A FIGHT THAT IS TOLD
I
They tell that fight along the road to-day. Old men who saw it want
never a listener when the talk turns on boxing and they can say: "Ah,
but I saw Japhra's Gentleman and Foxy Pinsent back in Boss Maddox's
time."
I tell it as it is told.
Why (the old men say), why, this Japhra's Gentleman, mark me, he was
one of the quick-ones--one of the movers, one of the swift-boys, one of
the dazzlers, one of the few! He come in _tic-tac! tic-tac!
tic-tac!_--quicker'n my old jaws can say it: _Left-right! left-right!
left-right!_--like his two fists was a postman's knock. Pinsent never
see nothing like it. He was one of the class ones, this Pinsent--one
of the pretty ones, one of the sparrers, one of the walk-rounds,
talk-rounds, one of the wait-a-bits; never in no hurry, the class-ring
boys--all watching first to see what a man's got for 'em. He muddy
soon saw, Foxy! Foxy never see nothing like it. First along, he prop
this quick-boy off, an' prop him off, an' prop him off; an' catch him
fair and rattle him, an' smash him one and stagger him, an' side-step
an' shake him up; but still he come, and still he come, and still he
come; _tic-tac! tic-tac! tic-tac!_ ah, he was one of the quick-ones,
one of the dazzlers, one of the steel-boys.
Pinsent never see nothing like it. He come back after the first round
thinking this was novice stuff--going all out like that from the
gong--and laughin' at the bustle of it, an' Buck Osborn an' Nut Harris
an' his boys laughin' back at him. Second round he come back an' give
a bit of a spit on the ground an' ease up his trunks an' look
thoughtful. Third round he step back slowly 's if he'd a puzzle to
think about,--third round I mind me Dingo, Dingo Spain, chip him
friendly while he pass the sponge over him, and Foxy turn on him like
he had the devil in his eyes. "What in hell's that to you?" he give
him. "Keep your grins in your ugly mouth," he give him, "lest you want
me to wipe it for you!" He was rattled some, that foxy one; not hurted
much--one of the tough ones, Foxy--but bothered by it an' not quite
sure what to make of it, like a man with a wops buzzin' round his
head--that was the like of it with that quick-boy comin' at him, an'
comin' at him, an' comin' at him.
Ay, but he was one of the tough ones, Foxy--one of the lie-lows, one of
the shifty ones, one of the snaky-boys, one of the cautions! He went
out fourth round for to serve it up to that quick-boy with some of his
crafty bits. I like a bit o' craft meself. I was a Maddox man, me,
an' I set up a holler, an' we all holler, take my word, when we see
Foxy servin' of it up to that quick-boy like he lay hisself to do then.
Give his tongue to him a treat, he did. Walkin' out to him--tiptoe an'
crouchin' at him. "What, you're in a hurry, my gentleman!" he chips
him. "You'll make yourself hot, my pretty pet, if you don't steady
down," he chips him. "That's not lady's manners, runnin' about like
you've been," he chips him.
That quick-boy come at him an' he slip a bit of craft on him quick as a
snake. Side-step, he did, that foxy one; an' duck an' say, "Where's
your manners?" an' rake his head across an' butt that quick-boy's
stomach so he grunts; an' up an' hook him one, an' follow him an' lash
him one, an' "Mind your manners, you bastard!" he says an' half across
the ring an' waitin' for him. Three times he butt him so, an' each
time hook him one, an' all the time lip-lippin' of him, an' us boys
hollerin' an' Stingo's boys hollerin' an' the animals in the cages
hollerin' back on us. Holler!--I mind me I was in a fair muck sweat
with it.
Back he goes again, next round, that foxy one, an' "Why, dear, dear,
you've got some beauty-spots on your face, my pretty gentleman!" he
chips him. "Come an' let's paint 'em up a bit for you, my little
lady!" he chips him. Ay, that was a round, that one! That Japhra,--a
rare one that Gipsy Japhra--had been talkin' to that quick-boy whiles
he had him on his knee; an' when he comes in, an' that foxy one goes to
rake him with buttin' him again, he step back, that quick-boy, for to
cut him as he come out. I see the move--but that foxy one! All craft
that foxy one was--one of the snaky ones, one of the tough boys, one of
the coves! 'Stead o' swingin' through with his head, he swing up and
hook his left 'un with it, an' chin that quick-boy one, an' "Paint!" he
says, "There's paint for you, you dog!" an' lash him one where he had a
little mouse-lump over his eye; an' true enough, the paint splits
across an' comes streaky down that quick-boy's face.
You'd ha' thought--I lay me I know what that foxy one thought. Blood
fierce went that foxy one when he see that blood, an' in he goes,
fierce after blood, for to finish it; leaved off his craft and went in
for to hammer him. He muddy soon goed back to craft again, Foxy! That
quick-boy shook his head an' run back; an' draws a breath an' meets
him; an' throats him one an' staggers him; an' draws a breath an'
follows him; an' pastes him one an' grunts him; an' _tic-tac! tic-tac!
tic-tac!_ an' follows him, an' follows him, an' follows him. Like a
wops he was--like a bull-tamer he was, an' that foxy one gets all
muddled with him, an' runs back puzzled with him, an' then catches hold
of hisself, an' stops hisself--I reckon he wondered where 'n hell he'd
be soon if he didn't--and puts in that duck an' butt craft again; an'
that quick-boy steadies for him like old Japhra bin teachin' of him;
an' when that foxy one swings across, that quick-boy smashes up under
him--_crack!_ like a stone-breaker with his hammer; an' that foxy one
come back to us with his mouth split, an' his chin red; an' while he
sit blowin' take a toof out; an' while he sit blowin' get it drip-drop
on his chest from where the blood run to his chin.
II
But Percival had suffered under the punishment of these savage
encounters, and under the immense exertions of that unceasing
in-fighting to which Japhra had urged him. Back on Japhra's knee,
"I've dosed him, Japhra," he said. "He's taking all I can give him."
There was a sob in his quick breathing as he spoke, and he smiled
weakly and leant back against Japhra's shoulder.
Japhra's eyes were sunk in his twisted face to twin points of
glistening light. His voice trembled, and his hand as he plied the
sponge. "He will not drink much more," he said. "Thou art hot after
that coward streak in him. I mark the signs of it. Keep up the dose,
master! Never such a fight--and never thy like! never thy like!
Follow him, son of mine--follow him! follow him! A last call on
thyself! Watch him where he sucks his tender knuckles."
Pinsent knew better than Japhra the tenderness of those bruised
knuckles of his: he knew too that he was housing an uneasy feeling
beneath his belt, born of the bewildering persistence of his opponent
and of the punishing fists which that persistence pressed upon him,
giving him no peace. He was sore; he had reached the point when blows
were beginning to hurt him--and that was a point beyond which he knew
it was dangerous for him to delay proceedings.
Again! He came forward with a trick in his mind that he had seen and
that he had once playfully practised on Buck Osborn. Thought of it
helped him to his foxy smile that was a grotesque burlesque of itself
as he made it with his swollen mouth; but again!--again that
steel-springed fury was on him, following him, following him, following
him. Pinsent must needs use his fists to try to check its rushes; when
he effected a savage blow the jar at his knuckles made him wince.
Twice he went backwards round the ring--a third time and feinted a
stumble as he moved his feet. It made his chance. Percival, coming
too quick, ran full into him. He ducked, then drove up his head with
all his force beneath the other's jaw.
The trick succeeded better than when he had seen it and marked it for
future use. Jarred to the point of unconsciousness, Percival staggered
back, his arms wide. At the exposed throat Pinsent drove his left fist
with all the driving power his body and legs could give it; with the
dull _wup!_ of a wet sheet beaten on stone Percival went his full
length and full length lay.
"Time!" throated Stingo; and at the word the facing crowds, that as one
man had caught their breaths, went into two tumults of jostling
figures, tossing arms, and of brazen throats before whose thunders,
beating the air like thunder's self, Japhra, Ginger Cronk, Snowball
White, and One Eye bent their heads as they came rushing forward.
"Time!" Japhra snarled at Pinsent. "Out of this, thou foul-play fox!"
"Out you!" Pinsent shouted. He stood over the prostrate form,
breathing quick, one arm curved back as if it held a stabbing sword:
"Out you! Enough o' this! Private between him an' me now. Stand out
and let him up for me! Out!"
"Boss! Boss!" Japhra called, and dropped on his knees by Percival,
dizzily rising on an elbow. "Boss! Boss! What's this? Order him
out! Have him out!"
"Play fair!" "Fight fair!"--with cries and oaths the Stingo men pressed
to the canvas, shaking fists aloft; with cries and oaths and tossing
fists were answered. A Stingo man put his leg over the canvas and half
his body into the ring: a leg and flushed face struck out on the other
side. Then in a rush men broke across the canvas, poured into the
ring, and met in two raging, foul-mouthed banks that strained about the
boxers.
Boss Maddox thrust his way forward. "Ge' back! Ge' back! I'll have
'ee out the tent, every man of 'ee! Ge' back! Ge' back! By God, I'll
have the lamp out!" And he fought his way back to the mast and
stretched his hand to the chain that released the extinguishers upon
the burners.
A Stingo and a Maddox man, catching each the other's eye as the two
sides bayed and jostled, made private cause of the common brawl, and
closed with clutching hands. Another pair engaged, and now
another--whirled in that tossing mob, and flung the crowd this way and
that in their furious grappling, like fighting tigers in a stockade
breaking in pieces at their violence.
Boss Maddox's iron throat like a trumpet across the din: "The light
goes! The light goes!"
It flickered; savage hands tore at the fighters, savage feet kicked
furious commands; flickered again--and suddenly the immense clamour
went to a cry, to a broken shout, to peace.
Pinsent pushed his way to the front. "Easy, Boss--I want that light.
I've a job to finish," he said; and in the laugh that went up, added,
"The boys 'll be all right." He threw his arms apart in gesture of
command. "Out o' the ring!" he cried. "You're robbin' me of it.
Gettin' his wits back! I'd ha' cut him out by now!"
Three parts supporting Percival, Japhra with Ginger Cronk and the rest
had taken him back through the mob and supported him while they tended
him.... The tumult gave him five minutes, and he was sitting up as the
men returned growling to their places. He looked at Ima, crouching by
him, read the entreaty in her eyes, and answered it and at the same
time answered Japhra's trembling "How of it, master?" by shaking his
head. "No!" he said, "No!" and felt Japhra's arms tighten about him.
Another heard him and pressed forward. It was Egbert Hunt, tears
running down his face.
"You ain't going on?" he cried. "You ain't going on! Stop it, Mr.
Japhra! Stop this murder!"
Japhra's left arm was about Percival's body, his right hand used the
sponge. Those near him for the first and only time heard him use a
coarse expression. As he were some tigress above a threatened cub, he
drew Percival closer to him and turned savagely up at Egbert's pallid
face. "Shut thy bloody, coward mouth!" he cried at him. "Men's work
here! Quit thee, thou whelp!"
The ring was clear. Pinsent came out, sucking a fist. Percival got to
his feet, stood a moment, the blood that had dripped to his chest the
red badge of courage flying there--then walked forward.
Somewhere in the crowd a woman's voice shot up hysterically: "God love
yer, Gentleman!" it shrilled--"Y're pluck! Pluck!"
III
That foxy one (the old men say) he come out sucking his fistses that
were gone more like messy orindges than any fistses ever I see. He see
that quick-boy rockin' a bit on his feet where he stood, an' he spit
his fist out his mouth an' he run slap down at him for to knock him off
his legs by runnin' into him. He run at him hard as he could pelt,
that foxy one; an' that quick-boy stan' 's if he was dreamin' an' never
see nothin' of him. Ah, but that quick-boy could have fought if he was
asleep, I reckon me! He slip aside, squeeze aside, twist aside jus' as
that foxy one reach him; so quick he twist, us what was watchin' the
ground for to see him go there never see him move. I reckon that foxy
one never did neither. He muddy soon knowed, though, Foxy! He go
sprawlin' by, an' as he go that quick-boy clip him one an' help him go
an' stumble him. Round he come, that foxy one, savage with it; an'
that quick-boy dreamin' there again; an' rush him for to rush him down
again; an' this time that quick-boy, too tired for to shift by the look
of it, let him have it as he come fair under the eye, an' Foxy jus'
swing him one on the cheek, an' that shift him like he shift hisself
before; an' he clip that foxy one the other fist a clip you could ha'
heard far as yonder tree; an' clip that same eye again; an' us see the
blood run up into Foxy's peeper; an' that foxy one shake his head, an'
shake his head, like he was blinded with it. He shake a muddy lot
more, Foxy, afore he was through! He set in for to do the rushing
then, like that quick-boy had done first along; an' that quick-boy's
turn, dreamin' there, for to do the proppin' off. But he not rush like
that quick-boy rush. He shake his head an' have a go at him; an' that
quick-boy prop him off an' wait for him; an' he shake his head an' walk
round a bit, an' _ur!_ he go, an' rush at him; an' that quick-boy wake
hisself an' prop him off; an' he suck his fist an' wipe his eye, an'
_ur!_ he come again: and that quick-boy twist hisself an' give him
one--_crack!_ my life, his fistses was like stones, that quick-boy's!
Ah, my word! my word! then they got at it. That old Japhra--a rare
one, that Gipsy Japhra!--sing out "Cut in! Cut in! little master!" and
that quick-boy gives a heave of hisself an' they meet, those two,
slapper-dash! slapper-dash! this way! that way! punchin', punchin'! an'
they fall away, those two, an' breathe theirselves, an' pant
theirselves; an' that foxy one has his mouth all anyhow an' fair
roarin' of his breath through it; an' his head all twisty-ways with
only one eye for watchin' with; an' they rush those two--my life! they
were rare ones! Hit as they come, those two--an' that put the stopper
on it. Like stones--_crack!_ like stones--my word on it, their fists
met, an' Foxy drop his left arm like it was broke at the elbow. Then
he takes it! Like a bull-tarrier!--like a bull-tarrier, my word on it,
that quick-boy lep' at him. _One!_ he smash him an' heart him, an' I
see that foxy one glaze in his eye an' stagger with it. _Two!_ that
quick-boy drive him an' rib him, an' I hear that foxy one grunt an' see
him waggle up his hanging arm an' drop it. _Three!_ that quick-boy
smash him an' throat him, an' back he goes, that foxy one; an' crash he
goes! an' flat he lies--an', my life! to hear the breathing of him!
Life of me! there was never a knock-out like it; never one could do it
like that quick-boy done it! Never no one as quick as that quick-boy
when first along he come _tic-tac! tic-tac! tic-tac!_ left-right!
left-right! left-right! Never one could come again after he was bashed
like that quick-boy come. Never his like! One of the rare ones, one
of the clean-breds, one of the true-blues, one of the all-rights, one
of the get-there, stop-there, win-there--one o' the picked!
IV
Quivering in silence the facing crowds stood while the count went.
"Nine!" throated Stingo--scarcely a whisper.
Stillness while perhaps five seconds passed. Then Boss Maddox opened
his hands towards the ring in an expressive gesture.
Then men came rushing to Pinsent and shook him: "Up, Foxy! Up!" Then
Pinsent drew up his knees, groaned, and seemed to collapse anew. Then,
then the storm burst in a bellow of sound, in a rush of figures. All,
all of clamour that had gone before--of exultation, hate, defiance,
blood-want, rage--seemed now to bind up in two clanging rolls of
thunder that in thunder went, in thunder thundered back, and thundered
on again. Percival turned and saw Japhra running towards him, an arm's
length in advance of the mob that followed. He fell into Japhra's
arms, felt himself pressed, pressed to Japhra's heart, heard in his
ears "Never thy like! Son of mine, never thy like!" He knew a driving
mob behind his back, before, and all about him--heard curses,
grapplings, blows. Heard Japhra's cry "Up with him! Up!" felt himself
borne aloft and dimly was conscious that his bearers were staggered
this way and that by the flood that surged about them.... Sudden
darkness, and sudden most delicious air and sudden most delicious rain
was his next impression--they had got him outside the tent.... At his
next he was in the van, on his couch, smiling at those who bent above
him.