played by the whites to-day and as it was played by the redskins half a
century ago. In the first place, the ground was not a level,
smooth-shaven lawn, with a cinder path around it, and beyond that rows
of seats for spectators, but a glade in the forest, interspersed with
stumps of trees, fallen trunks, and clumps of young spruce. The goals
were single poles or stakes, about eight feet high, and the distance
between them varied, in proportion to the number of players, from five
hundred yards to half-a-mile, or even more. Then the crosse was much
shorter, and smaller as to its netting, while among some tribes no
netting at all was used, but instead thereof two sticks having
spoon-shaped ends, between which the ball was caught and carried. As to
the dress of the players--well, the difference is not so very great.
The white men wear a little more on their backs, and canvas shoes
instead of moccasins on their feet, and that is about the sum of the
matter.
I will now try to describe the game as it is played by the Canadian
clubs to-day. The ground should be a smooth, level field one hundred
and fifty yards in length by one hundred in breadth at the very least,
and for championship matches another fifty yards each way is most
desirable. The goals should be one hundred and twenty-five yards apart,
but a lesser distance may be agreed upon between the two captains if the
nature of the ground requires it. The side boundaries are formed by the
fence or ring of spectators, as the case may be. If the ball goes over
the one, or gets tangled up with the other, it has to be brought out and
"faced." The nature of "facing" will be explained further on. The
goals are simply two poles six feet high and six feet apart, and in
front of them, at a lacrosse stick's length from their base, a line is
marked with whitewash, inside of which no attacking player must enter
unless the ball has preceded him. If he enters in advance of the ball,
the goal-keeper may drive him out at the point of his stick, and use any
violence necessary for that purpose.
The side consists of twelve players and a captain. The captain does not
play; he simply runs round and shouts at the other fellows. It looks
like an easy job, but it is far from being so. Upon the captain very
often depends the fate of his team, and he should always be a cool,
clear-headed, experienced player, thoroughly up to all the tricks and
subtleties of the game. The lacrosse-sticks, or crosses as they are
called, are light, strong sticks, made of either hickory, ash, or rock
elm; the Indian preferring the first because of its strength, and the
white man the other two because of their lightness. There is no rule as
to the length of a stick, but practical experience has shown that the
most convenient length is equal to the distance from the toe to the
hollow under the arm. Each player can therefore suit himself in the
matter. The netting is of gut, and should be about twenty-nine inches
long, and must not be more than twelve inches wide at its widest part.
Nine inches is a good average width. There must be no "bag" to the
netting, and to guard against this the referee is required to inspect
the crosses carefully before allowing the match to begin. The ball is
of sponge india-rubber, about half-an-inch less in circumference than a
base-ball, and weighing about four ounces. It should bounce freely, as
this adds greatly to the uncertainty and interest of the game.
All the preliminaries having been satisfactorily arranged, a fine day, a
good ground, and a large gathering of spectators secured, we will
suppose that a championship match between the representative teams of
Montreal and Toronto is about to take place. At the appointed hour the
teams issue from their dressing-rooms amid the cheers of their adherents
and line up before the referee and umpires. That is, they face one
another in two parallel lines, and then the referee proceeds to examine
their crosses lest they should be "bagged," and their shoes lest they
may be spiked. He also addresses a word of warning to them upon the
subject of rough play, which, unhappily, has become far too common of
late. He then dismisses them, and they take up their places on the
field. When this is done they take their positions in pairs, each man
having an opponent opposite him. Thus the Montreal goal-keeper has the
Toronto "inside home" just in front of him; each of the fielders has a
man to "cover" him, as the term is, and there is a Toronto "centre" as
well as a Montreal centre.
The game is begun by the two centre fielders. They half kneel opposite
each other, and lay their crosses on the ground, face to face, every
nerve and muscle tingling with excitement, for much may depend upon
which gets the advantage at the start. This is called "facing the
ball," and when the referee is satisfied that everything is in
readiness, he places the ball between the two crosses, taking care that
it is exactly in the middle. At his shout of "Play," the two centres
strive, by a sharp, sudden twist of the crosse, each to draw the ball in
his own direction. The successful one immediately passes it to the
nearest fielder on his own side, who is instantly pounced upon by his
"cover," and then the fun begins in fierce earnest.
It is quite out of the question to convey through the medium of print
any adequate conception of the interest and excitement that a game of
lacrosse between two well-matched teams affords. For brilliancy of
individual effort as well as of combined team play, for incessant
movement and thrilling situations, for cheer-inspiring displays of
undaunted pluck or untiring fleetness, there is no game that can compare
with it. The ball flies all over the field, now soaring like a bird
through the air, now skimming along the ground like a frightened
field-mouse. First one goal is in danger, and the players crowd so
thickly about it that you cannot see the goal-keeper. Then a long throw
from his skilful stick sends the rubber away off to the side, or perhaps
almost down to the other goal, and two dangers are over for the time.
Next an artful dodger will catch the ball on his crosse, and turning,
twisting, dodging this way and that, dropping the ball when checked,
only to pick it up again deftly after the checker is eluded, will, amid
the shouts and cries of spectators and players alike, carry it clear
down the whole length of the field, and perhaps, if he be very lucky,
send a "grounder" between the goal-posts ere the goal-keeper has time to
recover from the surprise of his onset.
In the throwing, catching, checking, running, and dodging which the game
calls for, every muscle and sinew is given fullest exercise, and every
man in the team has a share of the work. There is no "loafing" possible
in lacrosse, as there is in base-ball and cricket, when the out-field
are getting nothing to do. Even the goal-keeper has plenty of hard
work, for whenever the ball goes behind the goal-posts he must go after
it, and struggle for it until he can send it either to one of his own
side or far down the field. Indeed, the ability to play well "behind the
flags" is as important a quality in a goal-keeper as an argus-eyed
watchfulness over what is going on in front of him.
While individual brilliancy--"grand-stand play," as it is sometimes
called--is all very well in its way, good team-playing is far more
effective in the end, and it is just because the whites excel in the
latter that they have become more than a match for the redskins, from
whom they have adopted the game. One of the prettiest sights imaginable
is to see two expert players "tobying" to one another for perhaps half
the length of the field before they can be stopped. This tobying
consists in their running along ten or fifteen yards apart, and throwing
the ball from one to the other so soon as there is danger of the one
carrying it being checked.
Another valuable accomplishment in a lacrosse-player is knowing how and
when to "uncover"--that is, to stop away from the opponent who has been
deputed to cover him, and consequently be free to snatch up the ball the
moment it comes his way. When one team understands this better than the
other, the result is to convey the impression that it must have more
players, because there always seem to be two of them at least wherever
the rubber is.
The game is won by the ball being thrown between the goal-posts, not
higher than an imaginary line drawn across their tops. It must, of
course, be thrown through from in front. Formerly a match was decided
by the winning of three games, "best three out of five;" but in one of
the two lacrosse associations now existing in Canada a change has been
made, and unless one team wins three games straight, play must be
continued for two hours, and then the team having the most games wins
the match. The reason of the change was that in some cases a team would
take three games from their opponents in a few minutes, and at this the
spectators grumbled.
The most interesting recent event in the history of the game in Canada
is the visit of the famous Toronto twelve to Great Britain. They are a
splendid lot of players, and seem to have it all their own way, as might
be expected. The fact, however, that there are enough lacrosse clubs in
the Old Country to make it worth their while to go over, proves that the
game is making progress round the world. Indeed, it has been already
heard of from Australia, India, China, and other far-away quarters of
the globe.
In the United States it is spreading rapidly, and the time cannot be far
distant when we shall have international struggles for supremacy in
lacrosse as well contested as we already have in some other sports.
Some years ago a team from the United States crossed the Atlantic to
contend against their British cousins, and succeeded in winning every
match they played but one.
*A PILLOW-SLIP FULL OF APPLES.*
"_A. & H. O. A. S._
"_The arch-room--ten o'clock to-night. Bring a sheet and pillow-slip.
ABRACADABRA._"
Charlie Draper gazed at the piece of paper containing these simple words
and mysterious signature with mingled feelings of pride and
trepidation--pride because it was the first time since his coming to
Twin Elm Academy that he had been the recipient of one of these
much-prized missives, and trepidation because he had very vague notions
of what his accepting the invitation it bore might entail.
He was a new boy, just finishing his first month at the academy, and
being of rather reserved disposition, had been slow in forming
acquaintances. Indeed, but for an incident that suddenly brought him
into prominence, he might have made still poorer progress in this
direction than he did.
A few days before this communication from "Abracadabra," a party of the
boys were bathing in the river near Deep Pool. A youngster who could
not swim rashly ventured too near the pool, and disappeared in its dark
depths. There arose an immediate chorus of cries from his companions,
but no intelligent effort was being made at rescue, when Charlie Draper,
who had not been of the party, came rushing up, threw off his cap and
coat, plunged into the pool, and brought out the drowning boy at the
first try.
Of course he was a hero at once, and the leaders of the "A. & H. O. A.
S."--the secret society of the academy, of which Charlie had already
heard much, and admittance to which was the desire of his heart--lost no
time in deciding that he was beyond question one of the right sort, and
that he must become one of them forthwith. Hence the short but
significant summons whose contents have been already given.
Promptly at ten o'clock, Charlie, in his stocking feet, and provided
with pillow-slip and sheet, crept cautiously up the long stairs that led
to the arch-room.
All the students, except those who belonged to the society, were already
sound asleep, and the two tutors who lived in the building, knowing
nothing of this exception, and imagining that every cot was duly
occupied, had settled down for a comfortable smoke and chat in the cozy
sitting-room of Mr. Butler, whose quarters were farthest away from the
arch-room.
Upon all this the members of the society had astutely reckoned, and the
coast was accordingly clear for them to do as they pleased as long as
they did not make too much noise about it.
Bearing his note of invitation as a passport, Charlie approached the
door of the arch-room. Suddenly out of its shadow a masked and draped
figure darted, and putting its hand to his throat, inquired in a very
husky voice,--
"What doest thou here?"
For answer, Charlie held up his sheet and slip of paper.
"'Tis well. Pass on," said the husky mystery.
And with palpitating heart Charlie tiptoed through the door.
The moment he passed the portal, two other masked and draped figures
seized him by either arm, and hurried him before a fourth figure, who
occupied a sort of throne at the far corner of the room.
"Whom do you bring before me?" asked this potentate, in the husky tone
which seemed to be characteristic of the society.
"Charles Draper, may it please your sublimity," was the reply,
accompanied by a reverent obeisance, in which Charlie was directed to
join.
"He hath been well recommended to us. Let him be put to the tests. If
he doth survive them and will take the oaths, he may be admitted into
membership."
Then followed a lot of the usual elaborate nonsense such as boys delight
to invent and execute in connection with their secret societies; and at
the end of fifteen minutes or so, Charlie, flushed and excited, but
triumphant, was handed a gown and mask, and informed by the figure on
the throne, whose official title was the same as the signature to the
invitation, that he was duly admitted into the membership of the
society, whose full name he now learned was The Ancient and Honourable
Order of Apple Stealers.
The next piece of information he received rather staggered him. It was
that, according to the rules of the society, he must at once justify the
confidence its members had reposed in him by proving his prowess as an
apple-stealer.
The August pippins in Squire Ribston's orchard were reported to be ready
to drop into one's mouth. Upon the novice, Charles Draper, devolved the
perilous duty of securing a generous sample of those juicy golden
globes, so that the ancient and honourable order might pronounce
judgment on their excellence.
So soon as he understood this, Charlie began to wish he had not been in
such a hurry to join the society. He had been at Twin Elm long enough
to learn that old Squire Ribston's dogs were as good in their way as his
apples were in theirs, and he did not at all relish the prospect of
having an argument with them in their own territory at the dead of
night.
But he was too stout of heart to back out, or even to show any signs of
flinching, as his sublimity proceeded to give him his instructions.
Each member had brought a sheet with him. These were quickly converted
into a rope, which reached from the window of the arch-room to the
ground.
Stuffing the pillow-slip into his pocket, and putting on his shoes,
Charlie, amid the whispered commands of his companions--to "Be sure and
fill the pillow-slip," "Don't call the dogs bad names," "Give the
compliments of the order to the squire if you happen to meet him," and
other inspiring injunctions--climbed carefully out of the window, and
let himself down hand over hand to the ground.
Pausing only to kiss his hand circus-fashion to the faces at the window,
he hastened off noiselessly over the dew-laden grass in the direction of
the squire's orchard.
He knew his route well enough, and the distance was not quite
half-a-mile, so that a few minutes' quick walking brought him to his
destination.
The Ribston mansion stood well back from the road, and the orchard lay
to its rear.
Charlie therefore thought it well to leave the road before he reached
the gate, and to take a slant through the fields that brought him up to
the orchard fence about fifty yards behind the house.
Here he crouched down, and listened, with strained ears and throbbing
pulses, for the slightest sound that might indicate the proximity of a
dog. But not a growl, or bark, or even sniff, broke the clover-scented
stillness.
As it chanced, he had hit upon a particularly favourable night for his
enterprise, the good squire being wont to spend his Friday evenings with
admirable regularity at Doctor Aconite's, where the genial rector of St.
David's and important Judge Surrebutter helped to make up a quartette
that could play whist by the hour without so much as winking.
For the sake of company on the way home the squire always took his dogs
with him, so that until his return, which was never later than eleven
o'clock, the Ribston premises were entirely unguarded.
Encouraged by the perfect silence, Charlie gently got over the fence,
and making his way to the August pippin-tree, set diligently to work to
fill his pillow-slip.
The boughs were bending low beneath their weight of juicy fruit, and he
had no need to shake them. There were far more apples within easy reach
of his hand than he could carry home.
Five minutes sufficed to fill the pillow-slip, and then, with a vast
sigh of relief, he crawled back over the fence, hastened across the
field, and came to the fence beside the road.
Knowing nothing of the squire's whist club, he took it for granted that
all danger was practically over, and without looking to right or left,
he tossed his bag over the fence and vaulted lightly after it.
Hardly had his feet touched the ground than a sharp, suspicious bark
came from only a few yards away, and the next moment a collie dog,
followed closely by a fox-terrier, bounded toward him, barking fiercely,
while looming dimly through the darkness the portly form of their owner
could be descried, as he demanded angrily,--
"Who are you? and what are you about?"
Charlie could have answered both questions easily enough had he chosen
to do so. But the time did not seem to him altogether favourable, and
instead of a verbal reply he picked up his pillow-slip, threw it over
his shoulder, and took to his heels, with the dogs after him in full
cry.
"Catch him, Grip; catch him, Oscar!" shouted the squire to his dogs, as
he joined in the chase with all his might.
Although hardly in condition for a sprinting match, Squire Bibston had
been renowned for fleetness of foot in his younger days, and he showed a
surprising turn of speed as he dashed down the road after the fleeing
boy.
Now, had Charlie dropped his heavy pillow-slip, he might have distanced
his human pursuer easily, and as the dogs seemed to be content with
barking, and to have no idea of biting, the irate squire would never
have known more about the daring raider of his orchard than his strong
suspicion that it was one of those rascally Twin Elm boys.
But to let go his burden was the last thing Charlie thought of doing.
To his daring, determined nature only two alternatives presented
themselves--escape with his booty or capture red-handed.
So away he sped, holding tight to the pillow-case, the collie and
terrier punctuating his strenuous strides with short, sharp barks.
After his first furious spurt, the squire's speed rapidly slackened
until it became little more than a laboured jog-trot; and by the time he
reached the entrance to the long avenue leading from the main road to
the academy, Charlie was under the window and jerking the sheet-rope by
way of a signal to the boys to haul him up.
Unfortunately, they were so occupied with some of their nonsense that
they did not at first observe the signal, and precious moments were lost
before they responded, so that Charlie's anxious ears caught the sound
of the squire's panting as he toiled gamely along the avenue.
[Illustration: (Charlie climbing the sheet-rope)]
"Hurry up, boys!" he called, as loudly as he dared; "the squire's after
me!"
The boys responded with a sudden jerk that snatched him off the ground,
and nearly made him drop the apples. Then up he went more steadily, foot
by foot.
But he was not half-way to the window when the squire, guided by his
clever dogs, arrived upon the scene, and in spite of the semi-darkness
his keen old eyes took in the situation at a glance.
"Aha, you young scoundrel! I have you now. Take that!"
And he hurled his stout oak cane at the ascending boy. The result
greatly exceeded his expectations, for the stick, going straight to its
mark, gave Charlie such a stinging blow that he involuntarily let go of
the weighty pillow-slip, and down it dropped full upon the squire's
pate, crushing his tall gray beaver over his eyes and sending him
headlong to the ground.
It was some moments before he could pick himself up again, and by that
time Charlie was safe inside the window. Beside himself with wrath, the
squire assailed the front door with furious blows, bringing both the
tutors out in startled haste.
To them, as well as his breathless, disordered condition permitted, he
explained himself, and was at once invited to enter, while Mr. Butler
went for Professor Rodwell.
On the professor's arrival all the boys were summoned to appear in the
school-room, and presently in they flocked, all but the members of the
A. & H. O. A. S. (who, by the way, had managed to get into their
night-gowns with marvellous celerity), manifesting their innocence by
their unmistakably startled, sleepy faces.
"Are all the boys here?" asked the squire suspiciously, on finding every
one arrayed in his night-gown.
Professor Rodwell counted heads carefully.
"Yes, squire, all the boys are present," he replied.
"Humph!" snapped the squire. "A clever trick; but they can't pull the
wool over my eyes in that way."
An anxious, expectant hush following, Professor Rodwell addressed the
boys in grave yet not unkindly tones:--
"Young gentlemen, it is clear beyond possibility of denial that some of
you have been guilty of robbing Squire Ribston's orchard. Now, I dare
say, it will not be difficult to trace out the culprits, but I would
much prefer that they should acknowledge their wrong-doing of their own
accord. I therefore wait to give them the opportunity."
There was but a moment's pause, and then Charlie Draper, stepping
forward, said in a steady voice, looking full at Professor Rodwell,--
"It was I that took Squire Ribston's apples. Let me bear all the
punishment."
A look of mingled surprise and relief came into the professor's troubled
face, and even the squire's anger-wrinkled countenance seemed to take on
a softer expression, touched with approval of this frank avowal.
"Charles Draper, I am very sorry," said Professor Rodwell slowly.
"Although you've been but a short time with us, I had thought better
things of you than this."
Charlie's eyes fell and his lip began to tremble. He was already
feeling deep regret for his part in the matter, and these gentle words
touched him to the heart.
He was just about to express his contrition and ask for sentence upon
himself, when the squire exclaimed,--
"Charlie Draper! is that Charlie Draper?"
"It is," replied Professor Rodwell, wondering why the squire asked.
"The same boy that saved my little grandson Hughie from drowning in Deep
Pool a week ago?"
"Yes, squire, the same boy," replied the professor, now beginning to
catch the old gentleman's drift.
"Then," cried the squire, who was as quick of generous impulse as he was
of temper, jumping from his seat and advancing toward Charlie, "I don't
want this thing to go any further.--Here's my hand, my brave lad.
You're welcome to every apple on the tree, if you'll only come after
them in honest, manly fashion, and not be playing such foolish pranks,
skulking through the fields when you ought to be abed.--Come, now,
Professor Rodwell, let's cry quits. I'm willing to let the matter rest.
Boys will be boys, and if your boys will promise never to go out robbing
orchards again, I'll promise to let 'em into my orchard on Saturday
afternoons and take every apple they find in the grass so long as the
crop lasts."
For a moment the boys were so bewildered by these astounding words that
they could hardly credit their ears.
Then a spontaneous cheer burst from their throats, and the upshot of the
whole matter was that they heartily gave the promise the squire asked;
and the professor, relieved beyond measure at the turn affairs had
taken, dismissed them with the understanding that the night's doings
should be no further inquired into, provided good behaviour was
maintained in future.
The pledge thus given, taking away from the A. & H. O. A. S. its
principal reason for existing under that name, did not, however, put an
end to its career. It simply altered its title and amended its ways,
and continued to flourish as vigorously as before, with Charlie Draper
as one of its most popular and active members.
*LOST ON LAKE ST. LOUIS.*