“Gang back a wee yet?” he roared.
The crowd spread out. But when a third time Donald cried “Gang back!” they laughed in derision.
Then Donald’s Scotch blood got up. He swung the great hammer—it left his hands, and flew right over the heads of the onlookers, alighting in the field beyond.
No one in San Francisco would compete with Donald, so he got the records of other athletes, and at a public exhibition beat them all.
Throwing the light hammer is another game of the same kind.
Putting the Stone.—The stone, as an Irishman would say, is a heavy round iron ball. You plant the left foot firmly in advance of the right, then balancing the great stone or ball on the palm of the right hand on a level with the head for a few moments, you send it flying from you as far as possible. There is not only great strength required, but a good deal of “can,” or skill, which practice alone can give.
Tossing the Caber.—The caber is a small tree, perhaps a larch with the branches all off. You plant your foot against the thin end of it, while a man raises it right up—heavy end uppermost—and supports it in the air until you have bent down and raised it on your palms. The immense weight of it makes you stagger about to keep your balance, and you must toss it so that when the heavy end touches the ground, it shall fall right over and lie in a line towards you. This game requires great skill and strength, and it is seldom indeed that more than one man succeeds in tossing the caber fair and square.
There are heavy and light hammers, there are heavy and light putting-stones, but there is but one caber (at principal games), and at this game the mighty Donald Dinnie has no rival.
The jumping and vaulting approach more to the English style of games, and need not be here described; and the same may be said about the racing, with probably one exception—the sack race. The competitors have to don the sacks, which are then tied firmly round the neck, then at the given signal away they go, hopping, jumping, or running with little short steps. It is very amusing, owing to the many tumbles the runners get, and the nimble way they sometimes recover the equilibrium, though very often no sooner are they up than they are down again.
There usually follows this a mad kind of steeplechase three times round the course, which is everywhere impeded with obstructions, the favourite ones being soda-barrels with both ends knocked out. Through these the competitors have to crawl, if they be not long-legged and agile enough to vault right over them.