Perrysburg Journal

A HAMMOCK SCHOOL.

How to Learn to Swim Without Going Near the Water.

Madge was determined to know how to swim. To be sure, there was no water within many miles of her home, but a fortnight was shortly to be spent by her close to that most lovely swimming ground, the Long Island sound. She had firmly made up her mind that, in all the bravery of her new bathing suit, she would calmly walk in waist deep and then strike off, swimming like a frog, before the eyes of the astonished family, all this to take place the very first day they all went bathing together.

Such a picture, in the mind's eye, formed the most delightful surprise that any girl of 12 could possibly imagine, but how was it to be managed, with no place for practice? This is the very question I am setting out to answer, for, as Madge accomplished her design and became an expert swimmer, and yet obeyed the command, "Don't go near the water," there is no reason why other girls—and boys—should not prepare themselves for summer fun, and also lose forever all fear of drowning, by practicing the same means used by her.

This wonderful swimming school was held on the back veranda; the apparatus that held her in position to practice to a nicety the most practical leg and arm movement imaginable was nothing more nor less than an ordinary hammock. The only teacher was a silent one, consisting of a few directions she had read, given by Dr. Walker, written out and hung where she could consult them. When I first saw this figure, with its arms and legs moving strangely, it seemed as if the back veranda had suddenly become the playground of a crazy girl, instead of the Madge who, from a toddler of two, had made this the jolliest sort of a spot as soon as mild weather began. My confidence in this rather tomboy child was very great, so I uttered not a sound, but watched and listened. There she was in her gymnasium suit, face downward and just now was practicing the leg stroke. The legs were tucked under the abdomen and (first stroke) then both quickly flung out, wide apart (second stroke), just as one has seen a frog do—who, by the way, is the best swimming master in the world. The last stroke was to draw the legs together while still out straight with all the strength the practicing swimmer possessed. One, two, three, she counted, and the legs were submitting so well to the training that I longed to try it myself. Why had I never thought to have my boys learn swimming this way? What a blessing such practical work would have been on a rainy day.

As I watched the gyrating legs with a kind of fascination they suddenly became still, and now the arms were in play with a motion reminding one of the movement of oars. Madge by this time knew I was there and beckoned me nearer.

"Now watch my hands and arms, aunty," and with the palms downward she held them to her chest, the elbows close to her sides. "First movement," she called out; then out shot the arms forward, side by side: now "second movement" was called, then with the hands turned thumbs downward she swept them as far as possible away out into the sea of air, and "third movement" was accomplished. Over and over again the girl practiced these movements, and day after day it was kept up until arms and legs became flexible and were ready to take as naturally as ducks to water. The exercise was soon followed out with as little thought as one gives when walking "leg over leg as the dog went to Dover."

After all, this is the true secret of learning to swim—to use the arms and legs in the water with as little thought as one gives to their motion on land, and if this has been attained while beating against the air only think of the pleasure of using these motions in the cool, clear water! Once the leg stroke is conquered in learning to swim more than half the battle is fought; the arms afterward fall in naturally to their share in the water propelling. Dr. Walker says this may be attained to perfection by those who can't manage to practice in a hammock by lying across the wooden footboard of a bedstead, using a pillow under the body and clutching the mattress with the hands to preserve the proper balance. Beware lest anyone come across such a scholar in such a swimming school, for he will surely be clapped into a straightjacket and carried off to Bedlam. Practicing in due seclusion, however, there is no reason why young and old should not come to their holiday-making this year armed—yes, and legged—for speeding through the water as speedily as on a bicycle going downhill.—Emily Ford, in Chicago Inter Ocean.