The brothers Grace, W. G. and E. M., came out to face the bowling, and again the cheers broke out from all parts of the ground. Two good men and good bats were going to open the game for the honour of Old England against the attack of her young country’s sons.
The English captain went through the preliminaries usual with him. He calmly surveyed the field, noting with keen eyes how each man was placed. He took his block, and then patted the ground in a fatherly way with his bat, as though requesting the pitch to behave well to him. Then he put his bat under his arm and leisurely fastened his glove. Having put himself to rights, he was ready for the attack.
The battle had commenced, and it soon became lively. Both men were in form, and the Australians had plenty of leather-hunting. Boundary hits did not come quite so quickly as might have been expected, as the ball seemed to fall rather dead, and did not roll far. When an adjournment for luncheon was made, both Graces were still in, and the crowd was jubilant.
Murch was not at all depressed. He never gave in, or had the faintest intention of doing so.
‘After luncheon will do it,’ he said. ‘There will be a separation then.’
He was right, for in the first over E. M. Grace had his stumps upset.
It was, however, uphill work fighting against such a powerful batting team. Man after man came in and piled up a score, and the captain was not got rid of until he had placed one hundred and fifty-two to his credit. He had played a grand innings, and fully maintained his great reputation.
The Englishmen were not disposed of until they had piled up the large score of four hundred and two.
‘What do you think of it now?’ asked Robert Foster of Edgar.
‘It is a big score, but we may equal it,’ he replied.