A more serious disadvantage, so far as the prospects of University Boats were concerned, lay in the circumstance that there was no part of the Cam (within easy reach, at least, of Cambridge) along which the crew could row without a break, for four or five miles, as they had to do in the actual encounter with the Oxford boat. The whole range of the river between the locks next below Cambridge and Bait's Bite Locks, is somewhat under four miles and a half. But about a mile and a quarter from Bait's Bite sluice, the railway-bridge crosses the river, and until a few years ago, the supports of this bridge divided the river into three parts.There was in my time a vague tradition that the University Eight had once or twice been steered through the widest of these passages without stopping; but I doubt much whether there could have been any truth in the story. Certainly no coxswain in my time at Cambridge ever achieved the feat, nor could it be safely attempted even by the most skilful steersman. The consequence was that there was a break in the long course which took away all its value as a preparation for the actual race. It may seem to the uninitiated a trifling matter that a crew should get a few seconds of rest in so long a pull. But those who know what racing is, are aware that the slightest break—one stroke even, shirked—is an immense relief to the tugging oarsman.
Beyond Bait's Bite Locks there is a three-and-a-half-miles course, liable to be broken by the manœuvres of a floating bridge or ferry boat opposite Clayhithe. Next comes another short course extending to Upware. And lastly from Upware to Ely there is a fine five-and-a-half-miles course, considerably wider than the Cam, and presenting several splendid reaches. To this course the Cambridge men used to betake themselves four or five times in the course of their preparation for the great race. But a course so far removed from the university itself was clearly far less advantageous than the convenient Oxford long course, extending from the ferry at Christ Church meadows to Newnham. Still, annoying as the want of a convenient long-course must be considered, I cannot attribute the long succession of Cambridge defeats in 1861-69 to such a cause as this. It is true that before the railway-bridge was built, the Cambridge crew used generally to win, and that since it has been so far modified as not to interfere with the passage of a racing eight, they have again been successful, whereas, while the supports of the bridge checked them midway on their course, they were less fortunate. But to connect these circumstances as cause and effect, would be as unsafe as the theory of the Margate fishermen whoascribed the Goodwin Sands to the building of the Reculvers.
It has been said that the shallowness of the Cam affects the style of Cambridge oarsmen. This seems to me a fanciful theory. Occasionally in the course of a race close steering round one or other of the sharper corners might permit the oarsmen to 'feel the bottom,' for two or three strokes; but during all the rest of the course the oars find plenty of water to take good hold of. The Cam was undoubtedly growing shallower for some time after 1860; and the change gave some degree of support to the theory that the peculiarities of the Cambridge style were due to the peculiarities of the Cambridge river. But I believe the notion was a wholly mistaken one; and I am confirmed in this belief by noticing that the Cambridge style from 1860 to 1869 was in all essential respects, and especially in that feature which I shall presently describe as its radical and fatal defect, the same precisely as it had been in earlier times when Cambridge was oftener successful than defeated.
I have heard Cambridge men say, indeed, that after rowing on the Cam they feel quite strange on Thames water. They feel, they say, as if the boat were running away with them. I have experienced the feeling myself, when rowing on the Thames anywhere below Teddington; but most markedly below Kew. It is not due, however, to the mere difference in the depth of the two streams, but mainly, if not wholly, to the circumstance that the lower part of the Thames is a tidal river. It is not noticeable above Teddington, save (in a somewhat modified form) in those portions of the river called 'races,' where the stream runs with unusual rapidity. I should suppose that Oxonians felt the influence of this peculiarity fully as much as Cambridge oarsmen do; in fact, I know that this is the experience of some Oxonians, for they have told me as much.
I believe that the principal disadvantage which the narrowness of the Cam entailed upon boating-men at Cambridge, lay in the circumstance that Cambridge men neverhad an opportunity of rowing a level race. They had 'bumping races' for the college eights—as the Oxonians had—and time-races to decide between the merits of two or three boats, whereas at Oxford two boats could contend side by side. Thus it was to many Cambridge men a novel and somewhat disturbing experience to find themselves rowing close alongside of their opponents. It may seem fanciful to notice any disadvantage in such a matter as this; yet I believe that the matter was not a trifle. The excitement which men feel just before a race begins, and during the first half-mile or so of its progress, is so intense that a small difference of this sort is apt to produce much more effect than might be expected. I think the somewhat flurried style in which the Cantabs were often observed to row the first half-mile of the great race might be partly ascribed to this cause. Of course, I am far from saying that if a Cambridge crew had been decidedly better than their opponents, the race could have been lost or even endangered from such a cause as this.
And now it remains that I should point out that peculiarity in what may be called the Cambridge style of rowing—though it is not now systematically adopted by Cambridge crews—to which the defeats of the light-blue flag in the years 1861-69 were I believe to be chiefly attributed.
It should be remembered that before we can recognise a peculiarity of style as the cause of a long series of defeats, it must be shown that the peculiarity is neither trifling nor accidental. There are peculiarities in rowing which have a very slight effect upon the speed with which the boat is propelled by the crew. Amongst these may be fairly included such points as the following:—the habit of throwing out the elbows just before feathering, feathering high or low, rowing short or long (a technical expression now commonly, though incorrectly, applied to the length of the stroke, but properly relating to the distance at which the stretcher or foot-board is placed from the seat), sitting highor low, and so on. All these peculiarities—of course within reasonable limits—are unimportant, save in so far as they indicate that the style of the stroke itself is faulty. Then again there are accidental peculiarities, which may be exceedingly important in themselves, but which yet produce only a transient influence, because they are personal peculiarities of such and such a stroke, and when he has left his university they remain no longer in vogue. As an illustration of this sort of peculiarity, I may notice the remarkably effective stroke rowed by Hall of Magdalen in the year 1858-60. There the radical defect of the Cambridge style was almost obliterated, and all the good points of that style were fully brought out. The result was that, out of three races rowed with Oxford, Cambridge won two, and though they lost the third, yet they lost it in such a manner as to obtain more credit than any winning race could have brought them. I refer to the memorable race of 1859, in which the Cambridge boat was, at starting, half full of water, and gradually filling as the race proceeded, sank about half-a-mile from the winning-post, being at the moment of sinking only four lengths behind Oxford, notwithstanding the tremendous difficulties under which the crew had all along been rowing.[13]Mr. Hall also rowed stroke in the great race with the famous London crew—Casamajor, Playford, the two Paynes, &c.—when Cambridge won by half a boat's length. We have, however, to inquire whether there is any point held to be essential by Cambridge oarsmen, which is sufficiently important and sufficiently faulty to account for the marked want of success which attended the light-blue flag in the years 1861-69. The following peculiarity appears to me to be precisely of such a character.
It was formerly held by nearly all the Cambridge oarsmen that 'the instant the oar touches the water' (I am quoting from a pamphlet called 'Principles of Rowing,' much read by rowing-men at Cambridge) 'the arms and body should begin to fall backwards, the former continuing at their full stretch till the back is perpendicular; they are then bent, the elbows being brought close past the sides,' etc. If a Cambridge oarsman broke this rule, so that his arms began to bend before his back was upright, he would be told that he was jerking. 'This is caused,' says our authority, 'by pulling the first part of the stroke with violence and not falling gradually backwards to finish it. The most muscular men are more than others guilty of it, because they trust too much to their arms, instead of making each part of the body do its proportionate quantity of work. It is most annoying to the rest of the crew, injures the uniform swing throughout the boat, and soon tires out the man himself, however strong he may be, because he is virtually rowing unsupported, and he has nearly the whole weight of the boat on his arms alone.'
I was myself trained to row the Cambridge style, and when I became captain of a boat-club, I was careful to inculcate this style on my crew, and on other crews which came more or less directly under my supervision. But I am convinced that the peculiarity so carefully enjoined in past time by the Cambridge club-captains, and still retained, is altogether erroneous for boats of the modern build. I first became aware that the Cambridge style is not the water-man's—and, therefore, presumably not the most effective—through practising in a racing-four with three of our most noted Thames watermen—the two Mackinnys, and Chitty of Richmond. They were then preparing for the Thames National Regatta, though not as a set crew. Accordingly the coxswain would frequently call upon us for a good lifting spurt of a quarter of a mile or so. During these spurts the coxswain was continually telling me that I was not keeping stroke, and I was sensible myself that somethingwas going wrong. One who has taken part in boat-races very soon detects any irregularity in the rowing—by which I do not of course refer to so gross a defect as not keeping time. All the men of a crew may be keeping most perfect time, and may even present the appearance of keeping stroke together, and yet may not be feeling their work simultaneously. I was aware that something was going wrong, but I found it impossible, without abandoning the style of rowing in which I had been so carefully trained, to keep stroke with the rest of the crew. It seemed to me that they were doubling over their work, because while I was still swaying backwards they had reached the limit of their swing. Then they did not seem to me to feather with that lightning flash which the Cambridge style enjoins. Altogether, I left them after three or four long pulls with the impression that, though they might be very effective watermen, they had but a poor style.
Soon after, however, I had occasion to watch Oxford oarsmen at their work, and I found that they row in a style which, without being actually identical with that of the London waterman, resembles it in all essential respects. The moment the oar catches the water, the body is thrown back as in the Cambridge style, but the arms, instead of being kept straight, immediately begin to do their share of the work. The result is that when the body is upright the arms are already bent, and the stroke is finished when the body is very little beyond the perpendicular position.
Now let us compare the two strokes theoretically. In each stroke the body does a share of the work, and in the Cambridge stroke the body even seems to do more work than in the Oxford stroke, since it is swayed farther back. In each stroke, again, the arms do a share of the work, but in the Oxford stroke the work of the arms is distributed equally as a help to that of the body, whereas in the Cambridge stroke the work of the arms is all thrown upon the finish of the stroke. At first sight it seems to matter very little in what order the work is done, so long as the sameamount of work is done in the same space of time. But here an important consideration has to be attended to.
There are two things which the oarsman does in whatever style he rows. He propels the boat along, by pressing the blade of his oar against the water as a fulcrum; but he also propels his oar more or less through the water. If instead of the actual state of things, the boat were to slide along an oiled groove in some solid substance, whose surface was so ridged that the oar could bear upon the ridges without any flexure, then indeed it would matter very little in what way the oar was pulled, so long as it was pulled through a good range in a short space of time. But the actual state of things being different, we have to inquire whether it is not possible that one style of rowing may serve more than another to make the slip of the oar through the water (a dead loss, be it remarked, so far as the propulsion of the boat is concerned) bear too large a proportion to the actual work done by the rower.
Let us make a simple illustration. Suppose a person standing on the edge of a sheet of water seeks to propel across the sheet a heavy log lying near the bank. If he gives the log a violent kick, it will scarcely move at all through the water, but after a few vibrations will be seen to lie a few inches from its former position. The force expended has not been thrown away, however, but has resulted in a violent shock to the kicker. But if instead of kicking the log the person apply the same amount of force gently at first and then with gradually increasing intensity, the log will receive a much more effective impetus, and its motion will continue long after the force has ceased to be exerted. The same amount of force which before produced a motion of a few inches will now project the log several yards.
And now to apply this illustration. If the object of the rower were to move his oar through the water—the boat being supposed for the moment to be a fixture—he could not do better than to adopt the Cambridge style of pulling. For this style gives a steady pressure on the oar at the beginning of the stroke, followed by a gradual increase, and ending by a sharp lift through the water. On the contrary, the Oxford style, in which arms and body apply all their strength at once to the oar, would probably, as in the case of our imaginaryfixed boats, result in the fracture of the oar. If the boat were not fixed, but very heavy and clumsy, conclusions very different from the above would be arrived at. The Oxford style would be unsuitable to the propulsion of a heavy boat, because, although the oar would have very little slip through the water, yet the boat itself could not be moved in so sudden a manner as to make the applied force available. On the other hand, the Cambridge style would be very suitable; because, although there would be considerable 'slip' this would in any case be inevitable, and the force would be applied to the boat (as well as to the oar) in the gradual increasing manner best suited to produce motion through the water. Hence we can understand the long series of victories gained by the light-blue oarsmen in the 'old fashioned racing eights'. But when we come to consider the case of a boat like the present wager-boat—a boat which answers immediately to the slightest propelling force—we see that that mode of rowing must be the most effective which permits the oar to have the least possible motionthroughthe water, which lifts the boat along from the wateras from an almost stable fulcrum. Hence it is that that sharp grip of the water which is taken by London watermen, and by rowers at Oxford, Eton, Radley, and Westminster, is so much more effective than the heavy drag followed by a rapid and almost jerking finish which marks the Cambridge style.
The mention of public-school rowing leads me to urge another consideration. There are public-school oarsmen at Cambridge, and they hold, as might be supposed, a high position amongst university rowing-men. In general they form so small a minority of college racing-men, that they have to give up their own workmanlike style, and adopt the style of those they row with. But there is one club—the Third Trinity Club—which consists exclusivelyof Eton and Westminster men, and although it is a small club, it has been repeatedly at the head of the river, holding its own successfully against clubs which have sent in far heavier and better-trained crews. But even more remarkable is the fact that powerful college crews were sent from Cambridge to Henley between the years1860-69 which have actually been unable to maintain their own against Eton lads! This of itself suffices to show that there was something radically wrong in the style then prevalent at Cambridge; for in such races age, weight, strength, and length of practice were all in favour of the Cambridge crews.
When I first expressed these views about the Oxford and Cambridge style in the 'Daily News' in April 1869, several Oxford and Cambridge men denied that the difference between the two styles was that which I have indicated, asserting that neither Oxford nor Cambridge oarsmen advocated working with the arms in the beginning of the stroke. It was so great a novelty to myself to learn, in 1858, that London watermen row in the manner I have described, and I found the very watermen who rowed in that way so confidently denying that they did so, that I was not greatly surprised to find many University men, and not a few of the first University oarsmen, persisting that the rules laid down in 'Principles of Rowing' before the modern racing-boats were used are still valid and are still followed at Oxford as well as Cambridge. It was denounced as a special heresy to teach that work should be done by the arms at the beginning of the stroke, instead of the old rule being followed according to which the arms were to remain straight till the body was upright in the backward swing, the work being done entirely by the body and legs up to that moment, and then finished by the arms. But before I ventured to enunciate a theory on the subject I had been careful to apply a number of tests not only while watching Oxford and Cambridge eights, but in actual practice. I had inquired diligently also of those who are not merely able to adopt a good rowing style but to analyse it, so as to learn precisely where andhow they do their work. In some cases, I found first-rate oarsmen had given very little thought to the matter; but on the question being put to them, they quickly recognised the essential principles on which the most effective and the least tiring style for the modern racing-boat depends. One such oarsman said to me, after giving a few days' trial as well as thought to the matter—'You are quite right; arms, legs, and body must work together from the very beginning'; the work is done when the body comes upright; and not only must this be so for the work to be done in the most effective way, but it is essential also if the hands are to be quickly disengaged, the recovery quick, and a good reach forward obtained.
I found, however, that the essential distinction between a good style in the modern racing eight, and a good style in the old-fashioned boats, had been recognised (at least, so far as the modern boats are concerned) a year before my article in the 'Daily News' appeared. In an article on 'Water Derbies,' 'Wat Bradwood,' describing the University race of 1868, draws the following distinctions between the two crews, which precisely accord with my own observations on that occasion; only it is to be noticed that, whereas he is describing the beginning of the race, the whole of which he witnessed from the Umpire's boat, my observations were made from the shore not far from the finish, when Oxford was so far ahead that there was ample time to note separately and closely the style of each boat:—'The styles of progress of the two boats themselves are palpably distinct,' he says; 'Cambridge take a shorter time to come through the air than to row through the water; they go much farther backward than Oxford, and are very slow in getting the hands off the chest; their boat is drawn through the water at each stroke, but has hardly any perceptible "lift." Oxford, on the other hand, swing just the reverse of Cambridge, a long time in getting forward' (he means of course, arelatively longertime, for no good oarsman would ever take a long time in getting forward), 'and very fast throughthe water, driving the oars through with a hit like sledgehammers, while the boat jumps out of the water several inches at each stroke.' These last words again relate rather to contrast between the boats than to the actual lift. The 'drag at the end' in the Cambridge style used always to dip the nose of the eight, whereas the quick disengagement of the hands in the Oxford style prevents any dipping, so that by contrast the Oxford boat seen beside the Cambridge seemed lifted at the end of each stroke. In reality there was very little if any lifting, though the sharp grip of the water at the beginning of the stroke caused the boat to dip a little as compared with her position at the end. Theoretically, the less change of level throughout the stroke (from feather to finish) the better; but if there is any such change, it is far better it should be of the nature of a lift above the flotation-level than of the nature of a dip below that level.
Again, towards the close of the same article 'Wat Bradwood' made the following pertinent remarks respecting the Oxford style in 1868 and generally: 'The general style of Oxford has not deteriorated; though many outsiders fancied that Oxford rowed a short stroke, it was more that the time occupied by them in slashing the oar through the water was short than the reach itself; this deceived inexperienced eyes, especially when compared to the slow 'draw through' (query 'drag') of Cambridge, which often appeared for similar reasons a longer stroke than it really was.[14]He attributed the defeat of the Cantabs, who were a stronger set of men than the Oxonians, to the teaching of their 'coach,' who had been (though this he does not mention) as good a 'coach' as ever existed for rowing in the old fashioned style of boats, but whose 'experience availed nothing to teach the modern style of light-boat rowing.'
In another article by the same writer, in the 'Pall Mall Gazette,' (1868), a noteworthy illustration is given of the value of a good style. 'Among the college boats in the first division at Cambridge this year, the strongest were perhaps First Trinity, Trinity Flail, and notably Emmanuel; the weakest in the division was the Lady Margaret crew,'—the crew representing St. John's College. 'But notwithstanding this, Lady Margaret went up one place, and pressed Trinity very hotly. There must, of course, be some special reason to account for eight weak men proving superior to eight strong ones.' There is a little (unintentional) exaggeration here; the stroke of the Lady Margaret crew was a strong as well as an elegant oarsman, and two others of the crew could certainly not be called weak; nevertheless the crew as a whole was undoubtedly weak compared with most of the other crews of the first division, 'That reason,' proceeds our author, 'is to be found instyle. Every day of practice on the Cam you hear the "coaches" of the different racing-boats giving their crews certain directions, some absurd, and nearly all, from some accidental reason, useless. The chief of these is to "keep it long," and if you object to the results of this teaching, you are told that "length" is the great requisite of good rowing, andthat "Oxford, sir, always beat us, because they are longer than we are." Now, this is true and yet untrue. At Cambridge "length" is acquired by making the men "finish the stroke," that is, by making them "swing well back" beyond the perpendicular. Of course the oar remains longer in the water, but we maintain that the extra time it is kept there by the backward motion of the body is time lost. The "swinging back" throws a tremendous strain on the abdominal muscles, the weakest rowing muscles in the body; very soon the men feel this strain, become exhausted, and unable to "get forward," and finally lose time and swing and "go all to pieces." Length obtained by going backwards is of no possible use. A crew ought to be "coached" to get as farforwardas they can, to finish the stroke by bringing their elbows past their sides, and their hands well into their bodies, and then complaints about "wind" and "last" will be fewer. This was abundantly proved in the late May races. First Trinity, it is true, kept "head," but only because of their great strength, and because they had a stroke who understood the duties of his position. Before, the races every sporting newspaper, every supposed judge of rowing in the University, was certain about only one thing, and that was that Lady Margaret must go down; the only question was where they would stop. They, however, not only kept away from Trinity Hall, but finished above Emmanuel and Third Trinity, infinitely stronger' (which no doubt must be understood as meaning 'far stronger') 'boats. The reason was that they were the only boat on the river which rowed in anything like a good style. They had the reach forward, the quick recovery, and the equally quick disengagement of the hands, which marked the Oxford crew of 1868. Consequently although a very weak lot of men, they were able to vindicate style against strength. We hope' (added Wat Bradwood) 'that Cambridge generally will appreciate the lesson; it is one that has not been taught them for years, and results on their own river ought to show its value.' Less than a year after this was written,the Cambridge boat, with Goldie, the Lady Margaret stroke, at the aft thwart, were just beaten by Oxford in one of the best races ever rowed, and the year after, with the same stroke, they won for the first time in ten years. The subsequent successes of the Jesus boat on the Cam afforded further illustrations of the superiority of style over strength. For the Jesus boat has remained for years at the head of the river, though the crew as a whole has often been far surpassed in strength by the crews of Trinity, John's, and other colleges.
There is, as the writer from whom I have quoted above correctly says, 'no opposition between theory and practice in this matter, any more than there is in metaphysics or moral philosophy.' The ill-success of Cambridge in past years was in the main due to a want of appreciation of theory, and the absence of due recognition of the entire change which the introduction of the light outrigged racing-boat had produced in the art of effective rowing. The Cambridge 'finish to the stroke,' the 'lug at the end,' as sailors call it, was excellent with the old fashioned boats. It was indeed essential to success in a race, as was the lightning feather. But now the essential conditions are a sharp grasp of the water at the beginning of the stroke, the intensest possible action then and throughout the time the oar is in the water, so that the oar may be as short a time as possible in the water, butin the timemay have the largest possible range. This result must not merely be obtained from each individual member of the crew, but from all together in precisely the same time. It is necessary that the stroke should mark the time in the most distinct and emphatic manner. In the Cambridge style, or what at least used so to be called, perfect time, though of course always desirable, was not so absolutely essential as in the Oxford style. The oars being a long time in the water, it mattered less if any oarsman was for a small fraction of a second behind or in advance of his fellows. But with the sharp dash upon the water and the quick tear through thewater of the better style, perfect simultaneity is all-important. The stroke must not only have first a good style himself, and secondly a keen sense of time, but he must have that power of making his crew know and feel what he is doing, and what he wants them to do, which constitutes the essential distinction between the merely steady stroke and such a stroke as every man of the crew feels to be made for the place. When one of these 'born strokes' occupies the aft thwart, there is no occasion for the coxswain to tell the crew when to quicken or when to row steadily at their hardest; for the whole crew knows and feels the purpose of the stroke as distinctly as he knows and feels it himself.
The following paragraph, written a few days before the race (1879) is left unaltered. I may note that Marriott, the successful Oxford stroke of 1878, so far succeeded in improving the style of the Oxford boat when he took the aft thwart in '79 (far too late by the way), that Cambridge did not win by anything like the expected distance.
[Since the above was written I have seen both the crews for the present year's race at work. It is too early to venture a prediction as to the result of the race, though the odds offered on Cambridge would seem to imply that nothing short of an accident can save Oxford from a crushing defeat. It is manifest that Cambridge has the stronger crew, and the style of the Oxford crew at present is not such as to indicate that this year the Oxford style will defeat superior strength. In fact, at present, Oxford shows defects which have been wont to characterise Cambridge crews, and which unmistakably do characterise the present Cambridge crew, fine though it undoubtedly is. But if, as has before now happened, the Oxford crew fall into the true Oxford style during the fortnight before the race, the odds will not be 2 to 1 as at present, nor even 3 to 2, on Cambridge.]
FOOTNOTES:[13]'Wat Bradwood,' in an article on 'Water Derbies,' afterwards referred to, says that Cambridge was fairly beaten when the boat sank. He might with equal justice have said that they were fairly beaten when they started. They never had a chance of winning from the start, having then half a boat-full, and for some time before they sank a whole boat-full, of water to take along with them.[14]This agrees closely with my own description written later, but independently, and flatly contradicted by more than one Oxford oarsman at the time: 'In the case of Oxford,' I said, after describing the lightning feather following the long sweeping stroke of Cambridge, 'we observe a style which at first sight seems less excellent. As soon as the oars are dashed down and catch their first hold of the water, the arms as well as the shoulders of each oarsman are at work. The result is that when the back has reached an upright position the hands have already reached the chest, and the stroke is finished. Thus the Oxford stroke takes a perceptibly shorter time than the Cambridge stroke; it is also necessarily somewhat shorter in the water. One would therefore say it must be less effective. Especially would an unpractised observer form this opinion, because the Oxford stroke seems to be much shorter in range than it is in reality. There we have the secret of its efficiency. It is actually as long as the Cambridge stroke, but is taken in a perceptibly shorter time. What does this mean but that the oar is taken more sharply, and therefore much more effectively, through the water? Much more effectively, I proceeded, 'so far as the actual conditions of the contest are concerned,' going on to consider the difference between the modern and the old fashioned racing boats.—Light Science for Leisure Hours: Essay on Oxford and Cambridge Rowing Styles.
FOOTNOTES:
[13]'Wat Bradwood,' in an article on 'Water Derbies,' afterwards referred to, says that Cambridge was fairly beaten when the boat sank. He might with equal justice have said that they were fairly beaten when they started. They never had a chance of winning from the start, having then half a boat-full, and for some time before they sank a whole boat-full, of water to take along with them.
[13]'Wat Bradwood,' in an article on 'Water Derbies,' afterwards referred to, says that Cambridge was fairly beaten when the boat sank. He might with equal justice have said that they were fairly beaten when they started. They never had a chance of winning from the start, having then half a boat-full, and for some time before they sank a whole boat-full, of water to take along with them.
[14]This agrees closely with my own description written later, but independently, and flatly contradicted by more than one Oxford oarsman at the time: 'In the case of Oxford,' I said, after describing the lightning feather following the long sweeping stroke of Cambridge, 'we observe a style which at first sight seems less excellent. As soon as the oars are dashed down and catch their first hold of the water, the arms as well as the shoulders of each oarsman are at work. The result is that when the back has reached an upright position the hands have already reached the chest, and the stroke is finished. Thus the Oxford stroke takes a perceptibly shorter time than the Cambridge stroke; it is also necessarily somewhat shorter in the water. One would therefore say it must be less effective. Especially would an unpractised observer form this opinion, because the Oxford stroke seems to be much shorter in range than it is in reality. There we have the secret of its efficiency. It is actually as long as the Cambridge stroke, but is taken in a perceptibly shorter time. What does this mean but that the oar is taken more sharply, and therefore much more effectively, through the water? Much more effectively, I proceeded, 'so far as the actual conditions of the contest are concerned,' going on to consider the difference between the modern and the old fashioned racing boats.—Light Science for Leisure Hours: Essay on Oxford and Cambridge Rowing Styles.
[14]This agrees closely with my own description written later, but independently, and flatly contradicted by more than one Oxford oarsman at the time: 'In the case of Oxford,' I said, after describing the lightning feather following the long sweeping stroke of Cambridge, 'we observe a style which at first sight seems less excellent. As soon as the oars are dashed down and catch their first hold of the water, the arms as well as the shoulders of each oarsman are at work. The result is that when the back has reached an upright position the hands have already reached the chest, and the stroke is finished. Thus the Oxford stroke takes a perceptibly shorter time than the Cambridge stroke; it is also necessarily somewhat shorter in the water. One would therefore say it must be less effective. Especially would an unpractised observer form this opinion, because the Oxford stroke seems to be much shorter in range than it is in reality. There we have the secret of its efficiency. It is actually as long as the Cambridge stroke, but is taken in a perceptibly shorter time. What does this mean but that the oar is taken more sharply, and therefore much more effectively, through the water? Much more effectively, I proceeded, 'so far as the actual conditions of the contest are concerned,' going on to consider the difference between the modern and the old fashioned racing boats.—Light Science for Leisure Hours: Essay on Oxford and Cambridge Rowing Styles.
ROWING STYLES.
Professor Marcy has recently discussed, in a lecture on Living Locomotors (Moteurs Animés), the principles of propulsion. Had he been an Englishman he would probably have found some of his most striking illustrations among different cases of propulsion through water. But, although he limited his discussion of animated motors to those which work on land, he yet laid down the fundamental principle of all propulsion, which is that as little as possible—and therefore, if possible, none at all—of the energy employed to produce propulsion should be expended in injurious work. Even with the best carriages, he pointed out, there remain vibrations and shocks which must be attacked and destroyed to render the conditions of traction more perfect; they are veritable shocks, which use up part of the work of the horse in giving only hurtful effects, bruising the animal's breast, injuring his muscles, and, in spite of the padding of the collar, sometimes wounding him. Then he showed a simple experiment suggested by the able dynamician, Poncelet. To a weight of five kilos, (about 11lb.) a string is attached by which the weight can be lifted, but not much more. Then the experimenter tries to lift the weight rapidly with the string, which breaks without moving the weight, while the fingers are more or less hurt by the sudden shock. If now, a cord of equal strength, but slightly elastic, is substituted, the experiment ends differently. The sudden effort of elevation is transformed into a more prolonged action, andthe weight is raised without bruising the fingers or breaking the cord. Yet a still more sudden movement would break the cord in this case, though a yet more extensible cord would resist even a yet more sudden jerk. According to the strength of the cord, its extensibility, and the weight to be lifted, must be the nature of the upward pull in order that the greatest possible velocity may be communicated without injury to the cord or to the lifter's hand. This simple series of experiments involves the essential principles of effective propulsion, where, at least, great velocity is among the results to be attained.
Although, perhaps, at present, the public are disposed to consider the University race from a sporting rather than from a scientific point of view, yet it has long been admitted, even by the most ardent lovers of rowing as a sport, that it has its scientific side. In a pamphlet on the 'Principles of Rowing,' by 'Oarsmen,' written somewhere about the year 1847,—it bears no date, but speaks of rowing as having first appeared as a public amusement 11 years ago, and the first University race on the Thames was rowed in 1836,—the writers urge that rowing surely deserves to be called a scientific pursuit, and proceed to trace out the 'main principles in virtue of which it claims a scientific character.' These principles, which were generally considered sound when they were originally enunciated, though even then they were beginning to be to some degree questionable, have been quoted over and over again since, or, if not verbally quoted, have been, in effect, adopted by writers on rowing. The justice of some of them has caused the entire set to be received without question, even by oarsmen who in practice depart from several of them in a very marked degree. The assumption has been that there is but one good rowing style, and that, therefore, a style adopted and proved by practice to be the best in the years 1836-1846 should be adopted as the best now. 'There is but one style,' says one authority, 'and one alone,' he adds with some redundancy. Now, in so far as river racing is almost always carried on inboats of the same kind for each class—eight oars, four oars, pairs, and sculls—it is in a sense true that there is but one racing style. But even in river rowing, as distinguished from river racing, there are more styles than one,—by which we mean more correct styles, for, of course, there are multitudinous bad styles in every kind of rowing. The style suitable for a racing boat moving at full speed would not be suitable even for the same boat at starting, and would be utterly unsuitable for a pleasure boat. We may remark, in passing, that, however suitable tubbing practice may be several weeks before a race, it is open to objection after a crew has settled into its racing stroke. No one who understands rowing will assert that even the two strongest members of either University crewcanrow in the same style in tub practice as in their eight at her full speed, or, seeing them, will fail to perceive that they row entirely different strokes in the tub and in the eight. Again, the style of rowing proved by practical experience to be best in seaside racing is entirely different from the style successful in river racing. Yet another style is essential to success in races rowed in the heavier boats used by men-of-war's men. And it will be admitted, we think, though no experiments have yet, to our knowledge, been made in this direction, that if matches were arranged among our best bargemen and lightermen we should see a mode of pulling which would differ as markedly from the man-of-war's man's strokes as that does from the stroke which O'Leary, of Folkestone, rows, and this in turn from the style of the best London or University oarsmen. So far as these last two styles are concerned, it should be remembered that they have been put to the test in the most decisive manner. The best London oarsmen have been repeatedly defeated in seaside rowing (even in still weather), and the best seaside oarsmen have been beaten in river rowing. It would be absurd to attribute this to awkwardness in unfamiliar boats, for any good oarsman can very soon row without awkwardness in any kind of boat. It was the style which made the difference—the style only. Onà priorigrounds, then, we should expect to find the question whether the style approved by 'Oarsmen' 30 years ago should be, as it is, the style constantly recommended now-a-days depending simply on the question whether the racing boat of our time is similar, so far as the requirements of propulsion are concerned, to the old-fashioned racing boats, however different in appearance the two kinds of boat may be. To assert this, however, would be almost equivalent to asserting that there has been no real improvement in the qualities of racing boats—nay, when one considers the great advantages possessed, in some respects, by the old fashioned boats and their much superior durability, we should have to acknowledge that racing boats had deteriorated. No one will for a moment assert this. We know that the racing boat of our time is not only much lighter, but travels with much less resistance through the water, maintains its velocity far better between the strokes, and can be made with equal effort to go at least one-fifth faster than the old fashioned racing boat. The antecedent probability is, then, that the modern racing boat requires a mode of propulsion unlike that which was approved in 1840 or thereabouts—requires, in fact, a style which in those days would have been justly regarded as radically bad.
There is direct evidence from the results of many years of racing to show that this difference really exists, as might be expected, though the evidence may probably be questioned by those who maintain that there is but one good rowing style. It is well known that the style approved by 'Oarsmen' in the work above mentioned was first definitely inculcated by Cambridge oarsmen. There is internal evidence in the pamphlet itself (as where the miseries of the Lent races at Cambridge are described) to show that some, and, therefore, probably all, who took part in preparing the work were Cambridge men. Again, it is well known that certainly until 1868, and perhaps later, the University crew at Cambridge was 'coached' by an 'ancient mariner,' who, if not one of the 'Oarsmen' and, as was generally reported, the actualwriter of the 'Principles of Rowing,' was unquestionably imbued with the old fashioned doctrines. Now, of the six races rowed on the Thames in the old fashioned racing boats, Cambridge won no less than five. The Oxford crews, who rowed in a style more nearly resembling that now rowed by the most successful crews (though scarcely ever inculcated in verbal instructions), were not only beaten in every race save one, but in three cases were beaten out of all reason. Half a minute was the amount by which Cambridge won in 1845; but in 1836 (certainly over a longer course) they won by one minute, in 1841 by one minute and a quarter, and in 1839 by nearly two minutes. No wonder that when outrigged boats came in Cambridge oarsmen were loth to modify a style which had gained them so many and such striking successes. Nor did it greatly matter, when this happened in 1846, whether the style of rowing was modified or not. The first specimens of outrigged racing boats occupied a sort of half-way position between the old-fashioned inrigged craft and the exceedingly light, keelless boats now used. Thus, during the seven races rowed in the earlier form of outrigged boats, success was pretty equally divided between Oxford and Cambridge. In one race Oxford won on a foul; of the other six Cambridge won three, and Oxford also won three. But since the present form of racing boat was adopted (in 1857) Oxford has been almost as successful as Cambridge had been in the first nine or ten races. In 1857 Oxford won easily; in 1858 Cambridge won, but the stroke of the Oxford boat could use but half his strength, the forward or working thole of his rowlocks having been bent outwards by a wave which caught his oar before the race began. (The outriggers and rowlocks were shown to me at Searle's boat-house a few days after the race, and there could be no question that the chances of the Oxford boat must have been seriously impaired by the accident.) In 1859 Cambridge sank, and, though she was four lengths behind when this happened, there can be little doubt she would have won but for the original cause of the disaster—a wave which hadhalf filled the Cambridge boat as she was turning to take her place at the starting-point. In 1860 Cambridge won by one length only. Then, as everyone remembers, there followed nine successive Oxford victories, some of which were of the most hollow kind. Cambridge then gave up the style to which she had so long been faithful. One of the ablest of the Oxford oarsmen, who was, however, connected in some degree with Cambridge, trained and coached the Cambridge crew of 1870, the stroke of which, it should be mentioned, was proficient in the correct style before he went to Cambridge. That year and for the four next years Cambridge won, though never in the hollow fashion in which Oxford had won the victories of 1861, 1862, 1863, 1864, and 1868. The lead of Oxford at the finish of these five races averaged over nine lengths, while the lead of Cambridge in the five races of 1870-74 averaged little over two lengths. In 1875 Oxford won by ten lengths, Cambridge in 1876 by five. In 1877 occurred the celebrated dead heat; but before bow's oar broke Oxford had won 'bar accidents.' In 1878 Oxford won, and again by ten lengths. Of the 25 races actually rowed to a finish (excluding the dead heat) since outriggers were introduced, Oxford has won 14, Cambridge 11; of the 19 so rowed out since the true modern racing boat was used, Oxford has won 11 and Cambridge 8. The difference is sufficient in either case to show (the numbers being considerable) that there is a true difference of style, the style of Oxford being the better. But when we consider how the victories have been won this comes out still more clearly. Making due estimate of the number of lengths corresponding to so many seconds of time difference (where the result of a race is so indicated in the list), for which purpose it is sufficient to note that as many seconds as the race itself has occupied minutes are equivalent to about 6½ lengths, we find for the 11 victories of Cambridge since 1846 about 30¼ lengths, and for the 14 rowed-out victories of Oxford about 106½ lengths—the Cambridge average lead being thus found to be less than three lengths, while theOxford average lead at the finish has been close on eight lengths.
The difference cannot reasonably be assigned to any cause which was in operation when Cambridge had the larger share of victories. Nearly every cause which has been commonly assigned, including the unquestionably inferior arrangements for college racing at Cambridge, falls into this category. There can be very little doubt that the true explanation, as well of Cambridge success before 1850 as of Oxford success since then, resides in the circumstance that the two Universities have in the main adopted throughout the whole series of contests two different styles—each style excellent in itself, but the Cambridge as unquestionably superior to the Oxford for the heavier kinds of river boats as the Oxford style is superior to the Cambridge for the boats now actually used in river races. What the difference in the two styles is I shall now briefly indicate.
I am satisfied that the essential excellence of the old fashioned racing style as used in the old fashioned boats becomes an inherent defect in the same style as used in modern racing boats. I refer to the principle involved in the words italicised (by myself) in the following quotation from 'Principles of Rowing':—'The instant the oar touches the water the arms and body begin to fall backwards, theformer continuing at their full stretch till the back is perpendicular. They are then bent, the elbows being brought close past the sides, till the hands, which are now brought home sharply, strike the body above the lowest ribs.' Such was the stroke that brave old Coombes used to teach, and such was the stroke by which, time and again, races were won before 1850. But in proportion as the racing boat has been improved, both by diminution of weight and resistance and by change of leverage, the necessity has increased for a more energetic application of the oarsman's power. A stroke which resulted in mere jerking, injurious to the rower and not adding to speed, in the old racing boats, is absolutely essential to the effective propulsion of the modern racingboat, when once at least full speed has been attained, for before this the old fashioned long drag with lightning feather is as useful now as ever. Now, no one who has watched a really good Oxford crew at full speed can fail to observe the way in which the oars literally smite the water at the beginning of each stroke. No one who considers the velocity with which they must move to give this sledge-hammer stroke at the beginning can fail to perceive that the body alone cannot give this velocity of impulse in the first part of the stroke. There is only one way in which it can be attained, and that is by making the arms work from the beginning, not merely in the sense in which they may be said to work when continuing at their full stretch, but by actual and energetic contraction. In the Cambridge style arms and body only work together after the back is perpendicular; in the Oxford style they work together from the beginning. The result is that by the time the Oxford oars man has brought his back perpendicular his stroke is finished; whereas the Cambridge oarsman has still to give that drag at the end which used to be so much esteemed, and still is justly esteemed, by sailors for sea-racing. The oar of the Oxford rower is a much shorter time in the water, simply because it is propelled through the water with far greater, or rather with much more concentrated energy. The Oxford stroke, again, is necessarily a few inches shorter. For as Cambridge men go as far forward and swing further backward, it stands to reason that they get a little more length. But they get this additional length at the cost of a great strain on the abdominal muscles, and with no proportional effect. A very strong crew which can maintain the long, dragging stroke with the lightning feather from beginning to end may win, as Cambridge men have won, but only because of their superior strength, not by virtue of that lift at the end, which wearies the most stalwart, causes sluggish disengagement of the hands, and in a long race has often caused a powerful crew to be beaten by weaker men rowing in a more scientific manner. It is not impossible, now thatthe Oxford crew have had set them the true Oxford stroke that we may have an opportunity of witnessing something of this kind on Saturday, though the manifest superiority of the Cambridge crew in strength and the lateness of the change in the Oxford boat are unfavourable to the chances of the dark blue. To return to the point from which we started. The just style of propulsion for each class of boat is a matter to be determined on scientific principles. There is no real conflict between theory and practice in this matter. Every change which has tended to increase the speed of racing boats has (like the changes in Poncelet's experiment) rendered necessary an increased energy, or, as one may say, an increased intensity of propulsion.
ARTIFICIAL SOMNAMBULISM.
Rather more than a quarter of a century ago two Americans visited London, who called themselves professors of Electro-Biology, and claimed the power of 'subjugating the most determined wills, paralysing the strongest muscles, preventing the evidence of the senses, destroying the memory of the most familiar events or of the most recent occurrences, inducing obedience to any command, and making an individual believe himself transformed into any one else.' All this and more was to be effected, they said, by the action of a small disc of zinc and copper held in the hand of the 'subject,' and steadily gazed at by him, 'so as to concentrate the electro-magnetic action.' The pretensions of these professors received before long a shock as decisive as that which overthrew the credit of the professors of animal magnetism when Haygarth and Falconer successfully substituted wooden tractors for the metallic tractors which had been supposed to convey the magnetic fluid. In 1851, Mr. Braid, a Scotch surgeon, who had witnessed some of the exhibitions of the electro-biologists, conceived the idea that the phenomena were not due to any special qualities possessed by the discs of zinc and copper, but simply to the fixed look of the 'subject' and the entire abstraction of his attention. The same explanation applied to the so-called 'magnetic passes' of the mesmerists. The monotonous manipulation of the operator produced the same effect as the fixed stare of the 'subject.' He showed by his experiments that no magnetiser, with his imaginary secret agents or fluids, is in the least wanted; but that the subjects can place themselves in the same condition as the supposed subjects of electro-biological influences by simply gazing fixedly at some object for a long time with fixed attention.
The condition thus superinduced is not hypnotism, or artificial somnambulism, properly so called. 'The electro-biological' condition may be regarded as simply a kind of reverie or abstraction artificially produced. But Braid discovered that a more perfect control might be obtained over 'subjects,' and a condition resembling that of the sleepwalker artificially induced, by modifying the method of fixing the attention. Instead of directing the subject's gaze upon a bright object placed at a considerable distance from the eyes, so that no effect was required to concentrate vision upon it, he placed a bright object somewhat above and in front of the eyes at so short a distance that the convergence of their axes upon it was accompanied with sufficient effect to produce even a slight amount of pain. The condition to which the 'subjects' of this new method were reduced was markedly different from the ordinary 'electro-biological' state. Thus on one occasion, in the presence of 800 persons, fourteen men were experimented upon. 'All began the experiment at the same time; the former with their eyes fixed upon a projecting cork, placed securely on their foreheads; the others at their own will gazed steadily at certain points in the direction of the audience. In the course of ten minutes the eyelids of these ten persons had involuntarily closed. With some, consciousness remained; others were in catalepsy, and entirely insensible to being stuck with needles; and others on awakening knew absolutely nothing of what had taken place during their sleep.' The other four simply passed into the ordinary condition of electro-biologised 'subjects,' retaining the recollection of all that happened to them while in the state of artificial abstraction or reverie.
Dr. Carpenter, in that most interesting work of his, 'Mental Physiology,' thus describes the state of hypnotism:—'The process is of the same kind as that employed for the induction of the "biological" state; the only difference lying in thegreater intensityof the gaze, and in the more complete concentration of will upon the direction of the eyes, which the nearer approximation of the object requires for the maintenance of the convergence. In hypnotism, as in ordinary somnambulism, no remembrance whatever is preserved in the waking state of anything that may have occurred during its continuance; although the previous train of thought may be taken up and continued uninterruptedly on the next occasion that the hypnotism is induced. And when the mind is not excited to activity by the stimulus of external impressions, the hypnotised subject appears to be profoundly asleep; a state of complete torpor, in fact, being usually the first result of the process, and any subsequent manifestation of activity being procurable only by the prompting of the operator. The hypnotised subject, too, rarely opens his eyes; his bodily movements are usually slow; his mental operations require a considerable time in their performance; and there is altogether an appearance of heaviness about him, which contrasts strongly with the comparatively wide-awake air of him who has not passed beyond the ordinary "biological" state.'
We must note, however, in passing, that the condition of complete hypnotism had been obtained in several instances by some of the earlier experimenters in animal magnetism. One remarkable instance was communicated to the surgical section of the French Academy on April 16, 1829, by Jules Cloquet. Two meetings were entirely devoted to its investigation. The following account presents all the chief points of the case, surgical details being entirely omitted, however, as not necessary for our present purpose:—A lady, aged sixty-four, consulted M. Cloquet on April 8, 1829, on account of an ulcerated cancer of the right breast which had continued, gradually growing worse, during several years. M. Chapelain, the physician attending the lady, had 'magnetised' her for some months, producing no remedialeffects, but only a very profound sleep or torpor, during which all sensibility seemed to be annihilated, while the ideas retained all their clearness. He proposed to M. Cloquet to operate upon her while she was in this state of torpor, and, the latter, considering the operation the only means of saving her life, consented. The two doctors do not appear to have been troubled by any scruples as to their right thus to conduct an operation to which, when in her normal condition, the patient strenuously objected. It sufficed for them that when they had put her to sleep artificially, she could be persuaded to submit to it. On the appointed day M. Cloquet found the patient ready 'dressed and seated in an elbow-chair, in the attitude of a person enjoying a quiet natural sleep.' In reality, however, she was in the somnambulistic state, and talked calmly of the operation. During the whole time that the operation lasted—from ten to twelve minutes—she continued to converse quietly with M. Cloquet, 'and did not exhibit the slightest sign of sensibility. There was no motion of the limbs or of the features, no change in the respiration nor in the voice; no motions even in the pulse. The patient continued in the same state of automatic indifference and impassibility in which she had been some minutes before the operation.' For forty-eight hours after this, the patient remained in the somnambulistic state, showing no sign of pain during the subsequent dressing of the wound. When awakened from this prolonged sleep she had no recollection of what had passed in the interval; 'but on being informed of the operation, and seeing her children around her, she experienced a very lively emotion which the "magnetiser" checked by immediately setting her asleep.' Certainly none of the hypnotised 'subjects' of Mr. Braid's experiments showed more complete abstraction from their normal condition than this lady; and other cases cited in Bertrand's work, 'Le Magnetisme Animal en France' (1826), are almost equally remarkable. As it does not appear that in any of these cases Braid's method of producing hypnotismby causing the eyes, or rather their optical axes, to be converged upon a point, was adopted, we must conclude that this part of the method is not absolutely essential to success. Indeed, the circumstance that in some of Braid's public experiments numbers of the audience became hypnotised without his knowledge, shows that the more susceptible 'subjects' do not require to contemplate a point near and slightly above the eyes, but may be put into the true hypnotic state by methods which, with the less susceptible, produce only the electro-biological condition.
It will be well, however, to inquire somewhat carefully into this point. My present object, I would note, is not merely to indicate the remarkable nature of the phenomena of hypnotism, but to consider these phenomena with direct reference to their probable cause. It may not be possible to obtain a satisfactory explanation of them. But it is better to view them as phenomena to be accounted for than merely as surprising but utterly inexplicable circumstances.
Now we have fortunately the means of determining the effect of the physical relations involved in these experiments, apart from those which are chiefly due to imagination. For animals can be hypnotised, and the conditions necessary for this effect to be fully produced have been ascertained.
The most familiar experiment of this sort is sometimes known as Kircher's. Let the feet of a hen be tied together (though this is not necessary in all cases), and the hen placed on a level surface. Then if the body of the hen is gently pressed down, the head extended with the beak pointing downwards, touching the surface on which the hen stands, and a chalk mark is drawn slowly along the surface, from the tip of the beak in a line extending directly from the bird's eye, it is found that the hen will remain for a considerable time perfectly still, though left quite free to move. She is, in fact, hypnotised.
We have now to inquire what parts of the process justdescribed are effective in producing the hypnotic condition, or whether all are essential to success in the experiment.
In the first place, the fastening of the feet may be dispensed with. But it has its influence, and makes the experiment easier. An explanation, or rather an illustration, of its effect is afforded by a singular and interesting experiment devised by Lewissohn of Berlin:—If a frog is placed on its back, it immediately, when the hand which had held it is removed, turns over and escapes. But if the two fore-legs are tied with a string, the frog, when placed on its back, breathes heavily but is otherwise quite motionless, and does not make the least attempt to escape, even when the experimenter tries to move it. 'It is as though,' say Czermak, describing the experiment as performed by himself, 'its small amount of reasoning power had been charmed away, or else that it slept with open eyes. Now I press upon the cutaneous nerves of the frog, while I loosen and remove the threads on the fore-legs. Still the animal remains motionless upon its back, in consequence of some remaining after-effect; at last, however, it returns to itself, turns over, and quickly escapes.'
Thus far the idea suggested is that the animal is so affected by the cutaneous pressure as to suppose itself tied and therefore unable to move. In other words, this experiment suggests that imagination acts on animals as on men, only in a different degree. I may cite here a curious case which I once noticed and have never been able to understand, though it seems to suggest the influence of imagination on an animal one would hardly suspect of being at all under the influence of any but purely physical influences. Hearing a noise as of a cat leaping down from a pantry window which looked out on an enclosed yard, I went directly into the yard, and there saw a strange cat running off with a fish she had stolen. She was at the moment leaping on to a bin, from the top of which, by another very easy leap, she could get on to the wall enclosing the yard, and so escape. With the idea rather of frightening her than of hurting her (does one missile out of a hundred flungat cats ever hit them?) I threw at the thief a small piece of wood which I had in my hand at the moment. It struck the wall above her just as she was going to leap to the top of the wall, and it fell, without touching her, between her and the wall. To my surprise, she stood perfectly still, looking at the piece of wood; her mouth, from which the fish had fallen, remaining open, and her whole attitude expressing stupid wonder. I make no doubt I could have taken her prisoner, or struck her heavily, if I had wished, for she made no effort to escape, until, with a parlour broom which stood by, I pushed her along the top of the bin towards the wall, when she seemed suddenly to arouse herself, and leaping to the top of the wall she made off. My wife witnessed the last scene of this curious little comedy. In fact, it was chiefly, perhaps, because she pleaded for mercy on 'the poor thing' that the soft end of the broom alone came into operation; for, though not altogether agreeing with the Count of Rousillon that anything can be endured before a cat, I did not at the moment regard that particular cat with special favour.
The extension of the neck and depression of the head, in the experiment with the hen, have no special significance, for Czermak has been able to produce the same phenomena of hypnotism without them, and has failed to produce the hypnotic effect on pigeons when attending to this point, and in other respects proceeding as nearly as possible in the same way as with hens. 'With the hens,' he says, 'I often hung a piece of twine, or a small piece of wood, directly over their crests, so that the end fell before their eyes. The hens not only remained perfectly motionless, but closed their eyes, and slept with their heads sinking until they came in contact with the table. Before falling asleep, the hens' heads can be either pressed down or raised up, and they will remain in this position as if they were pieces of wax. That is, however, a symptom of a cataleptic condition, such as is seen in human beings, under certain pathological conditions of the nervous system.'
On the other hand, repeated experiments convinced Czermak that the pressure on the animal as it is held is of primary importance. It is frequently the case, he says, that a hen, which for a minute has been in a motionless state, caused by simply extending the neck and depressing the head, awakes and flies away, but on being caught again immediately, she can be placed once more in the condition of lethargy, if we place the animal in a squatting position, and overcome with gentle force the resistance of the muscles, by firmly placing the hand upon its back. During the slow and measured suppression, one often perceives an extremely remarkable position of the head and neck, which are left entirely free. The head remains as if held by an invisible hand in its proper place, the neck being stretched out of proportion, while the body by degrees is pushed downwards. If the animal is thus left entirely free, it remains for a minute or so in this peculiar condition with wide-open staring eyes. 'Here,' as Czermak remarks, 'the actual circumstances are only the effect of the emotion which the nerves of the skin excite, and the gentle force which overcomes the animal's resistance. Certainly the creature a short time before had been in a condition of immobility, and might have retained some special inclination to fall back into the same, although the awakening, flight, and recapture, together with the refreshment given to the nervous system, are intermediate circumstances.' Similar experiments are best made upon small birds. Now, it is well known to bird fanciers that goldfinches, canary-birds, &c. can be made to remain motionless for some time by simply holding them firmly for a moment and then letting them go. 'Here, in my hand,' said Czermak, in his lecture, 'is a timid bird, just brought from market. If I place it on its back, and hold its head with my left hand, keeping it still for a few seconds, it will lie perfectly motionless after I have removed my hands, as if charmed, breathing heavily, and without making any attempt to change its position or to fly away.' ('Two of the birds,' says the report, 'were treatedin this manner without effect; but the third, a siskin, fell into a sleeping condition, and remained completely immovable on its back, until pushed with a glass tube, when it awoke and flew actively around the room.')
Also when a bird is in a sitting position, and the head is pressed slightly back, the bird falls into a sleeping condition, even though the eyes had been open. 'I have often noticed,' says Czermak, 'that the birds under these circumstances close their eyes for a few minutes or even a quarter of an hour, and are more or less fast asleep.'
Lastly, as to the chalk-line in Kircher's experiment. Czermak found, as already said, that pigeons do not become motionless, as happens to hens, if merely held firmly in the hand, and their heads and necks pressed gently on the table. Nor can they be hypnotised like small birds in the experiment last mentioned. 'That is,' he says, 'I held them with a thumb placed on each side of the head, which I bent over a little, while the other hand held the body gently pressed down upon the table; but even this treatment, which has such an effect on little birds, did not seem to succeed at first with the pigeons: almost always they flew away as soon as I liberated them and entirely removed my hands.' But he presently noticed that the short time during which the pigeons remained quiet lengthened considerably when the finger only of the hand which held the head was removed. Removing the hand holding the body made no difference, but retaining the other hand near the bird's head, the hand made all the difference in the world. Pursuing the line of research thus indicated, Czermak found to his astonishment that the fixing of the pigeon's look on the finger placed before its eyes was the secret of the matter. In order to determine the question still more clearly, he tried the experiment on a pigeon which he had clasped firmly by the body in his left hand, but whose neck and head were perfectly free. 'I held one finger of my right hand steadily before the top of its beak,—and what did I see? The first pigeon with which I made this attempt remained rigid and motionless, as if bound, for several minutes, before the outstretched forefinger of my right hand! Yes, I could take my left hand, with which I had held the bird, and again touch the pigeon without waking it up; the animal remained in the same position while I held my outstretched finger still pointing towards the beak.' 'The lecturer,' says the report, 'demonstrated this experiment in the most successful manner with a pigeon which was brought to him.'
Yet it is to be noticed that among animals as among men, different degrees of subjectivity exist. 'Individual inward relations,' says Czermak, 'as well as outward conditions, must necessarily exercise some disturbing influence, whether the animal will give itself up to the requisite exertions of certain parts of its brain with more or less inclination or otherwise. We often see, for example, that a pigeon endeavours to escape from confinement by a quick turning of its head from side to side. In following these singular and characteristic movements of the head and neck, with the finger held before the bird, one either gains his point, or else makes the pigeon so perplexed and excited that it at last becomes quiet, so that, if it is held firmly by the body and head, it can be forced gently down upon the table. As Schopenhauer says of sleeping, "The brain must bite." I will also mention here, by the way, that a tame parrot, which I have in my house, can be placed in this sleepy condition by simply holding the finger steadily before the top of its beak.'
I may cite here a singular illustration of the effect of perplexity in the case of a creature in all other respects much more naturally circumstanced than the hens, pigeons, and small birds of Czermak's experiments. In the spring of 1859, when I was an undergraduate at Cambridge, I and a friend of mine were in canoes on the part of the Cam which flows through the College grounds. Here there are many ducks and a few swans. It occurred to us, not, I fear, from any special scientific spirit, but as a matter of curiosity, to inquirewhether it was possible to pass over a duck in a canoe. Of course on the approach of either canoe a duck would try to get out of the way on one side or the other; but on the course of the canoe being rapidly changed, the duck would have to change his course. Then the canoe's course would again be changed, so as to compel the duck to try the other side. The canoe drawing all the time nearer, and her changes of course being made very lightly and in quicker and quicker alternation as she approached, the duck would generally get bewildered, and finally would allow the canoe to pass over him, gently pressing him under water in its course. The process, in fact, was a sort of mild keelhauling. The absolute rigidity of body and the dull stupid stare with which some of the ducks met their fate seems to me (now: I was not in 1859 familiar with the phenomena of hypnotism) to suggest that the effect was to be explained as Czermak explains the hypnotism of the pigeons on which he experimented.
We shall be better able now to understand the phenomena of artificial somnambulism in the case of human beings. If the circumstances observed by Kircher, Czermak, Lewissohn, and others, suggest, as I think they do, that animal hypnotism is a form of the phenomenon sometimes called fascination, we may be led to regard the possibility of artificial somnambulism in men as a survival of a property playing in all probability an important and valuable part in the economy of animal life. It is in this direction, at present, that the evidence seems to tend.
The most remarkable circumstance about the completely hypnotised subject is the seemingly complete control of the will of the 'subject' and even of his opinions. Even the mere suggestions of the operator, not expressed verbally or by signs, but by movements imparted to the body of the subject, are at once responded to, as though, to use Dr. Garth Wilkinson's expression, thewhole manwere given to each perception. Thus, 'if the hand be placed,' says Dr. Carpenter, 'upon the top of the head, the somnambulist will frequently, of his ownaccord, draw up his body to its fullest height, and throw his head slightly back; his countenance then assumes an expression of the most lofty pride, and his whole mind is obviously possessed by that feeling. When the first action does not of itself call forth the rest, it is sufficient for the operator to straighten the legs and spine, and to throw the head somewhat back, to arouse that feeling and the corresponding expression to its fullest intensity. During the most complete domination of this emotion, let the head be bent forward, and the body and limbs gently flexed; and the most profound humility then instantaneously takes its place.' Of course in some cases we may well believe that the expressions thus described by Dr. Carpenter have been simulated by the subject. But there can be no reason to doubt the reality of the operator's control in many cases. Dr. Carpenter says that he has not only been an eye-witness of them on various occasions, but that he places full reliance on the testimony of an intelligent friend, who submitted himself to Mr. Braid's manipulations, but retained sufficient self-consciousness and voluntary power to endeavour to exercise some resistance to their influence at the time, and subsequently to retrace his course of thought and feeling. 'This gentleman declares,' says Dr. Carpenter, 'that, although accustomed to the study of character and to self-observation, he could not have conceived that the whole mental state should have undergone so instantaneous and complete a metamorphosis, as he remembers it to have done, when his head and body were bent forward in the attitude of humility, after having been drawn to their full height in that of self-esteem.'
A most graphic description of the phenomena of hypnotism is given by Dr. Garth Wilkinson:—'The preliminary state is that of abstraction, produced by fixed gaze upon some unexciting and empty thing (for poverty of object engenders abstraction), and this abstraction is the logical premiss of what follows. Abstraction tends to become more and more abstract, narrower and narrower; it tends to unity and afterwards to nullity. There, then, the patient is, at thesummit of attention, with no object left, a mere statue of attention, a listening, expectant life; a perfectly undistracted faculty, dreaming of a lessening and lessening mathematical point: the end of his mind sharpened away to nothing. What happens? Any sensation that appeals is met by this brilliant attention, and receives its diamond glare; being perceived with a force of leisure of which our distracted life affords only the rudiments. External influences are sensated, sympathised with, to an extraordinary degree; harmonious music sways the body into graces the most affecting; discords jars it, as though they would tear it limb from limb. Cold and heat are perceived with similar exaltation; so also smells and touches. In short,the whole man appears to be given to each perception. The body trembles like down with the wafts of the atmosphere; the world plays upon it as upon a spiritual instrument finely attuned.'