Tempest carefully saw that neither side started with the least advantage, and waited till we were all ready before giving the signal.
A tug of war in which each side is ranged up the steep slope of a hollow is very different work from a tug on the level, as we soon found out.
Indeed, as soon as the rope was stretched, those lowest down were hanging on to it by their finger tips, while those higher up were obliged to sit down to get within anything like reach.

Under these circumstances the contest was short and sharp, and ended in a draw.

For each side lost its footing the moment the strain was applied, and almost before Tempest had given the signal, the whole forty of us were sprawling in a confused heap on the grassy floor of the Bottom.
This abortive contest had the effect (which probably Tempest intended) of smoothing over, to some extent, the angry dispute which was on foot, and which was still further allayed by his undertaking to take a monster joint photograph of the two clubs, provided we stood or sat still for the process.
After that, he good-naturedly remained at our invitation, to officiate as judge in some impromptu sports, in which, once again, the rival parties proved most evenly matched.

Finally, as evening was drawing on, he consented just to witness a hurried display of our joint fireworks, after which, he told us, we must at once take to our boats and repair home.
It was an imposing display.

Twelve Roman candles were set up at regular distances round the hollow, with a fellow in charge of each.