backs--which was against the Frogs. There were no weapons of any sort;
only arms and hands. It looked like the scrimmage of an Irish row.
Sometimes there was closing-in, and fighting hand to hand; sometimes the
forces were drawn back again, each to its respective ground. During the
first of these interludes, just as the sides were preparing to charge,
a big Frog, with broad awkward shoulders, a red, rugged face, and a
bleeding nose, came dashing forward alone into the ranks of the college
boys, caught up poor lame helpless King Sanker, bore him bravely right
through, and put him down in safety beyond, in spite of the blows freely
showered upon him. Not a soul on our side had thought of King; and the
college boys were too excited to see what the big Frog was about, or
they'd perhaps have granted him grace to pass unmolested. King sat
down on the wet grass for a bit, and gazed about him like a fellow
bewildered. Seeing me and Tod he came limping round to us.
"It was good-natured of that big Frog, wasn't it, Johnny Ludlow?"
"Very. He'd make a brave soldier. I mean a real soldier."
"Perhaps I should have been killed, but for him. I was frightened, you
see; and there was no way out. I couldn't have kept on my legs a minute
longer."
The battle raged. The cawing and the croaking, that had been kept up
like an array of trumpets, fell off as the fighting waxed hotter. The
work grew too fierce and real for abuse of tongue. We could hear the
blows dealt on the upturned faces. King, who had a natural horror of
fighting, trembled inwardly from head to foot, and hid his face behind
me. Tod was dancing with excitement, flinging his closed fists outward
in imaginary battle, and roaring out like a dragon.
I can't say who would have won had they been left alone. Probably the
Frogs, for there were a great many more of them. But on the other hand,
none of them were so old as some of the college boys. When the fight
was at the thickest, we heard a sudden shout from a bass, gruff,
authoritative voice: "Now then, boys, how dare you!" and saw a big,
portly gentleman in black clothes and a white necktie, appear behind
the Frogs, with a stout stick in his hand.
It was Clerk Jones, their master. His presence and his voice acted like
magic. Not a Frog of them all but dropped his blows and his rage. The
college boys had to drop theirs, as the enemy receded. Clerk Jones put
himself between the two sets of combatants.
The way he went on at both sides was something good to hear. Shaking his
stick at his own boys, they turned tail softly, and then rushed away
through the mud like wild horses, not waiting to hear the close: so the
college boys had the pepper intended for the lot. He vowed and declared
by the stick that was in his hand--and he had the greatest mind, he
interrupted himself to say, to put it about _their_ backs--that if ever
they molested his boys again, or another quarrel was got up, he would
appeal publicly to the dean and chapter. If one of the college boys made
a move in future to so much as cast an insulting look towards a boy in
St. Peter's School, that boy should go before the dean; and it would not
be his fault (the clerk's) if he was not expelled the cathedral. _He_
would take care, and precious good care, that his boys should preserve
civility henceforth; and it was no great favour to expect that the
college boys would do so. For his part he should feel ashamed in their
places to oppress lads in an inferior class of life to themselves; and
he should make it his business before he slept to see the head-master of
the college school, and report this present disgraceful scene to him:
the head-master could deal with it as he pleased.
Mr. Jones went off, flourishing his stick; and our side began to sum up
its damages: closed eyes, scratched faces, swollen noses, and torn
clothes. Dan Sanker's nose was as big as a beer barrel, and his
shirt-front hung in ribbons. Fred's eyes were black. Toby's jacket had
a sleeve slit up, and one of his boots had disappeared for good.
The spectacle we made, going home down the Gloucester Road, could not be
easily forgotten. Folks collected on the pavement, and came to the
windows and doors to see the sight. It was like an army of soldiers
returning from battle. Bleeding faces, black eyes, clothes tattered and
bespattered with mud. Farmers going back from market drew up their gigs
to the roadside, to stare at us while we passed. One little girl, in
a pony-chaise, wedged between a fat old lady in a red shawl and a
gentleman in top-boots, was frightened nearly into fits. She shrieked
and cried, till you might have heard her up at Mr. Allies's; and the old
lady could not pacify her. The captain was out when we got in: and Mrs.
Sanker took it all with her usual apathy, only saying we had better have
come straight home from college to hear some more poetry.
An awful fuss was made by the head-master. Especially as the boys had to
appear on Sunday at the cathedral services. Damages were visible on many
of them; and their white surplices only helped to show the faces off
the more. The chorister who took the solo in the afternoon anthem was
decorated with cuttings of sticking-plaster; he looked like a tattooed
young Indian.
The school broke up on the Monday: and on that day Mr. and Mrs.
Todhetley drove into Worcester, and put up at the Star and Garter. They
came to us in the afternoon, as had been agreed upon; dinner being
ordered by Captain Sanker for five o'clock. It was rather a profuse
dinner; fish and meat and pies and dessert, but quite a scramble of
confusion: which none of the Sankers seemed to notice or to mind.
"Johnny dear, is it _always_ like this?" Mrs. Todhetley could not help
asking me, in a whisper. "I should be in a lunatic asylum in a week."
We started for Malvern on Tuesday at eleven o'clock. The Squire drove
Bob and Blister in his high carriage: Dr. Teal, Captain Sanker, and Fred
sitting with him. There was no railroad then. The ladies and the girls
crammed themselves into a post-carriage from the Star, and a big
waggonette was lent by some friend of Dr. Teal for the rest. The boys
were losing the signs of their damages; nothing being very conspicuous
now but Dan's nose. It refused to go down at all in size, and in colour
was brighter than a rainbow. The Teals kept laughing at it, which made
Dan savage; once he burst out in a passion, wishing all the Frogs were
shot.
I remember that drive still. John Teal and I sat on the box of the
post-carriage, the post-boy riding his horses. I remember the different
features of the road as we passed them--not but that I knew them well
before; I remember the laden orchards, and the sweet scent of the
bean-fields, in flower then. Over the bridge from Worcester went we, up
the New Road and through St. John's, and then into the open country;
past Lower Wick, where Mrs. Sherwood lived, and on to Powick across its
bridge. I remember that a hearse and three mourning-coaches stood before
the Lion, the men refreshing themselves with drink; and we wondered who
was being buried that day. Down that steep and awkward hill next, where
so many accidents occurred before it was altered, and so on to the Link;
the glorious hills always before us from the turning where they had
first burst into view; their clumps of gorse and broom, their paths and
their sheep-tracks growing gradually plainer to the sight the nearer we
drew. The light and shade cast by the sun swept over them perpetually, a
landscape ever changing; the white houses of the village, nestling
amidst their dark foliage, looked fair for the eye to rest upon. Youth,
as we all get to learn when it has gone by, lends a charm that later
life cannot know: but never a scene that I have seen since, abroad or at
home, lies on my memory with half the beauty as does that old approach
to Malvern. Turning round to the left at the top of the Link, we drove
into Great Malvern.
The carriages were left at the Crown. An old pony was chartered for some
of the provisions, and we boys carried the rest. The people at St. Ann's
Well had been written to, and the room behind the well was in readiness
for us. Once the baskets were deposited there, we were at liberty till
dinner-time, and went on up the hill. Turning a corner which had hidden
the upper landscape from view, we came upon Dan Sanker, who had got on
first. He was standing to confront us, his face big with excitement, his
nose flaming.
"If you'll believe me, those cursed Frogs are here!"
In angry consternation--for the Frogs seemed to have no business to
be at Malvern--we rushed on, turned another corner, and so brought
ourselves into a wide expanse of upper prospect. Sure enough! About a
hundred of the Frogs in their Sunday clothes were trooping down the
hill. They had the start of us in arriving at Malvern, and had been to
the top already.
"I'll--be--jiggered!" cried Dan, savagely. "What a horrid lot they are!
Look at their sneaking tail-coats. Wouldn't I like to pitch into them!"
The college school wore the Eton jacket. Those preposterous coats, the
tails docked to the size of the boys, did not improve the appearance of
the Frogs. But as to pitching-in, Dan did not dare to do it after what
had passed. It was his nose that made him so resentful.
"I desire that you will behave as gentlemen," said Captain Sanker, who
was behind with the Squire, and bid us halt. "Those poor boys are here,
I see; but they will not, I am sure, molest you, neither must you molest
them. Civility costs nothing, remember. What are you looking so cross
for, Dan?"
"Oh, well, papa, it's like their impudence, to come here to-day!"
muttered Dan.
The captain laughed. "They may say it's like yours, to come, Dan: they
were here first. Go on, lads, and don't forget yourselves."
Tod's whistle below was heard just then; and Dan, not caring to show his
nose to the enemy, responded, and galloped back. We went on. The paths
there are narrow, you know, and we expected to have all the string of
Frogs sweeping past us, their coats brushing our jackets. But--perhaps
not caring to meet us any more than we cared to meet them--most of them
broke off on a detour down the steep of the hill, and so avoided us.
About half-a-dozen came on. One of them was a big-shouldered, awkward,
red-faced boy, taller than the rest of them and not unlike a real frog;
he walked with his cap in his hand, and his brown hair stood on end like
a porcupine's. Indisputably ugly was he, with a mouth as wide as a
frying-pan; but it was a pleasant and honest face, for all that. King
suddenly darted to him as he was passing, and pulled him towards Captain
Sanker, in excitement.
"Papa, this is the one I told you of; the one who saved me and didn't
mind the blows he got in doing it. I should have been knocked down, and
my knee trampled on, but for him."
Out went Captain Sanker's hand to shake the boy's. He did it heartily.
As to the Frog, he blushed redder than before with modesty.
"You are a brave lad, and I thank you heartily," said the captain,
wringing his hand as though he'd wring it off. "You do honour to
yourself, whoever you may be. There was not one of his own companions to
think of him, and save him, and you did it in the midst of danger. Thank
you, my lad."
The captain slid half-a-crown into his hand, telling him to get some
Malvern cakes. The boy stood back for us to go by. I was the last, and
he spoke as if he knew me.
"Good-day, Master Johnny."
Why, who was he? And, now I came to look at his freckled face, it seemed
quite familiar. His great wide mouth brought me remembrance.
"Why, it's Mark Ferrar! I didn't know you at first, Mark."
"We've come over here for the day in two vans," said Mark, putting
his grey cap on. "Eighty of the biggest of us; the rest are to come
to-morrow. Some gent that's visiting at St. Peter's parsonage has given
us the treat, sir."
"All right, Mark. I'm glad you thought of King Sanker on Saturday."
Ferrar touched his cap, and went vaulting down after his comrades. He
was related to Daniel Ferrar, the Squire's bailiff, of whom you have
heard before, poor fellow, and also to the Batleys of South Crabb. He
used to come over to Crabb, that's where I had seen him.
Some donkeys came running down the hill, their white cloths flying.
Captain Sanker stopped one and put King on him--for King was tired
already. We soon got to the top then, and to Lady Harcourt's Tower. Oh,
it was a glorious day! The great wide prospect around stood out in all
its beauty. The vale of Herefordshire on the one side with its rural
plains and woods basked in the sunshine, its crops of ruddy pears and
apples giving token of the perry and cider to come; on the other side
rose the more diversified landscape that has been so much told and
talked of. Over the green meadows and the ripening corn-fields lay
Worcester itself: the cathedral showing out well, and the summit of the
high church-spire of St. Andrew's catching a glint of the sunlight.
Hills caught the eye wherever it turned: Bredon Hill, Abberleigh Hills,
the Old Hills; homesteads lay upon their lands, half hidden by their
rick-yards and clustering trees; cattle and sheep browsed on the grass
or lay in the shade to shelter themselves from the midday sun. To the
right, on the verge of the horizon, far, far away, might be caught a
glimpse of something that sparkled like a bed of stars--the Bristol
Channel. It is not often you can discern that from Malvern, but this
day that I am telling of was one of the clearest ever seen there; the
atmosphere looking quite rarefied in spite of the sunlight.
King's donkey regaled himself with morsels of herbage, the donkey-boy
lay stretched beside him, and we boys raced about. When an hour or two
had passed, and we were as hot as fire and more hungry than hunters,
we bethought ourselves of dinner. King got on his donkey again, and
the rest of us whipped him up. When half-way down we saw Dr. Teal
gesticulating and shouting, telling us to come on and not keep dinner
waiting longer.
We had it in the room behind the well. It was a squeeze to sit round the
table. Cold meats, and salad, and pastry, and all sorts of good things.
Dan was next to me; he said he could hardly eat for thirst, and kept
drinking away at the bottled ale.
"My dear," said Mrs. Todhetley to him by-and-by, "don't you think you
had better drink some water instead--or lemonade? This bottled ale is
very strong."
"I am afraid it is," said Dan. "I'll go in for the tarts now."
The room was stuffy; and after dinner a table was carried out to a
sheltered place near the well: not much better than a little ledge of a
path, but where we could not be overlooked, and should be quite out of
the way of the hill-climbers. The bank rose perpendicularly above us,
banks descended beneath to goodness knew where; there we sat at dessert,
all sheltered. I think dark trees and shrubs overshaded us; but I am not
altogether sure.
How it came about, I hardly know: but something was brought up about
King's store of ballads, and he was asked to give us his favourite one,
"Lord Bateman," for the benefit of the company. He turned very shy, but
Captain Sanker told him not to be silly: and after going white and red
for a bit, he began. Perhaps the reader would like to hear it. I never
repeat it to myself, no, nor even a verse of it, but poor King Sanker
comes before me just as I saw him that day, his back to the ravine
below, his eyes looking at nothing, his thin hands nervously twisting
some paper about that had covered the basket of raspberries.
Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree:
He shipped himself on board a ship;
Some foreign country he would see.
He sailed east, he sailèd west,
Until he came unto Turkey,
Where he was taken, and put in prison
Until his life was quite weary.
In this prison there grew a tree:
It grew so very stout and strong:
And he was chained by the middle
Until his life was almost gone.
The Turk, he had one only daughter,
The fairest creature eye e'er did see:
She stole the keys of her father's prison,
And said she'd set Lord Bateman free.
"Have you got houses?--have you got lands
Or does Northumberland belong to thee?
And what would you give to the fair young I
Who out of prison would set you free?"
"Oh, I've got houses, and I've got lands,
And half Northumberland belongs to me;
And I'd give it all to the fair young lady
That out of prison would set me free."
Then she took him to her father's palace,
And gave to him the best of wine;
And every health that she drank to him
Was "I wish, Lord Bateman, you were mine.
"For seven long years I'll make a vow;
And seven long years I'll keep it strong:
If you will wed no other woman,
I will wed no other man."
Then she took him to her father's harbour,
And gave to him a ship of fame;
"Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman;
I fear I never shall see you again."
When seven long years were gone and past,
And fourteen days, well known to me;
She packed up her gay gold and clothing,
And said Lord Bateman she would see.
When she came to Lord Bateman's castle,
So boldly there she rang the bell:
"Who's there, who's there?" cried the young proud porter:
"Who's there, who's there, unto me tell?"
"Oh, is this Lord's Bateman's castle?
And is his lordship here within?"
"Oh yes, oh yes," cried the young proud porter:
"He has just now taken his young bride in."
"Tell him to send me a slice of cake,
And a bottle of the best of wine;
And not to forget the fair young lady
That did release him when close confined."
Away, away went this young proud porter,
Away, away, away went he;
Until he came unto Lord Bateman,
When on his bended knees fell he.
"What news, what news, my young porter;
What news, what news have you brought unto me?"
"Oh, there is the fairest of all young ladies
That ever my two eyes did see.
"She has got rings on every finger,
And on one of them she has got three;
And she has as much gold round her middle
As would buy Northumberland of thee.
"She tells you to send her a slice of cake,
And a bottle of the best of wine;
And not to forget the fair young lady
That did release you when close confined."
Lord Bateman in a passion flew;
He broke his sword in splinters three;
"I'll give all my father's wealth and riches
Now, if Sophia has crossed the sea."
Then up spoke his young bride's mother--
Who never was heard to speak so free:
"Don't you forget my only daughter,
Although Sophia has crossed the sea."
"I own I've made a bride of your daughter
She's none the better nor worse for me;
She came to me on a horse and saddle,
And she may go back in a carriage and three."
Then another marriage was prepared,
With both their hearts so full of glee:
"I'll range no more to foreign countries,
Since my Sophia has crossed the sea."
King stopped, just as shyly as he had begun. Some laughed, others
applauded him; and the Squire told us that the first time he had ever
heard "Lord Bateman" was in Sconton's show, on Worcester racecourse,
many a year ago.
After that, we broke up. I and some of the boys climbed up straight to
Lady Harcourt's Tower again. A few Frogs were about the hills, but they
did not come in contact with us. When we got back to St. Ann's the tea
was ready in the room.
"And I wish to goodness they'd have it," cried Dan, "for I'm as thirsty
as a fish. I've been asleep out there all the while on the bench in the
sun. Can't we have tea, mother?"
"As soon as ever the gentlemen come back," spoke up Mrs. Teal, who
seemed to like order. "They went down to look at the Abbey."
They were coming up then, puffing over the walk; Tod and Fred Sanker
with them. We sat down to tea; and it was half over when the two young
Sankers, King and Toby, were missed.
"Tiresome monkeys!" cried the captain. "I never came over here with a
party yet, but we had to spend the last hour or two hunting some of them
up. Well, I'll not bother myself over it: they shall find their way home
as they can."
Toby ran in presently. He had only been about the hills, he said, and
had not seen King.
"I dare say King's still in the place where we had dessert," said Hetta
Sanker, just then thinking of it. "He stayed behind us all, saying he
was tired. You boys can go and see."
I and Jim Teal ran off together. King was not there. One of the women at
the well said that when she went out for the chairs and things, just
before tea-time, nobody was there.
"Oh, he'll turn up presently," said the captain. And we went on with our
tea, and forgot him.
It was twilight when we got down to the village to start for home. The
Squire set off first: the same party with him as in the morning, except
that Mrs. Teal took her husband's place. When they were bringing out the
post-carriage, King was again thought of.
"He has stayed somewhere singing to himself," said Mrs. Sanker.
We went off in different directions, shouting our throats hoarse. Up as
far as St. Ann's, and along the hill underneath, and in all the corners
of the village: no King. It was getting strange.
"I should hope none of those impudent Frogs have made off with him!"
cried Toby Sanker.
"They are capable of anything, mind you," added Dan.
One vanload of Frogs had started; the other was getting ready to
start. The boys, gaping and listening about, saw and heard all our
consternation at the dilemma we were in. Mrs. Todhetley, who did not
understand the state of social politics, as between them and the
college school, turned and inquired whether they had seen King.
"A delicate lad, who walks lame," she explained. "We think he must have
fallen asleep somewhere on the hill: and we cannot start without him."
The Frogs showed themselves good-natured; and went tearing up towards
the hill to look for King. In passing the Unicorn, a pleasure-party
of young men and women, carrying their empty provision-baskets, came
running downwards, saying that they had heard groaning under a part of
the hill--and described where. I seemed to catch the right place, as if
by instinct, and was up there first. King was lying there; not groaning
then, but senseless or dead.
Looking upwards to note the position, we thought he must have fallen
down from the place where we had sat at dessert. Hetta Sanker said she
had left him there by himself, to rest.
"He must have dropped asleep, and fallen down," cried Dr. Teal.
King came to as they lifted him, and walked a few steps; but looked
around and fell aside as though his head were dazed. Dr. Teal thought
that there was not much the matter, and that he might be conveyed to
Worcester. Ferrar helped to carry him down the hill, and the other Frogs
followed. A fine fury their van-driver was in, at their having kept him
waiting!
King was made comfortable along the floor of the waggonette, upon some
rugs and blankets lent by the Crown; and so was taken home. When Captain
Sanker found what had happened, he grew excited, and went knocking at
half the doctors' doors in Worcester. Mr. Woodward was the first in,
then Dr. Malden and Mr. Carden came running together. By what the
captain had said, they expected to find all the house dead.
King seemed better in the morning. The injury lay chiefly in his head.
We did not hear what the doctors made of it. He was sensible, and talked
a little. When asked how he came to fall, all he said was that he "went
over and could not save himself."
Coming in, from carrying the news of how he was to the Squire and Mrs.
Todhetley at the Star, I found Mark Ferrar at the door.
"Mr. Johnny," said he, in a low voice, his plain face all concern, "how
did it happen? Sure he was not pushed over?"
"Of course not. Why do you ask it?"
Ferrar paused. "Master Johnny, when boys are lame they are more
cautious. He'd hardly be likely to slip."
"He might in walking. It's only a narrow ledge there. And his sister
says she thinks he went to sleep when she left him. She was the last who
saw him."
Mark's wide mouth went into all sorts of contortions, and the freckles
shone in the sun in his effort to get the next words out.
"I fancy it was me that saw him last, Master Johnny. Leastways, later
than his sister."
"Did you? How was that?"
"He must have seen me near the place, and he called to me. There was
nobody there but him, and some chairs and a table and glasses and
things. He asked me to sit down, and began telling me he had been
saying 'Lord Bateman' to them all. I didn't know what 'Lord Bateman'
meant, Master Johnny--and he said he would tell it me; he should not
mind then, but he had minded saying it to the company. It was poetry, I
found; but he stopped in the middle, and told me to go then, for he saw
some of them coming----"
"Some of what?" I interrupted.