"Martin!" said the schoolmaster, in a severe tone, looking up from the
book with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turn
your back to it."
"Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with
eagerness as he stared across the fields.
"Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the master in a loud tone, at
the same time striking the desk violently with his cane.
"Oh, sir, let me out! There's Bob Croaker with my kitten. He's going
to drown it. I know he is; he said he would; and if he does aunty will
die, for she loves it next to me; and I must save it, and--and, if you
_don't_ let me out--you'll be a murderer!"
At this concluding burst, Martin sprang forward and stood before his
master with clenched fists and a face blazing with excitement. The
schoolmaster's gaze of astonishment gradually gave place to a dark frown
strangely mingled with a smile, and, when the boy concluded, he said
quietly--
"You may go."
No second bidding was needed. The door flew open with a bang; and the
gravel of the play-ground, spurned right and left, dashed against the
window panes as Martin flew across it. The paling that fenced it off
from the fields beyond was low, but too high for a jump. Never a boy in
all the school had crossed that paling at a spring, without laying his
hands upon it; but Martin did. We do not mean to say that he did
anything superhuman; but he rushed at it like a charge of cavalry,
sprang from the ground like a deer, kicked away the top bar, tumbled
completely over, landed on his head, and rolled down the slope on the
other side as fast as he could have run down,--perhaps faster.
It would have required sharper eyes than yours or mine to have observed
how Martin got on his legs again, but he did it in a twinkling, and was
half across the field almost before you could wink, and panting on the
heels of Bob Croaker. Bob saw him coming and instantly started off at a
hard run, followed by the whole school. A few minutes brought them to
the banks of the stream, where Bob Croaker halted, and, turning round,
held the white kitten up by the nape of the neck.
"O spare it! spare it, Bob!--don't do it--please don't, don't do it!"
gasped Martin, as he strove in vain to run faster.
"There you go!" shouted Bob, with a coarse laugh, sending the kitten
high into the air, whence it fell with a loud splash into the water.
It was a dreadful shock to feline nerves, no doubt, but that white
kitten was no ordinary animal. Its little heart beat bravely when it
rose to the surface, and, before its young master came up, it had
regained the bank. But, alas! what a change! It went into the stream a
fat, round, comfortable ball of eider-down. It came out a scraggy
blotch of white paint, with its black eyes glaring like two great glass
beads! No sooner did it crawl out of the water than Bob Croaker seized
it, and whirled it round his head, amid suppressed cries of "Shame!"
intending to throw it in again; but at that instant Martin Rattler
seized Bob by the collar of his coat with both hands, and, letting
himself drop suddenly, dragged the cruel boy to the ground, while the
kitten crept humbly away and hid itself in a thick tuft of grass.
A moment sufficed to enable Bob Croaker, who was nearly twice Martin's
weight, to free himself from the grasp of his panting antagonist, whom
he threw on his back, and doubled his fist, intending to strike Martin
on the face; but a general rush of the boys prevented this.
"Shame, shame, fair-play!" cried several; "don't hit him when he's
down!"
"Then let him rise up and come on!" cried Bob, fiercely, as he sprang up
and released Martin.
"Ay, that's fair. Now then, Martin, remember the kitten!"
"Strike men of your own size!" cried several of the bigger boys, as they
interposed to prevent Martin from rushing into the unequal contest.
"So I will," cried Bob Croaker, glaring round with passion. "Come on
any of you that likes. I don't care a button for the biggest of you."
No one accepted this challenge, for Bob was the oldest and the strongest
boy in the school, although, as is usually the case with bullies, by no
means the bravest.
Seeing that no one intended to fight with him, and that a crowd of boys
strove to hold Martin Rattler back, while they assured him that he had
not the smallest chance in the world, Bob turned towards the kitten,
which was quietly and busily employed in licking itself dry and said,
"Now Martin, you coward, I'll give it another swim for your impudence."
"Stop, stop!" cried Martin, earnestly. "Bob Croaker, I would rather do
anything than fight. I would give you everything I have to save my
kitten; but if you won't spare it unless I fight, I'll do it. If you
throw it in before you fight me, you're the greatest coward that ever
walked. Just give me five minutes to breathe and a drink of water, and
I'll fight you as long as I can stand."
Bob looked at his little foe in surprise. "Well, that's fair. I'm
you're man; but if you don't lick me I'll drown the kitten, that's all."
Having said this, he quietly divested himself of his jacket and
neckcloth, while several boys assisted Martin to do the same, and
brought him a draught of water in the crown of one of their caps. In
five minutes all was ready, and the two boys stood face to face and foot
to foot, with their fists doubled and revolving, and a ring of boys
around them.
Just at this critical moment the kitten, having found the process of
licking itself dry more fatiguing than it had expected, gave vent to a
faint mew of distress. It was all that was wanting to set Martin's
indignant heart into a blaze of inexpressible fury. Bob Croaker's
visage instantly received a shower of sharp, stinging blows, that had
the double effect of taking that youth by surprise and throwing him down
upon the green sward. But Martin could not hope to do this a second
time. Bob now knew the vigour of his assailant, and braced himself
warily to the combat, commencing operations by giving Martin a
tremendous blow on the point of his nose, and another on the chest.
These had the effect of tempering Martin's rage with a salutary degree
of caution, and of eliciting from the spectators sundry cries of warning
on the one hand, and admiration on the other, while the young champions
revolved warily round each other, and panted vehemently.
The battle that was fought that day was one of a thousand. It created
as great a sensation in the village school as did the battle of Waterloo
in England. It was a notable fight; such as had not taken place within
the memory of the oldest boy in the village, and from which, in after
years, events of juvenile history were dated,--especially pugilistic
events, of which, when a good one came off it used to be said that,
"such a battle had not taken place since the year of the Great Fight."
Bob Croaker was a noted fighter, Martin Rattler was, up to this date, an
untried hero. Although fond of rough play and boisterous mischief, he
had an unconquerable aversion to _earnest_ fighting, and very rarely
indeed returned home with a black eye,--much to the satisfaction of Aunt
Dorothy Grumbit, who objected to all fighting from principle, and
frequently asserted, in gentle tones, that there should be no soldiers
or sailors (fighting sailors, she meant) at all, but that people ought
all to settle everything the best way they could without fighting, and
live peaceably with one another, as the Bible told them to do. They
would be far happier and better off, she was sure of that; and if
everybody was of her way of thinking, there would be neither swords, nor
guns, nor pistols, nor squibs, nor anything else at all! Dear old lady.
It would indeed be a blessing if her principles could be carried out in
this warring and jarring world. But as this is rather difficult, what
we ought to be careful about is, that we never fight except in a good
cause and with a clear conscience.
It was well for Martin Rattler, on that great day, that the formation of
the ground favoured him. The spot on which the fight took place was
uneven, and covered with little hillocks and hollows, over which Bob
Croaker stumbled, and into which he fell,--being a clumsy boy on his
legs--and did himself considerable damage; while Martin, who was firmly
knit and active as a kitten, scarcely ever fell, or, if he did, sprang
up again like an India-rubber ball. Fair-play was embedded deep in the
centre of Martin's heart, so that he scorned to hit his adversary when
he was down or in the act of rising; but the thought of the fate that
awaited the white kitten if he were conquered, acted like lightning in
his veins, and scarcely had Bob time to double his fists after a fall,
when he was knocked back again into the hollow, out of which he had
risen. There were no _rounds_ in this fight; no pausing to recover
breath. Martin's anger rose with every blow, whether given or received;
and although he was knocked down flat four or five times, he rose again,
and without a second's delay rushed headlong at his enemy. Feeling that
he was too little and light to make much impression on Bob Croaker by
means of mere blows, he endeavoured as much as possible to throw his
weight against him at each assault; but Bob stood his ground well, and
after a time seemed even to be recovering strength a little.
Suddenly he made a rush at Martin, and, dealing him a successful blow on
the forehead, knocked him down; at the same time he himself tripped over
a molehill and fell upon his face. Both were on their legs in an
instant. Martin grew desperate. The white kitten swimming for its
life seemed to rise before him, and new energy was infused into his
frame. He retreated a step or two, and then darted forward like an
arrow from a bow. Uttering a loud cry, he sprang completely in the air
and plunged--head and fists together, as if he were taking a dive--into
Bob Croaker's bosom! The effect was tremendous. Bob went down like a
shock of grain before the sickle; and having, in their prolonged
movements, approached close to the brink of the stream, both he and
Martin went with a sounding splash into the deep pool and disappeared.
It was but for a moment, however. Martin's head emerged first, with
eyes and mouth distended to the utmost. Instantly, on finding bottom,
he turned to deal his opponent another blow; but it was not needed.
When Bob Croaker's head rose to the surface there was no motion in the
features, and the eyes were closed. The intended blow was changed into
a friendly grasp; and, exerting himself to the utmost, Martin dragged
his insensible school fellow to the bank, where, in a few minutes, he
recovered sufficiently to declare in a sulky tone that he would fight no
more!
"Bob Croaker," said Martin, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry we've had
to fight. I wouldn't have done it, but to save my kitten. You
compelled me to do it, you know that. Come, let's be friends again."
Bob made no reply, but slowly and with some difficulty put on his vest
and jacket.
"I'm sure," continued Martin, "there's no reason in bearing me ill-will.
I've done nothing unfair, and I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won't
you shake hands?"
Bob was silent.
"Come, some, Bob!" cried several of the bigger boys, "don't be sulky,
man; shake hands and be friends. Martin has licked you this time, and
you'll lick him next time, no doubt, and that's all about it."
"Arrah, then, ye're out there, intirely. Bob Croaker'll niver lick
Martin Rattler though he wos to live to the age of the great
M'Thuselah!" said a deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight
had taken place.
All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it proceeded, and
the boys now became aware, for the first time, that the combat had been
witnessed by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on his
good-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of a neighbouring tree
smoking a pipe of that excessive shortness and blackness that seems to
be peculiarly beloved by Irishmen in the humbler ranks of life. The man
was very, tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a
free-and-easy swagger, as he rose and approached the group of boys.
"He'll niver bate ye, Martin, avic, as long as there's two timbers of ye
houldin' togither." The seaman patted Martin on the head as he spoke;
and, turning to Bob Croaker, continued:
"Ye ought to be proud, ye spalpeen, o' bein' wopped by sich a young hero
as this. Come here and shake hands with him: d'ye hear? Troth an' it's
besmearin' ye with too much honour that same. There, that'll do. Don't
say ye're sorry now, for it's lies ye'd be tellin' if ye did. Come
along, Martin, an I'll convarse with ye as ye go home. Ye'll be a man
yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan."
Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little body
into his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise a
soothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long,
it began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village,
with his face black and blue, and swelled, and covered with blood, while
Bob Croaker and his companions returned to the school.
The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficient
to enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderful
adventures and stories of foreign lands; that set Martin's heart on fire
with desire to go to sea; a desire which was by no means new to him, and
which recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small
sea-port of Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his
native village. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin
should be doing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if
he would join his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in
want of an active lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler
sighed deeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to
sea, he did not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let
him go.
Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should pay
the sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more about
foreign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another attempt
to induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his going to sea.