Parkhurst Boys | Page 3

forwards lent their weight to
one side or other of the base, according as the exigencies of the
scrimmage demanded. Thus our wedge, embodying a concentrated
pressure in the direction of the ball, the farther it advanced the farther it
scattered asunder the foe, who fell off from its gradually widening sides
without hope of getting again within reach of the ball except by
retreating to the rear and beginning the struggle over afresh. When this
manoeuvre was well executed, it was almost certain to carry the ball
through the scrimmage, and when that happened, then was the time for
us half and quarter-backs to look out for our chance.
Our men went at it with their customary vigour and address, and
presently the ball emerged on the far side of the scrimmage. In an
instant it was caught up by one of the Craven quarter-backs, and in an
instant our men were upon him again before he could get a start for a
run. Scrimmage after scrimmage ensued, the ball was constantly in
Chancery, but each crush brought us a yard or so nearer the enemy's

goal than we had been before.
All this time I was little better than a spectator, for the ball never once
came within reach of my fingers, and I was beginning to think that,
after all, a big match was not so exciting a thing as one is apt to
imagine.
At last, however, after one scrimmage more desperate than any that had
gone before, the ball flew out suddenly, and bounded off one of the
Craven men into my grasp. Now was my chance. "If only I could--"
The next thing I was conscious of was that about twenty people had
fallen to the ground all of a heap, and that I and the ball were at the
bottom.
"Down!" I cried.
"Pack up there, Parkhurst!" sang out Wright.
I extricated myself as quickly as I could, and got back to my place in
the rear, thinking to myself, after all, there was some little excitement
in football.
At last the ball got well away from the scrimmage, and who should
secure it but the redoubtable Slider! I felt a passing tremor of deep
despair, as I saw that hero spring like the wind towards our goal.
"Look out, Adams!" shouted Wright.
Sure enough he was coming in my direction! With the desperation of a
doomed man I strode out to meet him. He rushed furiously
on--swerving slightly to avoid my reach, and stretching out his arm to
ward off my grasp. I flung myself wildly in his path. There was a heavy
thud, and the earth seemed to jump up and strike me. The next moment
I was sprawling on my back on the grass. I don't pretend to know how
it all happened, but somehow or other I had succeeded in checking the
onward career of the victorious Slider; for though I had fallen half
stunned before the force of his charge, he had recoiled for an instant

from the same shock, and that instant gave time for Wright to get hold
of him, and so put an end for the time to his progress.
"Well played!" said some one, as I picked myself up. So I was
comforted, and began to think that, after all, football was rather a fine
game.
Time would fail me to tell of all the events of that afternoon--how
Wright carried the ball within a dozen yards of our opponents' goal;
how their forwards passed the ball one to another, and got a
"touch-down" behind our line, but missed the kick; how Naylor ran
twenty yards with one of our men hanging on his back; how our
quarter-back sent the ball nearly over their goal with as neat a
drop-kick as ever it has been my lot to witness.
The afternoon was wearing. I heard the time-keeper call out, "Five
minutes more!" The partisans of either side were getting frantic with
excitement. Unless we could secure an advantage now, we should be as
good as defeated, for the Craven had scored a "touch-down" to our
nothing. Was this desperate fight to end so? Was victory, after all, to
escape us? But I had no time for reflection then.
"Now, Parkhurst," sang out Wright, "pull yourselves together for
once!"
A Craven man is standing to throw the ball out of "touch," and either
side stands in confronting rows, impatient for the fray. Wright is at the
end of the line, face to face with Naylor, and I am a little behind
Wright.
"Keep close!" exclaims the latter to me, as the ball flies towards us.
Wright has it, but in an instant Naylor's long arms are round him,
bearing him down.
"Adams!" ejaculates out captain, and in