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Let me assume (I am still addressing my imaginary novice) that you have passed through the first few stages of your novitiate. If you are an Oxford or a Cambridge freshman you will have been carefully drilled in a tub-pair, promoted later to a freshmen's four or eight, and during the next term may have been included in the Torpid or Lent-Boat of your College. At any rate, I am assuming that you have by now rowed in a race or a series of races for eight-oared crews on fixed seats. But I prefer to leave the general subject of combined rowing, whether in eights or fours, to a later chapter, while I attempt to explain the mysteries and difficulties of the sliding seat.

The slide may be described as a contrivance for increasing the length of the stroke (i.e. of the period during which, the oar-blade remaining covered in the water, power is applied to the propulsion of the boat), and for giving greater effect to the driving force of the oarsman's legs. Long before the actual sliding seat had been invented professional oarsmen and scullers had discovered that if they slid on their fixed thwarts they increased the pace of their boats, and even amongst amateurs this practice was not unknown. Mr. R. H. Labat has told me that so far back as 1870 he and his colleagues fitted their rowing trousers with leather, greased their thwarts, and so slid on them. In 1872 slides were used at Henley Regatta, and in 1873 the Oxford and Cambridge crews for the first time rowed their race on slides, Cambridge winning in 19 mins. 35 secs., which remained as record time until 1892. This performance, though it was undoubtedly helped by good conditions of tide and wind, served to establish slides firmly in popular favour, and from that time onwards fixed seats were practically retained only for the coaching of novices and, in eights, for the Torpids and Lent Races at Oxford and Cambridge. Now, proceeding on the principle that rowing is meant to be an exercise of grace, symmetry, and skill, as well as of strength and endurance, I think I may lay it down as an essential rule that it is necessary on slides to observe those instructions which made fixed-seat rowing in the old days a pleasure to the eye. In the very early days of slides, while men were still groping for correct principles, this important axiom was too often neglected. It was imagined that swing was no longer necessary, and accordingly the rivers were filled with contorted oarsmen shuffling and tumbling and screwing on their slides. Veteran oars and coaches, to whom "form" was as the apple of their eye, were horror-struck, and gave vent to loud lamentations, utterly condemning this horrible innovation, which, as they thought, had reduced oarsmanship to the level of a rough and tumble fight. "If both Universities," wrote the Rev. A. T. W. Shadwell in his "Notes on Boat-building," published in the "Record of the University Boat Race" in 1881, "would condescend to ask Dr. Warre to construct for them, and if their crews would also either learn to use the sliding apparatus effectively, or to discard it as pernicious and as an enemy to real oarsmanship when not thoroughly mastered, then we should be treated again to the welcome spectacle of boats travelling instead of dragging, riding over the water instead of the water washing over the canvas, combined with that still more-to-be-desired spectacle of faultless form and faultless time—eight men ground into one perfect machine. Nothing short of that result will satisfy those who know what eight-oared rowing ought to be, and lament its decadence." Yet Cambridge had produced the 1876 crew, Oxford the 1878 crew, both of them models of style, unison and strength, and Leander both in 1875 and in 1880 had won the Grand Challenge Cup with admirable crews composed exclusively of University men. It would seem, therefore, as if Mr. Shadwell's strictures were undeserved, at least by the better class of University oars. The fact is that by that time, and for some years before that time, the true principles of sliding had been acquired, and the more serious defects of form had once more become the cherished possession of inferior college crews. But then, even in the glorious old fixed-seat days, College crews were not always remarkable for the beauty and correctness of their form. I am not going to deny that the difficulty of teaching good style has been increased by the addition of the sliding seat; but there have been innumerable examples during the last quarter of a century to prove that this difficulty can be faced and entirely overcome. Four crews I have already mentioned. I may add to them, not as exhausting the list of good crews, but as being splendid examples of combined style and power, the London Rowing Club crew of 1881, which won the final of the Grand from the outside station against Leander and Twickenham; the Oxford crews of 1892, 1896 and 1897; the crews of Trinity Hall, the Oxford Etonians, and the Thames Rowing Club in 1886 and 1887; the Cambridge crew and the Thames Rowing Club crew of 1888; the London Rowing Club crew of 1890; the Leander crews of 1891, 1893, 1894 and 1896; and the New College and Leander crews of the present year. It is fortunate that this should be so, for, the proof of the pudding being in the eating, it is hardly likely that crews will abandon a device which, while it has actually increased pace over the Henley course by close on half a minute, has rendered skill and watermanship of higher value, and has given an additional effect to physical strength.

During my undergraduate days at Cambridge, and for some years afterwards (say, up to about 1884), the slide-tracks in racing boats were sixteen inches long.[5] This, allowing seven inches as the breadth of the seat itself, would give the slide a "play," or movement, of nine inches. The front-stop, which forms the limit of the forward movement of the slide, was fixed so as to bring the front edge of the slide to a point five inches from the "work," i.e. from a line drawn straight across the boat from the back, or rowing, thole. At the finish of the stroke, therefore, when the slide had been driven full back, its front edge was fourteen inches away from the work. To put it in technical language, we slid up to five inches from our work and finished fourteen inches away from it. Since that time slides have become longer, and there are but few racing boats in which the slide-tracks are less than twenty-two or even twenty-three inches long, giving the slide a play of fifteen or sixteen inches. The front edge of the slide now moves forward (when I say "forward" I speak in relation to the movement of the body and not in relation to the ends of the boat) to a point which is level with the work. In other words, we now slide up to our work and finish fifteen or sixteen inches from it. On these long slides, when the body has attained the full reach, the flanks are closed in upon the thighs, the knees are bent until the thighs come fairly close to the calves, and, ex necessario, the ankle-joints are very much bent. It is plain that great flexibility of hip-joints, knees, and ankles must be attained in order that the slide may be used fully up to the last fraction of an inch in coming forward. This flexibility very few novices, and not all old stagers, possess. The muscles and joints at first absolutely refuse to accommodate themselves to this new strain, and you will see a man as he slides forward, taking his heels well off the stretcher in order to ease the strain upon his ankles, and moving his shoulders back long before his oar has gripped the water in order to relieve his hip-joints. This results in his missing the whole of his beginning, striking the water at right-angles to his rigger instead of well behind it, and having absolutely no firmness of drive when it becomes necessary for him to use his legs. In order, therefore, that matters may be made easier for novices, and that they may be brought on gradually, I strongly advise coaches to start them on slides much shorter than those now in vogue. A slide with a play of eight inches, coming to a point six inches from the work, is ample. A few days will make a wonderful difference, and later on, when the first stiffness has worn off and the movements have become easier, the slide can be gradually increased. At Oxford and Cambridge the proper seasons for such preliminary practice would be the Lent Term, when Torpids and Lent Races are over, and the beginning of the October term, when many College clubs—at any rate at Cambridge—organize Sliding-seat Trial Eights in clinker-built boats.

[5] The Metropolitan rowing clubs had, I believe, lengthened their sliding some time before this.

Two further points remain to be noticed. On fixed seats the ankles hardly bend up as the body swings forward, and it is possible, therefore, to use a stretcher fixed almost erect in the boat, the seat being placed eleven or twelve inches from the work. But with slides, as I have explained, the seat moves to a point which in racing boats is now level with the work, and few ankles are capable of submitting to the strain which would be involved if the stretchers were set up as erect ("proud" is the technical term) as they are with fixed seats. It is necessary, therefore, to set the stretchers more off on an incline (technically, to "rake" them). It will be found, I think, that, assuming a stretcher to be one foot in height, a set-off of nine inches will be amply sufficient for most novices, even on full slides.[6] I have myself never found any difficulty in maintaining my feet firm on a stretcher of this rake or even of less, and I have known some very supple-jointed men, e.g. Mr. H. Willis, of the Leander Crews of 1896 and 1897, who preferred to row with a stretcher set up a good deal prouder. But the average oar is not very supple-jointed, though his facility in this respect can be greatly improved by practice. To make things easier—and after all our object should be to smooth away all the oarsman's external difficulties—I consider it advisable to fix heel-traps to the stretcher. This simple device, by the pressure which it exercises against the back of the heels, counteracts their tendency to come away from the stretcher; but even with heel-traps, I have seen stiff-jointed oarsmen make the most superbly successful efforts to bring their heels away.

[6] The angle made by the back of the stretcher and the kelson may vary from 43° to 53°. Personally, I prefer 50°. The prouder (up to a certain point) you set the stretcher the firmer will your leg-power be at the finish of the stroke.

The second point is this: With sliding seats you require an oar of longer leverage (i.e. inboard measurement from rowing-face of button to end of handle) than with fixed seats. For a fixed seat an oar with a leverage of 3 ft. 5½ ins. should suffice. With long slides the leverage of an oar should not be less than 3 ft. 8 ins., nor more than 3 ft. 8½ ins. For this I assume that the distance of the centre of the seat from the sill of the row-lock is 2 ft. 7 ins. With regard to leverage, there is a practical unanimity of opinion amongst modern oarsmen. With regard to the outboard measurement of oars and the proper width of blade, they differ somewhat, but I can reserve this matter for the next chapter, merely premising that in any case it is not advisable to start your novices in gigs with oar-blades broader than 5¾ ins.

Let me imagine, then, that my pupil is seated in the gig, his stretcher having been fixed at a point that will enable him, when his slide is full back, and he is sitting on it easily without pressing, to have his knees slightly bent.

And now to the business of instruction.

1. Remember and endeavour to apply all the lessons you have learnt on fixed seats. Slides add another element to the stroke. They do not alter the elements you have previously been taught.

2. Beginning.—Get hold of this just as you would on a fixed seat, with a sharp spring of the whole body, which thus begins its swing-back without the loss of a fraction of time.

(a) The natural tendency of a tiro will be to drive his slide away before his shoulders have begun to move. This must at all costs be avoided. In order to secure the effectual combination of body-swing and leg-work, it is essential that the swing should start first.

(b) It is equally reprehensible to swing the body full back before starting the slide; you thus cut the stroke into two distinct parts, one composed of mere body-swing, the other of mere leg-work. Therefore:

(2) When the body-swing backwards has started, but only the smallest fractional part of a second afterwards—so quickly, indeed, as to appear to the eye of a spectator almost a simultaneous movement—let the slide begin to travel back, the swing meanwhile continuing.

(a) Remember what was said in fixed-seat instructions as to the use of the toes and the ball of the foot at the beginning of the stroke. On slides this is even more important.

(3) Body and slide are now moving back in unison, the feet pressing with firm and steady pressure against the stretcher, and the arms perfectly straight. As the slide moves, the leg-power applied must on no account diminish. If anything it ought to increase, for the body is beginning to lose its impetus, and the main part of the resistance is transferred to the legs, the blade all the time moving at an even pace through the water.

(4) The body must swing a little further back than on a fixed seat.

(5) Body-swing and slide-back should end at the same moment.

(6) As they end, the knees should be pressed firmly down so as to enable you to secure the last ounce of leg-power from the stretcher. Simultaneously with this depression of the legs, the hands (and particularly the outside hand, which has been doing the main share of the work of the stroke all through) must bring the oar-handle firmly home to the chest, sweeping it in and thus obtaining what is called a firm hard finish. As the knees come finally down, the elbows pass the sides, and the shoulders move back and downwards.