CHAPTER 3.
SCIENTIFIC OARSMANSHIP.

If a thing is worth doing at all it is worth doing well, whether it be undertaken in sport or as a means of livelihood.
The first principles of oarsmanship may be explained to a beginner in a few minutes, and he might roughly put them into force, in a casual and faulty manner, on the first day of his education.
In all pastimes and professions there is, as even a child knows, a very wide difference between the knowing how a thing is done and the rendering of the operation in the most approved and scientific manner.
In all operations which entail the use of implements there are three essentials to the attainment of real merit in the operation.
These are, firstly, physical capacity; secondly, good tools to work with; thirdly, practice and painstaking on the part of the student.
For the purposes of the current chapter we shall postulate the two former, and confine the theme to details of such study and practice of oarsmanship as are requisite in order to attain scientific use of oars or sculls.
When commencing to learn an operation which entails a new and unwonted exercise, distinct volition is necessary on the part of the brain, in order to dictate to the various muscles the parts which they are to play in the operation.
The oftener that a muscular movement is repeated the less intense becomes the mental volition which is required to dictate that movement; until at last the movement becomes almost mechanical, and can be reproduced without a strain of the will (so long as the muscular power is not exhausted).
One object of studied practice at any given muscular movement is to accustom the muscles to this particular function, until they become capable of carrying it out without requiring specific and laborious instructions from the headquarters of the brain on the occasion of each such motion.
Another object and result of exercise of one or more sets of muscles is to develop their powers.
The anatomical reasons why muscles increase in vigour and activity under exercise need not be here discussed; the fact may be accepted that they do so.
Hence, by practice of any kind of muscular movement, the student increases both the vigour and the independence of action of the muscles concerned.
In any operation with implements there is some one method of performing the same which experience has proved to be the most effectual for the purpose required.
There will be other methods, or variations of method, which will attain a somewhat similar but less effectual and less satisfactory result.
It requires distinct volition in the first instance to perform the operation in an inferior manner, just as it does to perform it in the most approved manner, to perform 'clumsily' or to perform 'cleverly'.
Naturally, if the volition to act clumsily be repeated a sufficient number of times, the muscles learn independent clumsy action with as much facility as they would have otherwise acquired independent clever and scientific action.

Hence the importance of knowing which is the most approved and effectual method of setting to work, and of being informed of the result, good or bad, of each attempt, while the volition is still in active force, and before the 'habit' of muscular action, perfect or imperfect, is fully formed.
We all know that, whether we are dealing with morals or with muscles, it is a matter of much difficulty to overcome a bad habit, and to form a different and a better one relating to the same course of action.
When the pupil begins to learn to row the brain has many things to think of; it has several orders to distribute simultaneously to its different employés - the various muscles required for the work - and these employés are, moreover, 'new to the business'.
They have not yet, from want of practice, developed the vigour and strength which they will require hereafter; and also they know so little of what they have to do that they require incessant instruction from brain headquarters, or else they make blunders.
But in time both master and servants, brain and muscles, begin to settle down to their business.
The master becomes less confused, and gives his orders with more accuracy and less oblivion of details; the servants acquire more vigour, and pick up the instructions with more facility.
At last the time comes when the servants know pretty well what their master would have them do, and act spontaneously, while the master barely whispers his orders, and has leisure to attend to other matters, or at all events saves himself the exertion of having momentarily to shout his orders through a speaking-trumpet.
Meantime, as said before, the servants can only obey orders; and, if their original instructions have been blunders on the part of the master, they settle down to the reproduction of these blunders.
Now it often happens that an oarsman, who is himself a good judge of rowing, and is capable of giving very good instructions to others, is guilty of many faults in his own oarsmanship.
And yet it cannot be said of him that he 'knows no better' as regards those faults which he personally commits.
On the contrary, if he were to see one of his own pupils rowing with any one of these same faults, he would promptly detect it, and would be able to explain to the pupil the why and the wherefore of the error, and of its cure.
Nevertheless, he perpetrates in his own person the very fault which he discerns and corrects when he notes it in another!
And the reason is this.
His own oarsmanship has become mechanical, and is reproduced stroke after stroke without a distinct volition.
It became faulty at the time when it was becoming mechanical, because the brain was not sufficiently conscious of the orders which it was dictating, or was not duly informed, from some external source, what orders it should issue.
So the brain gave wrong orders, through carelessness or ignorance, or both, and continued to repeat them, until the muscles learnt to repeat their faulty functions spontaneously, and without the immediate cognisance of the brain.
This illustration, of which many a practical instance will be recalled by any rowing man of experience, serves to show the importance of keeping the mind attentive, as far as possible, at all times when rowing, and still more so while elementary rowing is being learnt, and also of having, if possible, a mentor to watch the endeavours of the student, and to inform him of any error of movement which he may perpetrate, before his mind and muscles become confirmed in an erroneous line of action.
The reader will therefore see from the above that it is important for any one who seeks to acquire really scientific oarsmanship, not only to pay all the mental attention that he can to the movements which he is executing, but also to secure the presence of some experienced adviser who will watch the execution of each stroke, and will point out at the time what movements have been correctly and what have been incorrectly performed.

Having shown the importance of careful study and tuition in the details of scientific oarsmanship, we now enter into those details themselves, but still confine ourselves to what is known as 'fixed' seat rowing, taking them separately, and dealing first with the stroke itself, as distinct from the 'recovery' between the strokes.
While carrying out the stroke upon general principles, the oarsman, in order to produce a maximum effect with a relatively minimum expenditure of strength, has to study the following details:

These several details present an apparently formidable list of detailed studies to be followed in order to execute a series of strokes and recoveries in the most approved fashion.
In performance the operation is far more homogeneous than would appear from the above disjointed analysis of the several movements to be performed.
The division of movements is made for the purpose of observation and appreciation of possibly several faults, which may occur in any one of the movements detailed.
As a fact, the correct rendering of one movement - of one detail of the stroke - facilitates correctness in succeeding or contemporaneous details; while, on the other hand, a faulty rendering of one movement tends to hamper the action of the body in other details, and to make it more liable to do its work incorrectly in some or all of them.
Experience shows that one fault, in one distinct detail, is constantly the primary cause of a concatenation of other faults.
To set the machine in incorrect motion in one branch of it tends to put the whole, or the greater part of it, more or less out of gear, and to cripple its action from beginning to end of the chapter.
Taking these various details seriatim.

N.B. Before closing these remarks, it should be added that, with reference to detail 12, it is assumed that the oarsman, having progressed to the scientific stage, has so far mastered the use of the loins as to be able to combine their action with that of the toe against the strap in aiding the recovery of the body.
If he tries to rely solely on the motor power for recovery from the strap, and the toes against it, he will not swing forward with a stiff back, and will be in a slouched position when he attains his reach forward.
The Rev. E.Warre, D.D., published in 1875 some brief remarks upon the stroke, in a treatise upon physical exercises and recreations.
They are here reproduced by leave, the writer feeling that they can hardly be surpassed for brevity and lucidity of instruction upon the details of the stroke.

Notes on the Stroke.
The moment the oar touches the body, drop the hands smartly straight down, then turn the wrists sharply and at once shoot out the hands in a straight line to the front, inclining the body forward from the thigh-joints, and simultaneously bring up the slider, regulating the time by the swing forward of the body according to the stroke.
Let the chest and stomach come well forward, the shoulders be kept back; the inside arm be straightened, the inside wrist a little raised, the oar grasped in the hands, but not pressed upon more than is necessary to maintain the blade in its proper straight line as it goes back; the head kept up, the eyes fixed on the outside shoulder of the man before you.
As the body and arms come forward to their full extent, the wrists having been quickly turned, the hands must be raised sharply, and the blade of the oar brought to its full depth at once.
At that moment, without the loss of a thousandth part of a second, the whole weight of the body must be thrown on to the oar and the stretcher, by the body springing back, so that the oar may catch hold of the water sharply, and be driven through it by a force unwavering and uniform.
As soon as the oar has got hold of the water, and the beginning of the stroke has been effected as described, flatten the knees, and so, using the muscles of the legs, keep up the pressure of the beginning uniform through the backward motion of the body.
Let the arms be rigid at the beginning of the stroke.
When the body reaches the perpendicular, let the elbows be bent and dropped close past the sides to the rear - the shoulders dropping and disclosing the chest to the front; the back, if anything, curved inwards rather than outwards, but not strained in any way.
The body, in fact, should assume a natural upright sitting posture, with the shoulders well thrown back.
In this position the oar should come to it and the feather commence.
N.B. - It is important to remember that the body should never stop still.
In its motion backwards and forwards it should imitate the pendulum of a clock.
When it has ceased to go forward it has begun to go back.

There are, it will appear, from consideration of the directions, about twenty-seven distinct points, articuli as it were, of the stroke.
No one should attempt to coach a crew without striving to obtain a practical insight into their nature and order of succession.
Let a coxswain also remember that, in teaching men to row, his object should be to teach them to economise their strength by using properly their weight.
Their weight is always in the boat along with them; their strength, if misapplied, very soon evaporates.

Marlow

CHAPTER 4.
COACHING.

For reasons which were set forth at the commencement of the chapter on scientific oarsmanship, the very best oar may fail to see his own faults.
For this reason, in dealing with the methods for detecting and curing faults, it seems more to the point to write as addressing the tutor rather than the pupil.
The latter will improve faster under any adequate verbal instruction than by perusing pages of bookwork upon the science of oarsmanship.
A coach may often know much more than he can himself perform; he may be with his own muscles but a mediocre exponent of his art, and yet be towards the top of the tree as regards knowledge and power of instruction.
A coach, like his pupils, often becomes too 'mechanical'; he sees some salient fault in his crew, he sets himself to eradicate it, and meanwhile it is possible that he may overlook some other great fault which is gradually developing itself among one or more of the men.
And yet if he were asked to coach some other crew for the day, in which crew this same fault existed, he would be almost certain to note it, and to set to work to cure it.
For this reason, although it does not do to have too many mentors at work from day to day upon one crew, nevertheless the best of coaches may often gain a hint by taking some one else into his counsels for an hour or two, and by comparing notes.
We have said that it is not absolutely necessary that a good coach should always be in his own person a finished oarsman; but if he is all the better, and for one very important reason.
More than half the faults which oarsmen contract are to be traced in the first instance to some irregularity in the machinery with which they are working.
That irregularity may be of two sorts, direct or indirect - direct when the boat, oar, rowlock, or stretcher is improperly constructed, so that an oarsman cannot work fairly and squarely; indirect when some other oarsman is perpetrating some fault which puts others out of gear.
If a coach is a good oarsman on his own account (by 'good' we mean scientific rather than merely powerful), he can and should test and try or inspect the seat and oar of each man whom he coaches, especially if he finds a man painstaking and yet unable to cure some special fault.
Boatbuilders are very careless in laying out work.
A rowlock may be too high or too low; it may rake one way or other, and so spoil the plane of the oar in the water.
An oar may be hog-backed (or sprung), or too long in loom, or too short; the straps of a stretcher may be fixed too high, so as to grip only the tip of a great-toe, and the place for the feet may not be straight to the seat, or a rowlock may be too narrow, and so may jam the oar when forward.
These are samples of mechanical discomfort which may spoil any man's rowing, and against which it may be difficult for the most painstaking pupil to contend successfully.
If the coach is good in practice as well as in theory of oarsmanship, he can materially simplify his own labours and those of his pupils by inspecting and trying the 'work' of each man in turn.
He should bear in mind that if a young oar is thrown out of shape in his early career by bad mechanical appliances, the faults of shape often cling to him unconsciously later on, even when he is at last furnished with proper tools.
If a child were taught to walk with one boot an inch thicker in the sole than the other, the uneven gait thereby produced might cling to him long after he had been properly shod.
Young oarsmen in a club are too often relegated to practise in cast-off boats with cast-off oars, none of which are really fit for use.
Nothing does more to spoil the standard of junior oarsmanship in a club than neglect of this nature.

Having ascertained that all his pupils are properly equipped and are properly seated, fair and square to stretchers suitable for the length of leg of each, the next care of a coach should be to endeavour to trace the cause of each fault which he may detect.
This is more difficult than to see that a fault exists.
At the same time, if the coach cannot trace the cause, it is hardly reasonable to expect the pupil to do so.
So many varied causes may produce some one generic fault that it may drive a pupil from one error to another to tell him nothing more than that he is doing something wrong without at the same time explaining to him how and why he is at fault.
For instance, suppose a man gets late into the water.
This lateness may arise from a variety of causes, for example:
1. He may be hanging with arms or body, or both, when he has finished the stroke, and so he may be late in starting to go forward; or
2. He may be correct until he has attained his forward reach, and then, may be, he hangs before dropping his oar into the water; or
3. He may begin to drop his oar at the right time, but to do so in a 'clipping' manner, not dropping the oar perpendicularly, but bringing it for some distance back in the air before it touches the water.
Now to tell a batch of men - all late, and all late from different causes as above - simply that each one is 'late' does little good.
The cure which will set the one right will only vary, or even exaggerate, the mischief with the others.
Hence a coach should, before he animadverts upon a fault, of which he observes the effect, watch carefully until he detects the exact cause, and then seek to eradicate it.

Coaching a University Crew

Another sample of cause and effect in faults may be cited for illustration.
Suppose a man holds his oar in his fist instead of his fingers.
The effect of this probably will be a want of accuracy in 'governing' the blade.
He may thereby row too deep; also only half feather; also find a difficulty in bending his wrists laterally, and therefore fail to bring his elbows neatly past his sides.
The consequent further effect may well be that he dog's-ears his elbows and gets a cramped finish.
This will tend to make his hands come slow off the chest for the recovery; and this again may tend to make his body heavy on the return swing.
Here is a pretty, and quite possible, concatenation of faults all bearing on each other in sequence, more or less.
To be scolded for each such fault in turn may well bewilder a pupil.
He will be taken aback at the plurality of defects which he is told to cure.
But if the coach should spot the faulty grip, and cure that by some careful coaching in a tub-gig, he may in a few days find the other faults gradually melt away when the one primary awkwardness has been eradicated.

These two illustrations of faults and their origins by no means exhaust the category of errors which a coach has to detect and to cure.
Sundry other common faults may be specified, and the best mode of dealing with them by coaches supplied.

Over-reach of shoulders

This weakens the catch of the water, and also tends to cripple the finish when the time comes to row the oar home.
The shoulders should be braced well back.
The extra inch or less of forward reach which the over-reach obtains is not worth having at the cost of weakening the catch and cramping the finish.
The fault is best cured by gig-coaching and by demonstrating in person the correct and the wrong poses of the shoulders.

Meeting the oar.

This may come from more than one cause.
If the legs leave off supporting the body before the oar-handle comes to the chest, the body droops to the strain from want of due support; or if the oarsman tries to row the stroke home with arms only, ceasing the swing back; and still more, if he tries to finish with biceps instead of by shoulder muscles, he is not unlikely to row deep, because he feels the strain of rowing the oar home in time, with less power behind it than that employed by others in the boat.
He finds the oar come home easier if it is slightly deflected, and so unconsciously he begins to row rather deep (or light) at the finish, in order to get his oar home at the right instant.

Swing.

Faults of may be various.
There may be a hang, or conversely a hurry, in the swing; and, as shown above, the causes of these errors in swing may often be beneath the surface, and be connected with faulty hold of an oar, or a loose or badly placed strap, or a stretcher of wrong length, or from faulty finish of the preceding stroke.
Lateness in swing may arise per se, and so may a 'bucket', but as often as not they are linked with other faults, which have to be corrected at least simultaneously, and often antecedently.

Screwing

Screwing either arises from mechanical fault at the moment or from former habits of rowing under difficulties occasionally with bad appliances.
If a man sits square, with correct oar, rowlock, and stretcher, he does not naturally screw.
If the habit seems to have grown upon him, a change of side will often do more than anything else to cure him.
He is screwing because he is working his limbs and loins unevenly; hence the obvious policy of making him change the side on which he puts the greater pressure.

Feather under water.

The fault is one of the most common, the remedy simple.
The pupil should be shown the difference between turning the oar-handle before he drops it (as he is doing) and of dropping it before he turns it as he ought to do; and it should be impressed upon him that the root of the thumb, and not his knuckles, should touch his chest when the oar comes home, and should be done before, and not after, he has dropped his handle to elevate the blade from the water.
If a crew feather much under water, it is a good plan to seat them in a row on a bench, and give each man a stick to handle as an oar.
Then make them very slowly follow the actions of the coach, or a fugleman.
1. Hands up to the chest, root of thumb touching chest.
2. Drop the hands.
3. Turn them (as for feather) sharply.
4. Shoot them out, &c.
Having got them to perform each motion slowly and distinctly, then gradually accelerate the actions, until they are done as an entirety, with rapidity and in proper consecution.
The desideratum is to ensure motion, No. 3 being performed in its due order, and not before No. 2.
Five minutes' drill of this sort daily before the rowing, for a week or two, will do much to cure feather under water even with hardened sinners.

Swing across the boat.

This is an insidious fault.
The oarsman sits square, while his oar-handle moves in an arc of a circle.
He has an instinctive tendency to endeavour to keep his chest square to his oar during the revolution of the latter.
A No. 7 who has to take time from the stroke by the side of him is more prone than others to fall into this fault.
The answer is, let the arms follow the action of the oar, and give way to it, and endeavour to keep the body straight and square.
Keep the head well away from the oar, and its bias will tend to balance the swing.

Bending the arms prematurely

is a common fault.
Sometimes even high-class oars fall into it after a time.
Tiros are prone to it, because they at first instinctively endeavour to work with arms rather than with body.
Older oars adopt the trick in the endeavour to catch the water sharply at the beginning.
Of course they lose power by doing so; but they do not realise their loss, because, feeling a greater strain on their arms, they imagine that they must therefore be doing more work.
Lessons in a tub-gig are the best remedies for this fault.

'Paddling'

'Paddling' is an art which is of much importance in order to bring a crew to perfection, and at the same time it is too often done in a slovenly manner compared with hard rowing.
The writer admits that his own views as to how paddling should be performed differ somewhat from those of sundry good judges and successful coaches.
Some of these are of opinion that paddling should consist of rowing gently, comparatively speaking, with less force and catch at the beginning of the stroke and with less reach than when rowing hard, but with blade always covered to regulation depth.
When the order is given to 'Row', then the full length should be attained and the full 'catch' administered.
The writer's own version of paddling differs as follows.
He is of opinion that the difference between paddling and rowing should be produced by working with a 'light' - only partially covered - blade when paddling.
The effect of this is to ease the whole work of the stroke; but at the same time the swing, reach, and catch should be just the same as if the blade were covered.
Then, when the order comes to 'Row', all the oarsman has to do is so to govern his blade that he now immerses the whole of it, and at the same time to increase his force to the amount necessary to row the stroke of the full blade throughout the required time.
Those good judges who differ from him as aforesaid base their objections to his method chiefly on the ground that it requires rather a higher standard of watermanship to enable an oarsman so to govern his blade that he can immerse it more or less at will, and yet maintain the same outward action of body, only with more or less force employed, according to amount of blade immersed.
The writer admits that his process does entail the acquisition of a somewhat higher standard of watermanship than the other system.
But he is none the less of opinion that this admission should not be accepted as a ground for teaching the other style.
In the first place, it would seem to him better to try to raise the standard of watermanship to the system than to lower the system to meet the requirements of inferior skill.
In the second, there seems to be even greater drawbacks to the system preferred by his friends who differ from him.
For instance, under the alternative system the oarsman is taught to alter his style of body when paddling, but to maintain a uniform depth of blade.
He is taught to apply less sharpness of catch, and less reach forward.
To do so may tend to take the edge off catch, and to shorten reach, when hard rowing has to be recommenced.
It is plain that paddling cannot be all round the same as rowing; there must be an alternative prescribed.
The writer says, in effect: 'Alter only the blade (and so the amount of force required), and maintain outward action of body as before.
' Those who take the other view say, in effect: 'Maintain the same blade, and alter the action of the body.
' It must be admitted that those who differ from the writer are entitled, from their own performances as oarsmen and coaches, to every possible respect; and the writer, while failing to agree with them, hesitates to assert that for that reason he must be right and they wrong.
One further reason in favour of paddling with a light blade may be added.
When an oarsman is exhausted in a race, it is of supreme importance that, though unable to do his full share of work, he should not mar the swing and style of the rest.
Now if such an oarsman, when nature fails him, can row lighter and so ease his toil, he can maintain swing and style with the rest.
But if, on the other hand, he keeps his blade covered to the full, and seeks relief by rowing shorter and with less dash, he alters his style and tends to spoil the uniformity of the crew.

Watermanship

Watermanship is a quality which can hardly be coached; it may, therefore, seem out of place to deal with it under the head of coaching.
Yet in one sense it pertains to coaching, because a mentor takes into calculation the capacity of an oarsman for exercising watermanship when making a selection of a crew.
Watermanship, as a technical term, may be said to consist in adapting oneself to circumstances and exigencies during the progress of a boat.
A good waterman keeps time with facility, a bad one only after much painstaking - if at all.
A good waterman adapts himself to every roll of the boat, sits tight to his seat, anticipates an incipient roll, and rights the craft so far as he can by altering his centre of gravity while yet plying his oar.
A bad waterman is more or less helpless when a boat is off its keel, or when he encounters rough water.
So long as the boat is level, he may be able to do even more work than the good waterman, but when the boat rolls he cannot help himself, still less can he right the ship and so help others to work, as can the good waterman.
Good watermen can jump into a racing boat and sit her off-hand; bad watermen will be unsteady in a keelless boat even after days of practice.
One or two good watermen are the making of a crew, especially when time is short for practice.
They will raise the standard of rowing of all their colleagues, simply by keeping the balance of the boat.
Sculling and pair-oar practice tend to teach watermanship.
They induce a man to make use of his own back and beam in order to keep the boat on an even keel.
We do not for this reason say that every tiro should be put to take lessons of watermanship in sculling-boats and light pairs: far from it.
He will be likely in such craft to contract feather under water, and possibly screwing, in the efforts to obtain work on an even keel, after his own uneven action has conduced to rolling.
University men produce far fewer good watermen than the tideway clubs, and with good reason.
The career on the river at Oxford or Cambridge is brief, and many a man goes out of residence while he is only on the threshold of aquatic science, both in practice and theory; although, on account of his big frame, he may have been taught artificially to ply an oar, and with good effect, in a practised eight.
Watermanship, like skating, cannot be acquired in a day, and the younger a man takes to aquatics the more likely is he to acquire it.
There is hardly a bad waterman to be seen as a rule in a grand challenge crew of London R.C. or Thames R.C. men.
Among University oars, watermanship is oftenest found in those who have rowed as schoolboys.

A Scratch Eight (Peal of Bells)

To coaches generally of the present and of future generations we may say that there is nothing like having a tenacity of purpose, and declining to listen to the shoals of excuses which pupils are inclined to propound in order to explain their shortcomings.
There should be no such thing as 'I can't' from a pupil.
On the other hand, the coach should do his best to render the excuse untenable by ensuring proper 'work' at each thwart.
A coach should not be carried away by every whisper of criticism by outsiders; and yet at the same time he should realise as said at the beginning of this chapter, that, however able he may be, he has a natural tendency to become blind to faults which are being daily perpetrated under his nose - the more so if he has been specially of late devoting his attention to some different class of fault in his men.
For this reason he should not decline to listen to suggestions from mentors who otherwise may be his inferiors in the art, and to give them all attention before he decides how to deal with them.
In dealing with the selection of men for a crew he has to consider various points.
He has to calculate for what seats such and such an oarsman will be available, as regards weight and capacity generally for the seat.
He has to bear in mind the date of the race for which he is preparing his men; many an oarsman may be admittedly unfit for a seat if the race were rowed to-morrow, and yet he may show promise of being fit for it six months hence.
A may be better than B to-day; but A may be an old stager hardened in certain faults, and of whom no hope can now be entertained that he will suddenly reform.
B may be as green as a gooseberry, and yet the recollection of what he was two or three weeks ago, compared to what he is now, may warrant the assumption that by the day of the race, some time hence, B will have become the better man of the two.
A coach who takes a crew in hand halfway through their preparation should be prepared to hear evidence as to what was the standard of merit of certain men some time back, compared with their present form; otherwise he may delude himself as to the relative merits and prospects of the material which he has to mould into shape.
Just as orators are said to learn at the expense of their audience, so coaches do undoubtedly learn much at the expense of the crews which they manage.
Many a coach will agree that he has often felt in later years that, if he had his time over again with this or that oarsman or crew, he would now form a different judgment from what he formerly did.
In concluding this chapter we cannot do better than extract from Dr. Warre's treatise on Athletics certain aphorisms for the benefit of coaches, which he has tersely compiled under the head of 'Notes on Coaching':

He teaches best who, while he is teaching, remembers that he has much to learn.

Medmenham Abbey

CHAPTER 5.
THE CAPTAIN.

The captain of a boat club is the most important member of it, from a practical point of view.
In some clubs, as with the Universities, he is nominally as well as practically supreme - is president as well as captain.
In clubs on the Thames tideway, such as Leander, London, Thames, and as in the Kingston club higher up river, there is a president elected as the titular head of the club, but that functionary is chiefly ornamental, to add dignity to the society, and to instil sobriety into its councils.
Such a president is usually some old oarsman of renown, long ago retired from active service, one whose name carries weight and influence, but who has neither time nor inclination to interfere with the oarsmanship of the members.
It is the captain who can make or mar a club.
He is the general officer in command of the forces, while the president (when such an extra official exists) is more of a field-marshal enjoying otium cum dignitate at home.
The qualifications upon which a captain is, or should be, selected by his club are, in the first place, personal merit as an oarsman and knowledge of his craft; in the second, a due seniority, so that he may have proper influence, both socially and in an aquatic sense, over those whom he is appointed to command; thirdly, tact and common sense.
Deficiency in either one of these desiderata is often fatal to a captain's chances of success in his office.
If he is a bad oar, and lacking in practical knowledge compared with those under him, it will little avail him to be a person of senior standing in the crews and of social position.
He will fail to carry with him that prestige and confidence which should be the attribute of all commanders who expect to lead men to victory.
If, on the other hand, he is a good oar, even the best of his club, and yet is a fledgling in age, he will find it difficult to maintain his command over sundry jealous seniors, and will, more than all, require the third requisite of tact, which is less liable to be found in a mere lad than in a man of the world who has well passed his majority.
A captain should be self-reliant without being obstinate; he should be good-tempered but not facile; he should be firm but not tyrannical, energetic but not a busybody.
A captain has usually a host of counsellors, and he too well realises the fallacy of the adage that in a multitude of counsels there is wisdom.
If he were to pay attention to all the advice offered to him he would never be able to have a mind of his own.
And yet he will do well not to run to the opposite extreme, nor to decline to listen to anyone who ventures to offer him a suggestion.
If he is captain of a University crew he will find his bed anything but one of roses.
The eyes of the sporting world are upon him from the commencement of Lent term.
Daily he will receive letters from individuals of whom he has never before heard, offering him advice and criticising his line of action.
Many of his correspondents will be anonymous, and too many of them splenetic.
He must not be surprised to see himself anonymously attacked in print for the selections which he is making for a crew to represent his club.
He will be accused of partiality if he selects some man of his own college in preference to an out-college man.
He will find himself abused if he decides to take an important oar in his own hands, such as stroke or No. 7.
He will be inundated with speculative appeals from vendors of commodities who hope for gratuitous advertisement of their wares.
One of them will send him a nondescript garment, and will assure him that if he will allow his crew to row in dress of that build he and they shall be robed gratis in it, and be assured of victory.
Quack medicines will be proffered him, and photographers will pester him and his crew daily with requests to stand for an hour in a nor'-easter for their portraits.
Within the circle of his own club matters will not always run smoothly.
Sometimes he finds himself in the unpleasant position of having, after due consideration and counsel, to dispense with the services of some old brother blue who has fallen off from his quondam form, or who, though good enough among an inferior crew of a preceding year, is not up to par compared with new oarsmen of merit who have come to the fore since the last spring.
Nevertheless, with all these drawbacks to office, a University president or captain of a college has perhaps an easier task in managing his crew than a captain of an elective club on the Thames that is preparing for Henley or some similar contest.

In college life the brevity of career gives a special standing and prestige to seniority, and the president of a U.B.C. is not likely to be a very junior man.
Esprit de corps does much to keep College and University crews together, and there is less likelihood of mutiny in such clubs than in those which are purely elective, and which compete with each other for securing the best oarsmen of the day.
A malcontent college oar cannot throw himself, even if he will, into the arms of another college; still less can a dissatisfied candidate for one shade of blue 'rat' and desert to the enemy.
But in tideway and other clubs on the Thames there is such a brisk competition for good oarsmen that a man who finds he is likely to lose his chance of selection in one club has opportunities for obtaining distinction under some rival flag, and very possibly he already belongs to more than one such club, and can put his services up to auction as it were.
If he finds that he will be relegated to some comparatively unimportant seat in the club which has claims of longest standing upon him, he may, if he is unpatriotic and cantankerous, look out in some other club for a berth of greater distinction.
Such men are not uncommon, and are thorns in the side of any captain.
They tax his sixth sense of tact more than anything: if he gives way to them, he risks spoiling the arrangement of his crew; if he stands firm, he may send a valuable man over to the enemy.
On the other hand, it must be said that many rival captains would decline to accept the services of a deserter of this sort, and would feel that if such an one would not be true to one flag, he could not be safely trusted for long to row under another.
Beside this sort of malcontent, whose ambition is to be aut Cæsar aut nullus, the captain has to contend with obstructives of other classes.
There is the habitual grumbler, who is never happy unless he has a grievance.
To-day he cannot row properly because the boat is always down on his oar.
Yesterday he was complaining that his rowlock was too high, and he had leave to lower it accordingly.
He may not be really bad-tempered, nor mutinous; even his growls have a triste bonhomie about them; in one sense he is a sort of acquisition to the social element of the crew, for his grumblings make him a butt for jokes and rallies.
But when this system of grumbling goes beyond a certain point it sorely tries a captain's patience.
Another sort of incubus is the old hand, who has never risen beyond mediocrity, who has plenty of faults, but who can be relied upon for a certain amount of honest work, and who fills a place better than some very backward oarsman.
The old stager is case-hardened in his crimes; they are second nature to him, and, in spite of coaching, still he maunders on in the same old style, with the same set faults.
He has a time-honoured screw, a dog's-eared elbow, and yet he possesses what many of the better-finished oarsmen do not - watermanship - and can keep on at work in a rolling boat when many neater oarsmen are all abroad if the ship gets off her even keel.
Not to coach his too obvious faults may make visitors fancy that the old screw is a pattern fugleman to be copied for style; and yet to spend objurgation on one so stiff-necked is disheartening waste of wind.

'Prose' [a coxless four]

Discipline is all-important in a crew, and it usually requires tact to maintain it.
If the captain is a triton among minnows, he can better afford to hector; but, as a rule, he runs the risk of mutiny, or at least of producing sulkiness, if he treats his crew as if they were galley-slaves.
If he is in the boat, working with them, sharing their toils and privations, his task becomes easier on this score; for the crew realise that, however irksome the orders for the day may be, they are felt just as much by the commander as by the rank and file.
If a member of the crew openly defies a captain, the bad example is too dangerous to be tolerated.
To expel a mutineer may ruin the chance of victory for an impending race, but it will be best for the club in the long run, and will be likely to save many a defeat.
The writer has in mind two such incidents which occurred to himself at different times while officiating as captain of a club.
In each case the mutineer was the stroke, and the spes gregis.
He resented being told to row slower, or faster, as the case might be, and presently flatly declined to be dictated to.
In each case the boat was instantly ordered ashore, and the grumbler was asked to step out.
His place was filled by some emergency man, he was left ashore, and was told at the end of the day that the captain regretted to be obliged to dispense with his services.
In each case the rest of the crew buttonholed their late stroke, and put the screw upon him to beg pardon, and with success.
The one stroke was reinstated at his old post; the other was also put back to the boat, but at No. 6.
In both cases mutiny was stamped out once and for all.
Of these two men it may be said that one eventually rose to be stroke of a winning University eight, and the other of a winning Grand Challenge crew.
In each case they were great personal friends of the captain, and there was no interruption of social relations through the peremptory line of conduct pursued.
Many old fellow-oarsmen of the writer will doubtless recognise these incidents, in which names are naturally omitted.
Punctuality is an important detail of discipline in a crew.
It is a good system to order a fine to be levied by the secretary upon anyone who exceeds a certain limit of grace from the hour fixed for practice.
It is better that the secretary or treasurer should levy it than the captain, because thereby the captain in this detail places himself under the subordinate officer's jurisdiction, and is himself fined if he is late.
He can do this without loss of dignity, and in fact adds to his influence by submitting as a matter of course to the general regulation.
It spoils the discipline of a crew if a captain takes French leave for himself, and keeps his men dancing attendance upon him, and yet rates them when one of them similarly delays the practice.

Embarking (an eight)

In making up a crew a captain is often in an invidious position.
It is said by cricketers that the danger of having a leading bowler for captain of an eleven is that he is often judicially blind as to the right moment for taking himself off.
Similarly, for a stroke to be captain, or rather for a likely candidate for strokeship to be captain, may be productive of misunderstandings and mischief to the crew.
In old days stroke and captain were synonyms.
The 'stroke' was elected by the club.
He was supposed to be the best all-round oar, and as such to be capable of setting the best stroke to the crew.
His office attached itself to his seat.
In sundry old college records of rowing we find the expression 'a meeting of strokes', where in modern times we should speak of a 'captains' meeting.
The U.B.C.s departed from this tradition more than forty years ago.
Since then captains have been found at all thwarts, even including that of the coxswain.
Most college clubs followed the U.B.C. principle forthwith, but not all so.
We can recall an incident to the contrary.
At Queen's College, Oxon, there remained a written rule that stroke should be captain as late as about 1862.
In or about that year a Mr. Godfrey was rowing stroke of the Queen's eight in the bumping races, and was ex-officio captain.
He had previously stroked the Queen's torpid, and with good success.
One night during the summer races Queen's got bumped (or failed to effect a bump).
Some of the crew laid the blame of their failure upon their stroke, for having rowed, as they alleged, too rapid a stroke.
A college meeting had to be called, and a new stroke to be 'elected', before a change could be made in the order of the boat for the next night's race!
Mr. Godfrey was asked to resign his seat as stroke, which of course he did, and took the seat of No. 6.
His successor was thus elected captain.
Much sympathy for Mr. Godfrey's unfortunate statutory deposition from command was openly expressed by out-college oarsmen, and the result was before long that a change was made in the code of the Queen's College Boat Club, and its adaptation to that of the more advanced rules which found favour with the majority of the U.B.C.
However, just as a bowler at cricket is prone to be blind to his own weaknesses, and to be imbued with ambition to do too much with his own hands at moments when they have lost their cunning, so when a captain has claims, not superlative, to the after-thwart, there is always some danger lest his eagerness to do all he can may blind him as to the best choice for that seat.
In some cases, as with (of late) Messrs. West and Pitman, respectively strokes and presidents of their U.B.C.s, or in the cases of such oarsmen as Messrs. W.Hoare, W.R.Griffiths, M.Brown, J.H.D.Goldie, R.Lesley, H.Rhodes, &c., all of whom had won their spurs as first-class strokes before they were elected to the presidency, the coincidence of stroke and captain has done no harm and has found the best man in the right place.
Nevertheless, it is advisable to caution all captains on this score, and to suggest to them that, when they find themselves sharing a candidature for an important seat, they will do well to ask the advice of some impartial mentor, and abide by it.

At Eton the traditional law of identity of stroke and captain held good, with natural Etonian conservatism, until a date even later than that of the previously related anecdote of Queen's College.
So far as we can recollect, the first instance in which an Eton eight was not stroked by its captain was in 1864.
In that year Mr. (now Colonel) Seymour Corkran was captain of Eton.
He was a sort of pocket Hercules, of great breadth and weight, scaling close upon 13 st.
Eton crews were not then so heavy as in these days, and the wondrous old Eton 'Mat-Taylor' boat, which then was still in her prime, would not satisfactorily carry so heavy a weight in the stern.
Mr. Corkran placed himself at No.7, and installed a light-weight, Mr. Mossop, at stroke.
In this year Eton won the Ladies' Plate for the first time, University College leaving them to walk over for it, after University had had a severe losing race earlier in the day against the Kingston Rowing Club for the final heat of the Grand Challenge.
The duties of a captain are not confined to the mere selection of his racing crew for the moment, nor to the preservation of order and régime in the matter of training.
If he is to do his duty by the club, he should be on duty pretty well all through the season.
He should keep his eyes open to note any raw oarsman who shows signs of talent, and mark him to be tried and coached into form hereafter.
A captain of an elective club can do much to maintain the credit of his flag by looking up suitable recruits who have not yet joined a leading club, and by inducing them to put themselves under his care, and to submit themselves for election.
One of the best oars that ever rowed at Henley, who became an amateur champion (Mr.W.Long), was secured for the L.R.C. by the prompt energy of the then captain of that club, on the occasion of Mr. Long's début at Henley Regatta.
On that occasion he came from Ipswich, to row for the pairs, with a partner much inferior to himself.
They did not win, but Mr. Long's hitherto unknown merits were at once seen, and his enlistment in the L.R.C. ranks had very much to do with the long series of victories, especially in Stewards' Cup and other four-oar races, which for some seasons afterwards attended the fortunes of the L.R.C.
Per contra, to show how a good oarsman may be going begging, in 1867 Mr.F.Gulston was not asked to row either by London or Kingston; he went to Paris to row in a pair-oar, and still the L.R.C. overlooked him, though he was a member of their club, and though the L.R.C. were entered for the international regatta on the Seine.
Mr. Gulston was nearly, probably quite, as good an oarsman then as in his very best days; but his light, though not hid under a bushel, was openly disregarded by his club.
Through the minor regattas of the summer he took refuge with an 'Oscillators' crew, and shoved three inferior men behind along at such a pace that next season it was impossible to ignore him.
He became stroke of the L.R.C. Grand Challenge crew in 1868, and won the prize easily.

A president of a U.B.C. has not the responsibility of looking after recruits for his club.
He has only to see that he does not overlook the merits of those who are in it, among the hundreds of young oarsmen who come out each season in the torpids, lower divisions, and college eights.
The 'trial eights' of the winter term have to be made up by him.
Each captain of a college crew is requested to send in the names of ten or more candidates for these trials; but it is not safe for a president to rely entirely upon the lists so furnished to him.
He is morally bound to give a fair trial to all the candidates who are thus officially submitted to his notice; but he ought also on his own account to have taken stock during the summer races of the promising men of each college crew.
The opinions of college captains as to who are likely to make the best candidates for University rowing must not always be relied upon.
It has often happened that better men have been omitted than those whose names have been sent in to be tried.
We have known a watchful president ask of a college captain to this effect:
'What has become of the man who rowed No. 6 in your torpid?'
'He played cricket all the summer, and did not row in the summer eights.'
'You have not sent in his name?'
'No, I thought him too backward; he has never been in a light boat in his life, and he only began to row last October when he came up as a freshman.'
'Can I see him to-morrow and try him?' says the president; and eventually this cricketer of the torpids is hammered into shape, and subsequently wears a double blue.
The above is no exaggerated picture of what has been known to result from careful supervision by a president of the college rowing which comes under his notice.
In 1862 Messrs. Jacobson and Wynne rowed in the Oxford crew; the writer believes, from the best of his recollection, that neither of these gentlemen was named in the two primary picked choices which had been sent in to represent Christ Church in the trial eights.
But the then president, Mr. George Morrison, had observed them when they were rowing for their college earlier in the season, and took note of them as two strong men, who might be converted by coaching into University oars; and he proved to be correct.
A captain of a large club usually has his hands so full of duties connected with representative or picked crews that he can hardly be expected to find much time for systematically coaching juniors.
This preliminary work he is obliged to depute to subordinates.
In a London club there is usually a sort of subaltern, or sometimes an ex-captain, who undertakes to instruct junior crews or those who are competing for the Thames Cup at Henley.
In a college club it is a common practice to elect a 'captain of torpid', who is usually some one who has rowed in the college eight, but who has not the physique to compete for a seat in the University crew.
At Cambridge a large college club puts on so many crews for the bumping races that it is necessary to find separate coaches for nearly each boat.
Even when this occurs, a really energetic captain will endeavour to spare a day now and then to supervise the efforts of his subalterns.
At Oxford it is, or used to be, customary for the five committee men of the O.U.B.C. to make a point of coaching in turn, when asked, those college eights which had no 'blue,' nor old oarsmen of experience, to instruct them.
All these arrangements tend to raise the standard of rowing in various colleges, and so in the U.B.C. generally.

The time comes when a captain retires from office, but it is quite possible that he may find time to row again for his flag after he has laid down his bâton.
In his new rôle he can do, in another line, quite as much to preserve discipline as when he held the office in his own person.
He should be the foremost to set an example of subordination and of strict observance of regulations and of training.
Nothing does more to strengthen the hands of a new captain than the spectacle of his late chief serving loyally under him; and, on the other hand, nothing does more to weaken the new ruler's authority than the example of an ex-captain self-sufficient and too proud to acknowledge the sway of his successor.
The ex-captain does not lose caste by strict subordination; unless his successor is a man devoid of tact, he will freely take his predecessor into his counsels; and, on the other hand, the predecessor should be careful not to support anarchy by interfering until he is asked to advise.
We have known the entire morale of a college crew upset because the ex-captain, a University oar, has taken French leave and ordered an extra half-glass of beer for himself (beyond the statutory allowance), without observing the formal etiquette of first asking the leave of his successor, whose standing was only that of college-eight oarsmanship.
Such a proceeding at once made it more difficult than ever for the new captain to preserve discipline and strict attention to training orders among the thirsty souls with whom he had to deal.
In some college boat clubs there is a rule that the captain must be resident in college.
The object of this is to prevent the archives and trophies of the boat club, which are in custody of the captain, from passing outside the college gates, and so possibly getting astray in lodgings.
Such a rule as this naturally prevents many a senior oarsman from holding the office (for after a certain standing undergraduates migrate from college walls to lodgings).
In such cases those members of the college club who belong to the University eight constantly find themselves under the formal authority of one who does not pretend to equal their skill or knowledge of aquatics.
As a rule these retired generals work harmoniously with their inferior but commanding in-college oarsman; but cases do occur where want of tact on the part of one or both parties has a very mischievous effect, and causes the club to take a lower place on the race-charts than it might have attained had all parties co-operated loyally for the support of the flag.
The position of captain of a club, whether rowing, cricket, or athletics, is a very useful school for any young man, if he uses his opportunity aright.
It teaches him to be self-reliant; to avoid vacillation on the one hand and obstinacy on the other; to exercise tact and forbearance, and to set a good example on his own part of observance of standing orders.
All these lessons serve him well in after-life.
No man is the worse, when fighting the battle of the world, for having learnt both how to obey orders implicitly and also how to govern others with firmness and tact.
He will look back to many a decision which he came to, and will perhaps be able to console himself by reflecting that at the time he acted according to the best of his lights; but none the less he will perceive that he was then in error, and that as he sees more of aquatics, or of any other branch of sport, he finds that he is only beginning to learn the best of it when the time comes for him to take his departure from the scene of actual conflict.
If he will apply the analogy to his career in life, whatever that may be, he will prosper therein all the more by reason of the practical lessons which he gained when his arena was purely athletic.

Bisham Court Reach

CHAPTER 6.
THE COXSWAIN AND STEERING.

The 'cock-swain' wins his place chiefly on account of his weight, provided that he can show a reasonable amount of nerve and skill of hand.
A coxswain is seldom a very practical oarsman, although there have been special exceptions to this rule, e.g. in the case of T.H.Marshall, of Exeter, Arthur Shadwell, of Oriel, and a few others.
But if he has been any length of time at his trade he very soon picks up a very considerable theoretical knowledge of what rowing should be, and is able to do very signal service in the matter of instructing the men whom he pilots.
When a youth begins to handle the rudder-lines there is often some considerable difficulty in inducing him to open his mouth to give orders of any sort.
Even such biddings as to tell one side of oars to hold her, or another to row or to back-water, come at first falteringly from his lips.
It is but natural that he should feel his own physical inferiority to the men whom he is for the moment required to order about so peremptorily, and diffidence at first tends to make him dumb.
But he soon picks up his rôle when he listens to the audacious orders and objurgations of rival pilots, and he is pleased to find that the qualities of what he might modestly consider to be impudence and arrogance are the very things which are most required of him, and for the display of which he earns commendation.
Having once found his tongue, he soon learns to use it.
When there is a coach in attendance upon the crew, the pilot is not called upon to animadvert on any failings of oarsmen; but when the coach is absent the coxswain is bound to say something, and, if he has his wits about him, he soon picks up enough to make his remarks more or less to the purpose.
The easiest detail on which he offers an opinion is that of time of oars.
At first he feels guilty of 'cheek' in singing out to some oarsman of good standing that he is out of time.
He feels as if he should hardly be surprised at a retort not to attempt to teach his grandmother; but, on the contrary, the admonition is meekly accepted, and the pilot begins at once to gain confidence in himself.
Daily he picks up more and more theoretical knowledge; he notes what a coach may say of this or that man's faults, and he soon begins to see when certain admonitions are required.
At least he can play the parrot, and can echo the coach's remarks when the mentor is absent, and before long he will have picked up enough to be able to discern when such a reproof is relevant and when it is not.
In his spare time he often paddles a boat about on his own account, and this practice materially assists him in understanding the doctrines which he has to preach.
As a rule, coxswains row in very good form, when they row at all; and before their career closes many of them, though they have never rowed in a race, can teach much more of the science of oarsmanship than many a winning oar of a University race or of a Grand Challenge Cup contest.

A coxswain is the lightest item in the crew, but unless he sits properly he can do much harm in disturbing the balance of a light boat.
He should sit with a straight back; if he slouches, he has not the necessary play of the loins to adapt himself to a roll of the boat.
He should incline just a trifle forward; the spring of the boat at each stroke will swing him forward slightly, and he will recoil to an equal extent on the recovery.
His legs should be crossed under him, like a tailor on a shop-board, with the outside of each instep resting on the floor of the boat.
He should hold his rudder-lines just tight enough to feel the rudder.
If he hangs too much weight upon them, he may jam the tiller upon the pin on which it revolves, so that, when the rudder has been put on and then taken off, the helm does not instantly swing back to the exact status quo ante; and in that case the calculation as to course may be disturbed, and a counter pull from the other line become necessary, in order to rectify the course.
A coxswain will do best to rest his hand lightly on either gunwale, just opposite to his hips.
He should give the lines a turn round his palms, to steady the hold on them.
Many coxswains tie a loop at the required distance, and slip the thumb through it; but such a loop should not be knotted too tight, for when rudder-lines get wet they shrink; so that a loop which was properly adjusted when the line was dry will be too far behind in event of the strings becoming soaked.
When a coxswain desires to set a crew in motion, the usual formula is to tell the men to
'get forward', then to ask if they are 'ready',
and then to say 'go', 'row', or 'paddle', as the case may be.
When he wishes to stop the rowing, without otherwise to check the pace of the boat, the freshwater formula is
'easy all' at which command the oars are laid flat on the water.
In the navy the equivalent term is 'way enough'.
'Easy all' should be commanded at the beginning, or at latest at the middle, of a stroke, otherwise it is difficult for the men to stop all together and to avoid a half-commencement of the next stroke.
If a boat has to be suddenly checked and her way stopped, the order is
'Hold her all'.
The blades are then slightly inclined towards the bow of the boat, causing them to bury in the water, and at the same time not to present a square surface to back-water.
The handle of the oar should then be elevated, and more and more so as the decreasing way enables each oarsman to offer more surface resistance to the water.
So soon as the way of the boat has been sufficiently checked, she can be backed or turned, according to what may be necessary in the situation.
In turning a long racing-boat care should be taken to do so gently, otherwise she may be strained.
If there is plenty of room, she can be turned by one side of oars 'holding' her, while bow, and afterwards No.3 also, paddle her gently round.
If there is not room for a wide turn, then stroke and No.6 should back water gently, against bow, &c. paddling.

A coxswain, when he first begins his trade, is pleased to find how obedient his craft is to the touch of his hand; he pulls one string and her head turns that way; he takes a tug at the other line, and she reverses her direction.
The ease with which he can by main force bring her, somehow or other, to the side of the river on which he desires to be tends at first to make him overlook how much extra distance he unnecessarily covers by rough-and-ready hauling at the lines.
'Argonaut' very lucidly uses the expression 'a boat should be coaxed by its rudder', a maxim which all pilots will do well to make a cardinal point in their creed.
When a boat is once pointing in a required direction, and her true course is for the moment a straight one, the pilot should note some landmark, and endeavour to regulate his bows by aid of it, keeping the mark dead ahead, or so much to the right or to the left as occasion may require.
In so doing he should feel his lines, and, so to speak, 'balance' his bows on his point d'appui.
His action should be somewhat analogous to what the play of his hand would be if he were attempting to carry a stick end upwards on the tip of his finger.
He would quickly but gently anticipate the declination denoted by each wavering motion of the stick, checking each such deviation the moment it is felt.
In like manner when steering he should, as it were, 'hold' his bows on to his steering point, regulating his boat by gentle and timely touches; if he allows a wide deviation to occur, before he begins to correct his course, he has then a wide détour to make before he can regain his lost position.
All this means waste of distance and of rowing energy on the part of the crew.
In steering by a distant landmark the coxswain must bear in mind that the parallax of the distant mark increases as he nears it; so that what may point a true course to him, for all intents and purposes, when it is half a mile away, may lead him too much to one side or other if he clings to it too long without observing its altered bearing upon his desired direction.
When a coxswain has steered a course more than once he begins to know his landmarks and their bearing upon each part of the course.
There is less strain upon his mind, and he becomes able to observe greater accuracy.
There is nothing like having the 'eye well in' for any scene of action.
A man plays relatively better upon a billiard-table or lawn-tennis ground to which he is well accustomed than on one to which he is a stranger; and a jockey rides a horse all the better for having crossed him before the day of a race.
However good a coxswain may be, he will steer a course more accurately, on the average, in proportion as he knows it more or less mechanically.
There is also a good deal in knowing the boat which has to be steered.
No two ships steer exactly alike.
Some come round more easily than others; some fetch up into the wind more freely than others.
In modern times it has been a common practice for builders to affix a movable 'fin' of metal to the bottom of a racing eight or four, under the after canvas, which fin can be taken out or fixed in at option.
In a cross wind this helps to steady the track of a boat; but, unless wind is strong and is abeam for a good moiety of the distance, the draw of the water all the way occasioned by the fin costs more than the extra drag of rudder which it obviates for just one part of the course.

In steering round a corner a coxswain should bear in mind that he must not expect to see his boat pointing in the direction to which he desires to make.
His boat is a tangent to a curve, the curve being the shore.
His bows will be pointing to the shore which he is avoiding.
It is the position of his midship to the shore which he is rounding that he should especially note.
The boat should be brought round as gradually as the severity of the wave will allow.
If the curve is very sharp, like the corners of the 'Gut' at Oxford, or 'Grassy' or Ditton corners at Cambridge, the inside oars should be told to row light for a stroke or two.
It will ease their labour, and also that of the oars on the other side.
When there is a stiff beam wind the bows of a racing craft tend to bear up into the wind's eye.
The vessel is making leeway all the time; therefore if the coxswain on such an occasion steers by a landmark which would guide him were the water calm, he will before long find himself much to leeward of where he should be.
In order to maintain his desired course he should humour his boat, and allow her bow to hold up somewhat into the wind (to windward of the landmark which otherwise would be guiding him).
To what extent he should do so he must judge for himself, according to circumstances and to his own knowledge of the leeward propensities of his boat.
To lay down a hard-and-fast rule on this point would be as much out of place as to attempt to frame a scale of allowance which a Wimbledon rifleman ought to make for mirage or cross-wind, when taking aim at a distant bull's-eye.
Generally speaking a coxswain should hug the shore when going against tide or stream, and should keep in mid-stream when going with it.
(Mid-stream does not necessarily imply mid-river.)
Over the Henley course, until 1886, a coxswain on the Berks side used to make for the shelter of the bank below Poplar Point, where the stream ran with less force.
The alteration (for good) of the Henley course which was inaugurated in 1886 has put an end to this, and both racing crews now take a mid-stream course.
The course is to all intents and purposes straight, and yet it will not do to keep the bows fixed on one point from start to finish.
There is just a fraction of curve to the left in it, but so slight that one finger's touch of a line will deflect a boat to the full extent required.
The church tower offers a landmark by which all pilots can steer, keeping it more or less to the right hand of the bows, and allowing for the increase of its parallax as the boat nears her goal.

Steering the Putney ("Boat Race") Course

Over the Putney water the best course has changed considerably during the writer's personal recollections.
Twenty years ago the point entering to Horse Reach, and opposite to Chiswick Church, could be taken close.
The Conservancy dredged the bed of the river, and also filled up a bight on the Surrey shore.
This transferred the channel and the strongest current to the Middlesex side.
In 1866 a head wind (against flood tide) off Chiswick raised the higher surf near to the towpath, showing that the main stream flowed there.
It now runs much nearer to the Eyot.
Also the removal of the centre arch of old Putney Bridge drew the main flood tide more into mid-river than of old; and since then the new bridge has been built and the old one altogether removed, still further affecting the current in the same direction.
There is a noticeable tendency in the present day, on the part of all pilots, whether in sculling matches or in eight-oar races, to take Craven Point too wide and to bear off into the bay opposite, on the Surrey shore.
The course should be kept rather more mid-stream than of old, up to Craven steps, but the point should be taken reasonably close when rounding; there should not be, as has often been seen during the last six years, room for a couple more boats to race between the one on the Fulham side and the Craven bank.
In old days, when Craven Point used to be taken close, and when the set of the tide lay nearer to it than now, there ensued an important piece of pilotage called 'making the shoot'.
It consisted in gradually sloping across the river, so as to take the Soapworks Point at a tangent, and thence to make for the Surrey arch of Hammersmith Bridge.
This 'shoot' is now out of place: firstly, because the tide up the first reach from the start of itself now tends to bring the boat more into mid-river off the Grass Wharf and Walden's Wharf; secondly, because the Soapworks Point should now be taken wide, and not close.
The reason for this latter injunction is that the races of to-day, by agreement, go through the centre arch of Hammersmith Bridge.
Now the flood tide does not run through the bridge at right angles to the span.
It is working hard across to the Surrey shore.
Therefore, if a boat hugs Soapworks Point as of old, and as if the course lay through the shore arch, that boat will have to come out, across tide, at an angle of about 25° to the set of the tide, in order to fetch the outer arch and to clear the buttress and the steamboat pier.
Year after year the same blunder is seen.
Pilots, of sculling boats and of eight-oars alike, wander away to the Surrey bay off Craven; then they hug the shore till they reach the Soapworks foot-bridge, and then they have to cross half the tide on their right before they can safely point for the outer arch of the Suspension Bridge.
A pilot should endeavour to keep in mid-river off Rosebank and the Crab Tree, and after passing the latter point he will, while pointing his bows well to the right of the arch which he intends to pass under, find the river move to the left under him, until, with little or no use of rudder, he finds himself in front of his required arch just as he reaches the bridge.
After passing the bridge a boat should keep straight on for another two hundred yards, else it will get into dead water caused by the eddy of the Surrey pier.
At Chiswick the course may be taken wide (save and except, as in all cases, where force of wind alters circumstances).
The main tide runs nearest to Chiswick Eyot.
Horse Reach should be entered in mid-river; there is little or no tide on the Surrey point below it.
Making for Barnes Bridge, the boat should keep fairly near to the Middlesex shore-how near depends upon whether the race is ordained to pass through the centre or the Middlesex arch of Barnes Bridge.
Once through Barnes Bridge, the course should sheer in (if the centre arch has been taken) until the boat lies as if it had taken the shore arch.
It should attain this position by the time it breasts the 'White Hart'.
The river is here a horseshoe to the finish.
In linear measure a boat on the Middlesex side has nearly two lengths less to travel than the one outside it between Barnes Bridge and the 'Ship'.
The tide runs nearly as well within sixty feet of the shore as in mid-river at this point, hence it pays to keep about that distance from the Middlesex bank.

The old Thames watermen who instruct young pilots over the Putney course are often inclined to run too much in the grooves which were good in their younger days, when they themselves were racing on the river.
Their instruction would be sound enough if the features of the river had not undergone change, as aforesaid, in sundry details.
The repeated blunders of navigation lately seen perpetrated by watermen as well as amateurs between Craven Steps and Hammersmith make us lose much faith in watermen's tuition for steering the metropolitan course.
We would rather entrust a young pilot to some active member of the London or Thames Rowing Clubs.
These gentlemen know the river well enough as it now is, and are not biassed by old memories of what it once was but is no longer.
University coxswains have easier tasks in these days than their predecessors before 1868.
Until the Thames Conservancy obtained statutory powers in 1868 to clear the course for boat-racing, it used to be a ticklish matter to pick a safe course on a flood tide.
There would be strings of barges towed, and many more sailing, others 'sweeping', up river.
Traffic did not stop for sport.
Coxswains often found themselves in awkward predicaments to avoid such itinerant craft, more so when barges were under sail against a head wind, and were tacking from shore to shore.
In 1866 a barge of this sort most seriously interfered with the Cambridge crew in Horse Reach, just when Oxford had, after a stern race, given them the go-by off the Bathing-place.
It extinguished any chance which might have been left for Cambridge.
In the preceding year C.R.W.Tottenham immortalised himself by a great coup with a barge.
She was tacking right across his course (Oxford had just gone ahead after having been led by a clear length through Hammersmith Bridge).
This was just below Barnes Bridge.
Many a pilot would have tried to go round the bows of that barge.
At the moment when she shaped her course to tack across tide there seemed to be ample room to pass in front of her.
Tottenham never altered his course, and trusted to his own calculations.
Presently the barge was broadside on to Oxford's bows, and only a few lengths ahead.
Every one in the steamers astern stood aghast at what seemed to be an inevitable smash.
The barge held on, and so did Oxford, and the barge passed clear away just before Oxford came up.
Even if she had hung a little, in a lull of wind, it would have been easy for Oxford to deflect a trifle and pass under her stern.
Anything was better than attempting to go round her bows, which at first seemed to be the simplest course to spectators not experts at pilotage.
It must be admitted that so much nerve and judgment at a pinch have never before or since been displayed by any coxswain in a University match.
Tottenham had his opportunity and made the most of it.
He steered thrice afterwards, but even if he had never steered again he had made his reputation by this one coup.
In justice to other crack coxswains, such as Shadwell and Egan of old, and, par excellence, G.L.Davis in the present day, we must assume that if they had been similarly tried they would have been equally triumphant.

Feathering under the water

CHAPTER 7.
SLIDING SEATS.

1. THEIR ORIGIN.

When sliding seats were first used they completely revolutionised oarsmanship, and caused old coaches whose names were household words to stand aghast at the invention.
The best use of them was but imperfectly realised by those who first adopted them; and many of the earliest examples of sliding-seat oarsmanship were sufficiently unorthodox, according to our improved use of them in the present day, to justify the declaration of more than one veteran whose opinion was always respected that -
'if that is sliding, it is not rowing'.
The mechanical power gained by a sliding seat is so great that even if he who uses it sets at defiance all recognised principles of fixed-seat rowing, he can still command more pace than if he adhered to fixed-seat work.
It was the spectacle, in earlier days of the slide, of this unorthodox sliding style beating good specimens of fixed-seat oarsmanship which so horrified many of the retired good oarsmen of the fixed-seat school.
Before long the true use of the slide became better understood, and thus oarsmen - at all events scientific amateurs - began to realise that, while bad sliding could manage to command more pace than good fixed rowing, yet at the same time good sliding (which will be explained hereafter) will beat bad sliding by even more than the latter can distance good fixed-seat work.
Just a similar sort of prejudice was displayed against the earlier style of rowing in keelless boats.
When these craft first came in, oarsmen had little or no idea of 'sitting' them; they rolled helplessly, and lost all form, but nevertheless they travelled faster in the new craft than when rowing in good style in old-fashioned iron-shod keeled boats.
In a season or two style reasserted itself, and it was found that it was by no means impossible to row in as neat a shape in a keelless boat as in a keeled one.
Sliding on the seat had been practised long before the sliding seat was invented, but only to a modified extent.
Robert Chambers of St. Antony's, the quondam champion, tried it now and then, and when preparing for his 1865 match with Kelley he used to slide a trifle, especially for a spurt, and to grease his seat to facilitate his operations.
Jack Clasper, according to Mr.E.D. Brickwood's well-known treatise on Boat-racing, used to slide to a small extent on a fixed seat when he rowed in a Newcastle four which won on the Thames in 1857.
Of this detail the writer has himself no recollection.
Also, in 1867, a Tyne sculler, Percy, tried sliding on a fixed seat in a sculling match against J.Sadler on the Thames (so Mr. Brickwood relates).
But none of these earlier sliders made much good out of their novelty.
The strain on the legs caused by the friction on the seat prevented the oarsman from maintaining the action for long, and meantime it took so much out of him that it prematurely exhausted his whole frame.
In 1870 Renforth's champion four used to slide on the seat for a spurt, but not for a whole course.
They beat the St. John's Canadian crew very easily while so rowing in a match at Lachine, but we believe that they would have won with about as much ease had they rowed on fixed seats.
In the same year a 'John o'Gaunt' four from Lancaster came to Henley Regatta and rowed in this fashion, sliding on fixed seats.
They had very little body swing, and their style showed all the worst features of the subsequent style which became too common when sliding seats were first established.
They did almost all their work by the piston action of the legs, and their limbs tired under the strain at the end of three or four minutes.
They led a light crew of Oxford 'Old Radleians' by three lengths past Fawley Court, and then began to come back to them.
The Oxonians steadily gained on them, but had to come round outside them at the Point, and could never get past them, losing the race by less than a yard.
Enough was seen on this occasion to convince oarsmen that the Lancastrian style was only good for half-mile racing.
In the final heat for the Stewards' fours a good L.R.C. crew beat the Lancastrians with ease after going half a mile.
The Radleians would doubtless have also gone well by the Lancastrians had the course been a hundred yards longer.

So far the old fixed seat had vindicated itself for staying purposes.
But in the following year a problem was practically solved.
It seems that (so Mr.Brickwood tells us) an oarsman comparatively unknown to fame, one Mr.R.O.Birch, had used an actual sliding seat at King's Lynn Regatta in 1870.
Mr. Brickwood seems to have been the only writer who took cognisance of this interesting fact.
University men and tideway amateurs, also professionals so far as we can gather, seem not to have heard of, or at least not to have heeded, the experiment.
Had Mr. Birch been a leading sculler of the day, possibly the innovation might have been adopted earlier than it was.
Meantime in America the sliding seat had been better known, but had not been appreciated.
Mr. Brickwood tells us that a Mr. J.C.Babcock, of the Nassau Boat Club, constructed a sliding seat as long ago as 1857.
Also that W.Brown, the American sculler, tried one in 1861, but abandoned it.
In 1869 Mr.Babcock once more devoted himself to the study and construction of sliding seats, and brought out a six-oared crew rowing on slides.
But the invention did not obtain much recognition, although Mr. Babcock was of opinion that his crew gained in power of stroke through the new apparatus.
How the seat came to be at length adopted arose thus.
In 1871 two Tyne crews went to America to compete in regattas.
One of these was Renforth's crew, and, as detailed elsewhere, Renforth died during a race against the St.John crew.
Robert Chambers (not the ex-champion) took his place later on for sundry regattas.
The Tyne crews rowed with a good average of success in America.
Taylor, who commanded the other Tyne four, raced a States four, called the Biglin-Coulter crew, rowing with sliding seats.
These Biglin-Coulter men did not prove themselves, as a whole, any better than, if so fast as, the British crew; consequently there was nothing to draw especial attention to their apparatus.
Of the two British crews, that stroked by Chambers proved itself on the whole, through various regattas, faster than Taylor's four.
Taylor bided his time.
He proposed a match on the Tyne between the two British fours, and the offer was accepted.
The match came off in the fall of the same year.
Taylor's men had their boat fitted with sliding seats, and kept their apparatus 'dark' from the world and from their opponents.
They used to cease sliding when watched, and kept their apparatus covered up.
When the race came off, Taylor's crew decisively reversed the American regatta form, and beat Chambers's crew easily.
This was ascribed to the slide, information as to which leaked out after the race.
The next University race was not rowed with slides, but a couple of minor sculling races in the spring were rowed with them.
In June of that year a very fine L.R.C. four (Messrs. J.B.Close, F.S.Gulston, A.de L.Long, and W.Stout) rowed a four-oared match on the Thames against the Atalanta Club of New York.
The L.R.C. men used slides.
That did not affect their victory; they were stronger and better oarsmen than the Americans, and could have won easily on fixed seats; but what gave a fillip to slides was the clear testimony of these four oarsmen of undoubted skill to the advantage which they felt themselves gain by their use.
Instantly there was a run upon slides.

Henley Regatta was impending.
The L.R.C. crews were all fitted with them for that meeting.
Several other crews took to them after reaching Henley, and after seeing the superiority which London obtained by them.
Kingston and Pembroke (Oxon) had their boats fitted with slides less than a week before the race.
Pembroke was a moderate crew, and only entered because they held the Ladies' Plate.
At first, in practice, Pembroke did about equal time over the course with Lady Margaret, both crews being on fixed seats.
But the day after Pembroke got their slides they improved some 15 secs. upon the time of Lady Margaret, who kept to their old seats.
It must, however, be recorded that the Ladies' Plate was won by a fixed-seat crew - Jesus, Camb.
This crew was by far the best in material of all the entries at the regatta.
Their individual superiority enabled them to give away the slide to Pembroke, and had they taken to slides even for the last few days they would probably have also won the Grand Challenge.
As it was, that prize fell to the L.R.C., a crew which had four good men, and then a weak tail.
The sliding seat had now fairly established its claims.
It should be added that Pembroke, with two good and two moderate men, won the Visitors' Plate from a very good Dublin four, about the best four that Dublin ever sent to Henley.
Pembroke used slides, and the Dublin men had fixed seats.
(Slides alone won this race for Pembroke.)
The Pembroke slides were on wheels - a mechanism which was soon afterwards discarded by builders in favour of greased glass or steel grooves or tubes, but which seems to be returning to favour in 1886 and 1887.

2. SLIDING SEATS.
THEIR USE.

In order to understand the true action in a slide, it will be well to recall the action of fixed-seat rowing.
On the fixed seat the swing of the body does the main work, being supported by the legs, which are rigid and bent.
On a slide the legs extend gradually, while at the same time they support the body.
On a fixed seat the body moves as the radius of a circle that is stationary; on a slide the body moves as the radius of a circle which is itself in motion.
Suppose a threepenny-piece and a half-crown placed alongside of each other, concentrically, with a common pivot.
Let the threepenny-piece roll for a certain distance on the edge of a card.
Then any point in the circumference of the half-crown will move through a curve called a 'trochoid'.
This is practically the sort of curve described by the head or shoulders of an oarsman who rows upon a sliding seat.
The actual gain of rowing power by means of this mechanism is considerable.
The exact extent of it is not easy to arrive at, there being various factors to be taken into consideration.
In the first place, the length of reach, or of the 'stroke,' is considerably increased.
Mr. Brickwood in 1873 conducted some scientific experiments on dry land upon this subject, in conjunction with the editor of the 'Field' and Mr. F.Gulston.
The result of these measurements was to demonstrate (in the person of Mr. F.Gulston) a gain of about 18 inches in length of stroke upon a 9-inch slide.
In 1881 some casual experiments of a similar sort were conducted on a lawn at Marlow by the Oxford crew then training there.
The writer was present, and, so far as he remembers, the results practically confirmed the estimate of Mr. Brickwood above recorded, allowance being made for the fact that the gentleman by means of whose body the ideal stroke was measured at Marlow was longer-bodied and longer in the leg than Mr. Gulston.
As a second advantage, the sliding seat decidedly relieves the abdominal muscles and respiratory organs during the recovery.
In dealing with scientific racing we have previously remarked that the point wherein a tiring oarsman first gives way is in his recovery, because of the relative weakness of the muscles which conduct that portion of the action of the stroke.
It therefore is obvious that any contrivance which can enable a man to recover with less exertion to himself will enable him to do more work in the stroke over the whole course, and still more so if the very contrivance which aids recovery also gives extra power to the stroke.
On the other hand, there are two drawbacks to the slide.
One of these is, that when sliding full forward the legs are more bent than would be the case on a fixed seat.
The body cannot reach quite so far forward over the toes on a full slide as it can on a properly regulated fixed seat.
This slightly detracts from the work of the body at the beginning of the stroke.
Again, when a slide is used to best advantage, the greatest mechanical benefit occurs just when the body arrives at the perpendicular, and when the legs are beginning to do the greater portion of their extension.
This causes the greater force of the stroke to be applied behind the rowlock, in contradiction of all old theories of fixed-seat oarsmanship.

Taking all pros and cons together, it has been practically proved beyond doubt to every rowing man for more than a decade that the slide gains much more than it sacrifices.
Even bad sliding secures sufficient advantage to beat fixed-seat rowing (ceteris paribus), and good sliding completely distances fixed-seat performances.
It is often remarked that the 'times' performed by sliding-seat crews are not glaringly superior to those of fixed-seat annals.
This is correct.
Nevertheless the balance is clearly in favour of sliding performances.
The actual difference is much greater than times happen to disclose; it is somewhat fallacious to draw deductions from averages of recorded times, unless the individual condition of wind and weather, and of close or hollow races, be also chronicled for each year.
On [above] record is given of the actual gain attained by Pembroke College crew within ten days of their essaying the use of slides.
It may be added that Kingston, who adopted slides about the same day, displayed much about the same increase of speed, as shown by clocking and by comparing their times with those of other crews before and after their adoption of slides.
Another matter throws light on the question, and that is the records of practice times - which are, on the whole, more trustworthy to prove an average than race times.
Races have to start at fixed hours, irrespective of weather, whereas practice can select smooth days for trials.
The records of sliding trials - over Henley courses and tideway - when wind and water have been favourable, show a much greater advance over similar practice trials of fixed-seat crews than is disclosed by the racing times of sliders.
The writer believes that he is not far wrong in estimating the difference between sliding and fixed seats, in an eight or four, over the Henley course at 15 secs. (rough), and at something well over half a minute over the Putney course.
Scullers gain more by slides than oarsmen, because they can work square throughout to the stretcher, whereas the oarsman's handle tends to place the strain at different angles to his body as the stroke progresses.
Not much importance need be attached to the fact that the first University race rowed on slides eclipsed all its predecessors (and successors) for time.
It is well known that a gig eight with fixed seats on a good flood could do much faster time than a racing and sliding ship on a neap.
The 1873 race hit off a one-o'clock tide and fair weather; and it would equally have surpassed all or most predecessors if the crews had not used slides.
But still it was fortuitous that the first race of this class in the U.B.C.'s series should thus indicate the novelty by time record.
What is more striking is the ease with which times of about twenty minutes or under are now repeatedly accomplished, and by moderate crews, on moderate tides, and often with breezes unfavourable.
Till slides came in twenty minutes had only once been beaten, and that was by the Oxford crew of 1857 in practice (19 min. 53 sec.); and as Mr. T.Egan, at that date editor of aquatics in 'Bell's Life', then recorded in that journal, the oldest waterman could hardly recall such springs as foamed through Putney arches that week, and especially upon that day of trial.

In 1871 Goldie's (third) crew were supposed to do wonderful time (20 min. 11 sec.), on a good spring and smooth day.
It sufficed to make them hot favourites.
In these days a sliding crew that could not beat 19 min. 40 sec. on a smooth spring tide would be reckoned to have a bad chance of success.
The value of slides is therefore beyond dispute, but the oarsman should realise that good sliding distances bad sliding quite as far as bad sliding can beat fixed seats.
Hence the importance of using the slide to the best advantage.
To realise what he has to do, let a man test separately his two forces which he has presently to combine.
Let him row an ordinary fixed-seat stroke: this shows him the power of his swing; then let him sit upright, holding his oar, and, having slid up forward, kick back with rigid back and arms.
He will feel that he grips the water even more forcibly for the instant by the second than by the former process.
The fallacy of bad sliders is to be content with this gain of power in the action last named, and to substitute slide for swing (the arms eventually rowing the stroke home in either case).
The problem which an oarsman has to solve is to combine the two actions.
In order to do this, he should realise an important fact, viz. that the body cannot work effectually unless it receives support from the extensor muscles of the legs.
Therefore, if he slides before he swings, or if he completes his slide before he completes his swing, any swing which he attempts after the slide is played out is practically powerless.
Also, if the swing is thus rendered helpless, so also is the finish of the stroke with the arms, for these depend upon the body for support, and the body cannot supply them with this support unless the legs in their turn are doing their duty to the body.
Bearing this amount of theory in mind, the oarsman should put it into practice thus.

He should get forward (and immerse his blade, as on a fixed seat).
Then, at the moment he touches the water, he should bring his body to bear upon the handle, just as if he were for the instant rowing on a fixed seat; his legs should be rigid, though bent, at the instant of catch.

Start of stroke, sliding seat rowing

So soon as the catch has been applied, the oar-handle begins to come in to the operator.
Now comes a bit of watermanship and management of the limbs which require special attention, and which few oarsmen, even in these days of improved sliding, carry out to exact perfection.
The knees have been elevated by the slide (if it is anything over 4 inches) to a height over which the oar-handle cannot pass without being elevated in its turn.
Therefore, having once made his catch with rigid knees, the pupil should then begin to slide, contemporaneously with his swing, for a small distance, until he has brought his knees to such a level that the oar-loom can pass over them.

Catch, sliding seat rowing

He should during this period of the stroke slide only just so much as is required in order to bring his knees to the necessary height before the oar reaches them.
By the time that the oar comes over them he will be about the perpendicular.

Draw, sliding seat rowing

Now comes that part of the stroke which, on a slide, is the most effective.
The body should from this point swing well back, much further so than would be orthodox upon a fixed seat; all the time that the body is thus swinging back the legs should be extending, and the pace of extension should be regulated according to the length of slide.
In any case the slide and swing should terminate contemporaneously.

Finish, sliding seat rowing

The arms, as in fixed-seat rowing, should contract and row the stroke home while the body is still swinging back.
They should not begin to bend until the trunk has well passed the perpendicular.
The oarsman must bear in mind that the moment for finishing his slide should be regulated, not by the length of the slide, but by the length of his swing, and the latter should go well back until his body is at an angle of about thirty degrees beyond the perpendicular.
Suppose he has a long slide, say of 10 inches or more, and he decides, either from fatigue or because he need not fully extend himself, to use only part of his slide; or suppose he is changed from a boat fitted with 11-inch slides to one with 9-inch ditto, he must not, when using the shorter slide, allow his legs to extend as rapidly as they did when they had a longer distance to cover.
If he fails to observe this he will 'hurry' his slide, and will bring it to an end before the swing is completed, thus rendering the latter part of the swing helpless for want of due leg-support.
If slide and swing are not arranged contemporaneously, it is far better that a balance of slide should remain to be run out after the swing has finished than vice versa.
The legs can always push, and so continue the stroke, even if the body is rigid; but the body cannot conversely do anything effective for the stroke when once the legs have run their course.

The recovery on a sliding seat is not quite the counterpart of that on a fixed seat.
On the fixed seat the recovery should be the converse of the stroke: i.e. the arms, which came in latest, while the body was still swinging back, should shoot out first, while the body is beginning its return swing; and just as the first part of the stroke was performed with straight arms and swinging body, so the last part of the recovery should disclose a similar pose of arms and body.
But upon a slide there is not exactly such a transposition on the recovery of the motions which are correct for the stroke.
The hands play the same part as before; they cannot well be too lively off the chest and in extension, because the knees require more clearing on slides, and the sooner the hands are on the safe side of them the less chance is there of fouling the water on the return of the blade.
But, as regards the relations between slide and swing, these should not bear the same relation conversely which they did to each other during the stroke.
The pupil was enjoined not to let his slide run ahead of his swing while rowing the stroke through; but on the recovery he may, and should, let his slide get well ahead, and be completed before the body has attained its full reach forward.
The body should not wait for the swing to do its duty first, but it should begin at once to recover, though more leisurely than the legs.
The reasons for this are:-
1. The pace of the slide lends impetus to the trunk, and eases the labour of the forward swing; it transfers some of the exertion of recovering the trunk from the abdominal muscles, which are weak, to the flexors of legs and loins, which are much more powerful, and are better able to stand the strain.
2. The body needs some purchase upon which to depend for its recovery, and the legs can aid it in this respect much more effectually when bent than when rigid.
Therefore, since staying power is greatly affected by the amount of exertion involved in recovery (as explained in previous pages), the oarsman will last longer in proportion as he thus omits the recovery of his trunk, by accelerating his slide on the return.
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 (see 'Finish' above).
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.
Engineers, who know what is meant by a 'dead point' in machinery, will at once grasp the reason for not allowing the legs to shoot quite straight.
When a crew are being coached upon slides, it is of great importance to get the slide simultaneous, and as nearly as possible equal.
A long-legged man, sculling, may use a much longer slide than a short man.
But in an eight, if the long man fits his stretcher as if for sculling, he will be doing more than his share, and may be unable to shoot so long a slide through in the required time, except by dint of 'hurrying' it; and, if he does this latter, the result is to cripple his swing, as shown above.

There must be a certain amount of give-and-take in arranging slides in an eight or four oar.
That length of slide is best which all the crew can work simultaneously and effectively, preserving uniformity of swing and slide.
When tiros are being taught their first lesson in sliding, they should be placed on very short slides, say 3 inches at most.
The centre of the slide only should be used.
The runners should be blocked fore and aft, so that when the slide stands half way (1½ inch from foremost block), the distance from the seat to the stretcher should be just as much as the man would require if he were on a fixed seat.
Young hands are less likely to make their stroke all slide and no swing if they have at first only such length of slide as above indicated.
When the slide of 3 inches has been mastered, it may be lengthened, inch by inch.
In thus lengthening the slide, it is best to add, at first, more to the forward part of the slide than to the back part, i.e. say, for a 4-inch slide, 2½ inches before and 1½ inch behind, the point of seat for fixed-seat work, to the same stretcher.
This arrangement prevents the pupil from lacking leg-support at the end of his swing, and teaches him to feel his legs well against the stretcher till the hands have come home to the chest.
When 4 inches have been mastered, add another inch forward and about half an inch back, and so on.
In time the beginner will reach the full range of his slide forward, while yet he is 'blocked' from using the full distance back.
When he becomes proficient in this pose, his slide back can be increased by degrees until he attains a full slide.
The great thing is to induce him from the first to combine his slide with his swing, and not to substitute the former for the latter.
When slides first came in shocking form was seen upon them, as previously stated.
This was a venial result of oarsmen being driven - by emulation to win prizes in races immediately impending - to attempt to run before they had learnt to walk, so to speak.
The year 1873 saw worse form among amateurs than the writer can recall in any season.
In 1874 matters began to mend.
The two University strokes of that year, Messrs. Rhodes and Way, had each been at pains to improve his style since he had last been seen in public at Henley.
Each seemed to realise that he had been on a wrong tack, and set to work to alter his style radically.
These same gentlemen were strokes of their respective U.B.C.'s in 1875, and the improvement was still more palpable.
The Oxonian had an exceptionally fine lot of men behind him; the Cantab had two or three weak men in the bows who did not do justice to him.
But none the less, when these crews performed at Putney, old-fashioned critics, who had been till then prejudiced against the new machinery, as being destructive to form, were fain to admit that after all, when properly managed, slides could produce as good form of body and shoulders as in the best of the old days.
The Leander crew which won the Grand Challenge Cup at Henley in that year showed admirable sliding form.
It was stroked by Mr. Goldie, who had rowed all his University races on a fixed seat.
When he first took to a slide (for sculling) he fell into the same error as many other amateurs, almost entirely substituting slide for swing.
But for this oversight he might have won both Diamond and Wingfield sculls.
He soon saw his error, like Messrs. Rhodes and Way, and when he stroked Leander in 1875 no one could have recognised him as the same man who had been contesting the Diamonds in 1872.
These three fuglemen strokes did much to elevate the standard of sliding among amateurs; it was chiefly through their examples, crowned with success, that the earlier samples of sliding oarsmanship became better realised.
Professionals remained blind in their own conceit, as is shown in another chapter, but from this date amateur oarsmanship completely gave the go-by to professional exhibitions of skill and science in aquatics.

---

CHAPTER 8
FOUR-OARS.

A College Four

The fewer the number of performers in a boat the longer does it take (with material of uniform quality) to acquire absolute evenness of action.
This may seem paradoxical, but none the less all practical oarsmen will, from their own personal experiences, endorse the statement.
It has been said that it takes twice as long to perfect a four as an eight, twice as long to perfect a pair as a four, and twice as long to perfect a sculler as a pair.
This scale may be fanciful, but it is approximately truthful; it refers, of course, to the education of oarsmen for work in the respective craft, from their earliest days of instruction.
It means that a higher standard of watermanship has to be attained, in order to do justice to the style of craft rowed in, according as the ship carries more or fewer performers.
Many an oarsman who by honest tugging can improve the go of an eight-oar will do more harm than good in a light four, and will be simply helpless in a racing pair.
Four-oar races, with the exception of some junior contests, are now rowed in coxswainless craft.
The first of these seen in Europe was that of the St. John's Canadian crew (professional, but admitted for the nonce as amateurs) at the Paris International Regatta 1867.
All the other crews carried steerers.
The Canadians had the windward station in a stiff wind, and won easily.
Next year the B.N.C. Oxon Club produced a four thus constructed at Henley.
The rules did not forbid this; but the novelty scared other competitors and threatened to spoil the racing in that class.
The stewards accordingly passed a resolution forbidding any of the entries to dispense with a coxswain, and under cover of this disqualified the B.N.C. four when it came in ahead.
Next year the resolution referred to remained in force (as regards the Challenge Cups), but a presentation prize for fours without coxswains was given, and was won by the Oxford Radleian Club.
In 1871 the chief professional matches were rowed without coxswains; but no more prizes were given for this class of rowing at Henley until 1873, when the Stewards' Cup was classed for 'no coxswains'.
At Oxford college fours were similarly altered, but the steering was so bad that it was seriously proposed to revert to the old system.
A similar proposal was made with regard to Henley.
Fortunately, wiser counsels prevailed, and oarsmen realised that it was better to attempt to raise their own talents to the standard required for the improved build than to detract from the build to suit the failings of mediocrity.
In 1875 the Visitors and Wyfold Cups were emancipated from coxswains, and since then the standard of amateur four-oar rowing has gradually risen to the requirements of the improved class of build.

Oarsman Steering

Steerage is of course the main difficulty in these pairs [fours?].
Three different sorts of apparatus have been used in them.
Two of these are much of the same sort.
One, generally in use to this day, consists of two bars projecting from the stretcher, and working horizontally in slits cut in the board.
The foot presses against one bar or other to direct the rudder.
Another process is to fix a shoe to the stretcher, in which the oarsman places his foot.
This shoe works laterally.
The third is one tried by the writer in 1868.
Every inventor thinks his goose a swan, and possibly the writer is over-sanguine as to the merits of his own hobby.
It consists of two bars laid on the stretcher, like a very widely opened letter V, the arms of the V pointing in the direction of the sitter.
Each arm is hinged at the apex of the V.
The stretcher is grooved, so that either arm can be pressed into the groove, flush with the surface of the stretcher.
Behind each bar is a spring.
The bars cross the stretcher just about the ball of the foot.
The hinge is sunk deep in the wood, so that the arms of the levers do not begin to project above the wood till some 5 inches on either side of the centre of the stretcher.
The feet are placed in ordinary rowing pose, in the middle of the V, where the levers lie below the flush surface of the stretcher.
The strap, though tight, has a wide loop, to admit of slight lateral movement of the feet.
To put on rudder either foot is slipped half an inch or so outward.
This brings it on to the lever of that side, and the pressure of the foot drives the lever flush.
This pressure and movement of the lever, by means of another small lever and swivel outside the gunwale, in connection with it, works the rudder line.
When steerage enough has been obtained, a half-inch return of the foot to its normal pose releases the lever, and the spring behind it at once brings it to status quo ante.
Now in the other two mechanisms above cited, the same foot has to steer both ways.
Hence, for one of the two directions, the toe must turn in like a pigeon's.
This must, for the moment, cripple leg-work, especially on slides.
Again, with lateral movement in first and second machines, it is difficult for the steerer to know to exactness when his rudder is 'off'.
He may, in returning it after steerage, leave it a trifle on, or carry it the other way too far.
If so, he has to counter-steer a stroke or two later, till he feels that his rudder is free and trailing.
The writer claims for his own invention that it never removes the feet from the proper outward-turned pose against the stretcher, and that the springs under the lever ensure the rudder swinging back and 'trailing' so soon as a lever is released.
Whatever apparatus is used, wires, not strings, should lead the rudder, and should not be too tight; they will pull enough, though slightly loose.
Anyone may steer; the best waterman, if not too short-sighted, should do so, but stroke should not take the task if anyone else is at all fit for it.

Four-oar

The steerer should not be repeatedly looking round, as regards his course.
If he is sure of no obstacles lying in his path, he can, when once he has laid his boat straight for a reach, watch her stern-post, and keep touch on it, to hold it to some landmark.
A coxswainless four really facilitates oarsmanship.
It recovers from a roll more freely than the old-fashioned build with a pilot.
It is uneven rowing which causes a roll, but when once equilibrium has been disturbed the coxswain has more difficulty than the crew in regaining balance.
The oarsmen aid themselves with their oars, as with balancing poles.
The removal of the coxswain therefore tends to reduce the rolling, and facilitates the speedy return of the ship to her keel when momentarily thrown off it.
Coxswainless fours at Henley travel now much more steadily than did those with coxswains fifteen years ago.
A runner on the bank, to look out for obstructive craft, is useful in practice.
It enables the steerer to keep his eyes on his stern-post, and to guide his course thereby in confidence, without repeated twists round to see if any loafing duffer is going to smash his timbers.
The pace of a first-class coxswainless four, in smooth water, for half a mile is quite as great as that of a second-class eight-oar with a coxswain.
The abolition of coxswain has improved the speed of fours some forty seconds over the Henley course.
One good resulted from the attempt of B.N.C. in 1868 to row without a coxswain.
It opened the eyes of the regatta executive to the unfairness of tolerating boy coxswains.
The University clubs used to carry boys of four or five stone.
In that very year the 'Oscillators' had a four-stone lad, while University College carried an eight-stone man.
There was just as much difference between these two fours in dead weight carried as between B.N.C. (with no coxswain) and the Oscillators.
University clubs are ex officio debarred from obtaining boys to steer.
This inequality had been complained of by college crews time after time.
Old Mr. Lane, the usual vice-chairman, used to sneer at the complaint, and say, 'If a boy can do in one boat what it takes a man to do in another, it is not fair to prohibit the boy.'
If this were logical, then, pari passu, there could be no unfairness for one man to do single-handed what in other boats it took a man and a boy (or two men) to do, viz. both row and steer.
Mr. Lane's fallacy was exploded by this reductio ad absurdum of his tenets, and regulation weights for coxswains were initiated for following years.

Near Medmenham

CHAPTER 9
PAIR-OARS.

More than one master of oarsmanship has declared that good pair-oar rowing is the acme of oarsmanship.
Just as there are fewer oarsmen who can do justice to a four-oar than to an eight, so when we come to pair-oars we find still fewer performers who can really show first-class style in this line of rowing.
Much as watermanship is needed in a four, it is still more important to possess it when rowing in a pair.
One, or even two men, out of a four-oared crew may be what would be considered bad watermen, i.e. not au fait at sitting a rolling boat, and not instinctively time-keepers.
Yet, if the other two men have the quality of watermanship, the four may speedily fall together, provided the two outsiders show sound general principles of style.
In a pair-oar, if either of the hands is a bad waterman, the combination will never rise above mediocrity.
In pair-oar rowing there is needed a je-ne-sais-quoi sort of mutual concession of style.
One man is stroke and the other bow, but there is in good pair-oarsmen an indefinite and almost unconscious give-and-take action on the part of both men.
The style of the two is a sort of blend.
Old Harry Clasper, when asked which steered, of himself and his son Jack, in a pair, said that 'both steered'.
To do this is the acme of homogeneous rowing.
Of two partners one may, and should, act as chief; but his colleague should be co-operating with him, and almost anticipating his motions and orders.
When two strange partners commence work, they should make up their minds not to row 'jealous'.
If each begins by trying to row the other round, they will disagree like Richard Penlake and his wife.
They had better each try to see who can do least work: sit the boat, paddle gently, studying to drop into the water together, to catch the water together, to finish together, to feather together (and cleanly), and to recover together.
The less work they try to do, while thus seeking to assimilate their motions to each other, the quicker will they settle down.
As to rowing each other round, such emulation should never enter their heads.
To row a partner round is no proof of having done more work than he towards propelling the boat.
One man may catch sharply and row cleanly, and in a style calculated to make a boat travel; his colleague may slither the beginning and tug at the end, staying a fraction of a second later in the water than the other, but rowing no longer in reach.
The latter will probably row the boat round!
A tug at the end of a stroke turns a boat much more than a catch at the beginning; yet the latter propels the racing boat far more.
Of course, if two men row alike in style and reach from end to end, and one puts on all through the stroke a trifle more pressure, the ship will turn from the greater pressure.
But, unless it can be guaranteed that the style of each partner is identical all through the stroke, 'rowing round' does not prove a superiority of work.

Pair oars - an imminent foul

We have said that good watermen will sit a pair where bad ones will roll.
So far so good.
But good watermen, first beginning practice with each other, must not assume that because they do not roll their uniformity is therefore proved.
Their power of balance can keep the boat upright, even though there may be at first some inaccuracies of work.
Thus to balance a boat requires a certain amount of exertion; in a race, at this stage, this labour of balancing would take something off the power of the stroke.
Besides, until the two oars work with similar pressure through the whole stroke, the keel cannot be travelling dead straight.
Steady though good men may be at scratch, they will gain in pace as they continue to practise, and insensibly assimilate their action.
With bad watermen cessation of rolling is a sign that the styles have at last assimilated; with good watermen the deduction is not necessarily sound.
In old days pair-oars rowed without rudders.
The two oars guided the ship.
It was best to let the stronger man steer.
He could thus set his partner to do his best all the way in a race, could ease an over or two, or lay on that much extra, from stroke to stroke, according as the stern-post required balancing on the landmark which had been selected as its point d'appui.
To learn each other's strength and to know the course, to know by heart when to lay on for this corner, or to row off for that, was the study of practice and tested watermanship.
In modern times a thin metal rudder is usually used, steered as in coxswainless fours.
In a beam wind this materially aids pace, it enables the leeward oar to do his full share, instead of paddling while his partner is toiling.
Even in still water it is some gain, provided the helm can be easily 'trailed' when not wanted.
The facility with which such a pair can be steered tempts men to omit to study that delicate balance of a boat's stern on its point which was the acme of art before rudders came in.
We have seen a (rudderless) pair leave a wake up Henley reach, from island to point, on a glassy evening, as straight as if a surveyor's line had been stretched there.
In fact, to steer such a pair, with a practical partner, was, if anything, easier to some men than to steer an eight.
The stern-post lay in view of the oarsman, and could be adjusted on its point like a gun barrel, whereas the actual bows of an eight are unseen by a coxswain.
Except a sculling boat, a pair-oar is the fastest starting of all craft; but if it is thus easy to set in motion at the outset of a race, it is plain that it can be spurted later on as suddenly.
Bearing this in mind, there is no object in starting a pair in a race at a speed which cannot go all the way.
There is as much scope for staying in a pair as in an eight; more in fact, for the pair takes the longer to do the same distance as the eight.
The start should be quick, but it is best to keep a stroke or two per minute in hand for a rush hereafter, if needed, when the pulse of the enemy has been felt, and when partners have warmed to their work.
Pairs are best rowed with oars somewhat smaller all round than those which are used for eights or fours.
The pair, more than any other craft, requires to be caught sharp and light; an oar that is not too long in the shank nor too big in the blade best accomplishes this.
'Dimensions' recommended for 'work' in various craft will be found scheduled elsewhere in this volume.
To conclude the subject of pairs, it may be added, if partners wish to assimilate, they must make up their minds to avoid recrimination.
If the boat goes amiss say, or assume, 'it is I', not 'you', who is to blame.
Keep cool and keep your head in a race.
If the steersman bids 'easy' half a stroke, be prompt in so doing.
To delay to right the course at the correct instant may take the ship lengths out of her course.
A stroke eased in time, like a stitch, often saves nine, and perhaps obviates sticking in the bank.

Close quarters

CHAPTER 10
SCULLING.

Sculling needs more precision and more watermanship than rowing.
The strongest man only wastes his strength in sculling if he fails to obtain even work for each hand.
A pair-oar requires more practice to bring it to perfection than any other boat manned by oars, but a sculler requires considerably more practice than any pair of oarsmen.
Strength he must have in proportion to his weight, if he is to soar above mediocrity, but strength alone will not avail him unless he gets his hands well together.
His sculls will overlap more or less.
It is practically immaterial which hand he rows uppermost; the upper hand has a trifle of advantage, and for this reason Oxonians, whose course is a left-hand one, usually scull left hand over.
The first difficulty which an embryo sculler has to contend with is that of attaining uniform pressure with square body and square legs upon a pair of arms which are not uniformly placed.
One arm has to give way to another to enable the hands to clear each other when they cross; and yet while they do this the blades which they control should be buried to a uniform depth.
How to attain this give-and-take action of the arms is better shown by even a moderate performer in five minutes of practical illustration than by reams of book instruction.
The aspirant to sculling honours had better, when commencing to learn, take his first lesson in a gig.
A wager boat will be too unsteady, and will retard his practice; 'skiffs' are usually to be obtained only as teach boats with work at sixes and sevens.
A dingey buries too much on the stroke, and spoils style.
The beginner should find a stiff pair of sculls, true made, and overlapping about the width of his hands.
He should ask some proficient to examine and to try his sculls, and to tell him by the feel whether they are really a pair.
The best makers of oars and sculls too often turn out sculls which are not 'pairs', and when this is the case the action of him who uses them cannot be expected to be even on both sides of his frame.
Having got suitable sculls, let the sculler arrange his stretcher just a shade shorter than he would have it for rowing.
He can clear his knees with a shorter stretcher when sculling than when rowing, as he can easily see for himself.
A stretcher should always be as short as is compatible with clearing the knees.
Whether or not the pupil is proficient in sliding, he had better keep a fixed seat while learning the rudiments of sculling; it will give him less to think about; he might unconsciously contract faults in sliding while fixing his mind elsewhere - in the direction of his new implements.
He should see that his rowlocks are roomy.
In most gigs there is a want of room between thowl and stopper.
A sculler requires a wider rowlock than an oarsman, because his scull goes forward to an acuter angle than an oar, with the same reach of body.
Nothing puts out a sculler's hands more than a recoil of the scull from the stopper, for want of room to reach out.
The sculler should examine whether his rowlocks are true; the sills of them should be horizontal, not inclined, and most of all not inclined from stern to bow; the latter defect will at once make him scull deep.
Next, let him examine his thowl.
This should be clean faced, not 'grooved' by the upper edge of the loom of oars which have been handled by operators who feather under water, and who thus force at the finish with the upper edge and not with the flat back of the loom.
Half the hack gigs that are on hire will be found to have rowlocks so worn, grooved, and disfigured, that not the best sculler in the world can lay his strength out on them until he has filed them into shape.
The thowl should show a flush surface, and rake just the smallest trifle aft, so as to hold the blade just a fraction of an angle less than a rectangle to the water, but this 'rake' should be very slight.

Having now got his tools correct, the workman will have no excuse for grumbling at them if he fails to do well.
Let him begin by paddling gently and slowly.
He had better not attempt to work hard.
If he sees some other sculler shooting past him in a similar boat, he must sink all jealousy.
Every motion which he makes in a stroke is now laying the foundation of habit and of mechanical action hereafter; hence he must give his whole mind to each stroke, and be content to go to work steadily and carefully.
He must feel his feet against his stretcher, both legs pressing evenly.
He must hold his sculls in his fingers (not his fists), and let the top joint of each thumb cap the scull.
This is better than bringing the thumb under the scull; it gives the wrists more play, and tends to avoid cramp of the forearm.
He must endeavour to do his main work with his body and legs, when he has laid hold of the water.
He should keep his arms rigid, and lean well back.
Just as he passes the perpendicular his hands will begin to cross each other.
Whichever hand he prefers to row over, he should stick to.
When the hands begin to cross, he should still try to keep the arms stiff, and to clear the way by slightly lowering one hand and raising the other.
Not until his hands have opened out again after having crossed should he begin to bend his arms and to bring the stroke home to the chest.
He should try to bend each arm simultaneously and to the same extent, and to bring each hand up to his breast almost at his ribs, at equal elevations.
He must try to feather both sculls sharply and simultaneously.
If he finds any difficulty in this, he will do well to give himself a private lesson on this point before he proceeds further.
He can sit still and lay his sculls in the rowlocks, and thus practise turning the wrists sharply, on and off the feather, till he begins to feel more handy in this motion.
On the recovery he should shoot his hands out briskly, the body following but not waiting for the hands to extend - just as in a 'rowing' recovery.
When the recovering hands begin to cross each other the lower and upper must respectively give way, and so soon as they open out after the cross, they should once more resume the same plane, and extend equally, so as to be ready to grip the water simultaneously for the succeeding stroke.
Very few scullers realise the great importance of even action of wrists.
If one scull hangs in the water a fraction of a second more than another, or buries deeper, or skims lighter, the two hands at that moment are not working evenly.
Therefore the boat is not travelling in a straight line; therefore she will sooner or later, may be in the latter half of the very same stroke, have to be brought back to her course.
In order to bring her back, the hand which, earlier, was doing the greater work, must now do less.
Therefore the boat has not only performed a zigzag during the stroke, but also she has been, while so meandering, propelled by less than her full available forces, first one hand falling off through clumsiness, and afterwards the other hand shutting off some work, in order to equalise matters.
As the sculler becomes more used to his action, he will find his boat keep more even.
At first he will be repeatedly putting more force on one hand than on another, and will have to rectify his course by counterwork with the neglected hand.

Some scullers, though otherwise good, never steer well.
They do not watch their stern-post, to see if they go evenly at each stroke; still less, if they see a slight deflection to one hand after one stroke, do they at once rectify the deviation by extra pressure on the other hand during the ensuing stroke.
A good steerer in sculling will correct his course even to half a stroke; if through a bend, or a wave, or other cause, he sees one hand has taken the other a little round by the time that the sculls are crossing, he will row the other hand home a trifle sharper, and so bring the keel straight by the time he feathers.
When a sculler gets more settled to his work, and has got over the first difficulty of clearing his hands at the crossing, he will begin to acquire the knack of bringing the boat round to one hand, without any distinct extra tug of that scull.
He will press a trifle more with the one foot, and will throw a little more of his weight on to the one scull, and so produce the desired effect on his boat.
When a sculler promotes himself to a light boat, he must be very careful not to lose the knack of even turns of wrists which he has been so assiduously studying in his tub.
In the wager boat, far more than in the tub, is the action of the sculler's body affected and his labour crippled by any uneven action of either hand.
The gig did not roll if one hand went into the water an infinitesimal fraction of a second sooner, or came out that much later than the other hand.
But the fragile sculling boat, with no keel, and about thirteen inches of beam, resents these liberties, and requires 'sitting' in addition, whenever any inequality of work takes her off her balance.
The sculler must especially guard against feathering under water.
He is more tempted to do so now, while he is in an unsteady boat, than when he was in his sober-going gig.
He feels instinctively that if he lets his blades rest flat on the water for the instant, when his stroke concludes, he obtains for the moment a rectification of balance; the flat blades stop rolling to either side; when he has thus steadied his craft, then he can essay to lift his blades and to get forward.
If he once yields to this insidious temptation, he runs the risk of spoiling himself as a sculler, and of ensuring that he will never rise beyond mediocrity.
The hang back, and the sloppy feather, which are to be seen in so many second-class scullers, may almost invariably, if the history of the sculler be known, be traced to want of nerve and of confidence in early days to feather boldly, and to lift the sculls sharp from the water, regardless of rolling.
Of course, for the nonce, the sculler can sit steadier, and therefore make more progress, if he thus steadies his craft with his blades momentarily flat; and it is because of this fact that so many beginners are seduced into the trick.
But let the sculler pluck up courage, and endeavour to imagine himself still afloat in his gig.
Let him turn his wrists as sharply as when he was in her, and lift his blades boldly out, not even caring if he rolls clean over.
There really is little chance of his so capsizing.
If he rolls, his one blade or other floats in the water, and being strung over at the rowlock, cannot well let his boat turn over, so long as he holds on to the handle.
Meantime, he must sit tight to his boat, and use his feet to balance her with his body.
He must not try to row too fast a stroke; a quick stroke hides faults, and speed tends to keep a light craft on an even keel so long as her crew are fresh; but style is not learned while oarsmen or scullers are straining their utmost.
If the sculler finds that he really cannot make progress in his wager boat, he must assume that he wants another spell of practice in his tub, and must revert again to her for a week or two, or more.
If he will only persevere in studying even and simultaneous action of hands, he will get his reward in time.
He should not be ambitious to race too soon.
Many a young sculler spoils himself by aspiring to junior scullers' races before he is ripe for racing.
It is a temptation to have a 'flutter', just to see how one gets on, but it is of no use to race unless the competitor has had some gallops beforehand; and it is in trying to row a fast stroke before they can thoroughly sit a boat that so many scullers sow seeds of bad style, which stick to them long afterwards, and perhaps always.
When at last the sculler has learned to sit his boat, to drop his hands in simultaneously, to feel an even pressure with both blades, to see his stern-post hold on true, and not waver from side to side; when he is able to drop and turn both wrists at the same instant, to lift both blades clean away from the water, and to shoot out his hands without fouling either his knees or the water, then he has mastered more than half the scullers of the day - even though he can only perform thus for half-a-dozen strokes at a time without encountering a roll.
He can now lay his weight well on his sculls, and can make his boat travel.
He will have done well if all this time he has abstained from indulging in a slide; he does not need one as yet, he is not racing, and the fewer things he has to think about the better chance he has of being able to devote his attention to acquiring even hands and a tight seat.
Once let him gain these accomplishments, and he can then take to his slide, and in his first race go by many an opponent who started sculling long before him, but who began at once in a wager boat and on a slide.

A Spill

A very good amateur sculler - J.E.Parker, winner of the Wingfield Sculls in 1863 - used to say that he always went back until his sculls came out of the water of their own accord.
As a piece of chaff, it used to be said of him, by his friends, that there was a greasy patch on his fore canvas, where his head came in contact with it at the end of his stroke.
Of course this was only a jest, but undoubtedly Parker swung farther back than most scullers, perhaps more than any amateur.
The secret of his pace, which was indisputable, as also his staying power, probably lay to a great extent in this long back swing of his.
He also sculled exceedingly cleanly, his hands worked in perfect unison, and his blades came out clean and sharp.
The writer cannot recall any sculler whose blades were so clean, save Hanlan and also W.S.Unwin in 1886.
Much of the secret of each of these scullers lay in the evenness of their hands; they wasted no power.
F.Playford, junior, was a more powerful sculler, and apparently faster than either of the above-named amateurs (ceteris paribus as to slides, qua Parker); but taking his reach and weight into consideration, it is not to be wondered if Playford was in his day the best of all Wingfield winners.
The late Mr. Casamajor was a great sculler.
He also had a very long back swing, and clean blades.
He never had such tough opponents to beat as had Playford, but at least it could be said of him that he was unbeaten in public in any race.

Sculling with rudder

Steerage apparatus is in these days fitted to many a sculling boat.
The writer, as an old stager, is bound to admit that he had retired from active work before such mechanism was used, he therefore cannot speak practically as to its value for racing.
So far as he has watched its use by scullers, he is induced to look upon the contrivance with suspicion.
On a stormy day, with beam wind for a considerable part of the course, such an appendage will undoubtedly assist a sculler.
It will save him from having an arm almost idle in his lap during heavy squalls.
But on fairly smooth days, or when wind is simply ahead, a rudder must surely detract more from pace (by reason of the water which it catches; even when simply on the trail) than it ever will save by obviating the operation of rowing a boat round by the hand to direct her course.
Again, the fittings which carry the rudder must, when the rudder is unshipped, hold a certain amount of water to the detriment of speed.
Also, if a boat is pressed for a spurt, there must be some risk of the tiller of the rudder (however delicately made), and the wires which control it, pulling and drawing the water.
When the canvas ducks under water on recovery, it is important that the water should run off freely when the boat springs to the stroke.
If a post stands up at the stern, however thin and metallic, this must to some degree check the flow off of the water.
Again, the feet must be moved to guide this rudder; while they are thus shifting, the fullest power of the legs can hardly be applied.
A sculler who is in good practice, and who is at home with his boat and sculls, should be able to feel his boat's course through each stroke, and to adjust her at any one stroke if she has deviated during the preceding one.
On the whole, barring circumstances such as a stiff westerly wind at Henley, or a gale on the tideway course, scullers will do best without rudders; and if a competitor desires to provide against the contingency of weather which will make a rudder advantageous, he had better, if he can, have a spare boat fitted for that purpose, so that if the water after all is smooth he will not be carrying any projecting metal at his stern to draw the water and to check his pace.
There is another objection to the use of rudders, especially for young scullers.
It tempts them to rely on the rudder to rectify their course, instead of studying even play of hands so that the boat may have no excuse for deviating at all in smooth water.

All that has been said of the use of slides applies equally to sculling as to rowing.
The leg action, as compared to swing, should be just the same when sculling as in rowing.
That is, the slide should last as long as the swing.
Now, in sculling, a man should go back much further than he does when rowing an oar.
When he has an oar in his hand there is a limit to the distance to which he can spring back with good effect.
His oar describes an arc; when he has gone back beyond a certain distance the butt of his oar-handle will come at the middle of his breast or even more inside the boat.
In such a position he cannot finish squarely and with good effect.
Therefore he cannot go back ad lib.
But the sculler is always placed evenly to his work, it is not on one side of him more than another.
He should, when laying himself out for pace, swing back so far that his sculls come out just as his hands touch his ribs.
In a wager boat, when well practised, he can afford to let his sculls overlap as much as six or even seven inches.
But, after all, the extent of overlap is a matter of taste with so many scullers, that it would be unwise to lay down any hard and fast rule, beyond saying that at least the handles should overlap four inches, or, what is much the same, one hand should at least cover the other when the sculls lie in the rowlocks at right angles to the keel.
To return to the slide in sculling.
Since the back swing should be longer in sculling than in rowing, and as there is a limit to the length which any pair of legs can slide, and since also it has been laid down as a rule that both when sculling and when rowing the slide should be economised so that it may last as long as the swing lasts, the reader will gather that the legs will have to extend more gradually when sliding to sculls than when sliding to oars.
Therefore a man accustomed to row on slides, and whose legs are more or less habituated to a certain extension coupled with swing when rowing, must keep a watch upon himself when sculling lest his rowing habits should make him finish his slide prematurely, when he needs to prolong his swing for sculling.
Unless his slide lasts out his swing, his finish, after legs have been extended, will only press the boat without propelling her.

In rowing an oarsman is guilty of fault if he meets or even pulls up to his oar.
In sculling, with a very long swing back it is not a fault to commence the recovery of the body while the hands are still completing their journey home to the ribs.
The body should not drop, nor slouch over the sculls while thus meeting them.
It should recover with open chest and head well up, simply pulling itself up slightly, to start the back swing, by the handles of the sculls as they come home for the last three or four inches of their journey.
Casamajor always recovered then, so did Hanlan, so did Parker, and any sculler who does likewise will sin (if he does sin in the opinion of some hypercritics of style) in first-class company.
The fact is, this very long swing back (with straight arms) entails much recovery, and yet materially adds to pace.
The sculler can afford to ease his recovery in return for the strain of his long stroke.
Also lest his long swing should press the boat's bows, he can ease her recovery as well as his own, so soon as the main force of the long drag comes to an end.
In the writer's opinion, unless a sculler really does go back à la Casamajor & Co. with straight arms and stiff back, and until his sculls come out of the water almost of their own accord as he brings his hands in, it is not an advantage for him to pull himself up to his handles to this trifling extent at the finish.
A sculler who does not swing back further than when he is rowing, will do best to row his sculls home just as he would an oar.
In racing all men like a lead.
If a sculler can take a lead with his longest stroke, swinging back as far as he can, and can feel that he is not doing a stroke too fast for his stamina, by all means let him do so; but let him be careful not to hurry his stroke and thereby to shorten his back swing simply for the sake of a lead.
Many a long-swing sculler spoils his style, at all events for the moment, by sprinting and trying to cut his opponent down.
It is almost best for him if he finds that his opponent has the pace of him, and if he therefore relapses to his proper style, and bides his time.
If he does so, he will go all the faster over the course for sticking to his style regardless of momentary lead.
Some scullers lay out their work for pace, regardless of lasting power.

When Chambers rowed Green in 1863, he tried to head the Australian, flurried himself, shortened his giant reach, lost pace, and, after all, lost the lead.
When he realised that, force pace as much as he could, Green was too speedy, the Tyne man settled to his long sweep, and at once went all the faster, though now sculling a slower stroke.
It was not long before Green began to come back to him, and the result of that match is history.
Similarly, the writer recollects seeing the celebrated Casamajor win the Diamonds for the last time, in 1861.
He was opposed by Messrs. G.R.Cox and E.D.Brickwood.
Cox was a sculler who laid himself out for fast starting: he used very small blades, he did not swing further back than when rowing, and he sculled a very rapid stroke.
He had led both Casamajor and H.Kelley in a friendly spin earlier in the year, and it was said that it was to vindicate his reputation as being still the best sculler of the day that the old unbeaten amateur once more entered for the Diamonds, where he knew he would encounter Cox in earnest, and no longer in play.
(Casamajor was by no means in good health, and the grave closed over him in the following August.)
In the race in question Cox darted away with the lead.
Casamajor had hitherto led all opponents in real racing, and amour propre seemed to prompt him to bid for the lead against the new flyer; he quickened and quickened his stroke, till his long swing back vanished, and his boat danced up and down, but he could not hold Cox.
Brickwood was last, rowing his own style, and sculling longest of the three.
After passing the Farm gate, Casamajor suddenly changed his style, and went back to his old swing.
Maybe, Cox had already begun to come to the end of his tether; but, be that as it may, from the instant that Casamajor re-adopted his old swing back, he held Cox.
(It did not look as if the pace was really falling off, for both the leaders were still drawing away from Brickwood.)
In another minute Casamajor began to draw up to the leader, still swinging back as before.
Then he went ahead, and all was over.
Brickwood in the end rowed down Cox, and came in a good second.
Casamajor at that time edited the 'Field' aquatics.
His own description therein of himself in the race seems to imply that he realised how he had at first thrown away his speed by bidding for the lead, and that he purposely, and not unconsciously, changed his style about the end of the first minute and a half of the race.
His description of his own sculling at that juncture (modestly penned) was 'now rowing longer and with all his power'.
This was quite true - he was not using his full power until he relapsed to his old style.
These illustrations of two of the best scullers ever seen bidding for impossible leads, and then realising their mistakes in time, may be taken to heart by all modern and future aspirants to sculling honour.

Sculling Race with Pilots in Eights

Another reason why scullers like a lead is that it saves them from being 'washed' by a leader, and, conversely, enables them to 'wash an opponent'.
In old days of boat-racing under the old code, lead was of importance, to save water being taken.
Under new rules of boat-racing (which figure elsewhere in this volume), water can only be taken at peril.
There is not, therefore, so much importance in lead as of old.
As to 'wash', if a man can sit a sculling boat, he does not care much for wash.
Anyhow, he can, if in his own water, and if his adversary crosses him, steer exactly in his leader's wake; the wash then spreads like a swallow's tail on either side of the sternmost man, and does not affect him.
His opponent must get out of his way, if not overtaken, so he need not disturb himself; and if the leader insists on steering to right or left simply to direct the wash, he loses more ground by this meandering than even the pursuer will lose by the slight perturbations of a sculling boat's wash for a few strokes.
It is good practice for any sculler to take his boat now and then in the wake of another sculler, and try to 'bump' him.
It will teach him how to sit his boat under such circumstances, and he will be surprised before long to find out how little he cares for being washed by another sculler.
A sculler, when practising over a course, especially when water is smooth, may with advantage time himself from day to day at various points of the course.
He will thus find out what his best pace is, and will ascertain whether his speed materially falls off towards the end, if he forces extra pace at the start or halfway or so on.
He must be careful to judge proportionately of times and distances, and not positively; for streams may vary, and so may wind.
On the tideway in sculling matches, it is usual for pilots to conduct scullers.
The pilot sits in the bow of an eight.
The sculler may rely on the pilot to signal to him whether he is in the required direction; but when he once knows that his boat points right, he should note where her stern points, just as if he were steering upon his own resources, and should endeavour so to regulate his hands that his stern keeps straight, as shown by some distant landmark which he selects.
This straight line he should then maintain to the best of his ability, bringing his stern-post back to it, if it deflects, until his pilot again signals to him to change his course, for rounding some curve or for clearing some obstacle.
The pilot cannot inform his charge of each small inaccuracy which leads eventually to deflection from the correct line; this the sculler must provide against on his own account.
It is only when the course has to be changed, or when the sculler has palpably gone out of his course, that the signals of the pilot come into play.
Some scullers seem to make up their minds to leave everything to their pilots; the result is that their boats are never in a straight line; first they go astray to one side, and then, when signalled back, they take a stroll to the other side.
Such scullers naturally handicap themselves greatly by thus losing ground through these tortuous wanderings.
The simplest method of signalling by pilot is to hold a white handkerchief.
In the right or left hand it means 'pull right or left,' respectively.
When down, it means 'boat straight and keep it so'.
If the pilot gets far astern, or if dangers are ahead which are beyond pilotage, taking off the hat means 'look out for yourself'.

Pumped out - exhausted sculler

When wind is abeam, a pilot cutter can materially aid a sculler by bringing its bow close on his windward quarter, thereby sheltering his stern from the action of the wind.
Races such as that of Messrs. Lowndes and Payne for the Wingfield Sculls in 1880, when Mr. Payne did not row his opponent down until the last mile had well begun, should remind all scullers that a race is never lost till it is won, and that, however beaten you may feel, it is possible that your opponent feels even worse, and that he may show it in the next few strokes.

"The last of the Thames Wherries"

CHAPTER 11
BOAT-BUILDING AND DIMENSIONS.

The 'trim built wherry' of song has been improved off the face of the Thames.
Originally it was purely a passenger craft: it contained space for two or more sitters in the stern, and was fitted for two pair of sculls or a pair of oars at option.
Larger wherries were also built, 'randan' rig (for a pair of oars with a sculler amidships, or three pairs of sculls at option).
Such boats were the passenger craft of the silent highway before steamers destroyed the watermen's trade.
When match racing came into vogue, wherries began to be constructed for purely racing purposes; they had but one seat, for the sculler, and were carried as fine as they could be, at either end, with regard to the surf which they often had to encounter.
Their beam on the waterline was reduced to a minimum; but at the same time it was necessary, for mechanical purposes, that the gunwale, at the points where the rowlocks were placed, should be of sufficient width to enable the sculler to obtain the necessary leverage and elevation of his sculls.
The gunwale was accordingly flared out wide at these points, above the waterline.
This flared gunwale had nothing to do with the flotation of the boat; it was in effect nothing more than a wooden outrigger, and it was this which eventually suggested to the brain of old Harry Clasper the idea of constructing an iron outrigger, thereby enabling the beam to be reduced, and at the same time the sculling leverage to be preserved without the encumbrance of the top hamper of these flared gunwales.
Such was the old wager wherry, and its later development of the wager outrigger.
We have said that the wherry is obsolete.
Modern watermen use, for passenger purposes, a craft called a 'skiff'.
She is an improvement on the 'gig', a vessel which came into vogue on the Thames for amateur pleasure purposes about the year 1830.
The 'gig' was originally adopted from naval ideas.
She had a flush gunwale, and the rowlocks were placed on the top of it.
So soon as the outrigger came in, oarsmen realised the advantage to be gained by applying it to the gig, in a modified form.
Half-outrigged gigs became common; they had a reduced beam, and commanded more speed; they were used for cruising purposes as well as for racing.
Many regattas offered prizes for pair oars with coxswains in outrigged gigs.
Theoretically a gig was supposed to be 'clinker' built, i.e. each of her timbers were so attached to each other that the lower edge of each upper timber overlapped the upper edge of the timber below it, the timbers being 'clincked', hence the name.
'Carvel' (or caravel) build is that in which the timbers lie flush to each other, presenting a smooth surface.
This offers less resistance, and before long builders constructed so-called 'gigs' for racing purposes, which were carvel built.
From this it was but a step to build racing gigs with but two or even one 'streak' only, i.e. the side of the hull, instead of being constructed of several planks fastened together, was made of one, or at most two planks.
The ends of the vessel were open - uncanvassed, and in this respect only was there anything in common with a 'gig' proper.
This system of stealing advantages by tricks of build caused gig races to be fruitful sources of squabbles, until regatta committees recognised the importance of laying down conditions as to build when advertising their races.

To return to gigs proper.
This craft did not find the same favour fifty years ago with the professional classes that it did with amateurs.
The wherry was still adhered to for traffic; but meantime Thames fishermen, especially those who plied flounder fishery on the upper tideway, used what is called a skiff; a shorter boat, with as much beam as the largest wherry, a bluff bow, and flared rowlocks.
She was strongly built, adapted to carry heavy burdens, and, by reason of being shorter, was easier to turn, and handier for short cruises.
A similar class of boat, but often rougher and more provincial in construction, was to be found in use at some of the up-river ferries.
The wherry, when once under way, had more speed than the skiff, but when long row-boat voyages ceased in consequence of the introduction of steamers, the advantage of the skiff over the wherry was recognised by watermen.
Their jobs came down to ferrying, to taking passengers on board vessels lying in the stream, and such like work; and for these services speed was not so important as handiness in turning.
During the last fifteen years the skiff build has found more favour for pleasure purposes than the gig.
The outrigged gig is liable to entanglement of rowlock in locks, and where craft are crowded, as at regattas.
(It would be a salutary matter if the Thames Conservancy would peremptorily forbid the presence of any such craft at Henley Regatta.)
Inrigged craft glide off each other when gunwales collide, whereas outriggers foul rowlocks of other boats, and cause delay and even accidents.
An outrigged gig has two alternative disadvantages, compared to the skiff build; if she is as narrow at the waterline as the skiff, her flush gunwale reduces the leverage for oar or scull.
If, on the other hand, she is built to afford full leverage, this entails more beam on the waterline than in a skiff, the rowlocks of which are raised and flared above the gunwale.
Hence it is that the skiff build is gradually superseding the once universally popular gig.
A dingey is a short craft, originally designed as a sort of tender to a yacht, but adopted for pleasure purposes on the Thames for nearly half a century.
It is sometimes built with a flush gunwale like a gig, but more commonly with flared rowlocks like a skiff, thereby affording the required leverage for swells, while at the same time reducing the beam on the waterline.
Besides the above mentioned craft, which are designed to carry at least two oarsmen (or scullers) and a coxswain, modern boat-builders construct what are called sculling dingies and gigs, which are fitted with only one pair of rowlocks, and are intended mainly for occupation by a single sculler, though they will at a pinch carry sitters both in the stern sheets and in the bows.
They also build sailing gigs and dingies, which are usually fitted with a 'centreboard', and are of greater beam than those specially designed for rowing or sculling; though they can be also propelled by oars or sculls when required, they are less handy for the latter purposes, in consequence of their construction for the double duties of both sailing and oarsmanship.
The following are dimensions commonly adopted by builders, such as Messrs. Salter of Oxford, for various classes of gigs, dingies, and pleasure skiffs:-

The variations in beam being in such vessels designed conversely as regards the lengths, in order to obtain approximate equivalent of displacement -

Where the beam ranges as high as 5 feet the vessel will carry about four sitters in the stern.
The narrower craft carry about two, sitting abreast in the stern.
Dingies (inrigged) range from about 12 feet in length with 4 feet beam to 16 feet in length with about 3 ft. 6 in. beam.
Some dingies are built as short as 9 feet, but they command but little speed, and are useful only as tenders to larger vessels for the purpose of going ashore, &c.
Their shortness makes them handy to turn, and compensates in short journeys for their want of speed.
The prices of the various builds enumerated above depend much upon the materials used, whether oak, mahogany, cedar, or pine; and also upon length of keel, and upon fittings, such as oars, sculls, cushions, stern-rails, &c., masts and sails.
Figures vary from about £40 for a best quality randan skiff, all found, to as low as £20 for a gig, and £12 for a dingey, turned out new from the builder's yard.
It is customary to fit all rowing boats such as above described with a hole in the bow seat, and also in the flooring below, in order to carry a lug or sprit sail when required; but the shallow draught of such vessels as are not fitted with centreboards causes them to make a good deal of leeway and so disables them from sailing near the wind.
Racing boats are generally built of cedar, sometimes of white pine.
The history of the introduction of the various improvements of outriggers, keelless boats, and sliding seats, has been given in other chapters.
We propose here simply to give a few samples of dimensions of racing boats.
Various builders have various lines, and no exact fixed scale can be laid down as correct more than another.

Dimensions of a sculling-boat recently used by Bubear in a sculling match for the 'Sportsman Challenge Cup', built by Jack Clasper.

Historical Eight-oars (Keelless).

These boats are selected because each in its turn won some reputation, and also because they exemplify the builds of different constructors.
No. 1 [The first keelless eight that won a University match] was always highly esteemed by those who rowed in her.
No. 2 carried Eton at Henley Regatta from 1863 to 1870 or 1871.
No. 3 was eulogised by Mr. T.Egan in 'Bell's Life', on the occasion of her dé but in the above-mentioned school match v. Eton. She retained a high reputation for several seasons, was once specially borrowed by Corpus (Oxon) during the summer eights, and was said by that crew to be a vast improvement on their own ship.
No. 4 carried Oxford from 1878 to 1882 inclusive, losing only the match in 1879, in which year the crew and not the boat were to blame.
No. 5, after one or two trials, was in 1883 found to be faster than No. 4 (which was then getting old!), and in her the Oxonians won a rather unexpected victory; odds of 3 to 1 being laid against them.
In addition to these builds, the dimensions recorded by the well-known authority 'Argonaut,' in his standard work on 'Boat Racing,' are here given.
That writer does not commit himself to saying that they are the best, but simply states that they are the 'average dimensions' of modern racing boats.
Unfortunately, the writer cannot trace the dimensions of the celebrated 'Chester' boat, Mat Taylor's first keelless chef-d'œuvre, but he recollects that her length was only 54 feet; and her stretchers were built into her and were fixed.
The cost of a racing eight, with all fittings, is about £55. Some builders will build at as low a price as £50, especially for a crack crew, or for an important race, because the notoriety of the vessel, if successful, naturally acts as an advertisement.
A four-oar costs £35 to £40; a pair-oar £20 to £25; and a sculling boat £12.
We have known some builders ask £15 for a sculling boat.
On the whole, racing boats are from eight to ten per cent. cheaper nowadays than they were a quarter of a century ago.
Although the introduction of sliding seats necessarily adds to the expense of making them, competition seems to have brought down the prices somewhat.

'Argonaut's' Dimensions of Modern Boats.

The writer thinks, and believes that 'Argonaut' would agree with him, that these recorded average dimensions could be improved upon in divers respects, e.g. as to oars, for sliding seats the length 'inboard' should not be less than 3 ft. 7½ in. to 3 ft. 8 in.; otherwise, when the oarsman swings back there is not sufficient length of handle to enable his outside hand to finish square to his chest, and with the elbow well past the side.
The sliding-seat oar requires to be at least 10 inches longer inboard than the fixed-seat oar, for the above reason; and in order to counterpoise this extra leverage, it is customary to use blades an inch wider for slides than for fixed seats, viz. 6 inches wide at the greatest breadth, instead of 5 inches as of old.
Again, as to distance of the plane of the thowl perpendicularly from that of the front of the slide when full forward.
This should not be less than 6½ inches, in the writer's opinion, even with a 16-inch slide.
If the oarsman slides nearer than the above to his work, he does not gain; for much of his force is thus expended in jamming the oar back against the rowlock, rather than in propelling the boat.
He 'feels' extra resistance, and may accordingly delude himself that he is doing more work, if the slides close up; but in reality he is wasting his powers.
In modern racing boats, the men slide too close to their work; and if any builder will have the courage to set his men further aft than is the custom (say about 6½ to 7 inches), he will find his ship travel all the faster.

Hull Shape

As to shapes of hull: the earliest Mat Taylor boats have never been surpassed, in the writer's opinion, and were much faster than the modern builds.
The peculiarity of Mat Taylor's build was that he put his greatest beam well forward, about No. 3's middle or seat.
Such boats held more 'way' than more modern craft, which are fullest amidships.
Builders of the present day construct as if the only problem which they had to solve was to force a hole through the water in front of the boat.
This is not all that is necessary in order to get a boat to travel well.
A racing boat leaves a vacuum behind her, and until that is filled she is sucked back into that vacuum.
A boat built like the half of a split porcupine's quill could enter the water with the least resistance, but would leave it with the greatest; in fact, she would not travel at all, because her bluff stern would create a sudden vacuum behind her, which would retard her progress.
This is a reductio ad absurdum, but it shows the effect of having the greatest beam too far aft.
The problem to be solved in designing the lines of a boat is so to arrange her entry into the water, that what she displaces in front may with greatest ease flow aft to fill the vacuum aft which she leaves as she progresses.
Otherwise she pushes a heavy wave in front of her, and drags another behind her.
If anyone will watch the bank as a racing eight passes, noting the level of the water at a rathole, he will see the level of the stream first rise as the boat comes nearly abreast of his point of observation.
Then, as she passes, the water will sink, and after she has passed it will rise again higher than before she neared the spot.
The first rise is caused by the boat pushing a wave in front of her: the following depression is caused by the vacuum which she is leaving behind her, and the final rise by the wave which runs behind her to fill her vacuum.
Obviously, the less water the vessel moves the easier she travels.
If by any designing the wave pushed in front could be induced to run more or less back to the stern, then the second (following) wave would be more or less reduced in bulk, and the labour would be proportionately lighter.
The finer the lines taper aft, the easier the front wave displaced finds its way to the vacuum aft.
Per contra, the more bluff the midship and stern sections, the greater the difficulty in filling the vacuum aft.

Builders hamper themselves by adhering to a red-tape idea that all oarsmen in a boat should be seated at equal distances from each other.
So long as designers adhere to this, they require a good deal of beam aft, if Nos. 6, 7 and stroke are of anything like average size.
Of course, there must be a minimum of space for each man to reach out in; but there is no reason why in some of the seats the space should not exceed this minimum, e.g. to set the first four men at the minimum, and then to place No. 5 an extra inch past No. 4 and so on, with perhaps stroke and 7 1½ inches further apart than the forward men, would enable the builder to attain a greater longitudinal displacement at the sternmost part of the boat than he would otherwise require to carry his men.
In lieu of this gain, he can then reduce his beam and depth aft, and so make his lines taper more to the stern.
Mat Taylor built on this principle.
Detractors used to laugh sometimes to see him chalk off his seats, and say, 'A rowlock here - a seat there'.
The fact was, Mat Taylor placed his men, man for man, over the section of vessel built to carry them, allowing the minimum distance for reach in all cases, but by no means tying himself down to that distance where in his opinion the boat required elongating aft.
They said he built by rule of thumb; so, perhaps, he did, but his builds have never been surpassed.
Modern eights travel faster than of old, thanks to sliding seats and good oarsmanship, but if some of the old lost lines could be now reproduced, the speedy crews of modern days would be speedier still.
We offer one more illustration to show the effect of having too sudden a termination to a boat aft of her greatest beam, or of a certain amount of beam.
Let anyone construct two models of racing boat hulls; probably he will not succeed in making two of equal speed, but such as they are he can handicap the speedier in his experiment.
Let him place the two models to race, each towed by a line carried over a pulley, with a weight at the end of the line.
The weights which tow the two models can be adjusted till the two run dead heats.
Then cut off the stern of one of the models, and bulkhead her, say about coxswain's seat, and let them race once more with the forces which previously produced a dead heat.
The model with a docked stern will have become the smaller vessel, and will now weigh less.
Nevertheless, she will become decidedly slower than she was before, and will be beaten by her late duplicate.
In order to do justice to this experiment, the weights should tow at a pace equivalent to about four miles or more an hour.
It will then be seen that this docked model leaves a whirlpool behind her stern, which is retarding her.
This experiment of course exaggerates the principle of full afterlines, and their evil, but it may none the less serve to illustrate the importance of a finer run aft from a point further forward than amidships.
En passant, the boat built by Salter of Oxford for the O.U.B.C. in 1865 may be mentioned; her dimensions are not to be traced, but she was specially designed to carry the heaviest man (E.F.Henley) at bow.
She was certainly never surpassed by any other boat which Salter built.
She won in 1865.
In 1866 a heavier crew were in training, and the 1865 boat was supposed to be too small.
She was not tried at all at Oxford with the crew.
A new boat was built, this time to carry E.F.Henley at 5.
When the crew reached Putney the writer felt dissatisfied with the movement of the new boat, and persuaded the crew to try the old one, even though she would be rather too small for them.
They sent for her, and launched for a trial paddle the Monday before the race; so soon as they had rowed a dozen strokes in her they stopped, and declared she was the only light boat they had felt that season.
They rowed the race in her, and won, and never took the trouble to set foot again in the new and rejected boat.
This victorious boat was then bought by the Oxford Etonians.
They won the Grand Challenge of 1866 and 1867 in her, took her to Paris, and there won the eight-oared race at the International Regatta.
She was sold and left behind in Paris.
The writer suspects that her undeniable speed was mainly owing to the fact that Salter designed some extra displacement at No. 3, in order to carry E.F.Henley at that seat.

"Poetry"

CHAPTER 12
TRAINING.
DIET.

That 'condition' tells in all contests, whether in brain labours such as chess matches or in athletics, is known to children in the schoolroom.
Training is the régime by means of which condition is attained.
Its dogmas are of two orders:
(1) Those which relate to exercise,
(2) those which refer to diet.
Diet of itself does not train a man for rowing or any other kind of athletics.
What trains is hard work; proper diet keeps the subject up to that work.
The effect of a course of training is twofold.
It develops those muscles which are in use for the exercise in question, and it also prepares the internal organs of heart and lungs for the extra strain which will be put upon them during the contest.
All muscles tend to develop under exercise, and to dwindle under inaction.
The right shoulder and arm of a nail-maker are often out of all proportion to the left; the fingers of a pianist develop activity with practice, or lose it if the instrument be discontinued.
Training is a thorough science, and it is much better understood in these days than when the writer was in active work; and again, the trainers of his day were in their turn far ahead of those of the early years of amateur oarsmanship.
From the earliest recorded days of athletic contests, there seems to have been much faith pinned to beefsteaks.
When Socrates rebukes Thrasymachus, in the opening pages of Plato's 'Republic', he speaks of beefsteaks as being the chief subject of interest to Polydamos, who seems to have been a champion of the P.R. of Athens of those days.
The beefsteak retains its prestige to the present day, but it is not the ne plus ultra which it was in 1830.
The earliest amateur crews seem to have rowed in many instances without undergoing a course of training and of reduction of fat.
But when important matches began to be made, the value of condition was appreciated.
Prizefighters had then practical training longer than any other branch of athletics, and it was by no means uncommon for watermen, when matched by their patrons, to be placed under the supervision of some mentor from the P.R. as regards their diet and exercise.
But before long watermen began to take care of themselves in this respect.
Their system of training did not differ materially from that in vogue with the P.R.
It consisted of hard work in thick clothing, early during the course of preparation, to reduce weight; and a good deal of pedestrian exercise formed part of the day's programme; a material result of the association of the P.R. system of preparation.
The diet was less varied and liberal than in these days, but abstinence from fluid to as great an extent as possible was from the outset recognised as all-important for reducing bulk and clearing the wind.
A prizefighter or waterman used to commence his training with a liberal dose of physic.
The idea seems to have a stable origin, analogous to the principle of physic balls for a hunter on being taken up from grass.
The system was not amiss for men of mature years, who had probably been leading a life of self-indulgence since the time when they had last been in training.

But when University crews began to put themselves under the care of professional trainers, those worthies used to treat these half-grown lads as they would some gin-sodden senior of forty, and would physic their insides before they set them to work.
They would try to sweat them down to fiddle-strings, and were not happy unless they could show considerable reduction of weight in the scale, even with a lad who had not attained his full growth.
Still, though many a young athlete naturally went amiss under this severe handling, there is no doubt that these professional trainers used to turn out their charges in very fine condition, on the average.
No trainer of horses would work a two-year-old on the same system that he would an aged horse; and the error of these old professional trainers lay in their not realising the difference in age between University men and the ordinary classes of professional athletes.
In time University men began to think and to act for themselves in the matter of training.
When college eights first began to row against each other, there were only three or four clubs which manned eights; and these eights now and then were filled up with a waterman or two.
(In these days few college crews would take an Oxford waterman as a gift - qua his oarsmanship!)
These crews, when they began to adopt training, employed watermen as mentors.
Before long there were more eights than watermen, and some crews could not obtain this assistance.
The result was, a rule against employing professional tuition within a certain date of the race.
This regulation threw University men upon their own resources, and before long they came to the conclusion that good amateur coaching and training was more effective than that of professionals.
Mr. F.Menzies, the late Mr. G.Hughes, and the Rev. A.Shadwell, had much to do in converting the O.U.B.C. to these wholesome doctrines.
From that time amateurs of all rowing clubs have very much depended on themselves and their confrères for tuition in oarsmanship and training.
The usual régime of amateur training is now very much to the following effect.
Réveille at 6.30 or 7 a.m.
Generally a brief morning walk; and if so, the 'tub' is usually postponed until the return from the walk.
If it is summer, and there are swimming facilities, a header or two does no harm, but men should not be allowed to strike out hard in swimming, when under hard rowing rules.
For some reason, which medical science can better explain, there seems to be a risk of straining the suspensory or some other ligaments, when they are suddenly relaxed in water, and then extended by a jerk.
(This refers to arms that have lately been bearing the strain of rowing.)
Also, the soakage in water for any length of time tends to relax the whole of the muscular system.
Whether tub or swim be the order of the morning, the skin should be well rubbed down with rough towels after the immersion.
In old days there used to be a furore for running before breakfast.
Many young men find their stomachs and appetites upset by hard work on an empty stomach, more especially in sultry weather.
The Oxford U.B.C. eight at Henley in 1857 and 1859 used to go for a run up Remenham Hill before breakfast, and this within two or three days of the regatta.
Such a system would now be tabooed as unsound.
Breakfast consists of grilled chops or steaks; cold meat may be allowed if a man prefers it.
If possible, it is well to let a roast joint cool uncut, to supply cold meat for a crew.
The gravy is thus retained in the meat.
Bread should be one day old; toast is better than bread.
Many crews allow butter, but as a rule a man is better without it.
It adds a trifle to adipose deposit, and does not do any special service towards strengthening his tissues or purifying his blood.
Some green meat at breakfast is a good thing.
Watercress for choice - next best are small salad and lettuce (plain).
Tea is the recognised beverage; two cups are ample for a man.
If he can dispense with sugar it will save him some ounces of fat, if he is at all of a flesh-forming habit of body.
A boiled egg is often allowed, to wind up the repast.

Going to Scale

Luncheon depends, as to its substance, very much upon the time of year and the hours of exercise.
If the work can be done in two sections, forenoon and afternoon, all the better.
In hot summer weather it may be too sultry to take men out between breakfast and the mid-day meal.
Luncheon now usually consists of cold meat, to a reasonable amount, stale bread, green meat, and a glass of ale.
In the days when the writer was at Oxford, the rule of the O.U.B.C. was to allow no meat at luncheon (only bread, butter, and watercress).
This was a mistake; young men, daily wasting a large amount of tissue under hard work, had a natural craving for substantial food to supply the hiatus in the system.
By being docked of it at luncheon, they gorged all the more at breakfast and dinner, where there was no limit as to quantity (of solids) to be consumed.
They would have done better had their supply of animal food been divided into three instead of two daily allowances.
They used to be allowed one slice of cold meat during their nine days' stay at Putney; it would have been well to have allowed this all through training.
Dinner consists mainly of roast beef or mutton, or choice of both.
It is the custom to allow 'luxuries' of some sort every other day, e.g. fish one day, and a course of roast poultry (chicken) on another.
'Pudding' is sometimes allowed daily, sometimes it only appears in its turn with 'luxuries'.
It generally consists of stewed fruit, with plain boiled rice, or else calves'-foot jelly.
A crust, or biscuit, with a little butter and some watercress or lettuce, make a final course before the cloth is cleared.
Drink is ale, for a standard; light claret, with water, is nowadays allowed for choice, and no harm in it.
A pint is the normal measure; sometimes an extra half-pint may be conceded on thirsty days.
An orange and biscuit for dessert usually follow.
In the writer's days every man had two glasses of port wine.
He thinks this was perhaps more than was required (as regards alcohol); one glass may suffice, but there may be no reason against the second wineglass being conceded, with water substituted, if the patient is really dry.
Claret also may take the place of port after dinner.
Fashions change; in the writer's active days, claret would have been scorned as un-English for athletes.

Such is the usual nature of training diet; of the exercise of the day, more anon.
There does not seem to be much fault to find with the régime above sketched; in fact, the proof of soundness of the diet may be seen in the good condition usually displayed by those who adopt it.
All the same, the writer, when he has trained crews, has slightly modified the above in a few details.
He has allowed (a little) fish or poultry daily, as an extra course, and for the same reason has always endeavoured to have both beef and mutton on the table.
He believes that change of dish aids appetite, so long as the varieties of food do not clash in digestion.
Men become tired with a monotony of food, however wholesome.
Puddings the writer does not think much of, provided that other varieties of dish can be obtained.
A certain amount of vegetable food is necessary to blend with the animal food, else boils are likely to break out; but green vegetables such as are in season are far better than puddings for this purpose.
Salad, daily with the joint, will do good.
It is unusual to see it, that is all.
The salad should not be dressed.
Lettuce, endive, watercress, smallcress, beetroot, and some minced spring onions to flavour the whole, make a passable dish, which a hungry athlete will much relish.
Asparagus, spinach, and French beans may be supplied when obtainable.
Green peas are not so good, and broad beans worse.
The tops of young nettles, when emerald green, make a capital dish, like spinach, rather more tasty than the latter vegetable.
Such nettles can only be picked when they first shoot; old nettles are as bad as flowered asparagus.
If a crew train in the fruit season, fruit to a small amount will not harm them, as a finale to either breakfast or dinner.
But the fruit should be very fresh, not bruised nor decomposed; strawberries, gooseberries, grapes, peaches, nectarines, apricots (say one of the last three, or a dozen of the smaller fruits, for a man's allowance), all are admissible.
Not so melons, nor pines - so medical friends assert.

In hot summer weather it is as well to dine about 2 p.m., to row in the cool of the evening, towards 7 p.m., and to sup about 8.30 or 9 p.m.
It is a mistake to assume that because a regatta will come off midday, therefore those who train for it should accustom themselves to a burning sun for practice.
With all due deference to Herodotus (who avers that the skeleton skulls of quondam combatant Persians and Egyptians could be known apart on the battle-field, because the turban-clad heads of Persians produced soft skulls which crumbled to a kick, while the sun-baked heads of Egyptians were hard as bricks), we do not believe in this sort of acclimatisation.
If men have to be trained to row a midnight race, they would be best prepared for it by working at their ordinary daylight hours, not by turning night into day for weeks beforehand.
On the same principle it would seem to be a mistake to expose oarsmen in practice to excessive heat to which they have not been accustomed, solely because they are likely eventually to row their race under a similar sun.
In really oppressive weather at Henley the writer and his crews used to dine about 2 p.m. as aforesaid, finish supper at 9 or 9.30, and go to bed two hours later.
They rose proportionately later next day, taking a good nine hours in bed before they turned out.
So far as their records read, those crews do not seem on the whole to have suffered in condition by this system of training.
Many men are parched with thirst at night.
The heat of the stomach, rather overladen with food, tends to this.
The waste of the system has been abnormal during the day; the appetite, i.e. instinct to replenish the waste, has also been abnormal, and yet the capacity of the stomach is only normal.
Hence the stomach finds it hard work to keep pace with the demands upon it.
Next morning these men feel 'coppered', as if they had drunk too much overnight, and yet it is needless to say they have not in any way exceeded the moderate scale of alcohol already propounded above as being customary.
The best preventive of this tendency to fevered mouths is a cup of 'water gruel', or even a small slop-basin of it, the last thing before bedtime.
It should not contain any milk; millet seed and oatmeal grits are best for its composition.
The consumption of this light supper should be compulsory, whether it suits palates or not.
The effect of it is very striking; it seems to soothe and promote digestion, and to allay thirst more than three times its amount of water would do.
Some few men cannot, or profess to be unable to, stomach this gruel.
The writer has had to deal with one or two such in his time.
He had his doubts whether their stomach or their whims were to blame; but in such cases he gave way, and allowed a cup of chocolate instead - without milk.
(Milk blends badly with meat and wine at the end of a hard day.)
Chocolate is rather more fattening than gruel, otherwise it answers the same purpose, of checking any disposition to 'coppers'.

It has been a time-honoured maxim with all trainers, that it is the fluids which lay on fat and which spoil the wind.
Accordingly, reduction in the consumption of fluid has always been one of the first principles of training, and it is a sound one so long as it is not carried to excess.
It is not at the outset of training that thirst so oppresses the patient, but at the end of the first week and afterwards, especially when temperature rises and days are sultry.
Vinegar over greens at dinner tends to allay thirst; the use of pepper rather promotes it.
In time the oarsman begins to accustom himself somewhat to his diminished allowance of fluid, and he learns to economise it during his meals, to wash down his solids.
A coach should be reasonably firm in resisting unnecessary petitions for extra fluid, but he must exercise discretion, and need not be always obdurate.
On this subject the writer reproduces his opinion as expressed in 'Oars and Sculls' in 1873:-
The tendency to 'coppers' in training is no proof of insobriety.
The whole system of training is unnatural to the body.
It is an excess of nature.
Regular exercise and plain food are not in themselves unnatural, but the amount of each taken by the subject in training is what is unnatural.
The wear and tear of tissue is more than would go on at ordinary times, and consequently the body requires more commissariat than usual to replenish the system.
The stomach has all its work cut out to supply the commissariat, and leave the tendency to indigestion and heat in the stomach.
A cup of gruel seldom fails to set this to rights, and a glass of water besides may also be allowed if the coach is satisfied that a complaint of thirst is genuine.
There is no greater folly than stinting a man in his liquid.
He should not be allowed to blow himself out with drink, taking up the room of good solid food; but to go to the other extreme, and to spoil his appetite for want of an extra half-pint at dinner, or a glass of water at bedtime, is a relic of barbarism.
The appetite is generally greatest about the end of the first week of training.
By that time the frame has got sufficiently into trim to stand long spells of work at not too rapid a pace.
The stomach has begun to accustom itself to the extra demands put upon it, and as at this time the daily waste and loss of flesh is greater than later on, when there is less flesh to lose, so the natural craving to replenish the waste of the day is greater than at a later period.
At this time the thirst is great, and though drinking out of hours should be forbidden, yet the appetite should not, for reasons previously stated, be suffered to grow stale for want of sufficient liquid at meal times in proportion to the solids consumed.
Such views would have been reckoned scandalously heretical twenty-five or more years ago, but the writer feels that he is unorthodox in good company, and is glad to find Mr. E.D.Brickwood, in his treatise on 'Boat-racing', 1875, laying down his own experiences on the same subject to just the same effect.
Mr. Brickwood's remarks on the subject of 'thirst' (as per his index) may be studied with advantage by modern trainers.
He says (page 201):-