But as for the sport itself they were there to see,
the centre of all these bright accessories, "The
Racing," my ladies did not understand it, nor
try, nor care a hook-and-eye about it. But this
mild dignified indifference to the main event
received a shock at two P.M.: for then the first
heat for the cup came on, and Edward was in it.
So then racing became all in a moment a most
interesting pastime; an appendage to Loving.
He left them to join his crew. And, soon after,
the Exeter glided down the river before their
eyes, with the beloved one rowing quietly in it:
his Jersey revealed not only the working power
of his arms, as sunburnt below the elbow as a
gipsey's, and as corded above as a blacksmith's,
but also the play of the great muscles across his
broad and deeply indented chest: his oar entered
the water smoothly, gripped it severely, then
came out clean, and feathered clear and tunably
on the ringing rowlock, the boat jumped, and
then glided, at each neat, easy, powerful stroke.
"Oh, how beautiful and strong he is," cried
Julia. "I had no idea."

Presently the competitor for this heat came
down, the Cambridge boat, rowed by a fine crew
in broad striped Jerseys. "Oh dear!" said
Julia, "they are odious and strong in this boat
too. I wish I was in it—with a gimlet; he
should win, poor boy."

Which corkscrew staircase to Honour being
inaccessible, the race had to be decided by two
unfeminine trifles called "Speed" and "Bottom."

Few things in this vale of tears are more
worthy a pen of fire than an English boat-race
is, as seen by the runners; and none else have
ever seen one, or can paint one. But I,
unhappily, have nothing to do with this race,
except as it appeared to two ladies seated on the
Henley side of the Thames, nearly opposite the
winning-post. These fair novices then looked
all down the river, and could just discern two
whitish streaks on the water, one on each side
the little fairy isle; and a great black patch on
the Berkshire bank. The threatening streaks
were the two racing boats: the black patch was
about a hundred Cambridge and Oxford men,
ready to run and hallo with the boats all the
way, or at least till the last puff of wind should
be run plus halloed out of their young bodies.
Others less fleet and enduring, but equally
clamorous, stood in knots at various distances, ripe
for a shorter yell and run when the boats should
come up to them. Of the natives and country
visitors, those, who were not nailed down by
bounteous Fate, ebbed and flowed up and down the
bank with no settled idea, but of getting in the
way as much as possible, and of getting knocked
into the Thames as little as might be.

There was a long uneasy suspense.

At last a puff of smoke issued from a pistol
down at the island; two oars seemed to splash
into the water from each white streak; and the
black patch was moving; so were the threatening
streaks. Presently was heard a faint, continuous,
distant murmur, and the streaks began to
get larger, and larger, and larger; and the eight
splashing oars looked four instead of two.

Every head was now turned down the river.
Groups hung craning over it like nodding
bulrushes.

Next the runners were swelled by the
stragglers they picked up; so were their voices;
and on came the splashing oars and roaring
lungs.

Now the colours of the racing Jerseys peeped
distinct. The oarsmen's heads and bodies came
swinging back like one, and the oars seemed to
lash the water savagely, like a connected row of
swords, and the spray squirted at each vicious
stroke. The boats leaped and darted side by
side, and, looking at them in front, nobody could
say which was ahead. On they came nearer and
nearer, with hundreds of voices vociferating, "Go
it Cambridge!" "Well pulled Oxford!" "You
are gaining, hurrah!" "Well pulled Trinity!"
"Hurrah!" "Oxford!" "Cambridge!" "Now
is your time, Hardie, pick her up!" "Oh, well
pulled, six!" "Well pulled, stroke!" "Up, up!
lift her a bit!" "Cambridge!" "Oxford!"
"Hurrah!"

At this Julia turned red and pale by turns.
"Oh, mamma!" said she, clasping her hands
and colouring high, "would it be very wrong if
I was to pray for Oxford to win?"

Mrs. Dodd had a monitory finger; it was on
her left hand; she raised it; and, that moment,
as if she had given a signal, the boats,
foreshortened no longer, shot out to treble the length
they had looked hitherto, and came broadside
past our palpitating fair, the elastic rowers
stretched like greyhounds in a chase, darting
forward at each stroke so boldly, they seemed
flying out of the boats, and surging back as
superbly, an eightfold human wave: their nostrils
all open, the lips of some pale and glutinous;
their white teeth all clenched grimly, their
young eyes all glowing, their supple bodies
swelling, the muscles writhing beneath their
Jerseys, and the sinews starting on each bare
brown arm; their little shrill coxswains shouting
imperiously at the young giants, and working to
and fro with them, like jockeys at a finish; nine
souls and bodies flung whole into each magnificent
effort; water foaming and flying,
rowlocks ringing, crowd running, tumbling, and
howling like mad; and Cambridge a boat's nose
ahead.

They had scarcely passed our two spectators,
when Oxford put on a furious spurt, and got
fully even with the leading boat. There was a
louder roar than ever from the bank.
Cambridge spurted desperately in turn, and stole
those few feet back; and so they went fighting
every inch of water. Bang! A cannon on the
bank sent its smoke over both competitors; it
dispersed in a moment, and the boats were
seen pulling slowly towards the bridge,
Cambridge with four oars, Oxford with six, as if that
gun had winged them both.