The Cricket Field/Chapter 10
CHAP. X.
HINTS ON FIELDING.
The essence of good fielding is, to start before the ball is hit, and to pick up and return straight to the top of the bails, by one continuous action. This was the old Wykehamist style—old, I hope not yet extinct, past revival—(thus had we written, March 1851, and three months after the Wykehamists won both their school matches at Lord's);—for, some twenty years since, the Wykehamist fielding was unrivalled by any school in England. Fifteen years ago Mr. Ward and, severally and separately, Cobbett instanced a Winchester Eleven as the first fielding they had ever seen at Lord's. And among this chosen number were the yet remembered names of R. Price, F. B. Wright, Knatchbull, and Meyrick. These hardy Trojans—for the ball never came too fast for them—commenced fagging out long, very long, before they were indulged in batting, and were forced to qualify, even for fagging, by practising till they could throw over a certain neighbouring barn, and were always in bodily fear of the pains and penalties of the middle stump if ever they missed a ball. But these days of the voluntary system are far less favourable for fielding. To become a good fieldsman requires persevering practice, with a "big fellow" to fag for who will expect a little more smartness than is always developed by pure love of the game.
And now, Etonians, Harrovians, Wykehamists, I mention you alphabetically, a few words on training your Eleven for Lord's. Choose first your bowlers and wicket-keeper and long-stop; these men you must have, though not worth a run: then if you have any batsmen decidedly superior, you may choose them for their batting, though they happen not to be first-rate fieldsmen. But in most school Elevens, after naming four or five men, among the other six or seven, it is mere chance who scores; so let any great superiority in fielding decide the choice. I remember playing a match in which I had difficulty in carrying the election of a first-rate fieldsman against a second-rate bat. Now, the said batsman could not certainly be worth above fourteen runs; say seven more than the fieldsman. But the fieldsman, as it happened, made a most difficult catch, put one runner out, and, above all, kept the bowlers in good heart, during an uphill game, by stopping many hard hits. A bad fieldsman is a loose screw in your machinery; giving confidence to the adversary, and taking the spirit out of his own party. Therefore, let the captain of an Eleven proclaim that men must qualify by fine fielding: and let him encourage the following exercises:—
Put in two batsmen, whose play is not good enough to spoil, to tip and run. You will then find what very clean fielding is required to save one run, with men determined to try it.
Let every man practise long-stop.
Long-leg is a fieldsman nearly as essential as a good long-stop. A man who can run and throw well should make a long-leg his forte, and practise judging distances for a long catch, covering ground both to right and left, neat handling, with allowance for the twist, and especially an arrow-like and accurate return. Nothing is so likely to put the runner out as a swift throw to the hands from a long distance. Aspire to foil the usual calculation, that, at a long distance, the runner can beat the throw.
Let the wicket-keeper take his place, and while some one throws or hits, let him require the quickest and most accurate throwing. A ball properly thrown comes in like an arrow—no time being lost by soaring high in air. At short distances, throw at once to the hands; where unavoidable, with a long hop. But this hop should result from a low and skimming throw; or, the ball will lose its speed. Practise throwing, without any flourish, by a single action of the arm. Any good fieldsman will explain, far better than our pen, the art of picking up a ball in the only position consistent with a quick return. A good throw often runs a man out; an advantage very rarely gained without something superior in fielding. Young players should practise throwing, and remember never to throw in a long hop when they can throw to the hands. "Many a 'run out,'" says Mr. R. T. King, "has been lost by that injudicious practice of throwing long hops to the wicket-keeper, instead of straight, and, when necessary, hard, to his hands;" a practice that should be utterly reprobated, especially as many rising players will fancy it is the most correct, instead of the slowest, style of throwing. To throw in a long hop is only allowable when you might fail to throw a catch, and, which is worst of all, make too short a hop to the wicket-keeper. The Captain should keep an account of the best runners, throwers, clean pickers-up, and especially of men who can meet and anticipate the ball, and of those who deserve the praise given to Chatterton—"the safest pair of hands in England."
So much for quick throwing; but for a throw up from long-field, Virgil had a good notion of picking up and sending in a ball:—
"Ille manu raptum trepidâ torquebat in hostem;
Altior assurgens, et cursu concitus, heros."
Here we have snatching up the ball with a quiver of the wrist, rising with the effort, and a quick step or two to gain power.—Meeting the ball requires a practice of its own, and is a charming operation when you can do it; for the same impetus with which you run in assists the quickness of your return. Practice will reveal the secret of running in; only, run with your hands near the ground, so as not to have suddenly to stoop; and, keep your eyes well open, not losing the ball for an instant. In fielding, as in batting, you must study all the varieties of balls, whether tices, half-volleys, or other lengths.
A fast runner nascitur non fit: still, practice does much, and especially for all the purposes of a fieldsman near the wicket. A spring and quick start are things to learn; and that, both right and left: few men spring equally well with both feet. Anticipating the ball, and getting the momentum on the proper side, is everything in fielding; and practice will enable a man to get his proper footing and quick shifting step. A good cricketer, like a good skater, must have free use of both feet: and of course a fine fieldsman must catch with both hands.
Practise left-handed catching in a ring; also picking up with left: "Any one can catch with his right," says the old player; "now, my boy, let us see what you can do with your left." Try, also, "slobbering" a ball, to see how many arts there are of recovering it afterwards. I need hardly say that jumping off your feet for a high catch, and rushing in to a ball and patting it up in the air and catching it the second attempt, are all arts of first-rate practitioners.
Safe Hands.—Your hands should be on the rat-trap principle,—taking anything in, and letting nothing out again. Of course a ball has a peculiar feeling and spin off a bat quite different from a throw; so practise accordingly. By habit hand and eye will go together: what the eye sees the right part of the hand will touch by a natural adjustment. There is a way of allowing for the spin of the ball in the air: as to its tendency at Cover, to twist especially to the left, this is too obvious to require notice.
I am ashamed to be obliged to remind players, old as well as young, that there is such a thing as being a good judge of a short run: and I might hold up, as an example, an Honourable gentleman, who, though a first-rate long-stop and fine style of batting, has a distinct reputation for the one run. It is a tale, perhaps, thrice told, but more than thrice forgotten, that the partner should follow up the ball; how many batsmen destroy the very life of the game by standing still like an extra umpire. Now, in a school Eleven, running notches can be practised with security, because with mutaal dependence; though I would warn good players that, among strangers in a country match, sharp running is a dangerous game.
Symptoms of a Loser of Runs.—He never follows up the ball, but leans on his bat, or stands sociably by the umpire; he has 20 yards to run from a state of rest, instead of 16, already on the move; he is addicted to checks and false starts; he destroys the confidence of his partner's running; he condemns his partner to play his worst, because in a state of disgust; he never runs and turns, but runs and stops, or shoots past his wicket, making ones for twos, and twos for threes; he often runs a man out, and, besides this loss, depresses his own side, and animates the other; he makes slow fieldsmen as good as fast; having no idea of stealing a run for the least miss, he lets the fieldsmen stand where they please, saving both the two and the one; he lets the bowler coolly experiment with the wicket, when one run breaks the dangerous series, and destroys his confidence; he spares the bowler that disturbance of his nerves which results from stolen runs and suspicion of his fieldsmen; he continues the depressing influence of maiden Overs, when a Single would dispel the charm; he deserves the name of the "Green man and Still," and usually commences his innings by saying, "Pray don't run me out. Sir,"—"We'll run no risks whatever." When there is a long hit, the same man will tear away like mad, forgetting that both he and his partner (a heavier man perhaps) want a little wind left for the next ball.—O Ignavum pecus! so-called "steady" players. Steady, indeed! You stand like posts, without the least intuition of a run. The true cricketer runs while another is thinking of it; indeed, he does not think—he sees and feels it is a run. He descries when the fieldsman has a long reach with his left hand, or when he must overbalance and right himself, or turn before he can throw. He watches hopefully the end of a long throw, or a ball backed carelessly up,—Bear witness, bowlers, to the virtue of a single run made sharply and vexatiously. Just as your plot is ripe, the batsmen change, and an ordinary length supersedes the very ball that would have beguiled your man. Is it nothing to break in upon the complete Over to the same man? And, how few the bowlers who repeat the length from which a run is made! To repeat, passionless as the catapult, a likely length, hit or not hit, here it is the professional beats the amateur.—"These indirect influences of making each possible run," says Mr. E. T. King, "are too little considered. Once I saw, to my full conviction, the whole fortune of a game changed by simply effecting two single runs; one, while a man was threatening to throw, instead of throwing, in the ball; the other, while a ball was dribbling in from about middle wicket. This one run ended thirteen maiden Overs, set the bowlers blaming the fieldsmen at the expense, as usual, of their equanimity and precision, and proved the turning-point in a match till then dead against us. Calculate the effect of 'stolen runs' on the powers of a bowler and his tactics as against a batsman, on the places of the fieldsmen, on their insecurity when hurried, and the spirit it puts into the one party and takes away from the other; and add to this the runs evidently lost; and, I am confident that the same Eleven that go out for sixty would, with better running, generally make seventy-five, and not uncommonly a hundred."
Attend, therefore, to the following rules:—1. Back up every ball as soon as actually delivered, and as far as consistent with safe return. 2. When both men can see the ball, as before wicket, let the decision depend on the batsman, as less prepared to start, or on the elder and heavier man, by special agreement; and let the decision be the partner's when the ball is behind the hitter. 3. Let men run by some call mere beckoning with strangers leads to fatal errors, backing up being mistaken for "run." "Yes," "no," or "run," "stop," are the words. "Away" sounds like "stay." 4. Let the hitter also remember that he can often back up a few yards in anticipation of a ball passing the fieldsman. 5. Let the first run be made quickly when there is the least chance of a second. 6. Let the ball be watched and followed up, as for a run, on the chance of a miss from wicket-keeper or fieldsmen. So, never over-run your ground. 7. Always run with judgment and attention, never beyond your strength: good running between wickets does not mean running out of wind, to the suffusion of the eye and the trembling of the hand, though a good batsman must train for good wind. Henry Davis of Leicester was fine as ever in practice, when too heavy to run, and therefore to bat, in a game. The reason of running out and losing runs is, generally, the want of an established rule as to who decides the run. How rarely do we see a man run out but from hesitation! How often does a man lose his chance of safety by stopping to judge what is his partner's ball! Let cricketers observe some rule for judging the run. There will then be no doubt who is to blame,—though, to censure the batsman because his partner is run out, when that partner is not backing up, is too bad. Let the man who has to decide bear all the responsibility if his partner is out; only, let prompt obedience be the rule. When a man feels he must run because called, he will take more pains to be ready; and, when once it is plain that a batsman has erred in judgment and lost one wicket of his eleven, he will, if worth anything, make a study of running, and avoid so unpleasant a reflection for the future. Fancy such a mem. as this:—"Pilch run out because Rash hesitated," or "Rash run out because when the hitter called he was not backing up."
These and many other ideas on this most essential, yet most neglected, part of the game, I shall endeavour to illustrate by the following computation of runs which might have been added to an innings of 100.
Suppose, therefore, 100 runs scored; 90 by hits, 4 by wide balls, and 6 by byes and leg byes—the loss is commonly as follows:—
| 1. | Singles lost from hits | about 10 |
| 2. | Ones instead of twos, by not making the former run quickly and turning for a second, but over-running ground and stopping | " 4 |
| 3. | Runs that might have been stolen from balls dropped and slovenly handled | " 3 |
| 4. | Loss from fieldsmen standing where they please, and covering more ground than they dare do with sharp runners | " 5 |
| 5. | Loss from not having those misses which result from hurrying the field | " 4 |
| 6. | Loss from bowlers not being ruffled, as they would be if feeling the runs should be stopped | " 7 |
| 7. | Extra loss from byes not run (with the least "slobbering" the runners may cross—though Dean is cunning) | " 6 |
| 8. | From having draws and slips stopped, which long-stop could not stop if nearer in | about 5 |
| 9. | One man run out | " 8 |
| 10. | Depressing influence of the same | " ? |
| 11. | From not having the only long-stop disgusted and hurried into missing everything | " ? |
| 12. | From not having the adversary all wild by these combined annoyances | " ? |
| Total | " 52 | |
| 13. | Loss from adversary playing better when going in against a score of 100 than against 152 | " ? |
Now, though I have put down nothing for four sources of loss, not the less material because hard to calculate, the difference between good runners and bad seems to be above half the score. That many will believe me I can hardly expect; but, before they contradict, let them watch and reckon for themselves, where fielding is not first-rate.
It was only after writing as above that I read that in "North v. South," 1851, the North lost six wickets, and the South two, by running out! In the first Gentlemen and Players' match, of the same year, it was computed that one man, who made a long score, actually lost as many runs as he made! In choosing an eleven, such men should be marked, and the loser of runs avoided on the same principle as a bad fieldsman. Reckon not only the runs a man may make, but the runs he may lose, and how the game turns about sometimes by a man bring run out. A perfect cricketer, like a perfect whist-player, must qualify his scientific rules, and make the best of a bad partner—but, how few are perfect, especially in this point! Talk not alone of good batsmen, I have often said.—Choose me some thorough-bred public-school cricketers; for, "the only men," says Clarke, "I ever see judges of a run, are those who have played cricket as boys with sixpenny bats, used to distances first shorter, then longer as they grew stronger, and learnt, not from being bowled to by the hour, but by years of practice in real games. You blame me because the All England Eleven don't learn not to run out, though always practising together. Why, a run is a thing not learnt in a day. There's that gentleman yonder—with all his fine hitting he is no cricketer; he can't run; he learnt at a catapult, and how can a catapult teach a man the game?"
Great men have the same ideas, or Clarke would seem to have borrowed from Horace
"Qui studet optatam cursu contingere metam
Multa tulit fecitque puer, sudavit et alsit"
A good innings disdains a sleeping partner. Be alive and moving; and—instead of saying, "Well played!" "Famous hit!" &c.; or, as we sometimes hear in the way of encouragement, "How near!" "What a close shave!" "Pray, take care, Smith!"—think of the runs, and say "run" or "stop" as the case may be. Thus, you may avoid the ludicrous scene of two big men rushing from their wickets, pausing, turning back, starting again, and having a small talk together at the eleventh yard, and finding, one or the other, a prostrate wicket, while apologies and recrimination are the only solace.
Old players need keep up a habit of throwing and of active movements. For, the redundant spirit and buoyancy of youthful activity soon evaporates. Many a zealous cricketer loses his once-famed quickness from mere disuse—Sic omnia fatis, in pejus ruere. Instead of always batting, and practising poor Hillyer and Wisden till their dodges are dodges no more, and it is little credit to score from them, go to your neighbour's wicket and practise fielding for an hour, or else, next match, you may find your throwing at fault.
Fielding, I fear, is retrograding: a good general player, famed for that quick return which runs the adversary out, one who is, at the same time, a useful change in bowling, a safe judge of a run, and respectable at every point of the game—this is becoming a scarce character, and Batting is a word supposed co-extensive with Cricket,—a sad mistake.
Spare the bowler.—One reason for returning the ball not to bowler, but to wicket-keeper, who should advance quietly, like Box, and return a catch. A swift throw, or any exertion in the field which hurts the bowler's hand, or sets it shaking, may lose a game. If a bowler has half-volleys returned to him, by stretching and stooping after them, he gets out of his swing. Now, this same swing is a great point with a bowler. Watch him after he has got his footsteps firm for his feet, and when in his regular stride, and see the increased precision of his performance. Then comes the time when your great gun tumbles down his men! and that is the time that some sure, judicious batsman, whose eminence is little seen amidst the loose hitting of a scratch match, comes calmly and composedly to the wicket and makes a stand; and, as he disposes of maiden Overs, and steals ones and twos, he breaks the spell that bound his men, and makes the dead-straight bowling good for Cuts and leg-hits. In no game or sport do I ever witness half the satisfaction of the bowler who can thus bowl maiden Overs and defy a score; or of the batsman who takes the edge off the same, runs up the telegraph to even betting, and gives easier work and greater confidence to those who follow. A wicket-keeper, too, may dart off and save a bowler from fielding a three or four; and, whenever he leaves his wicket, slip must take wicket-keeper's place. "How stale," "true; but, instantly's the word,"—from neglect of which, we have seen dreadful mistakes made even in good matches.
Ay, and what beautiful things are done by quick return and a low shy; no time wasted in parabolic curves: ball just skimming the ground when it comes in a long hop, but quickest of all returns is a throw to the top of the bails into wicket-keeper's hands.
Point.—Your great strength lies in anticipation: witness Ἄναξ ἀνδρῶν. To that gentleman every ball seems hit, because he always gets thereabouts; yet is he near-sighted withal! 'Tis the mind that sees, eyes are its glasses, and he is too good a workman to want excuse for his tools. With slow bowling and a bad batsman, Point can anticipate easily enough. Still, with all bowling, fast and slow, the common fault of Point is, that he stands, if near, too near; and if far off, yet not far off enough. Stand where you yourself can catch and stop. If slow in hand and eye stand off for longer catches, else, by standing where a quick man would catch sharp catches, you miss everything. With fast bowling, few balls which could be caught at seven yards ground short of twelve. Though, if the ground is very rough, or the bowling slow, the ball may be popped up near the bat, even by good players. Whenever a ball is hit Off, Point must cross instanter, or hell be too late to back up, especially the bowler's wicket.
Point is sometimes Point proper, like a Wicket-keeper or Shortslip, to cramp the batsman, and take advantage of his mistakes; but with fast bowling and good batsmen, Point may advantageously stand off like any other fieldsman. For then, he will save many more runs, and may make quite as many catches. If Mr. King stood as Point, and Chatterton as Cover in the same line, with Pilch batting and Wisden bowling, they would not (as I presume they are well aware) work to the best advantage. When Clarke is bowling he generally wants a veritable Point for the catch. But, to stand near, as a Scientific Point, with wild bowling is absurd.
Short-leg is often a very hardly used personage, expected to save runs that seem easy, but are actual impossibilities. A good ball, perhaps, is pushed forward to middle wicket On, Short-leg being square, and the bowler looks black at him. Then a Draw is made, when Short-leg is standing rather forward, and no man is ubiquitous. If the batsman often does not know where the rise or bias may reflect the ball, how should the fieldsman know?
Cover-point and Long-slip are both difficult places; the ball comes so fast and curling, that it puzzles even the best man. No place in the field but long-stop has the work of long-slip. This used to be Pilch's place.
The chief point in these places is to stand either to save one or to save two. This depends on the quickness of the fieldsman and the judgment of the runners. With such judges of a run as Hon. F. Ponsonby, Parr, Wisden, and J. Lillywhite, you must stand rather near to save one; but quick return is every thing. Here Caldecourt was, years since, first-rate. I have seen him, at Cover, when past his best, judge well, start quick, run low, up and in like a shot to wicket-keeper's hands; and what more would you have in fielding? When E. H. Budd played and won a second match for 100l. with Mr. Brand—two fieldsmen given,—so much was thought of Mr. Brand's having engaged Caldecourt, that it was agreed he should field on both sides. He did so, and shied Mr. Budd out at a single stump. To save two, a good man may stand a very long way off on hard ground, and reduce the hardest cuts to singles. But a common fault is, "standing nowhere," neither to save one nor to save two. Remember not to stand as sharp when fast bowling is replaced by slow. Cover is the place for brilliant fielding. Watch well the batsman, and start in time. Half a spring in anticipation puts you already under weigh, and makes yards in the ground you can cover. The following is curious:—
"You would think," said Caldecourt, "that a ball to the right hand may be returned more quickly than a ball to the left" But ask him, and he will show you how, if at a long reach, he always found it otherwise. The right shoulder may be even in the better position to return (in spite of change of hands), when the left picks up the ball than when the right picks it.
Some good Covers have been quicker with a hard jerk than a throw, for the attitude of fielding is less altered. Still a jerk is less easy to the wicket-keeper. A long-slip with good head and heels may assist long-stop; his triumph is to run a man out by anticipating the balls that bump off long-stop's wrists and shins.
A third man up, or a middle-slip, is at times very killing: this allows long-slip to stand back for hard hits, and no catch escapes. A forward Point, or middle wicket close in, often snaps up a catch or two, particularly when the ground is dangerous for forward play, or the batsman plays hesitatingly.
Thick-soled shoes save colds in soppy weather, and do not jar when the ground is hard; for the Cantabs say that
Thin soles＋hard ground=tender feet,
is an undeniable equation. Bowlers should wear worsted socks to save blisters, and mind the thread is not fastened off in a knot, just under the most sensitive part of the heel.
Much inconvenience arises in a match (for the best player may be out) by spectators standing in the eye of the ball; so, stretch strips of white canvass on poles five feet high; for this, while it keeps the stupid away, provides a white background for each wicket.
This is good also in a park, where the deep shade of trees increases the confessed uncertainty of the game. Some such plan is much wanted on all public grounds where the sixpenny freeholders stand and hug their portly corporations, and, by standing in the line of the wicket, give the ball all the shades of green coat, light waistcoat, and drab smalls. Still, batsmen must try to rise superior to such annoyances; for, if the bowler changes his side of the wicket, the umpire will often be in the light of the ball.
Oh! that ring at Lord's; for, as in olden time,—
"si quid fricti ciceris probat et nucis emptor;"
that is, if the swillers of half-and-half and smokers of pigtail,—a preponderating influence and large majority of voices,—applaud a hit, it does not follow that it is a good one: nor, if they cry "Butterfingers!" need the miss be a bad one. No credit for good intentions!—no allowance for a twisting catch and the sun enough to singe your eyelids!—the hit that wins the "half-and-half" is the finest hit for that select assemblage, whose "sweet voices" quite drown the nicer judgment of the pavilion, even as vote by ballot would swamp the House of Lords.
Long-stop.—If you would estimate the value of a practised long-stop, only try to play a match with a bad one. Still, patient merit is rarely appreciated; for, what is done very well looks so easy. Long-stopping requires the cleanest handling and quickest return. The best in form I ever saw was an Oxonian about 1838,—a Mr. Napier. One of the worst in form, however, was the best of his day in effect,—Good; for he took the ball sideways. A left-handed man, as Good was, has a great advantage in stopping slips under-leg. Among the ancients, Old Beagley was the man. But there is many a man whose praise is yet unsung; for when Mr. E. H. Budd saw Mr. R Stothert at Lansdown, Bath, stop right and left to Mr. Kirwan's bowling, he alluded to Beagley's doings, and said Beagley never came up to R. Stothert. Mr. Marshall (jun.) in the same Club stopped for Mr. Marcon without one bye through a Long innings. The gentleman who opposed the firmest front, however, for years, to Messrs. Kirwan and Fellowes,—bowlers, who have broken studs into the breast-bone of a long-stop, and then, to make amends, taken fourpenny-bits of skin off his shins, is Mr. Hartopp, pronounced, by Mr. Charles Burt,—himself undeniable at that point,—to be the best for a continuance he has ever seen. Vigeat vireatque! His form is good; and he works with great ease and cool attention. Among the most celebrated at present are Mr. C. Ridding, W. Pilch, Guy, and Dean.
On Long-stopping, Mr. Hartopp kindly writes:—"No place requires so much patient perseverance: the work is so mechanical. I have seen many a brilliant fieldsman there for a short innings, while the bowling is straight and rarely passes; but, let him have to humdrum through 150 or 200 runs, and he will get bored, tired, and careless; then, runs come apace. Patience is much wanted, if a sharp runner is in; for he will often try a long-stop's temper by stealing runs; in such a case, I have found it the best plan to prepare the wicket-keeper for a hard throw to his, the nearer, wicket; for, if this does not run the man out, it frightens him down to steadier running. Throwing over may sometimes answer; but a cunning runner will get in your way, or beat a ball thrown over his head. Long-stop's distance must often be as much as four or five yards less for a good runner than for a bad. Short distance does not make stopping more difficult; because, it gives fewer hops and twists to the ball; but a longer distance enables you to cover more tips and draws, and saves leg-byes. Good runners ought to cross if the ball is in the least fumbled; but clean fielding, with quick under-hand return, would beat the Regent Street Pet himself, did he attempt a run. Long-stop is wholly at fault if he requires the wicket-keeper to stand aside: this would spoil the stumping. As to gloves and pads, let every one please himself; we must choose between gloves and sore hands; but wrist gauntlets are of great use, and no hindrance to catches, which often come spinning to the long-stop, and otherwise difficult.
"As to form, dropping on one knee is a bad position for any fielding: you are fixed and left behind by any sudden turn of the ball. The best rule is to watch the ball from the bowler's hand and move accordingly, and you will soon find for how much bias to allow; and beware of a slope like Lord's: it causes a greater deviation than you would imagine in thirty yards. Just as the ball comes, draw yourself up heels together (thus many a shooter have I stopped), and, picking as neatly as you can, pitch it back to wicket-keeper as if it were red hot. Quick return saves many byes, and keeps up an appearance which prevents the attempt The same discrimination of lengths is required with hands as with bat Long hops are easy: a tice is as hard almost as a shooter; half-volley is a teaser. Such balls as pitch up to you should be 'played forward' by pushing or sweeping your hands out to meet them; even if you do not field them clean, still you will often save a run by forcing the ball up towards the wicket-keeper, and having it before you.
"A Long-stop wants much command of attention,—eye never off the ball; and this, so little thought of, is the one great secret of all fielding: you must also play your hardest and your very best; a habit which few have energy to sustain. If you miss a ball, rattle away after it; do not stand, as many do, to apologise by dumb show. If the ball bumps up at the moment of handling, throw your chin up and let it hit your chest as full as it may: this is Horace's advice;—
'Fortiaque adversis opponite pectora rebus.'
"Long-stop should assist the backing up on the On side, and must start at once to be in time. The attention he has to sustain is very trying to the eyes, especially in windy weather."
Wicket-keeping.—If not born with better ocular nerves than the average, I doubt whether any degree of practice would make a first-rate wicket-keeper. Still, since Lillywhite succeeded in training one of the Winchester eleven in Wicket-keeping, by bowling accordingly, wicket-keeping seems an art to be acquired. To place the hands accurately, right or left, according to the pitch of the ball, and to take that ball, however fast, unbaulked by the bat or body of the player, is really very difficult. But what if we add—and how few, very few, can accomplish it!—taking the ball in spite of an unexpected bias or turn from the bat. Still, practice will do much where nature has done a little; but with modern bowling you want a man both "rough and ready." Mr. Herbert Jenner was "the ready man;" so also are Messrs. Anson, Nicholson, and W. Ridding, and Box; but Wenman was ready and rough too. He had fine working qualities, and could stand a deal of pounding, day after day: others have had a short life and a merry one, and mere transient popularity; but, for wicket-keeping under difficulties, give me Wenman. At wicket-keeping, the men of labour ought to beat the men of leisure. Hard hands are essential: and, hard hands can only come from hard work. Wenman's calling, that of a wheelwright and carpenter, is in his favour. "I found my hands quite seasoned," writes an amateur, "after a two-month's work at the oar." Chatterton fears no pace in bowling. But Lockyer's name now stands highest of all: the certainty and facility with which he takes Wisden's bowling, both with right and left, can hardly be surpassed. We leave wicket-keepers to emulate Lockyer, especially in his every-day lasting and working qualities against fast bowling, for that is the difficulty. Like Wenman, he does not stand too near, so he is well placed for catches. Moreover, they both have weight and power—a decided advantage: a feather weight may be shaken. Winterton, of Cambridge, carries great weight with him at the wicket. This gives a decided advantage over a player of the weight of Mr. Ridding: albeit, in the Players' Match in 1849, Mr. Ridding stumped Hillyer off Mr. Fellowes's bowling, and that with an Off-ball nearly wide! Hammond was the great wicket-keeper of former days: but then, the bowling was often about Clarke's pace. Browne, of Brighton, and Osbaldeston put wicket-keepers to flight; but the race re-appeared in—the finest ever seen for moderate pace—Mr. Jenner, famed not only for the neatest stumping, but for the marvellous quantity of ground he could cover, serving, as a near Point, Leg, and Slip, as well as Wicket-keeper. Box's powers, though he has always been a first-rate man, are rather limited to pace.—"Have me to bowl," Lillywhite used to say, "Box to keep wicket, and Pilch to hit, and then you'll see Cricket;" for Box is best with Lillywhite.—As to making mistakes as wicket-keeper, what mortal combination of flesh and blood can help it. One of the most experienced Long-stops, after many years at Lord's and in the country, says, to take even one out of three of possible chances, has proved, in his experience, good average wicket-keeping; for, think of leg-shooters! though Mr. Ridding could take even them wonderfully well.
"I have seen," writes Mr. E. S. E. H., "Mr. C. Taylor—who was capital at running in, and rarely stumped out, having an excellent eye, and if the twist of the ball beat him it was enough to beat the wicket-keeper also—I have seen him, after missing a ball, walk quietly back to his ground, poor wicket-keeper looking foolish and vexed at not stumping him, and the ring, of course, calling him a muff." Really, wicket-keepers are hardly used; the spectators little know that a twist which misses the bat, may as easily escape the hand.
Again, "the best piece of stumping I ever saw was done by Mr. Anson, in the Players' Match, in 1843. Butler, one of the finest of the Nottingham batsmen, in trying to draw one of Mr. Mynn's leg shooters, just lifted, for an instant, his right foot; Mr. Anson timed the feat beautifully, and swept the ball with his left hand into the wicket. I fancy a feat so difficult was never done so easily."—"I also saw Mr. Anson, in a match against the Etonians, stump a man with his right, catch the flying bail with his left, and replace it so quickly that the man's surprise and puzzle made all the fun: stumped out, though wicket seemingly never down!" Mr. Jenner was very clever in these things, skimming off one bail with his little finger, ball in hand, and not troubling the umpire. Once his friend, Mr. R. K., had an awkward trick of pulling up his trousers, which lifted his leg every time he had missed a ball: Mr. Jenner waited for his accustomed habit, caught him in the act, and stumped him. "A similar piece of fun happened in Gentlemen of England v. Gentlemen of Kent in 1845. A Kent player sat down to get wind, after a run, his bat in his ground but with seat of honour out, and for a moment let go the handle, and the wicket-keeper stumped him out. He was very angry, and said he never would play again: however, he did play the return match at Canterbury, where he was put out in precisely the same manner. Since which, like Monsieur Tonson, he has never been heard of more."
That a fieldsman wants wits to his fingers' ends, was shown by Martingell one day: being just too ten to command a ball he gave it a touch to keep it up, and cried, "Catch it, Slip." Slip, so assisted, reached the ball.
The great thing in Wicket-keeping is, for hand and eye to go together, just as with batting, and what is exercise for the former, assists the latter. Any exercise in which the hand habitually tries to obey the eye, is useful for cricket; fielding improves batting, and batting improves fielding.
Twelve of the principal wicket-keepers of the lost fifty years were all efficient Batsmen; namely, Hammond, Searle, Box, Wenman, Dorrington, C. Brown, Chatterton, Lockyer, with Messrs. Jenner, Anson, Nicholson, and Ridding.
"How would you explain, sir," said Cobbett, "that the player's batting keeps pace with the gentleman's, when we never take a bat except in a game?"—"Because you are constantly following the ball with hand and eye together, which forms a valuable practice for judging pace, and time, and distance: not enough certainly to teach batting, but enough to keep it up. Besides, if you practise too little, most gentlemen practise too much, ending in a kind of experimental and speculative play, which proves—like gentleman's farming—more scientific than profitable. Amateurs often try at too much, mix different styles, and, worse than all, form conflicting habits. The game, for an average, is the player's game; because, less ambitious, with less excitement about favourite hits, of a simple style, with fewer things to think of, and a game in which, though limited, they are better grounded.
Amateurs are apt to try a bigger game than they could safely play with twice their practice. Many a man, for instance, whose talent lies in defence, tries free hitting, and, between the two, proves good for nothing. Others, perhaps, can play straight and fairly Off;—and, should not they learn to hit On also? Certainly: but while in a transition state, they are not fit for a county match: and some men are always in this transition state. Horace had good cricket ideas, for, said he,
"Aut famam sequere, aut sibi convenientia finge."
Either play for show off, and "that's villanous," says Hamlet, "and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it;" or, adopt a style you can put well together—and sumite materiam—æquam viribus, adopt a style that suits your capabilities; cui lecta potenter erit res; try at no more than you can do—nec deseret hunc,—and that's the game to carry you through.
"A mistake," said an experienced bowler, "in giving a leg ball or two, is not all clear loss; for, a swing round to the leg often takes a man off his straight play. To ring the changes on Cutting with horizontal bat, and forward play with a straight bat, and leg-hitting, which takes a different bat again, this requires more steady practice than most amateurs have either time or perseverance to learn thoroughly. So, one movement is continually interfering with the other."