Glengarry School Days-a story of early days in Glengarry

by Connor, Ralph

  "That was well done, captain," said Craven to Hughie, as he was coolly skating back to his position.

  "A splendid run, sir," cried Hughie, in return.

  "Oh, the run was easy. It was your check there that did the trick. That's the game," he continued, lowering his voice. "It's hard on you, though. Can you stand it?"

  "Well, I can try for a while," said Hughie, confidently.

  "If you can," said the master, "we've got them," and Hughie settled down into the resolve that, cost what it might, he would stick like a leech to Dan.

  He imparted his plan to Fusie, adding, "Now, whenever you see me tackle Dan, run in and get the ball. I'm not going to bother about it."

  Half an hour had gone. The score stood two to one in favor of the Front, but the result every one felt to be still uncertain. That last attack of Hughie's, and the master's speedy performance, gave some concern to the men of the Front, and awakened a feeling of confidence in the Twentieth team.

  But Dan, wise general that he was, saw the danger, and gave his commands ere he faced off for the new game.

  "When that man Craven gets it," he said to the men of the center, "make straight for the goal. Never mind the ball."

  The wisdom of this order became at once evident, for when in the face-off he secured the ball, Hughie clung so tenaciously to his heels and checked him so effectually, that he was forced to resign it to the Reds, who piercing the Twentieth center, managed to scurry up the ice with the ball between them. But when, met by Craven and Johnnie Big Duncan, they passed across to Dan, Hughie again checked so fiercely that Johnnie Big Duncan secured the ball, passed back to the master, who with another meteoric flash along the edge of the field broke through the Front's defense, and again shot.

  It was only Farquhar Bheg's steady coolness that saved the goal. It was a near enough thing, however, to strike a sudden chill to the heart of the Front goal-keeper, and to make Dan realize that something must be done to check these dangerous rushes of Craven.

  "Get in behind the defense there, and stay there," he said to two of his centers, and his tone indicated that his serene confidence in himself and his team was slightly shaken. Hughie's close checking was beginning to chafe him, for his team in their practice had learned to depend unduly upon him.

  Noticing Dan's change in the disposition of his men, Hughie moved up two of his centers nearer to the Front defense.

  "Get into their way," he said "and give the master a clear field."

  But this policy only assisted Dan's plan of defense, for the presence of so many players before the Front goal filled up the ice to such an extent that Craven's rushes were impeded by mere numbers.

  For some time Dan watched the result of his tactics well satisfied, remaining himself for the time in the background. During one of the pauses, when the ball was out of play, he called one of the little Reds to him.

  "Look here," he said, "you watch this. Right after one of those rushes of Craven's, don't follow him down, but keep up to your position. I'll get the ball to you somehow, and then you'll have a chance to shoot. No use passing to me, for this little son of a gun is on my back like a flea on a dog." Dan was seriously annoyed.

  The little Red passed the word around and patiently waited his chance. Once and again the plan failed, chiefly because Dan could not get the ball out of the scrimmage, but at length, when Hughie had been tempted to rush in with the hope of putting in a shot, the ball slid out of the scrimmage, and Dan, swooping down upon it, passed swiftly to the waiting Red who immediately shot far out to his alert wing, and then rushing down the center and slipping past Johnnie Big Duncan, who had gone forth to meet Dan coming down the right, and the master who was attending to the little Red on the wing, received the ball, and putting in a short, swift shot, scored another goal for the Front, amid a tempest of hurrahings from the team and their supporters.

  The game now stood three to one in favor of the Front, and up to the end of the first hour no change was made in this score.

  And now there was a scene of the wildest enthusiasm and confusion. The Front people flocked upon the ice and carried off their team to their quarter of the shanty, loading them with congratulations and refreshing them with various drinks.

  "Better get your men together, captain," suggested Craven, and Hughie gathered them into the Twentieth corner of the shanty.

  In spite of the adverse score Hughie found his team full of fight. They crowded about him and the master, eager to listen to any explanation of the present defeat that might be offered for their comfort, or to any plans by which the defeat might be turned into victory. Some minutes they spent in excitedly discussing the various games, and in good-naturedly chaffing Thomas Finch for his failure to prevent a score. But Thomas had nothing to say in reply. He had done his best, and he had a feeling that they all knew it. No man was held in higher esteem by the team than the goal-keeper.

  "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 u
pon 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.