The brilliant stand made by the Australian captain and Bannman caused
intense excitement, and the attendance on the final day of the match
was enormous. Hundreds of people who anticipated a tame finish, and a
one-sided affair, changed their opinions upon reading the score in the
morning papers. Contrary to expectation, the third day’s play promised
to be the most interesting of all.
When Murch and Bannman commenced again, every stroke was followed
with interest. Runs came freely, and Bannman was not disposed of
until he had made seventy. Then Edgar Foster joined his captain, and
the reception he received on going to the wicket proved his father’s
prowess in the field was not forgotten. Foster, in days gone by, was a
name to conjure by, and people remembered Robert Foster’s feats with
the bat.
Muriel Wylde felt anxious, and whispered to Doris Foster:
‘I do hope Edgar will make a score.’
‘He will try to do so, because he knows it will give you pleasure,’
said Doris.
Murch spoke to Edgar when he went in to bat, and gave him a hint or two
as to the bowling. Edgar played the last ball of the over, and then
Murch scored a couple in the next over.
The bowling was splendid. Both Shaw and Morley were doing their level
best. Edgar found Alf Shaw could deceive a batsman, and put in a swift
ball when least expected. He scored a single off the last ball, and
then faced Morley. Edgar was partial to swift bowling, as Morley soon
discovered, and the over proved productive.
‘I’m getting well set,’ thought Edgar. ‘I believe I’m in for a good
score.’
The runs came freely, and it was not until he had made a hundred and
sixty runs that Murch was caught.
He had done splendidly, and his return to the pavilion was a triumph.
Royle joined Edgar and played steadily.
Grace took the ball and faced Edgar. The English captain knew Edgar
was a free hitter, and placed his men far out. Then he tried to tempt
him to send a catch. Edgar narrowly escaped being caught at the second
ball of the over, and this made him careful. The last ball, however,
was one he could not resist hitting. He drove it straight as a dart,
and it landed over the boundary. It was a tremendous hit, and caused an
outburst of cheering.
The next exciting moment came when E. M. Grace made a magnificent catch
at long-on from a very high hit by Royle. He caught the ball with one
hand, having had to run for it, and, much to Royle’s surprise, held it.
Donnell came next, and then there was some big hitting. Both batsmen
knocked the bowling about terribly. When Edgar had scored fifty there
was a hearty cheer, and he appeared likely to make as big a score as
his captain. The Australians were playing a splendid uphill game,
and keeping up their reputation as ‘men who never know when they are
beaten.’
At the fall of the seventh wicket the two hundred and fifty-two runs
had been wiped off, and they were over fifty to the good.
The game now became most exciting, as the Englishmen knew if they did
not quickly dispose of the Australians the game would end in a draw.
Each man worked hard, and the fielding and bowling was splendid.
Still Edgar Foster kept on increasing his score, and passed his
century, to the great delight of his father and his friends.
Connor was now in, and his hits were marvellous. The giant--he was
about six feet four--lifted the balls all over the ground, and safely
out of the reach of the fielders.
When the last wicket fell Edgar Foster was a hundred and fifty, not
out, and the score was five hundred and two runs, or two hundred and
fifty ahead of the Englishmen.
Such a grand uphill game it was generally acknowledged had never been
played before. Edgar Foster was overwhelmed with congratulations, and
Muriel Wylde showed her delight on her face.
‘It was splendid, Edgar,’ she said. ‘I believe you would have made two
hundred or more.’
‘I felt like it,’ said Edgar. ‘I knew you were watching me, and that
put me on my mettle.’
It seemed well nigh a hopeless task for the Englishmen to get two
hundred and fifty runs in the short time at their disposal. However,
they lost no time in making a start to try to do so.
Strange to say, they did not bat in anything like the form shown in
their first innings. Three wickets fell for under fifty runs, W. G.
Grace being unluckily run out.
The Australians fielded with wonderful skill. Hardly a ball got past
them, and many boundary hits were saved.
Seven wickets fell for a hundred runs, and now it was the turn of the
Australians to endeavour to get their opponents out before the call of
time.
The Englishmen had reckoned with certainty upon a draw, but they now
had to fight hard to avert defeat, and even a draw would not be in
their favour.
‘It is a most extraordinary game,’ said Robert Foster. ‘The glorious
uncertainty of cricket again. You never can tell how it will go until
a match is over, no matter how favourable it may look for a particular
side.’
He had joined the ladies, and they were all watching the game with
interest, taking keen note of every good stroke and every brilliant
piece of fielding.
Will Brown looked at his watch.
‘They have only half-an-hour left,’ he said. ‘I should not wonder if
they were got out in that time.’
The thousands of spectators also wondered how the game would end.
Ten minutes before time Morley joined Shaw at the wickets. They were
not good bats--anything but that, and the crowd knew it. Morley hit
out recklessly and made a couple of fours, and Shaw played steadily.
The Australians did all in their power to separate them, but, as luck
would have it, they failed to do so. The game ended in a draw, which
practically amounted to a victory for the Australians, as the English
eleven required over seventy runs to win.
The result of this match was the subject of conversation for some days,
and the grand struggle made by the Australians was commented upon on
all sides.
At Elm Lodge the event was duly celebrated, and, as Robert Foster
promised, the party made a night of it.
When the tour of the Australians was finished they left for home, but
Edgar Foster did not return with them. At his father’s request he
remained at home.
‘What will Eva think when she finds that I have not returned?’ said
Edgar. ‘I promised her I would go back.’
‘We must try and get her over here,’ said his father. ‘I shall feel
lonely when you and Doris have left me, and Eva will be nice company
for me.’
‘She is a dear little thing,’ said Edgar, ‘and you will love her as
much as though she were your own child.’
‘Do you think every soul on board the _Distant Shore_, with the
exception of Eva and yourself, was drowned?’ said Robert Foster.
‘There can hardly be any doubt about it,’ said Edgar. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I have received a rather mysterious letter,’ said Robert
Foster; ‘it bears the Sydney postmark, and contains news that may
interest you. I will show it you.’
Robert Foster unlocked his desk, and put his hand in one of the
pigeon-holes. He looked through the letters, but could not find the one
for which he searched.
‘Strange,’ he said, ‘I am sure I put it there.’
‘You may have dropped it, or torn it up by mistake,’ said Edgar.
‘Perhaps you remember the contents?’
‘The bulk of them,’ said his father. ‘The letter stated that the writer
had been on a cruise to the South Sea Islands, where he met a man who
had been saved from a wreck. He believes, from hints the man, who
was very reticent, let fall, that he was saved from the wreck of the
_Distant Shore_. When he returned to Sydney he met with Wal Jessop,
who was much interested in what he was told about this man. Wal Jessop
described Captain Manton, and my correspondent says he firmly believes
from this description it is Captain Manton who was saved and is now in
the South Seas. He did not tell Wal Jessop this, because the man seemed
to have a great desire to be left alone, and had no wish to let people
know he had been saved from the wreck of the _Distant Shore_. It is a
most extraordinary story, and I wish I had the letter. I must have torn
it up by mistake. It was careless of me to do so.’
Edgar was amazed at what his father said, and replied:
‘I can hardly credit this story. How any man could live if washed out
to sea on such a night I do not know. If it is Captain Manton, surely
he would have made some sign before this. It cannot possibly be Eva’s
father, for I saw him standing on the deck as the ship struck, and from
the look on his face, and the way he waved farewell to me, I knew he
meant to go down with her.’
‘He may have been washed out to sea, and found a spar or something
to support him. I have a peculiar feeling that this man who was
saved from the wreck is Manton. I have had strange dreams about him
since I received the letter, and I am not a dreamer as a rule, or a
superstitious man. I knew Manton well; he was a proud man, and very
sensitive. If he be the man so strangely saved, I think it is precisely
what he would do--to hide himself away in some lonely spot, in order to
make people think him dead.’
‘But surely he would come forward and tell the story of the wreck,’
said Edgar. ‘No blame attaches to him; he did his utmost to save the
ship, and went down with her when he found he could not do so. Then
there is Eva. He would want to see his child again; surely he would
hear that she had been saved.’
‘He may not have heard. In such a lonely spot one hears very little
news from the outer world.’
‘Do you really place any faith in your mysterious correspondent’s
letter?’
‘I do, Edgar, and for this reason: I feel no man would have written
such a letter had he not been convinced of the truth of its contents.’
‘But why should he write to you?’ asked Edgar.
‘Wal Jessop probably told him how you saved Eva from the wreck, and it
would occur to him that you might wish to know what he thought he had
discovered. He no doubt wrote to me, thinking I would tell you if I
thought it well to do so,’ said Robert Foster.
‘It may be as you surmise,’ said Edgar. ‘I shall never be easy in my
mind until I have seen the man who wrote the letter, and heard all he
has to tell.’
‘That would mean another trip to Australia,’ said his father with a
smile. ‘What would Muriel say to that?’
‘I do not think she would object to my going, for we are not to be
married, as you know, until she is twenty-one. Her mother will not
consent to part with her before that time. In any case I should not
have the journey for nothing, because I could bring Eva back with me.’
‘So you could,’ said Robert Foster. ‘We should be put down as a couple
of foolish fellows if anyone knew what you went to Sydney for.’
‘I shall tell no one, with the exception of Muriel,’ said Edgar. ‘She
will not think it foolish.’
‘I ought to tell you more,’ said Robert Foster. ‘There was a sketch in
the letter, and it bore a strange resemblance to Manton. I cannot make
out where the letter has got to.’
‘Was it a sketch made on the spot, or drawn from memory?’
‘Drawn in Sydney, I believe the writer said.’
‘Then it may have been drawn from Wal Jessop’s description,’ said Edgar.
‘Possibly, but I hardly think so. It seemed to me to be a sketch just
as the man who drew it remembered to have seen him. I did not tell you
of this before, because I thought it might upset you during the tour.’
‘I should have thought a good deal about it, no doubt,’ said Edgar;
‘and perhaps it was as well you did not tell me.’
Edgar pondered over what his father told him, and the more he thought
over it, the more impossible it seemed to him that anyone, least of all
Captain Manton, should have been saved from the wreck of the _Distant
Shore_.
The spirit of adventure, however, was still strong within him, and this
letter his father had received would serve as an excuse, if a poor
one, to revisit Australia. He communicated his intention to Muriel,
and when she heard the reason for his setting out again she did not
consider it so improbable as Edgar himself did.
So it was arranged that Edgar should again voyage to the Colonies, and
Ben Brody was glad of a comrade to return with him. Will Brown, having
obtained a situation in a large shipping office, decided to remain in
England, and Doris Foster was consoled by the thought that if Edgar
left again, she would still have a companion of her own age to whom she
was much attached.