ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.
The rectorial election had come and had gone, but another great event
had taken its place. It was the day of the England and Scotland Rugby
match.
Better weather could not have been desired. The morning had been hazy,
but as the sun shone out the fog had gradually risen, until now there
remained but a suspicion of it, floating like a plume, above the
frowning walls of Edinburgh Castle, and twining a fairy wreath round the
unfinished columns of the national monument upon the Calton Hill.
The broad stretch of the Prince's Street Gardens, which occupy the
valley between the old town and the new, looked green and spring-like,
and their fountains sparkled merrily in the sunshine. Their wide
expanse, well-trimmed and bepathed, formed a strange contrast to the
rugged piles of grim old houses which bounded them upon the other side
and the massive grandeur of the great hill beyond, which lies like a
crouching lion keeping watch and ward, day and night, over the ancient
capital of the Scottish kings. Travellers who have searched the whole
world round have found no fairer view.
So thought three of the genus who were ensconced that forenoon in the
bow windows of the _Royal Hotel_ and gazed across the bright green
valley at the dull historical background beyond. One we already know, a
stoutish gentleman, ruddy-faced and black-eyed, with check trousers,
light waistcoat and heavy chain, legs widely parted, his hands in his
pockets, and on his face that expression of irreverent and critical
approval with which the travelled Briton usually regards the works of
nature. By his side was a young lady in a tight-fitting travelling
dress, with trim leather belt and snow-white collar and cuffs.
There was no criticism in her sweet face, now flushed with excitement--
nothing but unqualified wonder and admiration at the beautiful scene
before her. An elderly placid-faced woman sat in a basket chair in the
recess, and looked up with quiet loving eyes at the swift play of
emotions which swept over the girl's eager features.
"Oh, Uncle George," she cried, "it is really too heavenly. I cannot
realize that we are free. I can't help fearing that it is all a dream,
and that I shall wake up to find myself pouring out Ezra Girdlestone's
coffee, or listening to Mr. Girdlestone as he reads the morning
quotations."
The elder woman stroked the girl's hand caressingly with her soft,
motherly palm. "Don't think about it," she murmured.
"No, don't think about it," echoed the doctor. "My wife is quite right.
Don't think about it. But, dear me, what a job I had to persuade your
guardian to let you go. I should have given it up in despair--I really
should--if I had not known that you had set your heart upon it."
"Oh, how good you both are to me!" cried the girl, in a pretty little
gush of gratitude.
"Pooh, pooh, Kate! But as to Girdlestone, he is perfectly right. If I
had you I should keep you fast to myself, I promise you. Eh, Matilda?"
"That we would, George."
"Perfect tyrants, both of us. Eh, Matilda?"
"Yes, George."
"I am afraid that I am not very useful in a household," said the girl.
"I was too young to look after things for poor papa. Mr. Girdlestone,
of course, has a housekeeper of his own. I read the _Financial News_ to
him after dinner every day, and I know all about stock and Consols and
those American railways which are perpetually rising and falling. One
of them went wrong last week, and Ezra swore, and Mr. Girdlestone said
that the Lord chastens those whom He loves. He did not seem to like
being chastened a bit though. But how delightful this is! It is like
living in another world."
The girl was a pretty figure as she stood in the window, tall, lithe,
and graceful, with the long soft curves of budding womanhood. Her face
was sweet rather than beautiful, but an artist would have revelled in
the delicate strength of the softly rounded chin, and the quick bright
play of her expression. Her hair, of a deep rich brown, with a bronze
shimmer where a sunbeam lay athwart it, swept back in those thick
luxuriant coils which are the unfailing index of a strong womanly
nature. Her deep blue eyes danced with life and light, while her
slightly _retrousse_ nose and her sensitive smiling mouth all spoke of
gentle good humour. From her sunny face to the dainty little shoe
which peeped from under the trim black skirt, she was an eminently
pleasant object to look upon. So thought the passers-by as they glanced
up at the great bow window, and so, too, thought a young gentleman who
had driven up to the hotel door, and who now bounded up the steps and
into the room. He was enveloped in a long shaggy ulster, which
stretched down to his ankles, and he wore a velvet cap trimmed with
silver stuck carelessly on the back of his powerful yellow curled head.
"Here is the boy!" cried his mother gaily.
"How are you, mam dear?" he cried, stooping over her to kiss her.
"How are you, dad? Good morning, Cousin Kate. You must come down and
wish us luck. What a blessing that it is pretty warm. It is miserable
for the spectators when there is an east wind. What do you think of it,
dad?"
"I think you are an unnatural young renegade to play against your mother
country," said the sturdy doctor.
"Oh, come, dad! I was born in Scotland, and I belong to a Scotch club.
Surely that is good enough."
"I hope you lose, then."
"We are very likely to. Atkinson, of the West of Scotland, has strained
his leg, and we shall have to play Blair, of the Institution, at full
back--not so good a man by a long way. The odds are five to four on the
English this morning. They are said to be the very strongest lot that
ever played in an International match. I have brought a cab with me, so
the moment you are ready we can start."
There were others besides the students who were excited about the coming
struggle. All Edinburgh was in a ferment. Football is, and always has
been, the national game of Scotland among those who affect violent
exercise, while golf takes its place with the more sedately inclined.
There is no game so fitted to appeal to a hardy and active people as
that composite exercise prescribed by the Rugby Union, in which fifteen
men pit strength, speed, endurance, and every manly attribute they
possess in a prolonged struggle against fifteen antagonists. There is
no room for mere knack or trickery. It is a fierce personal contest in
which the ball is the central rallying point. That ball may be kicked,
pushed, or carried; it may be forced onwards in any conceivable manner
towards the enemy's goal. The fleet of foot may seize it and by
superior speed thread their way through the ranks of their opponents.
The heavy of frame may crush down all opposition by dead weight. The
hardiest and most enduring must win.
Even matches between prominent local clubs excite much interest in
Edinburgh and attract crowds of spectators. How much more then when the
pick of the manhood of Scotland were to try their strength against the
very cream of the players from the South of the Tweed. The roads which
converged on the Raeburn Place Grounds, on which the match was to be
played, were dark with thousands all wending their way in one direction.
So thick was the moving mass that the carriage of the Dimsdale party had
to go at a walk for the latter half of the journey, In spite of the
objurgations of the driver, who, as a patriot, felt the responsibility
which rested upon him in having one of the team in his charge, and the
necessity there was for delivering him up by the appointed time.
Many in the crowd recognized the young fellow and waved their hands to
him or called out a few words of encouragement. Miss Kate Harston and
even the doctor began to reflect some of the interest and excitement
which showed itself on every face around them. The youth alone seemed
to be unaffected by the general enthusiasm, and spent the time in
endeavouring to explain the principles of the game to his fair
companion, whose ignorance of it was comprehensive and astounding.
"You understand," he said, "that there are fifteen players on each side.
But it would not do for the whole of these fifteen men to play in a
crowd, for, in that case, if the other side forced the ball past them,
they would have nothing to fall back upon--no reserves, as it were.
Therefore, as we play the game in Scotland, ten men are told off to play
in a knot. They are picked for their weight, strength, and endurance.
They are called the forwards, and are supposed to be always on the ball,
following it everywhere, never stopping or tiring. They are opposed, of
course, by the forwards of the other side. Now, immediately behind the
forwards are the two quarter-backs. They should be very active fellows,
good dodgers and fast runners. They never join in the very rough work,
but they always follow on the outskirts of the forwards, and if the ball
is forced past it is their duty to pick it up and make away with it like
lightning. If they are very fast they may succeed in carrying it a long
way before they are caught--'tackled,' as we call it. It is their duty
also to keep their eye on the quarter-backs of the enemy, and to tackle
them if they get away. Behind them again are the two half-backs--or
'three-quarters,' as they call them in England. I am one of them.
They are supposed to be fast runners too, and a good deal of the
tackling comes to their lot, for a good runner of the other side can
often get past the quarters, and then the halves have got to bring him
down. Behind the half-backs is a single man--the back. He is the last
resource when all others are past. He should be a sure and long kicker,
so as to get the ball away from the goal by that means--but you are not
listening."
"Oh yes, I am," said Kate. As a matter of fact the great throng and the
novel sights were distracting her so much that she found it hard to
attend to her companion's disquisition.
"You'll understand it quickly enough when you see it," the student
remarked cheerily. "Here we are at the grounds."
As he spoke the carriage rattled through a broad gateway into a large
open grassy space, with a great pavilion at one side of it and a staked
enclosure about two hundred yards long and a hundred broad, with a
goal-post at each end. This space was marked out by gaily coloured
flags, and on every side of it, pressing against the barrier the whole
way round, was an enormous crowd, twenty and thirty deep, with others
occupying every piece of rising ground or coign of vantage behind them.
The most moderate computation would place the number of spectators at
fifteen thousand. At one side there was a line of cabs in the
background, and thither the carriage of the Dimsdales drove, while Tom
rushed off with his bag to the pavilion to change.
It was high time to do so, for just as the carriage took up its position
a hoarse roar burst from the great multitude, and was taken up again and
again. It was a welcome to the English team, which had just appeared
upon the ground. There they were, clad in white knickerbockers and
jerseys, with a single red rose embroidered upon their breasts; as
gallant-looking a set of young fellows as the whole world could produce.
Tall, square-shouldered, straight-limbed, as active as kittens and as
powerful as young bullocks, it was clear that they would take a lot of
beating. They were the pick of the University and London clubs, with a
few players from the northern counties; not a man among them whose name
was not known wherever football was played. That tall, long-legged
youth is Evans, the great half-back, who is said to be able to send a
drop-kick further than any of his predecessors in the annals of the
game. There is Buller, the famous Cambridge quarter, only ten stone in
weight, but as lithe and slippery as an eel; and Jackson, the other
quarter, is just such another--hard to tackle himself, but as tenacious
as a bulldog in holding an adversary. That one with the straw-coloured
hair is Coles, the great forward; and there are nine lads of metal who
will stand by him to-day through thick and thin. They were a
formidable-looking lot, and betting, which had been five on four to them
in the morning, showed symptoms of coming to five to three. In the
meantime, by no means abashed at finding themselves the cynosure of so
many eyes, the Englishmen proceeded to keep up their circulation by
leap-frog and horse-play, for their jerseys were thin and the wind
bleak.
But where were their adversaries? A few impatient moments slowly
passed, and then from one corner of the ground there rose a second
cheer, which rippled down the long line of onlookers and swelled into a
mighty shout as the Scotchmen vaulted over the barrier into the arena.
It was a nice question for connoisseurs in physical beauty as to which
team had the best of it in physique. The Northerners in their blue
jerseys, with a thistle upon their breasts, were a sturdy, hard-bitten
lot, averaging a couple of pounds more in weight than their opponents.
The latter were, perhaps, more regularly and symmetrically built, and
were pronounced by experts to be the faster team, but there was a
massive, gaunt look about the Scotch forwards which promised well for
their endurance. Indeed, it was on their forwards that they principally
relied. The presence of three such players as Buller, Evans, and
Jackson made the English exceptionally strong behind, but they had no
men in front who were individually so strong and fast as Miller, Watts,
or Grey. Dimsdale and Garraway, the Scotch half-backs, and Tookey, the
quarter, whose blazing red head was a very oriflamme wherever the
struggle waxed hottest, were the best men that the Northerners could
boast of behind.
The English had won the choice of goals, and elected to play with what
slight wind there was at their backs. A small thing may turn the scale
between two evenly balanced teams. Evans, the captain, placed the ball
in front of him upon the ground, with his men lined all along on either
side, as eager as hounds in leash. Some fifty yards in front of him,
about the place where the ball would drop, the blue-vested Scots
gathered in a sullen crowd. There was a sharp ring from a bell, a
murmur of excitement from the crowd. Evans took two quick steps
forward, and the yellow ball flew swift and straight, as if it had been
shot from a cannon, right into the expectant group in front of him.
For a moment there was grasping and turmoil among the Scotchmen.
Then from the crowd emerged Grey, the great Glasgow forward, the ball
tucked well under his arm, his head down, running like the wind, with
his nine forwards in a dense clump behind him, ready to bear down all
opposition, while the other five followed more slowly, covering a wider
stretch of ground. He met the Englishmen who had started full cry after
the ball the moment that their captain had kicked it. The first hurled
himself upon him. Grey, without slackening his pace, swerved slightly,
and he missed him. The second he passed in the same way, but the third
caught quickly at his legs, and the Scot flew head over heels and was
promptly collared. Not much use collaring him now! In the very act of
falling he had thrown the ball behind him. Gordon, of Paisley, caught
it and bore it on a dozen yards, when he was seized and knocked down,
but not before he had bequeathed his trust to another, who struggled
manfully for some paces before he too was brought to the ground.
This pretty piece of "passing" had recovered for the Scotch all the
advantage lost by the English kick-off, and was greeted by roars of
applause from the crowd.
And now there is a "maul" or "scrimmage." Was there ever another race
which did such things and called it play! Twenty young men, so blended
and inextricably mixed that no one could assign the various arms and
legs to their respective owners, are straining every muscle and fibre of
their bodies against each other, and yet are so well balanced that the
dense clump of humanity stands absolutely motionless. In the centre is
an inextricable chaos where shoulders heave and heads rise and fall. At
the edges are a fringe of legs--legs in an extreme state of tension--
ever pawing for a firmer foothold, and apparently completely independent
of the rest of their owners, whose heads and bodies have bored their way
Into the _melee_. The pressure in there is tremendous, yet neither side
gives an inch. Just on the skirts of the throng, with bent bodies and
hands on knees, stand the cool little quarter-backs, watching the
gasping giants, and also keeping a keen eye upon each other. Let the
ball emerge near one of these, and he will whip it up and be ten paces
off before those in the "maul" even know that it is gone. Behind them
again are the halves, alert and watchful, while the back, with his hands
in his pockets, has an easy consciousness that he will have plenty of
warning before the ball can pass the four good men who stand between the
"maul" and himself.
Now the dense throng sways a little backwards and forwards. An inch is
lost and an inch is gained. The crowd roar with delight. "Mauled,
Scotland!" "Mauled England!" "England!" "Scotland!" The shouting
would stir the blood of the mildest mortal that ever breathed.
Kate Harston stands in the carriage, rosy with excitement and enjoyment.
Her heart is all with the wearers of the rose, in spite of the presence
of her old play-mate in the opposite ranks. The doctor is as much
delighted as the youngest man on the ground, and the cabman waves his
arms and shouts in a highly indecorous fashion. The two pounds'
difference in weight is beginning to tell. The English sway back a yard
or two. A blue coat emerges among the white ones. He has fought his
way through, but has left the ball behind him, so he dashes round and
puts his weight behind it once more. There is a last upheaval, the maul
is split in two, and through the rent come the redoubtable Scotch
forwards with the ball amongst them. Their solid phalanx has scattered
the English like spray to right and left. There is no one in front of
them, no one but a single little man, almost a boy in size and weight.
Surely he cannot hope to stop the tremendous rush. The ball is a few
yards in advance of the leading Scot when he springs forward at it.
He seizes it an instant before his adversary, and with the same motion
writhes himself free from the man's grasp. Now is the time for the
crack Cambridge quarter-back to show what he is made of. The crowd yell
with excitement. To right and left run the great Scotch forwards,
grasping, slipping, pursuing, and right in the midst of them, as quick
and as erratic as a trout in a pool, runs the calm-faced little man,
dodging one, avoiding another, slipping between the fingers of two
others. Surely he is caught now. No, he has passed all the forwards
and emerges from the ruck of men, pelting along at a tremendous pace.
He has dodged one of the Scotch quarters, and outstripped the other.
"Well played, England!" shout the crowd. "Well run, Buller!"
"Now, Tookey!" "Now, Dimsdale!" "Well collared, Dimsdale; well
collared, indeed!" The little quarter-back had come to an end of his
career, for Tom had been as quick as he and had caught him round the
waist as he attempted to pass, and brought him to the ground.
The cheers were hearty, for the two half-backs were the only University
men in the team, and there were hundreds of students among the
spectators. The good doctor coloured up with pleasure to hear his boy's
name bellowed forth approvingly by a thousand excited lungs.
The play is, as all good judges said it would be, very equal. For the
first forty minutes every advantage gained by either side had been
promptly neutralized by a desperate effort on the part of the other.
The mass of struggling players has swayed backwards and forwards, but
never more than twenty or thirty yards from the centre of the ground.
Neither goal had been seriously threatened as yet. The spectators fail
to see how the odds laid on England are justified, but the "fancy" abide
by their choice. In the second forty it is thought that the superior
speed and staying power of the Southerners will tell over the heavier
Scots. There seems little the matter with the latter as yet, as they
stand in a group, wiping their grimy faces and discussing the state of
the game; for at the end of forty minutes the goals are changed and
there is a slight interval.
And now the last hour is to prove whether there are good men bred in the
hungry North as any who live on more fruitful ground and beneath warmer
skies. If the play was desperate before, it became even more so now.
Each member of either team played as if upon him alone depended the
issue of the match. Again and again Grey, Anderson, Gordon, and their
redoubtable phalanx of dishevelled hard-breathing Scots broke away with
the ball; but as often the English quarter and half-backs, by their
superior speed, more than made up for the weakness of their forwards,
and carried the struggle back into the enemy's ground. Two or three
time Evans, the long-kicker, who was credited with the power of reaching
the goal from almost any part of the ground, got hold of the ball, but
each time before he could kick he was charged by some one of his
adversaries. At last, however, his chance came. The ball trickled out
of a maul into the hands of Buller, who at once turned and threw it to
the half-back behind him. There was no time to reach him. He took a
quick glance at the distant goal, a short run forward, and his long limb
swung through the air with tremendous force. There was a dead silence
of suspense among the crowd as the ball described a lofty parabola.
Down it came, down, down, as straight and true as an arrow, just grazing
the cross-bar and pitching on the grass beyond, and the groans of a few
afflicted patriots were drowned in the hearty cheers which hailed the
English goal.
But the victory was not won yet. There were ten minutes left for the
Scotchmen to recover this blow or for the Englishmen to improve upon it.
The Northerners played so furiously that the ball was kept down near the
English goal, which was only saved by the splendid defensive play of
their backs. Five minutes passed, and the Scots in turn were being
pressed back. A series of brilliant runs by Buller, Jackson, and Evans
took the fight into the enemy's country, and kept it there. It seemed
as if the visitors meant scoring again, when a sudden change occurred in
the state of affairs. It was but three minutes off the calling of time
when Tookey, one of the Scotch quarter-backs, got hold of the ball, and
made a magnificent run, passing right through the opposing forwards and
quarters. He was collared by Evans, but immediately threw the ball
behind him. Dimsdale had followed up the quarter-back and caught the
ball when it was thrown backwards. Now or never! The lad felt that he
would sacrifice anything to pass the three men who stood between him and
the English goal. He passed Evans like the wind before the half-back
could disentangle himself from Tookey. There were but two now to oppose
him. The first was the other English half-back, a broad-shouldered,
powerful fellow, who rushed at him; but Tom, without attempting to avoid
him, lowered his head and drove at him full tilt with such violence that
both men reeled back from the collision. Dimsdale recovered himself
first, however, and got past before the other had time to seize him.
The goal was now not more than twenty yards off, with only one between
Tom and it, though half a dozen more were in close pursuit. The English
back caught him round the waist, while another from behind seized the
collar of his jersey, and the three came heavily to the ground together.
But the deed was done. In the very act of falling he had managed to
kick the ball, which flickered feebly up into the air and just cleared
the English bar. It had scarcely touched the ground upon the other side
when the ringing of the great bell announced the termination of the
match, though its sound was entirely drowned by the tumultuous shouting
of the crowd. A thousand hats were thrown into the air, ten thousand
voices joined in the roar, and meanwhile the cause of all this outcry
was still sitting on the ground, smiling, it is true, but very pale, and
with one of his arms dangling uselessly from his shoulder.
Well, the breaking of a collar-bone is a small price to pay for the
saving of such a match as that. So thought Tom Dimsdale as he made for
the pavilion, with his father keeping off the exultant crowd upon one
side and Jack Garraway upon the other. The doctor butted a path through
the dense half-crazy mob with a vigour which showed that his son's
talents in that direction were hereditary. Within half an hour Tom was
safely ensconced in the corner of the carriage, with his shoulder braced
back, _secundum artem_, and his arm supported by a sling. How quietly
and deftly the two women slipped a shawl here and a rug there to save
him from the jarring of the carriage! It is part of the angel nature of
woman that when youth and strength are maimed and helpless they appeal
to her more than they can ever do in the pride and flush of their power.
Here lies the compensation of the unfortunate. Kate's dark blue eyes
filled with ineffable compassion as she bent over him; and he, catching
sight of that expression, felt a sudden new unaccountable spring of joy
bubble up in his heart, which made all previous hopes and pleasures seem
vapid and meaningless. The little god shoots hard and straight when his
mark is still in the golden dawn of life. All the way back he lay with
his head among the cushions, dreaming of ministering angels, his whole
soul steeped in quiet contentment as it dwelt upon the sweet earnest
eyes which had looked so tenderly into his. It had been an eventful day
with the student. He had saved his side, he had broken his collar-bone,
and now, most serious of all, he had realized that he was hopelessly in
love.