CHAPTER XI.

NOTES ON ROWING.

INTRODUCTORY.

T is singular how unapt are most beginners in

IT

any form of exercise to consider the special aim and purpose of the exercise. They mostly try to acquire only the movements involved in the exercise. Thus the special object in tricycling is to work the outer rims of the driving-wheels against the ground in such a way that the body of the tricycle, and with it that of the tricyclist, may be urged rapidly forward. But nine out of ten who begin tricycling, work as though the great object were to work the feet round the axle. In their zealous efforts to do this, it seldom occurs to them till they have been some time at work (many weeks in some cases) that they are using one leg against the other. They wonder that they make little progress, and soon get tired out; but the real wonder rather is that so many persevere in the wearisome task. At last the idea dawns on them that the tricycle is a piece of mechanism designed for a certain purpose, and that it is as well to direct their efforts to accomplish that

purpose, and not a purpose for which the machine was not devised. Then, putting out their strength in such a way that first one foot drives, the other carefully refraining from resistance, then the other takes its turn, and so forth, each stroke being mentally directed to bring round the driving-rims as energetically as possible, the tricyclist finds his strength doubled and his labour halved,—or his effective work quadrupled. That which had been a weariness of the flesh becomes a pleasure.

With rowing the case is similar. Not only the beginner, but in nearly every case the teacher also, proceeds as though the great object in rowing were to put the blade of an oar into the water in a certain way to bring it through the water, to feather it with skill and dexterity, and then to carry it back for another movement through the water. If both the beginner and the teacher consider the real purpose of rowing, a much better start will be made in the task of learning to row, and much quicker progress will be effected. Let the beginner regard his oar as a lever for urging the boat along, and let him consciously direct his exertions to that end, and he will from the beginning work on correct principles. He will feel that to get work out of his lever he must put the blade in squarely. He will feel that jerking and scooping must be useless and worse, and that hauling in any other way but parallel to the course in which the boat has to go must be bad. He may be troubled a little by the curved course which his

hands have necessarily to take, but he will feel that the pull upon the oar must not vary correspondingly in direction, but should be made (and may pretty easily be made) always parallel to the boat's length. Presently he sees that to secure effective propulsion he may act as though his object were to propel the water backwards, and that the greater the amount of water driven along the surface backwards (no part of it being driven either upwards or downwards), and the more effectively it is so driven, the greater the propulsive effect on the boat,-action and re-action being always equal. This I have invariably found, when teaching the young idea how to row, marks the beginning of an effective style. The learner, from the time he notes this, begins to send sternwards the kind of swirl which the coxswain and the stroke like to see,—not a formless roughening of the water, but a well-shaped and swiftly-circling swirl, which means work done by the backward propulsion of a goodly mass of water. In aiming, on his own part, to send down such a swirl, the learner, if he really means work, soon finds his way to all the good points of style. Beginning (as is generally best) with strokes not too long, he lengthens his stroke by forward reaching as his mastery of the oar increases, and so increases the mass of water sent sternwards. He carefully keeps his blade square, that there may be nothing lost by the slip of the water over or under it. He keeps his blade well covered, that no part of may waste its power on the idle air; but he refrains

it

from dipping it lower where no increase of power is to be found though the labour would be much increased. Then, too, he feels that at the end of his stroke the oar must be brought cleanly from the water, or the backward swirl (which really means and measures the forward urging of the boat) will be impaired, and the boat's way correspondingly checked. So he soon acquires the art of bringing the top of the blade above water just before the end of the stroke, then on the instant giving the blade a sharp half-turn, by which the swirl is neatly finished off and sent down as a pleasing little Maelstrom beside the boat's wake. In going forward, the oarsman, still rowing with his head as well as with his hands, feels that he cannot do better than to keep his blade flat, for so it will least oppose the air and do least harm should a passing wave unluckily touch it. He will recover sharply, especially in a heavyish boat, because all the time he is not pulling the effect of his last propulsive effort is being exhausted. And he will square his blade at the very instant that the forward motion of his arms and hands ceases and he is about to drop in the blade for a new propulsive effort.

Of course, a good Mentor, though he may save himself ever so much trouble by reminding his pupil of the real object in rowing (the propulsion of the boat), can still be very useful to the learner by telling him how best to apply his strength, by showing how the arms are most effectively used in conjunction with the swing of the body (not alone, as many strong

armed learners try to use them), by calling his attention to the necessity of a straight swing from the hips, and by many hints as to the use of hands and and wrists, loins, legs, and feet. But the great point, I am persuaded, is to correct at the outset the idea that the object in rowing is to work the oar through air and water alternately, instilling instead the true ideas-viz., that the object is to propel the boat, that the oar is a most effective lever, the boat the weight levered, and the water the fulcrum, from which alone, -yielding or unyielding,—propulsive purchase is to be obtained.

On these principles I have taught a beginner more in two lessons than many learners acquire in a month's practice. My last pupil, for instance, was a lady, and a waterman who steered during the second lesson spoke with approval of her style, where in reality there was nothing but the conscious endeavour to secure propulsive effect.

THE MECHANICS OF ROWING.

A profound knowledge of the theory of propulsion through fluids is not essential to skilful oarsmanship, and is probably not possessed by one oarsman among ten thousand; I may go further, and note that even a perfect acquaintance with the principles of rowing may be found in company with singular inaptitude for the practical application of those principles. Shall I ever forget, for instance, how ably No. 4 in our