Umpire at a Foot Race.

Cromwell Argus, Volume III, Issue 149, 17 September 1872, Page 7

Umpire at a Foot Race.

Gentle reader !—for it is only to a gentle reader that I would address my narrative did you ever stand umpire at a foot race i Once it was my lot to do so with great satisfaction to myself and everybody else ; but that was a mile race, I pleasantly remember. A hundred yards’ race is quite another thing —that will try your judgment and your I nerve, particularly under circumstances such j as I shall have hereafter to relate. The oc- | casion on which I felt the difficulty and the delicacy of the position occurred to me one morning in the beginning of March, when driving to cover on the turnpike road between Birmingham and Broomsgrove. I beheld before meat acertain celebrated level half mile, some 200 or 300 men from whose hois- , terous demeanour and peculiar garb, although I distinguished by much variety of detail, ° I inferred they were of active habits, and moving somewhat rapidly in the lower sphere of society. I had no desire to become intimate with them, and fully intended to pass them unheeded ; but I was frustrated. Forming : across the road they summoned me to stop* 1 enforcing their peremptory mandate by seizing my horse’s head. Feeling that the odds in the event of a personal encounter were against me, I made a virtue of necessity and pulled up. Surprised, but retaining my na- | tural politeness, I enquired the meaning of so uncivilised a proceeding. A gentleman in a fur cap enlightened me at once, “ Whoy, ; sur, we have gotten a bit of a ra-ace ’twist a Wolv rampton mon and a Brum’agem mon, : and wants a humpire : the Wolv’rampton ; men won’t have a Brum’agem mon, and the ! Brum agem men won t have a Wolv’rampton :

ruon : so we’ve agreed to stop the first ge’leman as comes along the road ; and you’re the fust we’ve seed, and you’ll have to do it.” “ It’s all very fine,” I said, “ but it’s out of my line altogether. I know nothing about such things, and fear I should not give satisfaction. ’ “ That be blowed,” said furry cap; “any fool can tell who’s fust.” “Just so, my friends,” said I; any fool can tell who’s fust; but, as Ido not at present set myself down in that category, 1 may, notwithstandj the apparent simplicity of the transaction, disappoint you.” “ None o’ yer patter, guvnor, said a thin, white-faced fellow, who, I fancied, was from town. “ Stow that!” said half-a-dozen others; “you’re right enough.” “You ain’t such a fool as you look.” “You’ll be right enough ; you ain’t got nothing on it, and there ain’t toime to square yer now.” j “ Out you come.” And amidst such flatterjing and encouraging remarks, I reluctantly | descended from my trap, modestly assuring | my motley friends that I would do my best. I took, or rather I was shoved into my post. “ It’s a hundred yards’ race,” said a gentleman who took upon himself the office of my instructor. “ A cove down yonder will fire a pistol ; and you’ve got to see who touches this ere string fust.” “ I understand,” said I ; “I understand ; thank you very much.” “The Brum’agem mon’s got a red handkerchief round his ’ed ; the Wolv’rampton mon’s got a blue ’un.” “ Aye, I see ; very good.” i The pistol was fired, and off they went at a | rattling hundred yards’ pace. “ Now blue !” j “ now red !” Now one’s nose is half an inch first ; now the other’s ; wriggle, wriggle, bound, step out, wriggle, wriggle, again, and amid uproarious shouts of “ Blue !”—“ Red! | Red ! Red !”—“ Blue ! blue !” the string was S borne away, and the goal was passed. One ; was first, I was sure of that, but red and blue l passing and repassing each other in quick I succession dazzled me, and, for my life, I i could not say which. Had I been a man l of firmness by nature, or used to such affairs by custom, T should have given my : decision on the instant ; but, alas! I was neither. Conscientious withal, I took time jto consider. We know what place is paved with good intentions, and I was thinking of i it, and really meaning to be very just, when ! I was rudely roused by a push, and “ Now then!—who’s fust? from fifty voices, proceeding from as many bony jaws. “ Let me consider,” said I. “ Oh, it wants no considering.” “ Say red, or I’ll fill yer eye up i” “Blue, you fool ? say blue !” said a collierlooking man ; “ blue or I’ll crack your nut!” I !in( l S(J oip till, quite bewildered, I bethought i myself to say, “Dead heat!”—bethought j myself, I say, and luckily I did no more. | They read it in my eye. “ None o’ yer dead : heats, about a hundred, “ or we’ll kill j yer. None o’ that, mind.” 1 tried to smile benignly on my persecutors, but fancy I looked very like a ghost, and should have abandoned myself todespair had 1 known how to set about it, when suddenly a voice, friendly, but unmusical, whispered in my ear, “ Mister Terry. Say red—that’s Brum’agem ; it’s all right—there’s ’nough on us ’ere to pull yer through it. Get in the middle on us, and i say red.” I looked at my friend, and trusted him-—I would have embraced him, but 1 had not time. So, following his advice, I got behind him and shouted “ Red !” with might and main. “Red !’ shouted Ben, echoing my decision in a most confirmatory tone. “ you ! Any on yer want anyI think ?” As I was hoisted into my vehicle, the little crowd was surging considerably, and 1 thought 1 saw a fight or two, but having something else of more importance on my mind, namely, my own safety, 1 drove away. Since that time I have avoided level half miles on my way to cover.