University of Virginia Library

XXXIII. Rives Boat Club

Perhaps, the most remarkable record of sport in the
open air at the University of Virginia, during the Seventh
Period, 1865–1895, is the one that constitutes the history
of the Rives Boat Club. We propose to give the main
incidents in this record entirely apart from the annals of
the General Athletic Association, because, after a short
but really brilliant career, the club passed out of existence,
and has so far never been revived. Its first appearance
was meteoric in its suddenness and unexpectedness; but,
like the wandering aerolite, after blazing in the eyes of
admiring men, it faded away, leaving nothing of its former
presence behind but a tradition of vanished glory.
The story of the football, baseball, and track clubs, separate
at first, but afterwards combined, is the story of

organizations which have pursued a regular and orderly
course of movement, passing, from decade to decade, into
a still more advanced stage of development as part of a
fixed and enduring system of athletics. The recreation
of boating at the University would have followed out the
same line of steady growth from its inauguration had not
the obstacles, not simply to expansion, but to actual existence,
been almost insurmountable from the start. That
this branch of sport rose so soon to such a height of success,
though it afterwards fell back to nothing, was due
to the enthusiasm, energy, determination, and practical
ability of a few men whose names will, for that reason,
occupy a conspicuous niche in the history of athletics in
the University of Virginia.

Early in the seventh decade of the nineteenth century,
the art of rowing had become a very popular form of
sport in all those Northern colleges which were so lucky
as to be situated in the vicinity of streams with width and
depth of water enough to allow of constant practice with
the oar. There was more than one alumnus of the University
of Virginia residing in that part of the Union who
openly lamented the fact that his alma mater was not
in a financial position to rival these aquatic associations
of the more prosperous seats of learning. It was not
until the autumn of 1876, that one of these persons came
forward with opportune generosity and offered to defray
the expense of establishing such a club on the Rivanna.
This was Francis H. Rives, of New York City, a son of
William Cabell Rives, the distinguished statesman. Mr.
Rives had been born on the southeastern slope of the
mountains which overlooked that picturesque river. His
liberal act found an immediate response in the hearts of a
little company of University students, whose plucky spirit
was not to be daunted by the remoteness of water from

the precincts. By March, 1877, a committee, which
comprised James C. Lamb, A. G. Stuart, DeCourcy W.
Thom, W. J. L'Engle and J. M. Macfarland, had been
formed; and on their writing to Mr. Rives to announce
this fact, he sent them a check for one thousand dollars
with which to purchase the equipment in boats, oars, and
housing, which was indispensable. In April, at a meeting
held in the Jefferson Society Hall, a permanent organization
was effected by the election of A. G. Stuart to the
presidency, and of George D. Fawsett, to the vice-presidency.
J. C. Lamb was appointed secretary, and W. J.
L'Engle treasurer. A crew was at once chosen. Its
members were DeCourcy W. Thom,—who was elected
captain,—W. J. L'Engle, Charles Steele, and J. M.
Macfarland.

Such were the names of the men who proposed to convert
into a positive fact that dream, which, as we have
seen, had so persistently haunted the minds of so many
students before the War of Secession, but without the
smallest approach to realization. So far from the members
of the new organization being depressed by the prospect
of ever recurring tramps to the banks of the Rivanna,
two and a half miles away, they, in the spirit of the
blithest philosophy, actually pronounced the necessity for
traversing that distance to be one of the principal advantages
possessed by the club. Did it not put them through
a course of training on land for hardening the muscles
of their legs, which was almost as indispensable as the
course on the water for hardening the muscles of their
arms? As to the narrowness of that turbid river, although
it might bring a smile of supercilious derision to
the faces of some of their Northern rivals, nevertheless
had not Professor Mallet, an Englishman, been heard
to say that the reach of water furnished by the Rivanna

was superior to that offered by either the Cam or the Isis,
the classic rivers of the most redoubtable college oarsmen
in the world?

A boathouse was soon erected, a second-hand racer purchased,
and a new four-oared cedar gig ordered. The
course for the training exercises stretched from the free
bridge down stream about two miles in length. It resembled
the letter S, in harmony with the windings of the
river, and, in consequence, the crew, one half of their
time, were pulling against both the rudder and the current.
Almost before they had learned to handle their
new oars with respectable skill, they showed their ardent
confidence by sending off a challenge to the Tobacco City
Club for a race with a four-oared shell to be held on the
James River at Lynchburg. The Faculty so far entered
into the enthusiastic spirit of the club, now composed of
forty members, as to remark in their report to the Board
of Visitors: "It is not apprehended that the additional
means afforded the students for engaging in varied and
pleasant exercise and amusement will interfere materially
with their studies."

The first trial of skill[29] ended in discomfiture for the
club,—as it has done for many a future winner of the
Derby, and many a great parliamentary orator,—but
there was no reason for discouragement in the upshot, as
the failure had its springs in an accident that could not
have been anticipated before the race began, or remedied
at the critical moment in its progress. On June 30
(1877), not less than three thousand eager and excited
people crowded the bluffs of the James at Lynchburg, to

look down upon the scene where the two rival crews were
about to compete for the trophy of victory. A grandstand
had been erected at the head of the course, which
reached over a long, sluggish sheet of water. From this
spot, the start was made. The two boats at the signal
swept forward, and for some distance, there was no apparent
superiority in skill or muscle on either side. The
crews, in reality, seemed to be evenly matched; and this
equality of effort continued unbroken to the stake which
indicated the first turn in the course. After both crews
had swiftly circled about this conspicuous marker, and
were heading for the starting point, with all their powers
stretched to extreme tension, there seemed, for the moment,
to be no difference whatever in the rapidity of their
movement; but soon the crew of the Rives boat began
to lag behind, as if in a state of some distress; and this
involuntary dilatoriness only became more and more perceptible
as the race continued, until, in the end, they floundered
in about one minute and two seconds in the rear.

The explanation of their unseasonable plight soon became
known. In turning the stake, the occupant of
seat number 2 had put forth so much strength that this
seat had become dislodged from the restraining rails,
leaving the rower to slide backwards and forwards involuntarily
on the sharp steel-runners. The oarsman at the
bow, in consequence, was unable to pull in harmony with
the regular stroke. Practically, two men were to all
useful intents paralyzed by the accident, and the unlucky
sequel was unavoidable. The crew had been indirectly
crippled and defeated by the careless workmanship of an
unconscientious boat-builder.[30]

On the threshold of the new session, in the following
autumn (1877), it became necessary to reorganize the

club. J. C. Lamb and J. D. Emmet were elected respectively
president and vice-president, Willoughby
Walke, secretary, Thomas N. Carter, treasurer, and
Charles Steele, captain. Steele was succeeded by Charles
Lee Andrews, who threw an extraordinary amount of enthusiasm
into the performance of the duties of his office.
A skilful and indefatigable coxswain was found in John
Redwood, of Baltimore. Before the club could recover
from the disquiet of its first defeat, it was confronted by a
second misfortune,—an unprecedented flood in the Rivanna
swept away the boat-house, the boats, and the boating
paraphernalia.[31] So acutely was this calamity felt by
all, that friends came forward promptly to offer assistance.
The club was quickly restored by a second gift
from Mr. Rives, swelled by the contributions of the students,
and also by the proceeds of a fair given by the
ladies of the University and Charlottesville in Washington
Hall, and of an entertainment held in the town-hall,
in which the chief actors were Fawsett, Steele, Emmet,
and McGowen. The training began anew in the spring
(1878), under the coaching of Mr. Redwood, and the enthusiasm,
which soon revived, was, as we shall see, amply
justified by the series of triumphs which the club continued
to win during the next succeeding years.

In June, 1878,—just twelve months after their defeat
by the baldest accident on the course at Lynchburg,—
the Rives Boat Club, competing with the same skilful and
resourceful rival, on the same sheet of water, was victorious
with ease by seven lengths. In the very teeth of
this conspicuous triumph, a picked set of men, organized
by the Eli Bananas from their own society, had the characteristic
audacity to go into vigorous training for the
purpose of ultimately beating the victor. The interest

aroused in the oar had, by this time, reached the pitch of
an unprecedented enthusiasm, which crystallized in the
formation of a State Rowing Association for the more
elaborate prosecution of the sport; but not even this
powerful concentration of effort to increase the skill of
the different competitors was able to remove the pennant
of superiority from the flagstaff of the Rives Club. In
July, 1879, by ten lengths, and again in July, 1880, by an
interval almost as great, that club, on the reaches of the
Rappahannock at Fredericksburg left all its rivals behind[32] ;
and it repeated these victories over four competing
crews at Richmond in July, 1881,[33] and over the same
number of rivals again at Fredericksburg, on the same
date, in the following year. After this triumph, the
faithful coxswain, John Redwood, was unable to continue
the training, and, in consequence, the club was beaten at
Lynchburg on July 4, 1883, by the Appomattox crew of
Petersburg. Its career began with a rout and ended with
a rout, for it did not survive, as a vigorous organization,
this blow to its prestige. It is true that there was a feeble
endeavor to resuscitate it in February, 1888. A crew appears
to have been then sent to Alexandria to take part in
the race to occur there; but they declined at first to do so,
because they had not had the time to row over the course
before the hour set for the pistol-shot. At a later hour,
they consented to enter the race; but refrained when an
objection to their participation was offered. In the end,
the assets of the Rives Club passed into the possession of
a youthful association organized by a rival club in Charlottesville.

How had the Rives Club been sustained financially during
the latter years of its existence? Precisely by the
same means which had rehabilitated it after the destructive
flood of 1877: by the generous contributions of the
students, supplemented by the gate money of the fairs
which the ladies held for its benefit, and also by the proceeds
of concerts given by a band of collegians in the
town-hall and opera-house. On at least one occasion, the
Jefferson Society presented the crew with the sum of fifty
dollars.

Major Seth Barton French, formerly a citizen of Fredericksburg,
afterwards of New York, made a gift to the
General State Association of a challenge-cup that cost as
much as five hundred dollars. It was manufactured of
silver and stood twenty-two inches in height on a pedestal
of ebony. The base of this imposing cup was, we are
told, adorned with encircling silver shells and sun-fish.
A marine scene was engraved on the surface of either
side; and around the borders of each scene was a delicate
tracery of sprigs of coral and seaweed. The handles of
the cup were shaped like curved dolphins. Seashells clustered
about its brim, while old Neptune, with his uplifted
trident, crowned the whole, with other dolphins desporting
themselves about his feet. Such was the beautiful

trophy which the Rives Boat Club was able to retain in its
possession for so long a period by the skill, strength, and
enthusiasm of its crew.

But perhaps the principal claim of that crew to distinction
did not lie simply in competitive successes, however
brilliant. It lay rather in the spirit of the men who won
these victories. "With a boat-house on the Rivanna a
mile or more below Charlottesville," says Professor Raleigh
C. Minor, "without street cars to aid them; with
no means of reaching the boats except on their ten toes;
procuring money only with the greatest difficulty to keep
their boats in order; without rooters to witness their efforts
or arouse their enthusiasm,—they doggedly toiled
through the spring for the love of the sport itself. They
found their reward in their own bounding pulses, and in
the wild excitement and heartbreaking strain of the annual
regattas on the James, and Rappahannock, and other
streams."

A more feeling tribute still which the fine spirit of
these crews elicited, was paid by the coxswain, John Redwood,
who, under the influence of his friendship for the
members from Baltimore, his home, had volunteered his
invaluable assistance as an experienced trainer without
charge. No one had so perfect an opportunity as he to
gauge the characters, and sound the dispositions, of these
men with the nicest accuracy. "When I look back upon
the time spent with them," he said in a public speech, "my
heart beats high and warm at the recollection. For there
never was a regret recorded by failure in discipline or by
the suggestion of a single instance lacking in the most
genuine appreciation of his work on the part of every man
with whom I was thrown. The flood of memories comes
strong upon me as I recall the bright and manly faces I

knew, and the many hospitalities and winning Southern
courtesies always uppermost and prevailing in the social
atmosphere of the dear old University."

In addition to the competitive races on other waters,
in which the Varsity or Rives Club took part,—to which
alone we have referred so far,—there occurred on the
Rivanna a series of what was described as bumping races,
which were participated in by ordinary crews.[34] The
project of such races had been borrowed from England,
where the streams are often so narrow that the boats
can not be propelled abreast. The most highly trained
crew in a bumping race was always placed at the end of
the line, and the positions of the others ahead of it were
always graduated by their comparative efficiency,—the
least skilful occupying the position at the front. No actual
bumping took place; but so soon as the bow of a boat
passed the stroke of another, the latter would lie by and
allow its successful rival to shoot forward, and then would
take the last place in the rear. The event of a bumping
race was one of the most important in the local calendar.
Each crew was upheld by its own clique of enthusiastic
supporters. "The banks of the river on these occasions,"
we are told by a contemporary witness, "were
lined with vehicles and riders, who dashed pellmell after
the flying boats and cheered their favorite crews. The
spectacle was worth remembering,—the shining stretch
of water winding its sinuous way between the verdant
slopes, the incomparable panorama of mountain and forest
which made up the background, the fair girls in their
first spring frocks standing in the carriage-seats and waving
scarfs and kerchiefs as the crews flashed past, the men

supporting their enthusiasm with lusty yells of encouragement,
while the whole scene was flushed with the sunset-glow
and bathed in the fragrant vernal air."

The course traversed in these bumping races reached
over one mile and a half of water. Four boats, as a
rule, took part in them, and three afternoons were appointed
for the accomplishment of the entire programme.
"I recall one race," says Professor Raleigh C. Minor,
"in which one member of the crew knew nothing about
swimming, and still less about rowing. We had practised
for the race, but it seemed impossible to teach this
fellow to pull his oars at the right time, and not to catch
crabs. He would constantly dig his oars into the back of
the man in front of him, or else himself, catching a crab,
would fall backward so rapidly, and so far, as to dig his
back into the oar of the man behind him. But the confusion
of this was worse confounded on the day of the
race, for our oarsman, being eager and unskilled, almost
at the instant missed the water altogether on the stroke,
and promptly left the boat in a wholly unpremeditated
fashion. He emerged from the tawny flood, and gasping,
demanded to be once more deposited in our midst, saying
that, with his help, we could win out yet. We took a
different view, and to show our disapproval of his inconsiderate
conduct, we towed him to the boat-house attached
to an oar."