THE KEY COMBINED OARSMANSHIP IN EIGHTS From the hints given in the preceding chapter it will have been gathered that good are of all sizes and weights. But it must not be forgotten that no small part of the motive-power of a crew comes from heavy men. By weight I do not, of course, mean that which results from mere adipose deposit ; but weight, as it is usually found amongst young men, that depends on the size of the frame and the limbs, and on their due covering of muscle and sinew. I cannot, therefore, too strongly advise a captain or a coach to spare no labour and no patience in endeavouring to teach big men how to row. There will be disappointments. Every one who has perience of rowing must remember at least one massive and magnificent giant who failed to learn, in spite of infinite pains on his own part and on the part of those who had to teach him. Out of a boat he may have looked the very model of what a heavy-weight oarsman should be—erect, strong, well-proportioned, supple, and active. But put him in a boat, and at once he suffered a river change. His muscles turned into pulp, his chest became hollow, his arms and legs were mere nerveless attachments, and his whole body assumed the shapelessness of a sack of potatoes. In the end, after many days, the hopeless effort had to be sadly abandoned, and the would-be oarsman returned to the rough untutored struggles of the football field, or the intoxicating delights of lawn-tennis and golf. But, on the other hand, there are innumerable instances to prove that a big man who has never touched an oar before he came to Oxford or Cambridge, or joined one of the Metropolitan clubs, may, by care and per severance, be turned into the pride and mainstay of his crew. Therefore, I say, persist with big and heavy men, in spite of occasional discourage ments ; for there is more advantage to a crew in one rough thirteen-stoner who really works and swings than in two light-weights polished ad unguent.
In the shapes of oarsmen, again, every kind of variety may be found, not merely in minor details, but in the whole physical characteristics of their bodies. Bob Coombes, the professional champion of 1846, 1847, and 1851, has recorded his opinion that the best physical type of oarsman is the man who is, amongst other things, deep chested and straight and full in the flanks ; who, in other words, has no waist to speak of. To this type Mr. S. D. Muttlebury and Mr. Guy Nickalls conform, and there can be no doubt that it is the best. But I have known oarsmen who varied from it in every detail, and yet did magnificent work in a crew. I have already mentioned Mr.
C. W. Kent, and I may add another example in Mr. H. Willis, of the Leander Club, a very finished and valuable oar, who has given his proofs not only in an Eight, but also as No. 3 of the winning Stewards' Four at Henley Regatta this year. Mr. Willis is tall and loose-jointed. He is not furnished with any great quantity of muscle, and his modesty will not resent my adding that, though he has a well-framed chest, he also pos sesses a very distinct waist. I might multiply such instances ; but they may all be summed up in the statement that a really good oarsman is never of a bad shape—for rowing. The ultimate test is to be found not in the examination of his muscle or the measurement of his frame, but in the careful and patient observation of his work while he is actually engaged in rowing. A mere weed, of course, cannot row to advantage ; but I have seen more than one instance of so-called weeds who eventually developed under the in fluence of the exercise into solid and capable oars. And, as a rule, there is more promise in the comparative weakling than in the gymnast whose tight binding of muscles impedes the freedom and alertness of his limbs.
We may now consider how the practice of an ordinary eight-oared crew should be conducted. There is a certain amount of difference of opinion as to how long a crew should remain in their tub— that is, in their clinker-built boat—before taking to the racing-ship. Most college captains, I think, keep their men in the heavy boat too long. Four or five days are, I think, an amply sufficient period. Experienced oars are none the better for rowing in a heavy boat, and novices who have much to learn in watermanship, and want a long period for the learning, can be taught the requisite lessons only in a light ship. The difficulties of sitting such a ship are, as a rule, much exaggerated ; and the young oar who watches the scratch crews rowing against a University crew, or sees a Leander Eight setting out for the first time, is apt to be surprised when he notes how eight men, who have never rowed together before, can move along with uniformity and steadiness. There are, no doubt, difficulties of balance and quickness in light ship rowing ; but the sooner these are faced the better for all concerned. I am assuming, of course, that the novice has been already drilled in the manner described in previous chapters.