MASTER ARCHY RECEIVES AN UNLUCKY BLOW.
Green Point was a very pleasant place, to which the luxurious occupants
of the mansion at Redlawn occasionally resorted to spend a day. The land
was studded with a growth of sturdy forest trees. Formerly it had been
covered with a thick undergrowth of canes; but these, near the Point,
had been cut away, and the place otherwise prepared for the visits of
the grand people.
The day was cool and pleasant for that locality, and perhaps the
magnificent son and heir of the planter of Redlawn felt that a little
sharp exercise would be beneficial to him. He never performed any useful
labor; never saddled his own pony, or polished his own boots; never hoed
a hill of corn, or dug up a weed in the garden. He had been taught that
labor was degrading, and only suited to the condition of the negro.
Master Archy, therefore, never degraded himself. His indolence and his
aristocratic principles were in accord with each other. Though he
actually suffered for the want of something to do, he was not permitted
to demean himself by doing any thing that would develop the resources of
the fruitful earth, and add to the comfort of his fellow-beings. I am
quite sure, if the young seignior had been compelled to hoe corn, pick
cotton, or cut cane for a few hours every day, or even been forced to
learn his lessons in geography, grammar, and history, he would have been
a better boy, and a happier one.
Idleness is not only the parent of mischief, but it is the fruitful
source of human misery. Master Archy, with every thing that ingenuity
could devise and wealth purchase to employ his time, was one of the most
unhappy young men in the country. He never knew what to do with himself.
He turned coldly from his boats to his pony; then from the pony to the
gymnasium; then to the bowling alley; and each in turn was rejected, for
it could not furnish the needed recreation.
Master Archy landed at Green Point, and he was fully of the opinion
that he could amuse himself for an hour with the boxing gloves. For the
want of a white companion of his own age, he had been compelled to
practise the manly art of self-defence with his body-servant. Perhaps
also there was some advantage in having Dandy for his opponent, for,
being a slave, he would not dare to give as good as he received.
Dandy had taken lessons in the art with his young master, and though he
was physically and "scientifically" his superior, he was cunning enough
to keep on the right side of Master Archy, by letting him have the
set-to all his own way. It was no easy matter to play at fisticuffs with
the young lord, even with gloves on, for his temper was not particularly
mild when he was crossed. If he happened to get a light rap, it made him
mad; and in one way or another he was sure to wreak ample vengeance upon
the offender. Dandy was therefore obliged to handle his master with
extreme care.
Yet Archy had a fantastic manliness in his composition, which enabled
him to realize that there was no credit in beating an unresisting
opponent. Dandy must do some thing; he must bestow some blows upon his
capricious companion, but he had learned that they must be given with
the utmost care and discretion. In a word, if he did not hit at all,
Master Archy did not like it; and if he hit too hard, or in a
susceptible spot, he was mad.
Our readers who are fond of manly sport will readily perceive that Dandy
was in the position of the frogs,--that what was fun to Archy was death
to him, in a figurative sense. He did not have much fondness for the
manly art. He had no moral views on the subject, but he hated the game
for its own sake.
With the two pairs of gloves in his hands, Dandy followed his young lord
till they came to a smooth piece of ground, under the spreading shade of
a gigantic oak. Master Archy then divested himself of his white linen
sack, which his attentive valet hung upon the trunk of a tree. He then
rolled up his sleeves and put on the gloves. He was assisted in all
these preparations by Dandy.
"Come, Dandy, you are not ready," said he, petulantly, when he was fully
"mounted" for the occasion.
"I am all ready, sir," replied Dandy, as he slipped on the other pair of
gloves.
"No, you are not," snarled Archy, who, for some reason or other, was in
unusually bad humor. "Do you think I will box with you while you have
your jacket on?"
"I can do very well with my jacket on," replied Dandy, meekly.
"No, you can't. I can whip you in your shirt sleeves. I don't want to
take any advantage of you. Off with your jacket, and put yourself in
trim."
Dandy obeyed, and in a few moments he was the counterpart, so far as
dress was concerned, of his master.
"Now stand up to it like a man, for I'm going to give you a hard one
to-day," added Archy, as he flourished with the gloves before his
companion.
There was a faint smile upon his countenance as he uttered these words,
and Dandy saw signs of unusual energy in his eyes. He evidently
intended to do some "big thing," and the sport was therefore more
distasteful than ever to the body-servant, whose hands were, in a
measure, fettered by his position.
Dandy placed himself in the proper attitude, and went through all the
forms incident to the science. At first Master Archy was cool and
self-possessed, and his "plungers" and "left-handers" were adroitly
parried by the other, who, if his master intended to win a decided
triumph on the present occasion, was determined to make him earn his
laurels. But Dandy did little more than avoid the blows; he gave none,
and received none.
"Come, stand up to it!" shouted Archy, who soon began to be disgusted
with these tame proceedings. "Why don't you exert yourself?"
"I do, sir; I have done my best to ward off your blows," replied Dandy.
"I will give you something more to do, then," added Archy, and sprang to
his game with redoubled vigor.
As a matter of prudence, Dandy permitted himself to be hit once on the
side of the head. This encouragement was not lost upon Archy, and he
increased his efforts, but he could not hit his rival again for some
time. After a few moments his "wind" gave out, and operations were
suspended. When he had recovered breath enough to speak, he proceeded to
declare that Dandy had no spirit, and did not try to make the game
exciting.
"I have done my best, sir," replied Dandy.
"No, you haven't. You haven't hit me yet, and you haven't tried to do
so."
"Yes, sir, I have."
"Don't contradict me. Now we will try again."
They commenced once more, and immediately Dandy, in order to gratify his
master, gave him a pretty smart blow upon the end of his nose. He hoped
this would satisfy the grumbler, and bring the sport to a happy
termination. As usual, the blow excited the pugnacity of Master Archy;
and setting the rules of the art at defiance, he rushed upon his
companion with all the impetuosity of his nature.
Dandy simply stood steady, and warded off the blows of his infuriate
master; but in spite of his exertions he was hit several times in the
breast and face, and even "below the belt," for he did not deem it
prudent to give another blow. Archy reared and plunged like an angry
steed, till he had exhausted himself; but his temper had not yet spent
itself. He sat down upon the ground, and rested himself for a moment,
then, throwing away the gloves, proposed to finish the contest with the
naked fists.
"I would rather not, Master Archy," replied Dandy, appalled at the idea.
"Throw away your gloves, and come on!" said Archy, brandishing his
fists.
"I hope you will excuse me, Master Archy. I don't want to be pounded to
a jelly."
This was certainly complimentary, but there was still a burning
sensation lingering about the nose of the young planter, where that
member had been flattened by his fellow-pugilist.
"No whining; come on!" repeated Archy; and certain malicious thoughts
which rankled in his heart were manifest in his eyes.
"If you please, Master Archy, I will keep my gloves on, and you may play
without any."
"Do you think I will do that?" sneered Archy. "I am willing to take as
good as I send. Off with your gloves!"
"But only consider, sir, if any thing should happen. If I should hit you
by accident----"
"Hit, then!" cried Archy, angrily, as he sprang forward, and planted a
heavy blow upon the cheek of the body-servant before the latter had time
to place himself in the attitude of defence, though he had thrown away
his gloves in obedience to the mandate of his master.
For a few moments, Dandy defended himself from the impetuous assault of
the young gentleman, who displayed a vigor and energy which he had never
before exhibited. The consequences of any "accident" to his master were
sufficiently apparent and he maintained his coolness until an unlucky
blow on the nose caused that member to bleed, and at the same time
produced a sharp and stinging pain.
Dandy had been politic and discreet up to this time, but the sharp pain
roused a feeling of resentment in his nature. He had borne all he could,
and no longer acting upon the defensive alone, he assumed the
aggressive. Both parties were angry now, and for a moment, each did his
best, which shortly brought the combat to a disastrous conclusion.
Dandy's arm, which had before been prudentially soft and nerveless,
suddenly hardened into solid muscle, and one of his heavy blows came
full and square upon the region of Archy's left eye. The young lord of
the manor reeled as though a tornado had struck him, and fell heavily
upon the ground.
The blow was a hard one, and it fired his southern blood still more. He
leaped up, and seizing a large stick which lay upon the ground, he
rushed towards his unhappy servant, with the intention of annihilating
him upon the spot. Dandy's senses came to him when he saw Archy fall,
and he was appalled at the result of the conflict. He had struck the
blow upon the impulse of a momentary rage, and he would have given any
thing to recall it.
"I didn't mean to do it, Master Archy! Forgive me!" pleaded he, as he
retreated to avoid the uplifted club.
Archy was so furious that he could not speak, and Dandy was compelled to
run for his life.