CHAPTER VII.
ENGLAND VERSUS SCOTLAND.
The rectorial election had come and had gone, but another great eventhad taken its place. It was the day of the England and Scotland Rugbymatch.
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 thereremained but a suspicion of it, floating like a plume, above thefrowning walls of Edinburgh Castle, and twining a fairy wreath round theunfinished columns of the national monument upon the Calton Hill.The broad stretch of the Prince's Street Gardens, which occupy thevalley between the old town and the new, looked green and spring-like,and their fountains sparkled merrily in the sunshine. Their wideexpanse, well-trimmed and bepathed, formed a strange contrast to therugged piles of grim old houses which bounded them upon the other sideand the massive grandeur of the great hill beyond, which lies like acrouching lion keeping watch and ward, day and night, over the ancientcapital of the Scottish kings. Travellers who have searched the wholeworld round have found no fairer view.
So thought three of the genus who were ensconced that forenoon in thebow windows of the _Royal Hotel_ and gazed across the bright greenvalley at the dull historical background beyond. One we already know, astoutish gentleman, ruddy-faced and black-eyed, with check trousers,light waistcoat and heavy chain, legs widely parted, his hands in hispockets, and on his face that expression of irreverent and criticalapproval with which the travelled Briton usually regards the works ofnature. By his side was a young lady in a tight-fitting travellingdress, 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 scenebefore her. An elderly placid-faced woman sat in a basket chair in therecess, and looked up with quiet loving eyes at the swift play ofemotions which swept over the girl's eager features.
"Oh, Uncle George," she cried, "it is really too heavenly. I cannotrealize 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'scoffee, or listening to Mr. Girdlestone as he reads the morningquotations."
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 yourguardian to let you go. I should have given it up in despair--I reallyshould--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 littlegush of gratitude.
"Pooh, pooh, Kate! But as to Girdlestone, he is perfectly right. If Ihad 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_ tohim after dinner every day, and I know all about stock and Consols andthose American railways which are perpetually rising and falling. Oneof them went wrong last week, and Ezra swore, and Mr. Girdlestone saidthat the Lord chastens those whom He loves. He did not seem to likebeing chastened a bit though. But how delightful this is! It is likeliving 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 facewas sweet rather than beautiful, but an artist would have revelled inthe delicate strength of the softly rounded chin, and the quick brightplay of her expression. Her hair, of a deep rich brown, with a bronzeshimmer where a sunbeam lay athwart it, swept back in those thickluxuriant coils which are the unfailing index of a strong womanlynature. Her deep blue eyes danced with life and light, while herslightly _retrousse_ nose and her sensitive smiling mouth all spoke ofgentle good humour. From her sunny face to the dainty little shoewhich peeped from under the trim black skirt, she was an eminentlypleasant object to look upon. So thought the passers-by as they glancedup at the great bow window, and so, too, thought a young gentleman whohad driven up to the hotel door, and who now bounded up the steps andinto the room. He was enveloped in a long shaggy ulster, whichstretched down to his ankles, and he wore a velvet cap trimmed withsilver 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 andwish us luck. What a blessing that it is pretty warm. It is miserablefor 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 mothercountry," 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 strainedhis leg, and we shall have to play Blair, of the Institution, at fullback--not so good a man by a long way. The odds are five to four on theEnglish this morning. They are said to be the very strongest lot thatever played in an International match. I have brought a cab with me, sothe moment you are ready we can start."
There were others besides the students who were excited about the comingstruggle. All Edinburgh was in a ferment. Football is, and always hasbeen, the national game of Scotland among those who affect violentexercise, while golf takes its place with the more sedately inclined.There is no game so fitted to appeal to a hardy and active people asthat composite exercise prescribed by the Rugby Union, in which fifteenmen pit strength, speed, endurance, and every manly attribute theypossess in a prolonged struggle against fifteen antagonists. There isno room for mere knack or trickery. It is a fierce personal contest inwhich the ball is the central rallying point. That ball may be kicked,pushed, or carried; it may be forced onwards in any conceivable mannertowards the enemy's goal. The fleet of foot may seize it and bysuperior speed thread their way through the ranks of their opponents.The heavy of frame may crush down all opposition by dead weight. Thehardiest and most enduring must win.
Even matches between prominent local clubs excite much interest inEdinburgh and attract crowds of spectators. How much more then when thepick of the manhood of Scotland were to try their strength against thevery cream of the players from the South of the Tweed. The roads whichconverged on the Raeburn Place Grounds, on which the match was to beplayed, were dark with thousands all wending their way in one direction.So thick was the moving mass that the carriage of the Dimsdale party hadto go at a walk for the latter half of the journey, In spite of theobjurgations of the driver, who, as a patriot, felt the responsibilitywhich rested upon him in having one of the team in his charge, and thenecessity there was for delivering him up by the appointed time.Many in the crowd recognized the young fellow and waved their hands tohim or called out a few words of encouragement. Miss Kate Harston andeven the doctor began to reflect some of the interest and excitementwhich showed itself on every face around them. The youth alone seemedto be unaffected by the general enthusiasm, and spent the time inendeavouring to explain the principles of the game to his faircompanion, 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 acrowd, 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 playin 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,
ofcourse, by the forwards of the other side. Now, immediately behind theforwards 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 ballis forced past it is their duty to pick it up and make away with it likelightning. If they are very fast they may succeed in carrying it a longway before they are caught--'tackled,' as we call it. It is their dutyalso to keep their eye on the quarter-backs of the enemy, and to tacklethem 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 thetackling comes to their lot, for a good runner of the other side canoften get past the quarters, and then the halves have got to bring himdown. Behind the half-backs is a single man--the back. He is the lastresource 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 notlistening."
"Oh yes, I am," said Kate. As a matter of fact the great throng and thenovel sights were distracting her so much that she found it hard toattend to her companion's disquisition.
"You'll understand it quickly enough when you see it," the studentremarked cheerily. "Here we are at the grounds."
As he spoke the carriage rattled through a broad gateway into a largeopen grassy space, with a great pavilion at one side of it and a stakedenclosure about two hundred yards long and a hundred broad, with agoal-post at each end. This space was marked out by gaily colouredflags, and on every side of it, pressing against the barrier the wholeway round, was an enormous crowd, twenty and thirty deep, with othersoccupying every piece of rising ground or coign of vantage behind them.The most moderate computation would place the number of spectators atfifteen thousand. At one side there was a line of cabs in thebackground, and thither the carriage of the Dimsdales drove, while Tomrushed off with his bag to the pavilion to change.
It was high time to do so, for just as the carriage took up its positiona hoarse roar burst from the great multitude, and was taken up again andagain. It was a welcome to the English team, which had just appearedupon the ground. There they were, clad in white knickerbockers andjerseys, with a single red rose embroidered upon their breasts; asgallant-looking a set of young fellows as the whole world could produce.Tall, square-shouldered, straight-limbed, as active as kittens and aspowerful as young bullocks, it was clear that they would take a lot ofbeating. They were the pick of the University and London clubs, with afew players from the northern counties; not a man among them whose namewas not known wherever football was played. That tall, long-leggedyouth is Evans, the great half-back, who is said to be able to send adrop-kick further than any of his predecessors in the annals of thegame. There is Buller, the famous Cambridge quarter, only ten stone inweight, but as lithe and slippery as an eel; and Jackson, the otherquarter, is just such another--hard to tackle himself, but as tenaciousas a bulldog in holding an adversary. That one with the straw-colouredhair is Coles, the great forward; and there are nine lads of metal whowill stand by him to-day through thick and thin. They were aformidable-looking lot, and betting, which had been five on four to themin the morning, showed symptoms of coming to five to three. In themeantime, by no means abashed at finding themselves the cynosure of somany eyes, the Englishmen proceeded to keep up their circulation byleap-frog and horse-play, for their jerseys were thin and the windbleak.
But where were their adversaries? A few impatient moments slowlypassed, and then from one corner of the ground there rose a secondcheer, which rippled down the long line of onlookers and swelled into amighty shout as the Scotchmen vaulted over the barrier into the arena.It was a nice question for connoisseurs in physical beauty as to whichteam had the best of it in physique. The Northerners in their bluejerseys, with a thistle upon their breasts, were a sturdy, hard-bittenlot, averaging a couple of pounds more in weight than their opponents.The latter were, perhaps, more regularly and symmetrically built, andwere pronounced by experts to be the faster team, but there was amassive, gaunt look about the Scotch forwards which promised well fortheir endurance. Indeed, it was on their forwards that they principallyrelied. The presence of three such players as Buller, Evans, andJackson made the English exceptionally strong behind, but they had nomen in front who were individually so strong and fast as Miller, Watts,or Grey. Dimsdale and Garraway, the Scotch half-backs, and Tookey, thequarter, whose blazing red head was a very oriflamme wherever thestruggle waxed hottest, were the best men that the Northerners couldboast of behind.
The English had won the choice of goals, and elected to play with whatslight wind there was at their backs. A small thing may turn the scalebetween two evenly balanced teams. Evans, the captain, placed the ballin front of him upon the ground, with his men lined all along on eitherside, as eager as hounds in leash. Some fifty yards in front of him,about the place where the ball would drop, the blue-vested Scotsgathered in a sullen crowd. There was a sharp ring from a bell, amurmur of excitement from the crowd. Evans took two quick stepsforward, and the yellow ball flew swift and straight, as if it had beenshot 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 balltucked well under his arm, his head down, running like the wind, withhis nine forwards in a dense clump behind him, ready to bear down allopposition, while the other five followed more slowly, covering a widerstretch of ground. He met the Englishmen who had started full cry afterthe ball the moment that their captain had kicked it. The first hurledhimself upon him. Grey, without slackening his pace, swerved slightly,and he missed him. The second he passed in the same way, but the thirdcaught quickly at his legs, and the Scot flew head over heels and waspromptly collared. Not much use collaring him now! In the very act offalling he had thrown the ball behind him. Gordon, of Paisley, caughtit 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 struggledmanfully for some paces before he too was brought to the ground.This pretty piece of "passing" had recovered for the Scotch all theadvantage lost by the English kick-off, and was greeted by roars ofapplause from the crowd.
And now there is a "maul" or "scrimmage." Was there ever another racewhich did such things and called it play! Twenty young men, so blendedand inextricably mixed that no one could assign the various arms andlegs to their respective owners, are straining every muscle and fibre oftheir bodies against each other, and yet are so well balanced that thedense clump of humanity stands absolutely motionless. In the centre isan inextricable chaos where shoulders heave and heads rise and fall. Atthe edges are a fringe of legs--legs in an extreme state of tension--ever pawing for a firmer foothold, and apparently completely independentof the rest of their owners, whose heads and bodies have bored their wayInto the _melee_. The pressure in there is tremendous, yet neither sidegives an inch. Just on the skirts of the throng, with bent bodies andhands on knees, stand the cool little quarter-backs, watching thegasping giants, and also keeping a keen eye upon each other. Let theball emerge near one of these, and he will whip it up and be ten pacesoff before those in the "maul" even know that it is gone. Behind themagain are the halves, alert and watchful, while the back, with his handsin his pockets, has an easy consciousness that he will have plenty ofwarning 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 islost and an inch is gained. The crowd roar with delight. "Mauled,Scotland!" "Mauled England!" "England!" "Scotland!" The shoutingwould 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 presenceof her old play-mate in the opposite ranks. The doctor is as muchdelighted as the youngest man on the
ground, and the cabman waves hisarms and shouts in a highly indecorous fashion. The two pounds'difference in weight is beginning to tell. The English sway back a yardor two. A blue coat emerges among the white ones. He has fought hisway through, but has left the ball behind him, so he dashes round andputs his weight behind it once more. There is a last upheaval, the maulis split in two, and through the rent come the redoubtable Scotchforwards with the ball amongst them. Their solid phalanx has scatteredthe English like spray to right and left. There is no one in front ofthem, 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 fewyards in advance of the leading Scot when he springs forward at it.He seizes it an instant before his adversary, and with the same motionwrithes himself free from the man's grasp. Now is the time for thecrack Cambridge quarter-back to show what he is made of. The crowd yellwith excitement. To right and left run the great Scotch forwards,grasping, slipping, pursuing, and right in the midst of them, as quickand as erratic as a trout in a pool, runs the calm-faced little man,dodging one, avoiding another, slipping between the fingers of twoothers. Surely he is caught now. No, he has passed all the forwardsand 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; wellcollared, indeed!" The little quarter-back had come to an end of hiscareer, for Tom had been as quick as he and had caught him round thewaist as he attempted to pass, and brought him to the ground.The cheers were hearty, for the two half-backs were the only Universitymen in the team, and there were hundreds of students among thespectators. The good doctor coloured up with pleasure to hear his boy'sname bellowed forth approvingly by a thousand excited lungs.
The play is, as all good judges said it would be, very equal. For thefirst forty minutes every advantage gained by either side had beenpromptly neutralized by a desperate effort on the part of the other.The mass of struggling players has swayed backwards and forwards, butnever more than twenty or thirty yards from the centre of the ground.Neither goal had been seriously threatened as yet. The spectators failto see how the odds laid on England are justified, but the "fancy" abideby their choice. In the second forty it is thought that the superiorspeed and staying power of the Southerners will tell over the heavierScots. There seems little the matter with the latter as yet, as theystand in a group, wiping their grimy faces and discussing the state ofthe game; for at the end of forty minutes the goals are changed andthere is a slight interval.
And now the last hour is to prove whether there are good men bred in thehungry North as any who live on more fruitful ground and beneath warmerskies. If the play was desperate before, it became even more so now.Each member of either team played as if upon him alone depended theissue of the match. Again and again Grey, Anderson, Gordon, and theirredoubtable phalanx of dishevelled hard-breathing Scots broke away withthe ball; but as often the English quarter and half-backs, by theirsuperior speed, more than made up for the weakness of their forwards,and carried the struggle back into the enemy's ground. Two or threetime Evans, the long-kicker, who was credited with the power of reachingthe goal from almost any part of the ground, got hold of the ball, buteach time before he could kick he was charged by some one of hisadversaries. At last, however, his chance came. The ball trickled outof a maul into the hands of Buller, who at once turned and threw it tothe half-back behind him. There was no time to reach him. He took aquick glance at the distant goal, a short run forward, and his long limbswung through the air with tremendous force. There was a dead silenceof suspense among the crowd as the ball described a lofty parabola.Down it came, down, down, as straight and true as an arrow, just grazingthe cross-bar and pitching on the grass beyond, and the groans of a fewafflicted patriots were drowned in the hearty cheers which hailed theEnglish goal.
But the victory was not won yet. There were ten minutes left for theScotchmen to recover this blow or for the Englishmen to improve upon it.The Northerners played so furiously that the ball was kept down near theEnglish goal, which was only saved by the splendid defensive play oftheir backs. Five minutes passed, and the Scots in turn were beingpressed back. A series of brilliant runs by Buller, Jackson, and Evanstook the fight into the enemy's country, and kept it there. It seemedas if the visitors meant scoring again, when a sudden change occurred inthe state of affairs. It was but three minutes off the calling of timewhen Tookey, one of the Scotch quarter-backs, got hold of the ball, andmade a magnificent run, passing right through the opposing forwards andquarters. He was collared by Evans, but immediately threw the ballbehind him. Dimsdale had followed up the quarter-back and caught theball when it was thrown backwards. Now or never! The lad felt that hewould sacrifice anything to pass the three men who stood between him andthe English goal. He passed Evans like the wind before the half-backcould disentangle himself from Tookey. There were but two now to opposehim. The first was the other English half-back, a broad-shouldered,powerful fellow, who rushed at him; but Tom, without attempting to avoidhim, lowered his head and drove at him full tilt with such violence thatboth men reeled back from the collision. Dimsdale recovered himselffirst, 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 betweenTom and it, though half a dozen more were in close pursuit. The Englishback caught him round the waist, while another from behind seized thecollar 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 tokick the ball, which flickered feebly up into the air and just clearedthe English bar. It had scarcely touched the ground upon the other sidewhen the ringing of the great bell announced the termination of thematch, though its sound was entirely drowned by the tumultuous shoutingof the crowd. A thousand hats were thrown into the air, ten thousandvoices joined in the roar, and meanwhile the cause of all this outcrywas still sitting on the ground, smiling, it is true, but very pale, andwith one of his arms dangling uselessly from his shoulder.
Well, the breaking of a collar-bone is a small price to pay for thesaving of such a match as that. So thought Tom Dimsdale as he made forthe pavilion, with his father keeping off the exultant crowd upon oneside and Jack Garraway upon the other. The doctor butted a path throughthe dense half-crazy mob with a vigour which showed that his son'stalents in that direction were hereditary. Within half an hour Tom wassafely ensconced in the corner of the carriage, with his shoulder bracedback, _secundum artem_, and his arm supported by a sling. How quietlyand deftly the two women slipped a shawl here and a rug there to savehim from the jarring of the carriage! It is part of the angel nature ofwoman that when youth and strength are maimed and helpless they appealto 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 eyesfilled with ineffable compassion as she bent over him; and he, catchingsight of that expression, felt a sudden new unaccountable spring of joybubble up in his heart, which made all previous hopes and pleasures seemvapid and meaningless. The little god shoots hard and straight when hismark is still in the golden dawn of life. All the way back he lay withhis head among the cushions, dreaming of ministering angels, his wholesoul steeped in quiet contentment as it dwelt upon the sweet earnesteyes which had looked so tenderly into his. It had been an eventful daywith 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 inlove.