Three sharp blasts on the captain's whistle, and the dogs prepare with alertness, for action. And it is time, for a Breage man has seized the Helston runner. He promptly hurls on the ball. It is caught by one of the dogs in front, who sets off with it at full speed, accompanied by his fellows. These young striplings have not raced over moors and downs in the game of fox and hounds for nothing. See how he runs, dodging the great Breage men, who are now almost upon him. Ah, he is caught at last, but the ball is in the hands of another dog, passed to him rapidly in the time of danger. But now the light brigade are also among the dogs, and the heavy brigade is following up fast in the rear. The Breage men have been split into two factions, fifteen of them in front, among the light brigade, the others still in the rear of the heavy brigade men of the school team.
The second dog is caught, but he has time to hurl the ball to a light brigade runner near him, who as promptly hurls it on to the light runners ahead. One of the dogs seizes it and instantly diverges from the road to the fields. He realises that he has a much better chance among the hedges and fields than on the highroad with the big runners of Breage. Over the hedge go the runners of Breage. A little farther on the Helston light brigade men also leap the hedge and seek to hinder their progress. The heavy brigade follow suit. And now follows a battle royal. Helston and Breage men are close on the ball, and the Breage men are battling hard, for the town of Helston is but a scant quarter of a mile distant.
A crowd of sightseers line the road and hedges, for is not this for the glory of Helston and her grammar school? Labourers, with their shovels on their shoulders, farmers, with their produce, all are anxiously watching. They have come to see the ball brought in. They know it will be victory for the school, now it is so near.
Bravos, hurrahs, sound on all sides. The dogs and light brigade men are jubilant with expectation. The brook, or river Cober, is in sight. Could the runner make the bridge, or even dash through the flood, victory seemed sure. But no, there is a swift Breage man on his track, and bids fair to overtake him. He has him, and he hurls the ball toward town.
It was an unlucky throw, for splash!—it is in the river. Nothing daunted, a light brigade man has leaped in after it, and then a Breage man on top of him, and then others, until the little stream is choked with wrestling bodies, heaving, gasping, and the air is full of spray.
"'E 'as it! Bravo!" shouted the enthusiastic Helston spectators.
"Now, clear the way for un!" shouted a town beadle, as he made the people stand back to give the runner a clear track to their own town.
To their dismay and open-mouthed chagrin, it was the Breage captain that leaped out of the stream, ball in hand, and charging like a bull through the light brigade men, he scatters them right and left like chaff before the wind. With a whoop and hallo, the heavy brigade strive to block him, but he makes a detour, leaps another hedge, and is speeding through another field. What matter brambles or thorns, the game must be saved for Breage.
"Ah! dear! dear! us thought 'e was our man, but it 'twas t'other side," said some Helston labourers, as they gazed after the rapidly receding players.
"Ah wadn't fair, so ah wadn't," said others, disconsolately.