Glengarry Schooldays

R >> Ralph Connor >> Glengarry Schooldays


"Any plan, captain?" asked the master, after they had talked for some
minutes, and all grew quiet.

"What do you think, sir?" said Hughie.

"O, let us hear from you. You're the captain."

"Well," said Hughie, slowly, and with deliberate emphasis, "I think we
are going to win." (Yells from all sides.) "At any rate we ought to
win, for I think we have the better team." (More yells.) "What I mean is
this, I think we are better in combination play, and I don't think they
have a man who can touch the master."

Enthusiastic exclamations, "That's right!" "Better believe it!" "Horo!"

"But we have a big fight before us. And that Dan Munro's a terror. The
only change I can think of is to open out more and fall back from their
goal for a little while. And then, if I can hold Dan--"

Cries of "You'll hold him all right!" "You are the lad!"

"Everybody should feed the master. They can't stop him, any of them.
But I would say for the first while, anyway, play defense. What do you
think, sir?" appealing to the master.

"I call that good tactics. But don't depend too much upon me; if any man
has a chance for a run and a shot, let him take it. And don't give up
your combination in your forward line. The captain is quite right in
seeking to draw them away from their goal. Their defense territory is
too full now. Now, what I have noticed is this, they mainly rely upon
Dan Munro and upon their three big defense men. For the first fifteen
minutes they will make their hardest push. Let us take the captain's
advice, fall back a little, and so empty their defense. But on the
whole, keep your positions, play to your men, and," he added, with a
smile, "don't get too mad."

"I guess they will be making some plans, too," said Thomas Finch,
slowly, and everybody laughed.

"That's quite right, Thomas, but we'll give them a chance for the first
while to show us what they mean to do."

At this point the minister came in, looking rather gloomy.

"Well, Mr. Craven, rather doubtful outlook, is it not?"

"O, not too bad, sir," said the master, cheerfully.

"Three to one. What worse do you want?"

"Well, six to one would be worse," replied the master. "Besides, their
first two games were taken by a kind of fluke. We didn't know
their play. You will notice they have taken only one in the last
three-quarters of an hour."

"I doubt they are too big for you," continued the minister.

"Isn't altogether size that wins in shinny," said Mr. Craven. "Hughie
there isn't a very big man, but he can hold any one of them."

"Well, I hope you may be right," said the minister. "I am sorry I have
to leave the game to see a sick man up Kenyon way."

"Sorry you can't stay, sir, to see us win," said Craven, cheerfully,
while Hughie slipped out to see his mother before she went.

"Well, my boy," said his mother, "you are playing a splendid game, and
you are getting better as you go on."

"Thanks, mother. That's the kind of talk we like," said Hughie, who
had been a little depressed by his father's rather gloomy views. "I'm
awfully sorry you can't stay."

"And so am I, but we must go. But we shall be back in time for supper,
and you will ask all the team to come down to celebrate their victory."

"Good for you, mother! I'll tell them, and I bet they'll play."

Meantime the team from the Front had been having something of a
jollification in their quarters. They were sure of victory, and in spite
of their captain's remonstrances had already begun to pass round the
bottle in the way of celebration.

"They're having something strong in there," said little Mac McGregor.
"Wish they'd pass some this way."

"Let them have it," said Johnnie Big Duncan, whose whole family ever
since the revival had taken a total abstinence pledge, although this
was looked upon as a very extreme position indeed, by almost all the
community. But Big Duncan Campbell had learned by very bitter experience
that for him, at least, there was no safety in a moderate use of "God's
good creature," as many of his fellow church-members designated the
"mountain dew," and his sons had loyally backed him up in this attitude.

"Quite, right!" said the master, emphatically. "And if they had any
sense they would know that with every drink they are throwing away a big
chance of winning."

"Horo, you fellows!" shouted big Hec Ross across to them, "aren't you
going to play any more? Have you got enough of it already?"

"We will not be caring for any more of yon kind," said Johnnie Big
Duncan, good-naturedly, "and we were thinking of giving you a change."

"Come away and be at it, then," said Hec, "for we're all getting cold."

"That's easily cured," said Dan, as they sallied forth to the ice again,
"for I warrant you will not be suffering from the cold in five minutes."

When the teams took up their positions, it was discovered that Dan had
fallen back to the center, and Hughie was at a loss to know how to meet
this new disposition of the enemy's force.

"Let them go on," said the master, with whom Hughie was holding a
hurried consultation. "You stick to him, and we'll play defense till
they develop their plan."

The tactics of the Front became immediately apparent upon the drop of
the ball, and proved to be what the master had foretold. No sooner had
the game begun than the big defense men advanced with the centers to the
attack, and when Hughie followed up his plan of sticking closely to Dan
Munro and hampering him, he found Jimmie Ben upon him, swiping furiously
with his club at his shins, with evident intention of intimidating
him, as well as of relieving Dan from his attentions. But if Jimmie Ben
thought by his noisy shouting and furious swiping to strike terror to
the heart of the Twentieth captain, he entirely misjudged his man; for
without seeking to give him back what he received in kind, Hughie played
his game with such skill and pluck, that although he was considerably
battered about the shins, he was nevertheless able to prevent Dan from
making any of his dangerous rushes.

Craven, meantime, if he noticed Hughie's hard case, was so fully
occupied with the defense of the goal that he could give no thought to
anything else. Shot after shot came in upon Thomas at close range,
and so savage and reckless was the charge of the Front that their big
defense men, Hec Ross and Jimmie Ben, abandoning their own positions,
were foremost in the melee before the Twentieth goal.

For fully fifteen minutes the ball was kept in the Twentieth territory,
and only the steady coolness of Craven and Johnnie Big Duncan, backed
by Hughie's persistent checking of the Front captain and the magnificent
steadiness of Thomas in goal, saved the game.

At length, as the fury of the charge began to expend itself a little,
Craven got his chance. The ball had been passed out to Dan upon the left
wing of the Front forward line. At once Hughie was upon him, but Jimmie
Ben following hard, with a cruel swipe at Hughie's skates, laid him
flat, but not until he had succeeded in hindering to some degree Dan's
escape with the ball. Before the Front captain could make use of his
advantage and get clear away, the master bore down upon him like a
whirlwind, hurled him clear off his feet, secured the ball, dashed up
the open field, and eluding the two centers, who had been instructed to
cover the goal, easily shot between the balsam-trees.

For a few moments the Twentieth men went mad, for they all felt that a
crisis had been passed. The failure of the Front in what had evidently
been a preconcerted and very general attack was accepted as an omen of
victory.

The Front men, on the other hand, were bitterly chagrined. They had come
so near it, and yet had failed. Jimmie Ben was especially savage. He
came down the ice toward the center, yelling defiance and threats of
vengeance. "Come on here! Don't waste time. Let us at them. We'll knock
them clear off the ice."

It was Dan's drop. As he was preparing to face off, the master skated up
and asked the umpire for time. At once the crowd gathered round.

"What's the matter?" "What's up?" "What do you want?" came on all sides
from the Front team, now thoroughly aroused and thirsting for vengeance.

"Mr. Umpire," said the master, "I want to call your attention to a bit
of foul play that must not be allowed to go on"; and then he described
Jimmie Ben's furious attack upon Hughie.

"It was a deliberate trip, as well as a savage swipe at a man's shins
when the ball was not near."

At once Jimmie Ben gave him the lie, and throwing down his club, slammed
his cap upon the ice and proceeded to execute a war-dance about it.

For a few moments there was a great uproar, and then the master's voice
was heard again addressing the umpire.

"I want to know your ruling upon this, Mr. Umpire"; and somehow his
voice commanded a perfect stillness.

"Well," said the umpire, hesitating, "of course--if a man trips it is
foul play, but--I did not see any tripping. And of course--swiping at
a man's shins is not allowed, although sometimes--it can't very well be
helped in a scrimmage."

"I merely want to call your attention to it," said the master. "My
understanding of our arrangements, Mr. Munro," he said, addressing the
Front captain, "is that we are here to play shinny. You have come up
here, I believe, to win the game by playing shinny, and we are here to
prevent you. If you have any other purpose, or if any of your men have
any other purpose, we would be glad to know it now, for we entered this
game with the intention of playing straight, clean shinny."

"That's right!" called out Hec Ross; "that's what we're here for." And
his answer was echoed on every side, except by Jimmie Ben, who continued
to bluster and offer fight.

"O, shut your gab!" finally said Farquhar Bheg, impatiently. "If you
want to fight, wait till after the game is done."

"Here's your cap, Jimmie," piped a thin, little voice. "You'll take cold
in your head." It was little French Fusie, holding up Jimmie's cap on
the end of his shinny club, and smiling with the utmost good nature, but
with infinite impudence, into Jimmie's face.

At once there was a general laugh at Jimmie Ben's expense, who with a
growl, seized his cap, and putting it on his head, skated off to his
place.

"Now," said Hughie, calling his men together for a moment, "let us crowd
them hard, and let's give the master every chance we can."

"No," said the master, "they are waiting for me. Suppose you leave Dan
to me for a while. You go up and play your forward combination. They are
not paying so much attention to you. Make the attack from your wing."

At the drop Dan secured the ball, and followed by Fusie, flew up the
center with one of the Reds on either hand. Immediately the master
crossed to meet him, checked him hard, and gave Fusie a chance, who,
seizing the ball, passed far up to Hughie on the right.

Immediately the Twentieth forward line rushed, and by a beautiful hit
of combined play, brought the ball directly before the Front goal, when
Don, holding it for a moment till Hughie charged in upon Farquhar Bheg,
shot, and scored.

The result of their combination at once inspired the Twentieth team with
fresh confidence, and proved most disconcerting to their opponents.

"That's the game, boys," said the master, delightedly. "Keep your heads,
and play your positions." And so well did the forward line respond that
for the next ten minutes the game was reduced to a series of attacks
upon the Front goal, and had it not been for the dashing play of their
captain and the heavy checking of the Front defense, the result would
have been most disastrous to them.

Meantime, the Twentieth supporters, lined along either edge, became more
and more vociferous as they began to see that their men were getting the
game well into their own hands. That steady, cool, systematic play of
man to man was something quite new to those accustomed to the old style
of game, and aroused the greatest enthusiasm.

Gradually the Front were forced to fall back into their territory, and
to play upon the defensive, while the master and Johnnie Big Duncan,
moving up toward the center, kept their forward line so strongly
supported, and checked so effectually any attempts to break through,
that thick and fast the shots fell upon the enemy's goal.

There remained only fifteen minutes to play. The hard pace was beginning
to tell upon the big men, and the inevitable reaction following their
unwise "celebrating" began to show itself in their stale and spiritless
play. On the other hand, the Twentieth were as fresh as ever, and
pressed the game with greater spirit every moment.

"Play out toward the side," urged Dan, despairing of victory, but
determined to avert defeat, and at every opportunity the ball was
knocked out of play. But like wolves the Twentieth forwards were upon
the ball, striving to keep it in play, and steadily forcing it toward
the enemy's goal.

Dan became desperate. He was wet with perspiration, and his breath was
coming in hard gasps. He looked at his team. The little Reds were fit
enough, but the others were jaded and pumped out. Behind him stood
Jimmie Ben, savage, wet, and weary.

At one of the pauses, when the ball was out of play, Dan dropped on his
knee.

"Hold on there a minute," he cried; "I want to fix this skate of mine."

Very deliberately he removed his strap, readjusted his skate, and began
slowly to set the strap in place again.

"They want a rest, I guess. Better take off the time, umpire," sang out
Fusie, dancing as lively as a cricket round Jimmie Ben, who looked as if
he would like to devour him bodily.

"Shut up, Fusie!" said Hughie. "We've got all the time we need."

"You have, eh?" said Jimmie Ben, savagely.

"Yes," said Hughie, in sudden anger, for he had not forgotten Jimmie
Ben's cruel swipe. "We don't need any more time than we've got, and we
don't need to play any dirty tricks, either. We're going to beat you.
We've got you beaten now."

"Blank your impudent face! Wait you! I'll show you!" said Jimmie Ben.

"You can't scare me, Jimmie Ben," said Hughie, white with rage. "You
tried your best and you couldn't do it."

"Play the game, Hughie," said the master, in a low tone, skating round
him, while Hec Ross said, good-naturedly, "Shut up Jimmie Ben. You'll
need all your wind for your heels," at which all but Jimmie Ben laughed.

For a moment Dan drew his men together.

"Our only chance," he said, "is in a rush. Now, I want every man to make
for that goal. Never mind the ball. I'll get the ball there. And then
you, Jimmie Ben, and a couple of you centers, make right back here on
guard."

"They're going to rush," said Hughie to his team. "Don't all go back.
Centers fall back with me. You forwards keep up."

At the drop Dan secured the ball, and in a moment the Front rush came.
With a simultaneous yell the whole ten men came roaring down the ice,
waving their clubs and flinging aside their lightweight opponents. It
was a dangerous moment, but with a cry of "All steady, boys!" Hughie
threw himself right into Dan's way. But just for such a chance Jimmie
Ben was watching, and rushing upon Hughie, caught him fairly with his
shoulder and hurled him to the ice, while the attacking line swept over
him.

For a single moment Hughie lay dazed, but before any one could offer
help he rose slowly, and after a few deep breaths, set off for the
scrimmage.

There was a wild five minutes. Eighteen or twenty men were massed in
front of the Twentieth goal, striking, shoving, yelling, the solid
weight of the Front defense forcing the ball ever nearer the goal. In
the center of the mass were Craven, Johnnie Big Duncan, and Don fighting
every inch.

For a few moments Hughie hovered behind his goal, his heart full of
black rage, waiting his chance. At length he saw an opening. Jimmie Ben,
slashing heavily, regardless of injury to himself or any others, had
edged the ball toward the Twentieth left. Taking a short run, Hughie,
reckless of consequences, launched himself head first into Jimmie Ben's
stomach, swiping viciously at the same time at the ball. For a moment
Jimmie Ben was flung back, and but for Johnnie Big Duncan would have
fallen, but before he could regain his feet, the ball was set free of
the scrimmage and away. Fusie, rushing in, had snapped it up and had
gone scuttling down the ice, followed by Hughie and the master.

Before Fusie had got much past center, Dan, who had been playing in the
rear of the scrimmage, overtook him, and with a fierce body check upset
the little Frenchman and secured the ball. Wheeling, he saw both Hughie
and Craven bearing down swiftly upon him.

"Rush for the goal!" he shouted to Jimmie Ben, who was following Hughie
hard. Jimmie Ben hesitated.

"Back to your defense!" yelled Dan, cutting across and trying to escape
between Hughie and Craven.

It was in vain. Both of the Twentieth men fell upon him, and the master,
snatching the ball, sped like lightning down the ice.

The crowd went wild.

"Get back! Get back there!" screamed Hughie to the mob crowding in upon
the ice. "Give us room! Give us a show!"

At this moment Craven, cornered by Hec Ross and two of the Red Shirts,
with Dan hard upon his heels, passed clear across the ice to Hughie.
With a swift turn Hughie caught the ball, dodged Jimmie Ben's fierce
spring at him, and shot. But even as he shot, Jimmie Ben, recovering his
balance, reached him and struck a hard, swinging blow upon his ankle.
There was a sharp crack, and Hughie fell to the ice. The ball went wide.

"Time, there, umpire!" cried the master, falling on his knees beside
Hughie. "Are you hurt, Hughie?" he asked, eagerly. "What is it, my boy?"

"Oh, master, it's broken, but don't stop. Don't let them stop. We must
win this game. We've only a few minutes. Take me back to goal and send
Thomas out."

The eager, hurried whisper, the intense appeal in the white face and
dark eyes, made the master hesitate in his emphatic refusal.

"You can't--"

"Oh, don't stop! Don't stop it for me," cried Hughie, gripping the
master's arm. "Help me up and take me back."

The master swore a fierce oath.

"We'll do it, my boy. You're a trump. Here, Don," he called aloud,
"we'll let Hughie keep goal for a little," and they ran Hughie back to
the goal on one skate.

"You go out, Thomas," gasped Hughie. "Don't talk. We've only five
minutes."

"They have broken his leg," said the master, with a sob in his voice.

"Nothing wrong, I hope," said Dan, skating up.

"No; play the game," said the master, fiercely. His black eyes were
burning with a deep, red glow.

"Is it hurting much?" asked Thomas, lingering about Hughie.

"Oh, you just bet! But don't wait. Go on! Go on down! You've got to get
this game!"

Thomas glanced at the foot hanging limp, and then at the white but
resolute face. Then saying with slow, savage emphasis, "The brute beast!
As sure as death I'll do for him," he skated off to join the forward
line.

It was the Front knock-off from goal. There was no plan of attack, but
the Twentieth team, looking upon the faces of the master and Thomas,
needed no words of command.

The final round was shot, short, sharp, fierce. A long drive from
Farquhar Bheg sent the ball far up into the Twentieth territory. It was
a bad play, for it gave Craven and Thomas their chance.

"Follow me close, Thomas," cried the master, meeting the ball and
setting off like a whirlwind.

Past the little Reds, through the centers, and into the defense line
he flashed, followed hard by Thomas. In vain Hec Ross tried to check,
Craven was past him like the wind. There remained only Dan and Jimmie
Ben. A few swift strides, and the master was almost within reach of
Dan's club. With a touch of the ball to Thomas he charged into his
waiting foe, flung him aside as he might a child, and swept on.

"Take the man, Thomas," he cried, and Thomas, gathering himself up in
two short, quick strikes, dashed hard upon Jimmie Ben, and hurled him
crashing to the ice.

"Take that, you brute, you!" he said, and followed after Craven.

Only Farquhar Bheg was left.

"Take no chances," cried Craven again. "Come on!" and both of them
sweeping in upon the goal-keeper, lifted him clear through the goal and
carried the ball with them.

"Time!" called the umpire. The great game was won.

Then, before the crowd had realized what had happened, and before they
could pour in upon the ice, Craven skated back toward Jimmie Ben.

"The game is over," he said, in a low, fierce tone. "You cowardly
blackguard, you weren't afraid to hit a boy, now stand up to a man, if
you dare."

Jimmie Ben was no coward. Dropping his club he came eagerly forward, but
no sooner had he got well ready than Craven struck him fair in the face,
and before he could fall, caught him with a straight, swift blow on the
chin, and lifting him clear off his skates, landed him back on his head
and shoulders on the ice, where he lay with his toes quivering.

"Serve him right," said Hec Ross.

There was no more of it. The Twentieth crowds went wild with joy and
rage, for their great game was won, and the news of what had befallen
their captain had got round.

"He took his city, though, Mrs. Murray," said the master, after the
great supper in the manse that evening, as Hughie lay upon the sofa,
pale, suffering, but happy. "And not only one, but a whole continent of
them, and," he added, "the game as well."

With sudden tears and a little break in her voice, the mother said,
looking at her boy, "It was worth while taking the city, but I fear the
game cost too much."

"Oh, pshaw, mother," said Hughie, "it's only one bone, and I tell you
that final round was worth a leg."



CHAPTER XV

THE RESULT


"How many did you say, Craven, of those Glengarry men of yours?"
Professor Gray was catechizing his nephew.

"Ten of them, sir, besides the minister's son, who is going to take the
full university course."

"And all of them bound for the ministry?"

"So they say. And judging by the way they take life, and the way, for
instance, they play shinny, I have a notion they will see it through."

"They come of a race that sees things through," answered the professor.
"And this is the result of this Zion Hill Academy I have been hearing so
much about?"

"Well, sir, they put in a good year's work, I must say."

"You might have done worse, sir. Indeed, you deserve great credit, sir."

"I? Not a bit. I simply showed them what to do and how to do it. But
there's a woman up there that the world ought to know about. For love of
her--"

"Oh, the world!" snorted the professor. "The world, sir! The Lord
deliver us! It might do the world some good, I grant."

"It is for love of her these men are in for the ministry."

"You are wrong, sir. That is not their motive."

"No, perhaps it is not. It would be unfair to say so, but yet she--"

"I know, sir. I know, sir. Bless my soul, sir. I know her. I knew her
before you were born. But--yes, yes--" the professor spoke as if to
himself--"for love of her men would attempt great things. You have
these names, Craven? Ah! Alexander Stewart, Donald Cameron, Thomas
Finch--Finch, let me see--ah, yes, Finch. His mother died after a long
illness. Yes, I remember. A very sad case, a very sad case, indeed."

"And yet not so sad, sir," put in Craven. "At any rate, it did not
seem so at the time. That night it seemed anything but sad. It was
wonderful."

The professor laid down his list and sat back in his chair.

"Go on, sir," he said, gazing curiously at Craven. "I have heard a
little about it. Let me see, it was the night of the great match, was it
not?"

"Did you know about that? Who told you about the match, sir?"

"I hear a great many things, and in curious ways. But go on, sir, go
on."

Craven sat silent, and from the look in his eyes his thoughts were far
away.

"Well, sir, it's a thing I have never spoken about. It seems to me, if I
may say so, something quite too sacred to speak of lightly."

Again Craven paused, while the professor waited.

"It was Hughie sent me there. There was a jubilation supper at
the manse, you understand. Thomas Finch, the goal-keeper, you
know--magnificent fellow, too--was not at the supper. A messenger had
come for him, saying that his mother had taken a bad turn. Hughie was
much disappointed, and they were all evidently anxious. I offered to
drive over and inquire, and of course the minister's wife, though she
had been on the go all day long, must needs go with me. I can never
forget that night. I suppose you have noticed, sir, there are times
when one is more sensitive to impressions from one's surroundings than
others. There are times with me, too, when I seem to have a very vital
kinship with nature. At any rate, during that drive nature seemed to get
close to me. The dark, still forest, the crisp air, the frost sparkling
in the starlight on the trees--it all seemed to be part of me. I fear I
am not explaining myself."

Craven paused again, and his eyes began to glow. The professor still
waited.

"When we reached the house we found them waiting for death. The
minister's wife went in, I waited in the kitchen. By and by Billy Jack,
that's her eldest son, you know, came out. 'She is asking for you,' he
said, and I went in. I had often seen her before, and I rather think
she liked me. You see, I had been able to help Thomas along pretty well,
both in school and with his night work, and she was grateful for what I
had done, absurdly grateful when one considers how little it was. I had
seen death before, and it had always been ghastly, but there was nothing
ghastly in death that night. The whole scene is before me now, I suppose
always will be."