The heavy players, with Dick in the centre, are well up in front. There are some twenty of these, and they will make their weight and prowess felt ere the game is over. Back of them stands the captain, and back still beyond him, some ten players of lighter build, upon whose quickness and agility depend much. But who are those some two hundred yards farther back on the road to Helston? They are lighter players from the fourth and third forms, hard as pine knots, trained to perfection in fleetness of foot, and able to dodge and race like hares. They are the captain's latest addition to the efficiency of his team. They are to serve in the capacity of "dogs," as Ande calls them. They are to watch their chances; not to engage in the scrimmages where weight will tell, but to grasp the ball when opportunity comes, and speed with it to their own goal. Notice them playfully wrestling with each other, filling in the time until the game opens.
The Breage men are not thus trained or lined up. They depend more upon individual action and weight of their numbers than tactics. But now there is a movement up in front. The players are all in position.
"Are you ready?" shouts a gentleman, preparatory to casting off the ball. He is standing to one side, in front of the other gentlemen and spectators, and is holding the new hurling ball in his hand.
An affirmative answer is given from both captains, and up goes the ball in the air, midway between the two contesting parties. The next instant there is a charge of both heavy brigades for its possession as it descends. An outstretched hand catches it, and then there is a furious heap of wriggling arms and legs, and then who is it that is speeding away towards Breage, with a shout of triumph on his lips? It is the Breage captain. He is fully determined to race at that speed the two miles intervening between him and his own parish church, and he is going to hurl the ball, now in his possession, in through the Breage church door, and thus win the game. But not so fast. Two miles is quite a stretch, and there is some one on his track. Out from behind the mass of prone players leaps a form, like a horse and rider from the clouds of battle smoke. In one bound he has cleared the heap of wriggling bodies on the ground, and then, with the speed of a greyhound, he is after the Breage man. Will he overtake him? Oh, yes. If he can't, no one else can. Dick and his sub-lieutenants rest from their exertions. They are confident that the ball will be back ere long. A cheer goes up from the heavy brigade of the Helston players.
"He has him!"
"He has downed him!"
"He has the ball!"
It was true. The school captain had leaped on the back of the runner, and with a cute, wrestling trick brought him to the ground. The ball flew out of his hand and was possessed the next instant by the Helston captain, who was now returning with full speed. But now a new obstacle presents itself in the shape of the great mass of Breage players. Will he charge through them, elude them? No, there are too many for that. There are two shrill blasts on the boatswain's whistle, and along the Helston road, in the rear of their heavy brigade, scatter out the school men. They understand the signal and are ready to catch the ball. Then, just as the Breage men are upon him, out goes the hand, and with the full force of his muscular right arm, the ball is hurled full a hundred and fifty yards, over their heads, on the way to Helston.
A member of the light brigade caught it and was racing the next moment with might and main toward the town. There is a whoop and hallo among the dogs, as with their best efforts they strive to keep ahead of the runner, to be ready for an emergency throw, should he be overtaken. And now, in the rear, great Dick and his warriors of the heavy brigade get in their work, and work it is. It is no easy task for twenty or thirty fellows to stop and hinder the forty husky Breage men that are resolved to overtake the runner. Dick is in his element. He has profited by Captain Ande's training. In a twinkling he has thrown a half a dozen players to the ground, and is preparing to actively hinder others. The Breage men are swearing under their breath. But "Old Ironsides," as the boys dubbed Dick after his memorable encounter with Ande, could not handle all, and some there were that escaped around the wings and were speeding after the Helston player. It is Ande, the captain, who sees the danger.
There is a sharp blast on the whistle, the signal for the heavy brigade to close up on the ball. The light brigade are no match in a scrimmage against the great Breage men. They must have the assistance of the heavy brigade, and away go the heavy first line men, Dick lumbering along in a clumsy gallop, yet with considerable speed.