen or sixteen

inches from it. On these long slides, when the body has attained the full reach, the flanks are closed in upon the thighs, the knees are bent until the thighs come fairly close to the calves, and, ex necessario, the ankle-joints are very much bent. It is plain that great flexibility of hip-joints, knees, and ankles must be attained in order that the slide may be used fully up to the last fraction of an inch in coming forward. This flexibility very few novices, and not all old stagers, possess. The muscles and joints at first absolutely refuse to accommodate themselves to this new strain, and you will see a man as he slides forward, taking his heels well off the stretcher in order to ease the strain upon his ankles, and moving his shoulders back long before his oar has gripped the water in order to relieve his hip-joints. This results in his missing the whole of his beginning, striking the water at right-angles to his rigger instead of well behind it, and having absolutely no firmness of drive when it becomes necessary for him to use his legs. In order, therefore, that matters may be made easier for novices, and that they may be brought on gradually, I strongly advise coaches to start them on slides much shorter than those

now in vogue. A slide with a play of eight inches, coming to a point six inches from the work, is ample. A few days will make a wonderful difference, and later on, when the first stiffness has worn off and the movements have become easier, the slide can be gradually increased. At Oxford and Cambridge the proper seasons for such preliminary practice would be the Lent Term, when Torpids and Lent Races are over, and the beginning of the October term, when many College clubs—at any rate at Cambridge—organize Sliding-seat Trial Eights in clinker-built boats.

[5] The Metropolitan rowing clubs had, I believe, lengthened their sliding some time before this.

Two further points remain to be noticed. On fixed seats the ankles hardly bend up as the body swings forward, and it is possible, therefore, to use a stretcher fixed almost erect in the boat, the seat being placed eleven or twelve inches from the work. But with slides, as I have explained, the seat moves to a point which in racing boats is now level with the work, and few ankles are capable of submitting to the strain which would be involved if the stretchers were set up as erect ("proud" is the technical term) as they are with fixed seats. It is necessary, therefore, to set the stretchers more off on an incline (technically, to "rake" them). It

will be found, I think, that, assuming a stretcher to be one foot in height, a set-off of nine inches will be amply sufficient for most novices, even on full slides.[6] I have myself never found any difficulty in maintaining my feet firm on a stretcher of this rake or even of less, and I have known some very supple-jointed men, e.g. Mr. H. Willis, of the Leander Crews of 1896 and 1897, who preferred to row with a stretcher set up a good deal prouder. But the average oar is not very supple-jointed, though his facility in this respect can be greatly improved by practice. To make things easier—and after all our object should be to smooth away all the oarsman's external difficulties—I consider it advisable to fix heel-traps to the stretcher. This simple device, by the pressure which it exercises against the back of the heels, counteracts their tendency to come away from the stretcher; but even with heel-traps, I have seen stiff-jointed oarsmen make the most superbly successful efforts to bring their heels away.

[6] The angle made by the back of the stretcher and the kelson may vary from 43° to 53°. Personally, I prefer 50°. The prouder (up to a certain point) you set the stretcher the firmer will your leg-power be at the finish of the stroke.

The second point is this: With sliding seats you require an oar of longer leverage (i.e. inboard

measurement from rowing-face of button to end of handle) than with fixed seats. For a fixed seat an oar with a leverage of 3 ft. 5½ ins. should suffice. With long slides the leverage of an oar should not be less than 3 ft. 8 ins., nor more than 3 ft. 8½ ins. For this I assume that the distance of the centre of the seat from the sill of the row-lock is 2 ft. 7 ins. With regard to leverage, there is a practical unanimity of opinion amongst modern oarsmen. With regard to the outboard measurement of oars and the proper width of blade, they differ somewhat, but I can reserve this matter for the next chapter, merely premising that in any case it is not advisable to start your novices in gigs with oar-blades broader than 5¾ ins.

Let me imagine, then, that my pupil is seated in the gig, his stretcher having been fixed at a point that will enable him, when his slide is full back, and he is sitting on it easily without pressing, to have his knees slightly bent.

And now to the business of instruction.

1. Remember and endeavour to apply all the lessons you have learnt on fixed seats. Slides add another element to the stroke. They do not alter the elements you have previously been taught.

2. Beginning.—Get hold of this just as you would on a fixed seat, with a sharp spring of the whole body, which thus begins its swing-back without the loss of a fraction of time.

(a) The natural tendency of a tiro will be to drive his slide away before his shoulders have begun to move. This must at all costs be avoided. In order to secure the effectual combination of body-swing and leg-work, it is essential that the swing should start first.

(b) It is equally reprehensible to swing the body full back before starting the slide; you thus cut the stroke into two distinct parts, one composed of mere body-swing, the other of mere leg-work. Therefore:

(2) When the body-swing backwards has started, but only the smallest fractional part of a second afterwards—so quickly, indeed, as to appear to the eye of a spectator almost a simultaneous movement—let the slide begin to travel back, the swing meanwhile continuing.

(a) Remember what was said in fixed-seat instructions as to the use of the toes and the ball of the foot at the beginning of the stroke. On slides this is even more important.

(3) Body and slide are now moving back in unison, the feet pressing with firm and steady pressure against the stretcher, and the arms perfectly straight. As the slide moves, the leg-power applied must on no account diminish. If anything it ought to increase, for the body is beginning to lose its impetus, and the main part of the resistance is transferred to the legs, the blade all the time moving at an even pace through the water.

(4) The body must swing a little further back than on a fixed seat.

(5) Body-swing and slide-back should end at the same moment.

(6) As they end, the knees should be pressed firmly down so as to enable you to secure the last ounce of leg-power from the stretcher. Simultaneously with this depression of the legs, the hands (and particularly the outside hand, which has been doing the main share of the work of the stroke all through) must bring the oar-handle firmly home to the chest, sweeping it in and thus obtaining what is called a firm hard finish. As the knees come finally down, the elbows pass the sides, and the shoulders move back and downwards.

(a) Mr. W. B. Woodgate, in the Badminton book on "Boating," says: "Many good oarsmen slide until the knees are quite straight. In the writer's opinion this is waste of power: the knees should never quite straighten; the recovery is, for anatomical reasons, much stronger if the joint is slightly bent when the reversal of the machinery commences. The extra half-inch of kick gained by quite straightening the knees hardly compensates for the extra strain of recovery; also leg-work to the last fraction of a second of swing is better preserved by this retention of a slight bend, and an open chest and clean finish are thereby better attained."

If Mr. Woodgate means that the legs are not to be pressed down as the stroke finishes, but are to remain loosely bent, I differ from him, though, considering his high authority, with hesitation and regret. As a matter of fact, the front edge of the thwart catches the calves of the legs at the finish, when the legs are pressed down, and prevents the knees from

being absolutely straightened. But I am certain that unless an oarsman assures his legs in the firm position that I have explained, he will lose most valuable power at the end of the stroke, and will materially increase his difficulty in taking his oar clean out of the water and generally in getting a smart recovery. This final leg-pressure not only supports the body in a somewhat trying position, but enables the hands to come home to the chest without faltering. As on fixed seats, it is essential that the body should not be pulled forward to meet the oar. And it is equally essential that it should not sink down or fall away from the hands, thus rendering an elastic recovery impossible.

(b) The blade, as on fixed seats, must be kept fully covered to the finish, and there must be power on it to the last fraction of an inch. If a man takes his oar out of the water before he has fairly ended his stroke, and rows his finish in the air, or if he partially uncovers his blade and

rows "light," he commits in either case a serious fault. In the former case his whole body-weight, which ought to be propelling the boat, not only ceases to have any good effect, but becomes so much dead lumber, and actually impedes her progress. In the latter he can only exert half, or, it may be, one quarter of his proper power during an appreciable part of the stroke.

(7) The drop of the hands, the turn of the wrists, the shoot-out of the hands, and the straightening of the arms must be performed precisely as on a fixed seat, but the legs, meanwhile, are to remain braced, so that knees may not hamper hands. As soon as ever the hands have been shot out, and immediately after the start of the forward swing, the slide comes into play, and the knees consequently begin to bend outwards and upwards. It is very important not to pause or "hang" on the recovery.

(8) The recovery movements ought to release the body smartly, but care must be taken not to hustle the body forward with a rush before the arms are straightened. The body begins to swing

from the hips as soon as the hands release it, but the swing is to be a slow one.

(a) Do not begin to slide forward before you swing. Let your swing just have the precedence, and let it then carry your slide with it.

(9) The pace of the swing forward must be slow and unvarying, and the slide, therefore, must also move slowly. The time occupied by the swing should be the body's rest.

(10) Remember the fixed-seat instructions as to balance against the stretcher with the feet during the swing forward, and especially during the latter part of it. The fault of tumbling forward over the stretcher is far too common, and can only be avoided or corrected by maintaining the pressure on the stretcher. In fact, never let your body get out of control. You ought to feel and to look as if at any moment during the swing forward you could stop dead at the word of command. Swing and slide should practically end together, the body "snaking out," as I have heard it expressed, in the final part of the swing, but without "pecking" over the front-stop. There must be no over-reach with the shoulders.

(11) When the body is full forward the knees should be opened to about the breadth of the arm-pits, the flanks closed in against the thighs. The knees should bend steadily and gradually into this position, and at the moment of beginning they must maintain themselves there and not fall loosely apart. Such a movement entails a great loss of power at the beginning of the next stroke. Nor, on the other hand, ought the knees to be clipped together as the stroke begins.

(12) Remember, finally, that grace, erectness, straightness of back and arms, and a clean precision, balance and elasticity of all movements are as important now as they were on fixed seats. A man who on slides rounds his back, humps up his shoulders, and hollows his chest may do good work, but it will be in spite of and not because of these serious disfigurements. Only by carefully observing fixed rules and by prolonged practice will you be able to attain to the harmonious ease and elegance by which a comparatively weak man can so economize his strength as to outrow and outlast some brawny giant who wastes his power in useless contortions.

CHAPTER IV.
COMBINED OARSMANSHIP IN EIGHTS.

The novice, having passed successfully through his period of apprenticeship, is by this time ready, let us suppose, to be included in an eight-oared, sliding-seat crew, either for his college or for the rowing club to which he may happen to belong. He will marvel at first at the fragile and delicate fabric of the craft in which he is asked to take his place. One-eighth of an inch of cedar divides him from the waters that are to be the scene of his prowess. In stepping into the boat he must exercise the greatest care. The waterman and the coxswain are firmly holding the riggers, while the oarsman, placing a hand on each gunwale to support himself, steps cautiously with one foot on to the kelson, or backbone of the ship. Then he seats himself upon his slide, fits his feet into the stretcher-straps, and inserts his oar in the rowlock, finally

getting the button into its proper place by raising the handle, and so working at it until the button comes in under the string that passes from thole to thole, and keeps the oar from flying out of the rowlock. His seven companions having performed the same feats, the boat is now shoved out from the bank, and the work of the day begins.

The oarsman who thus takes his first voyage in a racing-ship, built, as all racing-ships are, without a keel, must remember that her stability, when she contains her crew, is obtained merely by the balance of the oars. Remove the oars, and the boat would immediately roll over to one side or the other, and immerse her crew in the water. With eight bodies and oars in a constant state of movement, the problem of keeping the boat upon an even keel is not an easy one. It can only be solved satisfactorily in one way: There must be absolute harmony in every movement. The hands must come in and out at the same moment and at the same level, and the oar-blades must necessarily be maintained, on the feather and throughout the swing, at the uniform level prescribed for them by the harmonious movement of eight pairs of hands. The bodies must begin, continue, and

end the swing together; the blades must strike the water at precisely the same moment; all the bodies must swing back as if released from one spring; the slides must move together; the arms bend as by one simultaneous impulse; and the eight oar-blades, having swept through the water in a uniform plane, must leave it as though they were part of a single machine, and not moved by eight independent wills. When this unison of movements has been attained by long and persevering practice, marred by frequent periods of disappointment, by knuckles barked as the boat rolls and the hands scrape along the gunwale, and by douches of cold water as the oars splash, then, and not till then, may it be said that a crew has got together.

The above details concern the harmony and unison of the crew. It is obvious, however, that the eight men who compose it may be harmonized into almost any kind of style, and it is important, therefore, to settle what is the best style—the style, that is, which will secure the greatest possible pace at the smallest cost of effort. In the first place, then, you must remember and endeavour to apply all the instructions I have laid down in the two previous chapters. These were framed upon the

supposition that you were trying to qualify yourself to row eventually in a light racing-ship. Summing these up generally, and without insisting again upon details, I may say that you are required to have a long, steady, and far-reaching body-swing; you must grip the beginning of the stroke well behind the rigger at the full reach forward without the loss of a fraction of a second, with a vigorous spring back of the whole body, so as to apply the body-weight immediately to the blade of the oar. As your body swings back, your feet are to press against the stretcher and drive the slide back, in order that, by the combination of body-swing and leg-drive, you may retain the power which you have applied at the beginning evenly throughout the whole of the stroke. It is essential that the body should not fall away at the finish, but maintain an easy, graceful position, so that, with a final pressure of the legs, the swing of the elbows past the sides, and a rowing back of the shoulders which opens the chest, the hands may be swept fair and square home, the oar-blade being meanwhile covered, but not more than covered, from the moment it enters the water until it is taken clean out. The hands must then leave the chest as a

billiard-ball rebounds from the cushion, in order that you may have a smart and elastic recovery. This swift motion of the hands straightens the arms, and releases the body for its forward swing. The body-swing forward, as I cannot too often repeat, must be slow, especially during its latter part; in fact, during that swing, a perfect balance must be maintained, the feet being well planted against the stretcher. When a man rows in this style with seven other men, in absolute time and harmony with them, he will find a rhythmical pleasure and a delightful ease in movements which at the outset were cramped and difficult. Then, as he swings his body, grips the water and drives his swirling oar-blade through, he will feel that every ounce of strength he puts forth has its direct and appreciable influence upon the pace of the boat. Not for him then will it be to envy the bird in its flight, as, with all his muscles braced, his lungs clear, and his heart beating soundly, he helps to make his craft move like a thing of life over the water.

That is the ideal. Let us come down to the actual. I will imagine myself to be coaching an average crew in a racing-ship.

I must first of all assure myself that the boat is properly rigged, and that the men have a fair chance of rowing with comfort. The thole-pins should stand absolutely straight from the sill of the rowlock. If the rowing-pin is bent outwards towards the water in the slightest degree, the oar will have a tendency to "slice," and a feather under water will be the result. The actual wood of the rowing-pin, however, should be slightly filed away at the bottom, so as to incline a very, very little towards the stern of the boat. Care must be taken also to have a sufficient width between the thole-pins to prevent the oar from locking on the full reach. The rowlock-strings must be taut. They must have a sufficient pressure on the oar to prevent the button being forced out of the rowlock. For these and other details, the table of measurements given at the end of this chapter should be consulted.

In this crew I will suppose that five of the members have already had experience in lightship rowing. The three others—bow, No. 3, and No. 4—are quite new to the game. I point out to these three, to begin with, the importance of balancing the boat by having their arms rigidly

straight as they swing forward, so as to be able, by the slightest amount of give and take from the shoulders, to counteract any tendency to roll, by sitting firmly on their seats, and not shifting about to right or to left, and by keeping their feet well on the stretchers. That done, the words of command will come from the cox. "Get ready all!" (At this command, the oarsmen divest themselves of all unnecessary clothing.) "Forward all!" (The oarsmen swing and slide forward to within about two-thirds of the full-reach position, the backs of the blades lying flat upon the water.) "Are you ready?" (This is merely a call to attention.) "Paddle!" (At this the blades are turned over square, and immediately grip the water, and the boat starts.) During the progress of this imaginary crew, I propose to invest them individually and collectively with certain faults, and to offer suggestions for their improvement, just as if I were coaching them from the bank or from a steam-launch.

(1) "Stroke, you're tumbling forward over your stretcher. Keep the last part of your swing very slow by balancing against the stretcher with your feet as you swing forward. That's better. You got a beginning twice as hard that time."

(2) "Seven, you're feathering under water. Keep pressure on to the very finish of the stroke, and drop your hands a little more, so as to get the oar out square and clean. Use the legs well at the finish."

(3) "Six, you're very slow with your hands. Consequently, your body rushes forward to make up for lost time. Shoot the hands away quickly, with a sharp turn of the inside wrist. Then let the body follow slowly."

(4) "Five, you slide too soon and fall away from your oar at the finish. Get your shoulders and the whole of your body-weight well on to the beginning, so as to start swinging back before you drive your slide away. At the finish keep your shoulders down and sit up well upon your bones."

(5) "Four and three, your blades are coming out of the water long before any of the others. This is because you are afraid of reaching properly forward. You therefore get your oars in scarcely if at all behind the rigger, and consequently there is not enough resistance to your oar in the water to enable you to hold out the stroke fully to the finish. Swing, and reach well forward, and let your oars strike the beginning at the point to

which your reach has brought it. You may splash at first, but with a little confidence you will soon get over that. Three, you're late. As you come forward you press heavily on the handle of your oar, the blade soars up, and is coming down through the air when the rest have struck the water. Keep your hands, especially the inside one, light on the handle of the oar, and let them come up as the body swings forward."

(6) "Two, your arms are bending too soon. Try to swing back with perfectly straight arms. Don't imagine that you can row your stroke merely by the power of your arms. Also try and keep your shoulders down at the finish and on the recovery."

(7) "Bow, swing back straight. Your body is falling out of the boat at the finish. Use the outside leg and hand more firmly through the stroke, and row the hands a little higher in to the chest; also arch the inside of the wrist a little more to help you in turning the oar on the feather."

So much for individuals. Now for the crew.

(1) "The finish and recovery are not a bit together. I can almost hear eight distinct sounds as the oars turn in the rowlocks. Try and lock it up absolutely together. There ought to be a

sound like the turning of a key in a well-oiled lock—sharp, single, and definite."

(Note.—This is a very important point. On the unison with which the wrists turn and the hands shoot away depends the unison of the next stroke. When once, in coaching, you have locked your crew together on this point, you will greatly decrease the difficulty of the rest of your task.)

(2) "Don't let the boat roll down on the bow oars. Stroke side, catch the beginning a little sharper. Bow side, when the roll of the boat begins, do not give in to it by still further lowering your hands. Keep your hands up." (The same instruction applies, mutatis mutandis, when the boat rolls on the stroke oars. Apart from individual eccentricities, a boat is often brought down on the one bank of oars by the fact that the opposite side, or one or two of them, grip the water a little too late.)

(3) "You are all of you slow with your hands. Rattle them out sharply, and make your recovery much more lively. Steady now! don't rush forward. Keep the swing slow and long. You are all much too short on the swing, and consequently get no length in the water."

[(4) "...] Watch the bodies in front of you as they move, and mould yourself on their movement."

(5) "You have fallen to pieces again. Use your ears as well as your eyes, and listen for the rattle of the oars in the rowlocks. Whenever you fall to pieces, try to rally on that point. Also plant your feet firmly on the stretchers, and use your legs more when the boat rolls."