CHAPTER V
The Floating Race-Track
Just what followed Bert never clearly remembered. A hurricane of cheers, a sea of spectators, Dick’s face white as chalk, Reddy’s like a flame of fire. Then the jubilant trainer thrust a way through the howling mob and led him to his dressing room. An immense fatigue was on him. His heart wanted to come out of his body and his legs weighed a ton. But deep down in his consciousness was a measureless content. He had won. Again the dear old college had pinned its faith to him and again her colors had been the first to cross the line.
A long cooling-out process followed, and then came the bath and rub-down. The strain had been enormous, but his vitality reacted quickly, and under Reddy’s skillful ministrations he was soon himself again.
It was a jolly party that took the special train of the Blues back to college. More than their share of the events had fallen to them. Drake, Axtell, Hinchman, Martin and Bert were the center of a hilarious group, who kept demanding at short intervals “who was all right” and answering the questions themselves by shouting the names of their victorious athletes. Not since that memorable day when Bert’s fadeaway ball had won the pennant had their cup of satisfaction been so full to overflowing.
The lion’s share of the applause naturally fell to Bert, not only because the Marathon was more important than any other feature, but on account of the accident that had come so near to ruining his hopes and which he had so gallantly retrieved.
“Gee, Bert,” said Dick, “I can’t tell you how I felt when I saw you go down in that mix-up. Just when you were getting ready to make your run, too. I’d been studying your gait right along and I knew by the way you were going that you had plenty in reserve. I was counting the race already won. But when you went into that tangle of legs and arms, I figured that it was all up with us.”
“I thought so myself,” answered Bert, “that is, as soon as I could think anything. At first my head went round like a top, and for a second or two I didn’t know where I was. Then I saw the heels of the fellows way up in front and I made up my mind that they should see mine.”
“And they did all right,” chuckled Drake, “but it was a hundred to one shot that they wouldn’t. That run of yours was the pluckiest thing I ever saw, as well as the speediest. Like the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade,’ it sure was a forlorn hope.”
“Well,” said Bert, “it’s like baseball. The game’s never over until the last man is out in the ninth inning, no matter how far the other fellows may be ahead. As it was, I only got there by the narrowest of squeaks. That winged-foot fellow put up a nervy fight. By the way, how is Brady? I hope he wasn’t hurt by the tumble.”
“Oh, he’s all right,” answered Axtell. “He scraped a big patch of skin off his thigh, but he came staggering along and finished among the first ten. The showing he made was good enough to guarantee that he’ll be taken along with the rest of us.”
But just then Reddy the tyrant – a very good-natured tyrant at present – intervened, and although they protested that they were too excited to sleep, shooed them off to their berths.
“Tell that to the marines,” he grinned. “Ye’ll be asleep before your head fairly touches the pillow.” And, as usual in things physical, Reddy was right.
The next few weeks were exceedingly busy ones. Examinations were coming on and Bert was up to his eyes in work. He had never let sport interfere with his studies and his standing in the class room had been as high as his reputation on the track. Then there were the countless odds and ends to be attended to that always accumulate at the end of the college year. Every day, without fail, Reddy put him through his paces, having in mind the forthcoming ocean voyage when regular training would be difficult and limited.
Tom in the meantime had returned, still bearing some traces of his terrible ordeal in the mountains. The poison had been eliminated from his system, thanks to the doctor’s skill and the careful oversight of Mr. Hollis, but he was not yet his former self. It had been decided that a sea trip was the one thing needed to bring about his entire restoration to health. Dick had no such excuse, but he had put it up to his parents with so much force that he simply must see the Olympics that they had at last consented. By dint of much correspondence and influence exerted in the right quarters, they had been able to arrange for passage on the same steamer that was to convey Bert and the rest of the Olympic team. So that the “Three Guardsmen,” as they had been dubbed because they were always together, rejoiced at the prospect of a summer abroad under these rare conditions. And there were no happier young fellows than they in America on that memorable day when they went over the gang-plank of the steamer that was to carry them and their fortunes.
The Northland had been specially chartered for the occasion. The contestants alone numbered nearly two hundred, and when to these were added trainers, rubbers, reporters, officials and favored friends, this figure was more than doubled. The Olympic Committee had done things in lavish style, and the funds contributed by lovers of sport all over the country had given them abundance of means. They had learned from previous experience the disadvantages of having the athletes go over on the regular liners. The rich food of the ship’s tables, the formality that had to be observed, the class distinctions of first, second and third cabins and the difficulty of keeping in condition had wrecked or lessened the chances of more than one promising candidate.
Now, with the vessel absolutely under their own control, subject of course to the captain and officers, all these troubles disappeared. There were no cabin distinctions and all were on the same level. The food, while of course of the very best quality and wholesome and abundant, was prepared with a special view to the needs of the athletes. There was no fixed schedule for the trip, and therefore no danger of overspeeding in order to reach port on time. Snobbishness and pretense were altogether absent. All were enthusiasts on athletics, all keenly interested in the coming games, and the healthy freemasonry of sport welded them into one great family. The boys had not been on board an hour before they felt perfectly at home. At every turn they met some one whom they knew more or less well from having already met them in competition. There was Brady and Thornton and Casey, the little Irishman; and even the Indian, who had given Bert so much trouble to beat him, so far unbent from his usual gravity as to grin a welcome to his conqueror. The winged-foot man, Hallowell, shook hands cordially with a grip that bore no malice.
“The best man won that day,” he smiled, “but I’m from Missouri and you’ll have to show me that you can do it again.”
“Your turn next,” laughed Bert. “That was simply my lucky day.”
“I think next time,” continued Hallowell, “in addition to the winged-foot emblem, I’d better carry a rabbit’s foot.”
“Don’t handicap me that way,” said Bert, in mock alarm. “Why rob me altogether of hope?”
“Well,” concluded Hallowell, “as long as America wins, it doesn’t matter much which one of us ‘brings home the bacon.’”
“Right you are,” rejoined Bert, heartily.
And this spirit prevailed everywhere. Rivalry was keen, but it was not bitter. There was no malice or meanness about it. Each could admire and applaud the prowess of a rival. Naturally every one wanted to win, but above the personal feeling rose the national. As long as America won, nothing else mattered very much. “Old Glory” floated from the stem and stern of the great steamer. It floated also in their hearts.
The Northland had been put in the Committee’s hands some weeks previous to the time of sailing, and in that brief period they had worked wonders. The ship had been transformed into an immense gymnasium. It was intended that regular practice should be indulged in every day of the trip when the weather permitted. Of course, as “all signs fail in dry weather,” so all exercise would have to be suspended in stormy weather. But at that time of the year storms were infrequent on the Atlantic, and it was probable that there would be little loss of time on that account.
On the upper deck the Committee had built a cork track three hundred feet long and wide enough for two men to run abreast. This was for the use chiefly of the sprinters, although all found it valuable for limbering up, and even the milers and long-distance men could use it to advantage. The deck itself was a fifth of a mile in circumference and here the Marathon men took their practice. It was planned that there should be two sessions every day, the first at ten in the morning and the second at three in the afternoon.
But running was not allowed to eclipse the other features. The rifle and revolver men had a special gallery where they practised steadily. The bicycle team were provided with machines lashed securely to the stanchions of the vessel. Here they pedaled away religiously, working like beavers yet never getting anywhere. But the practice itself was almost as good as though the miles were actually spinning away behind them. The tennis men had a backstop ten feet high and an imaginary court where they practiced what strokes they could. The fencing team had not been overlooked, and especially well-lighted quarters had been assigned to them.
For the swimmers there was a canvas tank, replenished daily, fifteen feet long and five wide. A belt about the swimmer’s waist was tied to a rope above that held him in the center of the tank. So that while, like the bicycle team, getting nowhere, they could yet go through the motions and keep in perfect condition.
The throwers of the discus and the hammer were naturally at some disadvantage. There was not enough open space anywhere in the ship for them to try out their specialties. But they were not to be wholly denied. A section of the rail at the stern of the ship was removed, and fastening the discus or hammer to a rope, they cast it out over the waves as far as they could and then drew it back, repeating the feat as often as their trainers deemed best.
Then, in addition to these special arrangements, there were the general ones in which all took part, such as chinning the bar, skipping the rope and passing the medicine ball. The entire schedule was a tribute to the ingenuity and thoroughness of the Committee. In the period devoted to practice every chink of time was filled up and, as Dick put it, “no guilty minute was permitted to escape.”
But work had no terrors for these husky youth. It was by dint of hard work that they had reached their present position in the athletic world, and now, with the greatest possible prize in view, they were in no mood to let up. Some, in fact, had been worrying over the prospect of a break in training during the voyage and they were delighted to find that their fears were groundless.
It is safe to say that no one ship since the world began had carried so much brawn and skill and speed as did the Northland. It carried more – the faith and hope and pride of the American people. And when, the next day, with whistles blowing and flags flying and bands playing and crowds cheering, she passed down the bay and stood out to sea, none doubted that the bronzed athletes she bore would return crowned with the laurels of victory.
CHAPTER VI
Off for the Fight
The boys stood leaning on the rail as the stately steamer passed through the vast array of shipping on either side of the river, slipped by the colossal figure of Liberty and, bidding farewell to the Sandy Hook lightship, breasted the waves of the Atlantic. They were ardent patriots, and, as the irregular skyline of the great city faded from their view, they felt the pang that always comes to one on leaving his native land. But in the “bright lexicon of youth” there’s no such word as melancholy, and as they thought of all that lay before them their hearts swelled with anticipation. Adventure beckoned them, glory tempted them, hope inspired them.
“We’re starting out with colors flying,” said Dick. “Here’s hoping we come back the same way.”
“If we don’t it’ll be the first fizzle,” said Bert. “This is the fourth time Uncle Sam has sent his boys abroad and they’ve never yet come back empty-handed.”
“Yes,” added Tom, “they’ve never had to slink back and spend the rest of their lives explaining why they didn’t win. It has always been the glad hand and the big eats and the brass bands and the procession down Broadway.”
“I can see Bert already sitting in one of the swell buzz-wagons with the Marathon prize alongside of him and trying to look unconcerned,” chaffed Dick.
“You’ve got good eyesight,” retorted Bert, drily. “I may be only one of the ‘also rans.’”
“Such shrinking modesty,” mocked Tom. “Tell that to the King of Denmark.”
“Speaking of kings,” went on Dick, “I suppose we’ll see plenty of them on the other side.”
“Likely enough,” said Bert. “There were several of them at the last games. As for princes and dukes, they’ll be thick as blackberries. Perhaps we ought to be overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing so many high mightinesses, but somehow I can’t get much worked up over it.”
“Neither can I,” said Dick. “I’m afraid I haven’t much more reverence than the old sailor on an American ship that was being inspected by a lot of royalties. He came up to the captain and touched his cap. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, capting,’ he said, ‘but one of them there kings has fell down the hatchway.’”
“Well,” returned Bert, when the laugh had subsided, “some of ‘them there kings’ are pretty decent fellows, after all. The German Emperor, for instance, is all right. Nobody in Germany works harder than he does. He’s always on the job and even if we don’t agree with his views we have to hand it to him. He’s the biggest figure in Europe to-day. I like him because he isn’t a mere figurehead like the rest of them. He throws himself right into the game and he’s there all the time from start to finish. He’s taking a lot of interest in the Olympics and I hear he’s going to open them in person. And no doubt he’ll be the one to give out the prizes at the end.”
“Well, if he does he’ll have a chance to shake hands with quite a bunch of American sovereigns,” said Dick, “for there’ll surely be a big raft of them up there standing in line when the trophies are handed out.”
“The Germans are certainly making great preparations for the games,” said Tom. “I hear that the stadium at Berlin is going to be the biggest thing in that line that ever happened. They dedicated it the other day and all Berlin turned out to see it. The Kaiser himself was there and made a speech, and just as he got through they released thirty thousand doves who flew in a great white cloud over the field. Rather artistic idea you see – ‘the dove of peace,’ and all that sort of thing.”
“The idea is all right,” rejoined Dick, cynically, “and yet you notice that England keeps building dreadnoughts, and France is increasing her term of service from two years to three, and Germany herself this year is raising an extra billion of marks for new troops. The ideas don’t jibe very well, do they?”
“No,” assented Bert. “When I hear them talk of doing away with war altogether, I think of that saying of Mark Twain’s that ‘the day may come when the lion and the lamb will lie down together, but the lamb will be inside.’”
“Don’t say anything that suggests eating,” chimed in Tom, “for this sea air is making me feel already as though I were starving to death.”
“That’s your normal state, anyway,” laughed Dick. “Don’t try to put it off on the air. But there goes the steward’s gong now. Let’s go down and see what kind of a training table they set.”
A very good table they found it to be, despite the absence of luxuries that are usually to be found on ocean liners. Wines and liquors of all kinds were banished, together with rich pastries and many kinds of starchy foods. But there was a royal abundance of meats and fruit desserts that made them forget the absence of the richer indigestibles. And the way the food melted away before the onslaught of these trained athletes made the stewards gasp.
“Let us eat, drink and be merry,” quoted Drake, “for to-morrow we get seasick.”
“Don’t tell that to able-bodied sailors like us,” retorted Dick. “We got our sea legs long ago on the Pacific. After the typhoon we went through off the Japanese coast, I don’t think that any shindig the Atlantic can kick up will worry us much.”
“Well, you’re lucky in having served your apprenticeship,” returned Drake, “but for lots of the fellows this is their first trip and it’s a pretty safe bet that there won’t be as many at the dinner table to-morrow as there are to-day.”
“Oh, I don’t think it will bother them,” said Bert. “It’s the fellows with a paunch who have been living high that usually pay the penalty when they tackle a sea trip. Our boys are in such splendid shape that it probably won’t upset them.”
After dinner they made the round of the ship. Training was not to start until the next morning, and the rest of the day was theirs to do with as they liked.
As compared with the Fearless, the steamer on which they had made the voyage to China, the Northland was a giant. Apart from the splendid athletic equipment that made it unique, it ranked with the finest of the Atlantic liners. The great prow towered forty feet above the water. The ship was over seven hundred feet in length and nearly eighty feet wide. Great decks towered one above the other until it resembled a skyscraper. She was driven by powerful double screw engines of the latest type that could develop thirty-six thousand horsepower and were good for over twenty knots an hour. The saloons and cabins were the last word in ocean luxury. Ample provision had been made for safety. There were enough lifeboats and collapsible rafts, including two motor boats, to take care of every one of the passengers and crew in case of need. The lesson of the Titanic disaster had not been forgotten, and there was a double hull extending the whole length of the ship, so that if one were ripped open the other would probably be left intact. There were thirty-two water-tight compartments divided by steel bulkheads that could be closed in an instant by pressing a button either from the bridge or the engine room. The bridge itself was eighty feet above sea level, and it made the boys dizzy to look down at the great swells that slipped away smoothly on either side of the prow. Her length enabled her to cut into three waves at once so that the tossing motion was hardly perceptible. She rode the waters like a veritable queen of the sea. Her captain was a grizzled old veteran, who had been thirty years in the company’s employ and enjoyed their fullest confidence.
To the eager boys, always on the lookout for new impressions, their exploration of the ship was of the keenest interest. They were constantly coming across something novel. Their previous trip on the Fearless, when Bert had been the wireless operator, had of course made them familiar with most things pertaining to a ship. But the Fearless had been designed chiefly as a trading craft and the passenger feature had been merely an incident. Here it was the main thing and as each new fad and wrinkle came to their attention it awoke exclamations of wonder and approval.
“It’s the real thing in boats,” declared Dick, emphatically.
“That’s what it is,” echoed Tom. “It’s brought right up to the minute.”
“We’re getting a pretty nifty sea education,” remarked Bert. “By the time we get through this cruise, we ought to know a lot about the two greatest oceans in the world.”
“Yes,” replied Dick; “there’ll only be the two Arctics and the Indian Ocean left. The Arctics I don’t hanker after. There’s too much cold for yours truly, and seal meat and whale blubber don’t appeal to me as a steady diet. The Indian, on the other hand, is too hot, but after some of those days on the Pacific when the pitch fairly started out of the deck seams, I guess we could stand it.”
“Well, if we never get any more sea life than what we’re having, we’ll be way above the average,” said Bert. “And now let’s get down to the wireless room.”
And here Bert felt thoroughly at home. All the old days came back to him as he looked around at the wireless apparatus and saw the blue flames spitting from the sounder, as the operator sat at the key, sending and receiving messages from the home land that was so rapidly being left behind. Again he heard the appeal of the Caledonian, on fire from stem to stern, as her despairing call came through the night. Once more he was sending messages of cheer and hope to the battered liner whirling about in the grip of the typhoon. And, most thrilling of all, was the memory of that savage fight with the Chinese pirates when the current from the dynamo had shot its swift death into the yelling hordes just when their triumph seemed assured. What a miracle it all was, anyway – this mysterious force that linked the continents together – that brought hope to the despairing, comfort to the comfortless, life to the dying – this greatest of man’s discoveries that seemed almost to border on the supernatural!
The operator then on duty – one of three who worked in shifts of eight hours each, so that never for a moment of day or night was the key deserted – a bright, keen young fellow, but little older than the boys themselves, was pleased at their intelligent interest in his work, and, in the intervals between messages, fell into conversation with them and rapidly became chummy. When he learned that Bert himself was one of the craft, he suggested that he try his hand at sending and receiving a few, while he sat by and rested up. Bert assented with alacrity, and the little smile of good-natured patronage with which he watched him quickly changed to one of amazement, as he saw the swiftness and dexterity with which Bert handled the messages. Especially was he struck by the facility which he displayed at writing down the Marconigrams with his left hand while keeping the right on the key.
“Great Scott!” he exclaimed, “you’re a dandy. That two-handed stunt is a new one on me. It would make my work twice as fast and twice as easy if I could do it. Where did you get the idea?”
“Old Nature’s responsible for that,” laughed Bert. “When I was a kid I found it was almost as easy for me to use my left hand as my right, and I fell into the habit.”
“It’s a mighty good habit all right and don’t you forget it,” said the operator, emphatically. “I’m going to try to get it myself. If I do, I may be able to hit the company for a raise in salary,” he grinned.
“Here’s hoping you get it,” replied Bert, and after a little more talk and a cordial invitation to drop in whenever they could, the boys went out in the open.
The breeze freshened as night came on and the waves were running high, but the Northland was as “steady as a church.” After supper there was a concert in the great saloon and there was no dearth of talent. Some of the fellows were members of mandolin and banjo clubs and had brought their instruments along. Others had fine bass and tenor voices, and glee clubs were improvised. The amateur theatrical contingent was not lacking, and, what with song and sketch and music, the evening passed all too rapidly. The trainers, however, who never let pleasure interfere with business, came now to the fore and packed the boys off to their staterooms to have a good night’s rest before real work began on the morrow.
“Well,” said Bert, the next morning, as, after a hearty breakfast, he sat on the edge of his berth, getting into his running togs, “here comes one more new experience. There’s certainly nothing monotonous about the racing game. I’ve run up hill and down, I’ve run through the woods, I’ve run on the cinder paths, I’ve run round the bases, and, when the savages chased us last year, I ran for my life. Now I’m to run on a ship’s deck. I’ll bet there isn’t any kind of running I haven’t done. I’ve even run an automobile.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Dick, flippantly, “you haven’t run up a board bill.”
“No,” added Tom, “and you haven’t run for office.”
A well-aimed pillow that made him duck ended these outrages on the English language, and, as Reddy poked his head in just then to summon his charge, they tumbled up on deck.