# In the Shadow/Chapter 4
### CHAPTER IV
#### THE CRICKET MATCH

THE morning of the day set for the cricket match was one of unusual beauty; its charm, however, was scarcely appreciated by Giles, who, as captain of the Gentlemen's Team, was heavy laden with the sense of his responsibility. This nervousness was unwonted but not unnatural; a defeat before ten thousand strangers would be far less difficult to support than one in the presence of a hundred friends, and it seemed to Giles that every person whom he had ever known was interested in the match.
Fenwick Towers was filled with friends from town, and when, to escape the exhortations coming from all sides, Giles walked moodily down to the stables, the grooms, who were polishing the drag, paused long enough in their work to remind him that the honor of the county rested within the swing of his arms. Giles was heartily glad when the dogcart whirled up to the door to carry him to the field.
Virginia went with the party on the drag. They reached the grounds not many minutes before the teams ran out upon the field, and, at sight of the vast crowd already assembled to see the match, Virginia was suddenly afflicted with an odd little quiver beneath the bunch of violets pinned to her bosom; a flutter which made her breath come quickly, and produced a queer sensation of ​faintness and exhilaration combined. There was a thrill of pride in the sudden thought that Giles was at the head of it all, the central point for the focus of excited attention from the hundreds of spectators.
There is probably no quality in a man which so stirs a woman as a strong, active part played in the presence of many people. A dominant will, dominant brain, dominant body gives to an action which is mediocre when performed alone an inspiring force when witnessed by an admiring throng. The stage hero, in the military drama, who staggers before the footlights grasping a tattered property flag, is more admired by the women who watch him than is the man who plays the real part and of whom they read from afar. Yet this is natural, for most hero worship is founded on actual tradition. In the present case Giles, with his yellow hair and blue eyes and sturdy figure and the sun flashing from the cricket bat which he held in his hand, represented to Virginia the leading character and seemed the reincarnation of some Anglo-Saxon ancestor who had stepped forth, sword in hand, at the head of his chosen band to repel the invader.
To-day the invader was the famous Cherrystone Cricket Club, a team which had made its name dreaded throughout Great Britain. To repel this enemy, Giles had carefully selected a team from the crack players of the counties Kent and Surrey, chiefly ex-'varsity cricketers. This team had played together in but two uneventful matches where the scores had been so ridiculously in their favor as to seem unsportsmanlike. The result had been a challenge to the famous C. C. C.'s, but at the eleventh hour one of the strongest players on the Gentle​men's Team had with shocking bad taste become incapacitated through an accident and Giles was in despair of filling his place. Like an inspiration there had come the thought of securing Dessalines, who at first demurred, but finally consented to play. Although the Haytian had never cared for athletics, he had at times played cricket, and it was said that his aptitude for the game, especially his batting, was quite phenomenal.
Virginia knew nothing of the technicalities of cricket; Giles had frequently attempted to elucidate the game to her, but like many clever women Virginia seemed singularly obtuse regarding the details of a sport. What appealed to her was the spectacle as a whole—the field, the teams, the eagerness, the quick, sudden action, the enthusiasm of the spectators. All she required was to be told, from time to time, who was ahead, and, in a general way, how much, and if the score was very uneven she invariably sympathized with the loser, no matter who. Her personal interest was the result of picking out certain players whose style and general bearing pleased her and following the fortunes of these with enthusiasm regardless of the side upon which they played.
Shortly after the Maltbys' drag arrived at the field the teams came on. The visitors were greeted with polite, if somewhat perfunctory, hospitality; but when Giles and his men trotted out from the pavilion the spectators burst into a yell of enthusiasm; then, before the cheering had died away, there was a sudden hush and simultaneously all eyes were focused upon a single sinister figure.
In the rear of the Gentlemen's Team there came a great ebony giant, a colossus he seemed compared to the ​others, some of whom were big men yet looked like children beside the massive, huge-boned, heavy- jointed figure of the black. The hush of wonder fell upon the spectators as their eyes followed this prodigy. Among the clear, fresh faces about him, his savage, sable features contrasted with appalling oddity; among the bare heads, with hair flashing in the sunshine, his heavy-boned African skull, the dome of which was covered with close, kinky, lusterless wool, seemed of a bizarre and forbidding brutality. When presently, in answer to some friendly greeting, he smiled with a startling flash of white teeth, and the great, flat-featured face lighted with unmistakable good humor, the spectators experienced a sense of relief, then laughed with him, and upon the instant he had become the favorite.
The game began, and Virginia, though utterly ignorant of the meaning of each play, found no difficulty in following its fortunes from the exclamations of those about her.
From the very start it was painfully evident that the Gentlemen were outclassed, yet so plucky were their efforts and so cheerful their demeanor in the face of a rapidly progressing defeat, that their friends watched in growing sadness but not in disappointment, while the visitors, who appeared, as Virginia's companion said, to have "collared the bowling," piled up the runs rapidly.
Before long Virginia ceased to ask the score; the details were too harrowing. The Gentlemen played well, but ineffectively. Virginia found a quality of pathos in their cheerful persistence, but even more pathetic to her was the quick eagerness with which the spectators welcomed each plucky effort, no matter how ​unavailing; she soon became more anxious for the Gentlemen to win for the sake of these people who so believed in them than for any personal interest of her own.
"Will they never get them out?" she asked, despairingly, of the man beside her.
"They've got one more—" he began, and then something happened. A ball flew from the batter and Virginia, watching it apathetically as it soared far out to the deep field, saw all at once ahead of it a great black figure which spanned the sward in long catlike bounds, and as the ball seemed hanging high above its head, it leaped, leaped like a great black panther with a circular sweep of the big, loose-knit body. A black arm swept upward, a huge hand met the heavy impact of the ball, the flight of which was ended. The visitors were out.
For a moment the spectators were too astonished to cheer; the feat seemed incredible, almost diabolic. The ball had looked twice the height of the man's head, and might have been, but they had no conception of the spring in the bowed legs and the abnormal length of the African arm.
The Gentlemen went to the bat and Virginia watched with bated breath, but it soon became evident to her, inexperienced as she was, that they were making but a poor showing. She turned to Sir Henry.
"Why doesn't Giles bat?" she demanded impatiently. "They say that he is so clever at it."
"There he goes now," replied Sir Henry, without taking his eyes from the field. Virginia turned in time to see Giles swing manfully at a swift ball, but the next moment to her amazement he turned and walked de​jectedly away while another man came to take his place. She could scarcely believe her eyes.
"Why was that?" she cried furiously. "I saw that wicket keeper tip off the bale himself."
"Stumped him," said a moody voice behind her. "Giles stepped outside his crease."
Virginia turned quickly and it was several moments before she could see the field again through the tears dancing in her eyes. Her sympathy now was all for Giles; she could guess what his feelings were to have thus failed at the critical point. A voice from the ground beside the drag roused her.
"Look. … Look there! Gad! But isn't he a brute!"
Virginia winked the moisture from her eyes and glanced at the field; as she did so a murmur rolled around among the spectators and then broke into a cheer. Dessalines had gone to the bat; the beautiful catch which he had made in the previous inning, together with the confident and cheerful air with which he now carried himself in the face of defeat, had inspired the dejected spectators with new hope.
The Haytian was a grotesque figure; his creamy-white shirt was open at the collar and showed a neck as strong and supple and ebony as that of a black panther; his sleeves were rolled above the elbows, and, as he alternately tightened and relaxed his hold upon the handle of the bat, the lithe, sinuous muscles glided one over the other in a manner which suggested serpents swimming beneath the surface of a pool. The long, white trousers which he wore did not altogether conceal the slight outward arch of his legs.
​There came a swift ball, but quicker than the ball was the downward flash of the great black arms and the glitter of the bat. It was a fearful swing but at the same instant there came a cry from the wicket keeper which was echoed by the umpire and Dessalines was out.
A babel of voices arose; from everywhere among the spectators the same question was being asked and answered.
"What! Why?" cried Virginia wildly. "What did he say? What does L. B. W. mean? "
"Leg before wicket," almost sobbed the man beside her. "I couldn't see it. By George, it's all up with them now, I'm afraid."
Virginia watched the innings which followed in the silence of utter despondency, repressing the inclination to cry. It seemed to her, as indeed it did to every one else, that Giles and his team had not only been outplayed but pursued by some malign, occult influence. When in the course of time Giles again went to the bat she watched him with dumb inertia.
This time, however, it appeared that Giles had come to stay. The fighting blood of the Anglo-Saxon which pulses the strongest in defeat, just as that of the Latin gains strength in victory, had risen to confront the situation and before long hope began to creep back into the hearts of the Gentlemen's sympathizers. Then the other man went out and Dessalines stepped forward; his smile was lacking this time, and the black face wore an expression which silenced the spectators.
With Dessalines and Giles the real strife began. Upward, steadily upward, hit after hit, and run after run, the plucky Englishman and his great black colleague ​carried their puny score. Giles batted as he had never done before, while over against him Dessalines opened up. his great shoulders and dragged out the ball in tremendous boundary hits such as the field had never seen. The excitement kept pace; from nervous apprehension too fearful to cheer, on through the dawning hope that the disgrace of the defeat might yet be mitigated, on upward through successive fevered stages of hope to frantic wildness at the growing possibility of a tied score. Suddenly Giles went out on a caught fly.
"Is that all?" gasped Virginia. "Is the game over?"
"No! no!" cried her companion. "They've still got a chance! They only need four runs to tie 'em." He groaned. "There's that duffer Dallet going to bat. He's no good!— Look at that! Look! Oh, my word! Now we are done for!"
A murmur arose from the tense crowd. A lightning ball from the bowler had struck the handle of the bat and dropped at Dessalines' feet. With a snarl he had flung one hand in the air, then brushed it against his thigh where it left a bloody smear on the white trousers. Then, with such a smothered and inarticulate growl as might come from a maimed bear, he gripped the bat in the uninjured hand and brandished it toward the bowler as if it were a war club shaken in the face of a tribal enemy.
Virginia watched, fascinated and trembling. She saw the ball fly here and there across the field, the swift figures of the runners, a series of rapid plays … and then the players seemed to break from their position and mingle confusedly … and a frenzied British crowd ​arose and howled as might have howled their savage ancestors as the last of the invaders was driven from the field.
The Gentlemen had won the day!
For a few moments Giles and Dessalines were the nucleus of a yelling mob of lunatics; as soon as he could disentangle himself Giles worked his way across the field to where the Maltby contingent was impatiently awaiting him. Virginia promptly sprang down and embraced him, to the huge approval of the bystanders, and even Manning was enthusiastic.
A shadow fell upon the group; before she looked about Virginia was conscious of the presence of Dessalines. Manning felt it also, but differently … as a dog feels the presence of a domesticated wild animal. He had already called upon Dessalines and expressed his obligation; it is probable that this duty was the most difficult which Manning had ever been called upon to perform, but he had gone through it gracefully and in full. The reaction had come to him while leaving, when Dessalines had held his hand for as much as ten seconds and in his deep throaty voice expressed the hope of seeing more of him. Manning had left the place pale and quivering.
Virginia's heart was beating wildly; it was the first time that she had seen Dessalines since the accident. She had written him a grateful letter, and had discussed with Giles the propriety of presenting him with some little token commemorating his great service to them. She had felt that she ought to bid Manning ask him to call, but knew that her brother would never consent to this; she was aware that Manning's antipathy toward the race ​was constitutional, rather than social; it had slight reference to the former state of slavery or any other conditions governed by circumstance and politics; it was an inborn, instinctive aversion; the presence of a negro out of his place, close to him, in bodily contact, filled him with the same savage antipathy inspired in some people by the presence of certain lower animals. To some extent this sentiment obtained among his Carolina colleagues, but in Manning it was abnormally extreme; he would not permit the ministrations of a negro barber or man servant; had overcome with difficulty his repugnance to negro house servants. It was an inconvenient weakness, no doubt hereditary., His mother had suffered from it; Virginia shared it, but, not having been in Carolina since her seventh year, had never developed it to the same extent.
In a wave of repulsion which caught her breath and sucked the blood back into her heart Virginia turned and looked into the face of Dessalines who was standing at her shoulder. There was no change in the sable face; it might just have arisen from the river, and she could in fancy see the beads of water sparkling on the kinky hair, as a Scotch mist clings to a woolen texture; the grotesque, flat nostrils, the thick lips, the swift flash of the white teeth as he smiled, the muddy white of his odd bulging eyes, and the black, satiny skin, thin and clear and fine as the film which skims a cup of cocoa; all vivid, yet no more vivid than it had been when thrown in high light against the void of her imagination.
She tried to speak, to express her congratulations on the victory of the hour, but her quick breathing impeded the flow of words; Dessalines, seeing her emotion, spoke, ​and at the first beat of the deep organlike voice, those about him paused in their own speech to listen.
"He is a wonderful bat—our friend, Giles, is he not, Miss Moultrie?" said Dessalines, at the same time dropping one great hand upon the shoulder of the Englishman with affectionate familiarity. "Without him what should we have done?" His eyes fell upon Manning; he bowed. "Mr. Moultrie, my compliments," said Dessalines.
Manning bowed, and Virginia saw that his face was a shade paler. Giles wheeled quickly.
"Hello, Aristide! You've met Miss Moultrie, of course. Mother, let me present Count Dessalines. Father, Count Dessalines."
Dessalines, whose head was on a level with the floor of the drag, bowed gracefully and with the suggestion of a Gallic flourish.
"We are so happy at this opportunity of expressing our deep obligation, Count Dessalines," said Lady Maltby earnestly.
"And now he's added to it!" cried Giles, who like most of his class had an inborn dread of a sentimental situation. "First he saves our lives, then he saves the honor of Kent and Surrey."
"I trust that you will do us the honor to call, Count Dessalines," said Sir Henry, who had already called upon the Haytian to express his obligation. The conversation had occurred beyond the earshot of Manning and Virginia who had given way to the pressure of the curious and admiring crowd which was hanging on the heels of Dessalines. Virginia stepped close to her brother.
​"Manning," she said in a low voice, "I beg of you—I implore you to try and hide your feelings! Remember that you are not in Carolina. This man is our social equal here."
Manning turned to her a frozen but furious face. "Virginia! Are you crazy? Our equal! You … a Moultrie … speak of a——"
"But, Manning, think of our obligation! He saved my life … Giles's life. … Manning, you must treat him with respect. … You must come with me now while I speak to him." She seized Manning's arm and moved toward the drag.
"Haven't we done all that we can?" demanded Manning, in a low, fierce voice. "I've called on him, Sir Henry's called on him, Giles——"
"Manning, I'm ashamed of you!" whispered Virginia furiously. "Can one be too grateful, too appreciative?"
"Come on then," answered Manning passionately. "I suppose that you will want to ask him to call on you next!"
"That is precisely what I am about to do!" cried Virginia.