'Cornish fashion, not Devon,' said Samuel.
'Ay, ay!' shouted the bystanders, 'Cornish wrestle now.'
'Right—Cornish,' answered Hillary.
The difference between Devon and Cornish wrestling consists in this, that in a Devon wrestle kicking is admissible; but then, as a protection to their shins, the antagonists have their legs wreathed with haybands (vulgo skillibegs). As the legs were on this occasion unprotected, Devon wrestling was inadmissible. Both fashions were in vogue near the Tamar, and every young man would wrestle one way or the other as decided beforehand.
The opponents fixed each other with their eyes, and stood breathless, and every voice was hushed. Instantaneously, as moved by one impulse, they sprang at each other, and were writhing, tossing, coiling in each other's embrace. Neither could make the other budge from his ground, or throw him, exerting his utmost strength and skill. The haymakers stood silent, looking on appreciatively—the girls a little frightened, the men relishingly, relishing it more than the dance. Not one of the lads at that moment had a thought to cast at his partner. Their hands twitched, their feet moved, they bent, threw themselves back, swung aside, responsive to the movements of the wrestlers.
The antagonists gasped, snorted, as with set teeth and closed lips they drew long inspirations through their nostrils. Their sweat poured in streams from their brows.
Simultaneously, moved by one impulse, they let go their hold, and stood quivering and wiping their brows, with labouring breasts; then, with a shout, closed again.
'Ho!' a general exclamation. In the first grapple Hillary had slipped, and gone down on one knee. Immediately Samuel let go.
'There!' said he, holding out his hand. 'We have had enough. Strike palms, old boy.'
'No,' gasped Hillary, blazing with anger and shame. 'I was not flung. I slipped on the dockleaf there. I will not allow myself beaten. Come on again.'