An enormous crowd assembled on the famous cricket-ground at Lord’s to
witness the final battle between England and Australia. The record
attendance was registered for the opening day of a match, and it was
with difficulty that the crowd could be kept within bounds. It reminded
old race-goers of a Derby Day to see so many vehicles driving in the
direction of the ground. Although the sky was dull and threatening,
this did not damp the ardour of the spectators. The members’ pavilion
was thronged, and also the reserved stands and enclosure. A dense mass
of people filled every available standing and sitting place in the
cheaper portion of the ground. No sooner were the doors opened than a
rush commenced for the best seats, which were secured by those who had
been patiently waiting from an early hour in the morning.
Outside the high walls it was more like a fair than anything else.
Itinerant vendors of a variety of eatables did a good trade, and
evaded the attentions of the police with remarkable skill. No sooner
did the man in blue move a coster on than he ‘bobbed up serenely’ in a
different place. Portraits of the cricketers were hawked about, though
the celebrities depicted would have had some difficulty in recognising
their own faces. The excitement over the match was tremendous. The
bus-drivers discussed the chances of success with the passengers
nearest to them, and many of the cabmen wore the English colours on
their whips. Morning editions of the evening papers met with a ready
sale, and every scrap of news anent the great match was pounced upon
with avidity.
Before noon a few drops of rain fell, and with the gathering clouds
the faces of the people became sombre, and their looks gloomy. A heavy
shower would make a good deal of difference, and none knew it better
than the members of the teams.
Robert Foster stood inside the pavilion, with his son and Will Murch,
anxiously scanning the clouds for a sign of a break. They had not long
to wait. The blue sky became visible, and the sun chased the dulness
away and shed its brilliant rays on the scene.
And what a sight it was as they looked from the pavilion over the
ground! A dense mass of people lined the enclosure, and even pressed
over the boundary line in some parts of the ground. To the left of the
pavilion the enclosure was gay with the costumes of the ladies, and
they seemed as eager for the game to commence as any of the male sex.
Doris Foster accompanied Muriel Wylde and her mother, and they were
escorted by Will Brown and Ben Brody, who felt slightly uncomfortable
in a hard hat and a pair of gloves--not to mention a new suit, made by
a fashionable tailor. They occupied seats in the first enclosure, and
had an excellent view of the ground.
The mere mention of Lord’s conjures up wonderful feats in the cricket
field, and recalls memories of men who played on its green sward. A
glance round the pavilion shows the members have not been unmindful of
their doughty champions of the game. It gives the history of cricket,
its rise and progress, in a pictorial form, to look at the various
prints, paintings, and engravings hanging on the walls. The ‘tall hat’
period is well represented, and young cricketers may well be forgiven
for smiling at the costumes of the men who made the game what it is.
The smile, however, was not at the men--there was nothing but praise
for them. Old stagers waxed eloquent over the doings of the cricketers
of their younger days. They vowed there were as good men then as now,
although they had to confess the game had improved--and consequently
the players also.
A gray-headed veteran came up to Robert Foster and said:
‘We had big crowds in our day, but nothing like this,’ and he waved his
hand in a comprehensive sweep round the circle of faces.
Edgar was introduced to the veteran, who said:
‘I remember the first time I saw your father play. He was about your
age then, and he _was_ a bat. I’ll never forget it. It was on this very
ground--Surrey against Middlesex. He won the match, my boy. I’d sooner
you were for us than against us to-day, if you can play as well as your
father did then.’
‘I recollect that match,’ said Robert; ‘but you give me too much credit
when you say I won it for the team.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ replied the veteran. ‘Ask any man who saw it, and
I’ll guarantee he tells the same story. Is it not recorded in the
annals of cricket?’
‘We’ve lost the toss,’ said Edgar. ‘The usual luck at Lord’s.’
‘I expect they will bat,’ said Robert Foster.
‘I doubt it,’ said Edgar. ‘The ground is a bit tricky and in favour of
the bowlers. Grace has gone to have a good look at the wicket. He knows
there are no chances to be thrown away.’
The tall figure of the English captain, with his black, bushy beard,
stood out boldly against the background of people. It was in the days
when Grace was at his best, and Dr. E. M. was another of the valiant
brothers who took the field; Shaw and Morley, the famous Notts bowlers,
were in their prime, and Daft had not yet retired from the field--when
such grand men as A. P. Lucas, A. G. Steel, A. Lyttelton and Lord
Harris were seen at nearly every big match. It was an anxious moment
for everyone as Grace consulted with two of his team as to whether they
should bat.
At last the decision came. The Englishmen were to bat, and a mighty
cheer went up from the crowd.
‘The pitch is all right, or Grace would not have gone in,’ said Robert
Foster.
‘Perhaps he thinks it will wear all right for their innings, and leave
us with the ground cut up,’ said Murch.
People settled down in their places, and made themselves as comfortable
as possible. As the Australians filed on the ground, headed by Murch,
cheer after cheer was given them--for the ‘Kangaroo boys’ had become
very popular.
The commencement of a great match is always fraught with intense
excitement. How will the game go? Will there be a stand for the first
wicket?
The brothers Grace, W. G. and E. M., came out to face the bowling, and
again the cheers broke out from all parts of the ground. Two good men
and good bats were going to open the game for the honour of Old England
against the attack of her young country’s sons.
The English captain went through the preliminaries usual with him.
He calmly surveyed the field, noting with keen eyes how each man was
placed. He took his block, and then patted the ground in a fatherly way
with his bat, as though requesting the pitch to behave well to him.
Then he put his bat under his arm and leisurely fastened his glove.
Having put himself to rights, he was ready for the attack.
The battle had commenced, and it soon became lively. Both men were in
form, and the Australians had plenty of leather-hunting. Boundary hits
did not come quite so quickly as might have been expected, as the ball
seemed to fall rather dead, and did not roll far. When an adjournment
for luncheon was made, both Graces were still in, and the crowd was
jubilant.
Murch was not at all depressed. He never gave in, or had the faintest
intention of doing so.
‘After luncheon will do it,’ he said. ‘There will be a separation then.’
He was right, for in the first over E. M. Grace had his stumps upset.
It was, however, uphill work fighting against such a powerful batting
team. Man after man came in and piled up a score, and the captain was
not got rid of until he had placed one hundred and fifty-two to his
credit. He had played a grand innings, and fully maintained his great
reputation.
The Englishmen were not disposed of until they had piled up the large
score of four hundred and two.
‘What do you think of it now?’ asked Robert Foster of Edgar.
‘It is a big score, but we may equal it,’ he replied.
‘I admire your pluck, but I hardly think you will do that,’ was the
remark of a friend of Mr. Foster’s.
They did not do it. The Australians made an unfortunate start, for
Murch, their great bat and popular captain, was caught before he had
scored.
Edgar made a fair show, and put on thirty runs before he was bowled;
but none of the team made a good stand, and the innings closed, for
a hundred and fifty runs--two hundred and fifty-two behind their
opponents. This was a terribly black outlook for the Australians, and
everyone was disappointed at their display.
Muriel Wylde felt vexed, and she knew Edgar would be much cut up about
it. He came to see her, and tried to put the best face he could on the
matter.
‘We must avoid a one innings defeat, anyhow,’ he said; ‘I cannot make
it out at all. It is sheer bad luck, for the wicket was good. I think
when Murch got out for a duck it made our fellows feel a bit nervous.’
‘You played well enough,’ said Brody.
‘That you did,’ said Will Brown; ‘but I’m afraid you are in for an
awful dressing.’
‘No telling what may happen in cricket,’ said Edgar. ‘I have seen an
even worse match than this pulled out of the fire.’
‘Then you have not lost hope?’ said Muriel.
‘By no means,’ said Edgar. ‘I have a presentiment we shall make a big
score, and prove what we really can do.’
Robert Foster was proud of the display of the home eleven, but he could
not help feeling a pang of regret that the Australians had not made a
better show.
Will Murch was determined to have his revenge for the catch that
disposed of him, and said he felt like making a big score. He got his
men together, and talked the matter over.
‘I’ll go in first again,’ he said, ‘with Bannman, and we must make a
stand somehow. If we can make a big score the other side may be got out
without getting the requisite runs, or they may not have time to get
them, and we shall make a draw of it.’
Edgar Foster was to go in at the fall of the first wicket, and Murch
was very anxious every man should do his level best.
‘They will be very down in the mouth about it at home,’ he said. ‘We
can all imagine how they felt when they saw the poor stand we made;
we’ll try and change the tune for them. Remember, lads, that every run
tells. Run carefully, but run well, and then it is surprising how a
few singles tot up and swell the total. Bat carefully until you are
set, and when you feel safe don’t spare them. They have given us some
leather-hunting, let us return the compliment.’
The cheery words of their captain put heart into the team, and it was
with considerable confidence they saw Murch and Bannman walk to the
wickets to commence the second innings.
Edgar went over to his father to watch the start, and his heart beat
fast as he saw Murch prepare to take the first over.
‘This is better, much better,’ said Robert Foster, as Murch hit a
couple of fours in his first over. ‘We can afford to be generous, and
wish you all to do well this innings.’
Bannman played a cautious game, and left the bulk of the run-getting to
his captain. After half an hour’s play there was a change of bowling.
Will Murch treated the new-comer with scant ceremony.
To Edgar’s great delight the Australian captain hit the bowling all
over the field. His powerful drives and clean cuts elicited well
deserved applause, which was freely bestowed.
‘If you go on at this rate,’ said Robert Foster, ‘it will put a very
different complexion on the game. Your men always did play a good
uphill fight.’
‘And will do so to-day,’ said Edgar. ‘By Jove! that was a narrow shave.’
Bannman made a miss-hit, and the ball went near to the fielder at
point, but he just failed to hold it, although he touched it.
When the second day’s play ended, Murch and Bannman were not out, and
the score stood at one hundred and thirty, of which number Will Murch
had made eighty-four.