THE GREAT FIGHT
"Martin!" said the school-master, 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 your
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 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, come, 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.