"Guare wheag, yw guare teag."
_Cornish Proverb._
"Fair play is good play."
Polwhele.
Many of the villagers of Trevethlan were desirous of celebrating the
return of their young master by some kind of holiday. They remembered
how in the old time there were several festivals in the course of the
year, kept with high revelry on the green of the hamlet, countenanced by
the presence of the lords, and graced by that of the ladies, of its
ancient castle. But when ruin fell upon the late possessor, and
desolation encompassed his dwelling, the sports diminished in spirit,
and the peasantry sought in the neighbouring villages the merriment
which no longer enlivened their own. The succession of a young heir,
however, seemed to warrant an attempt to revive the much-regretted
pastimes, and the idea, when once started, found a staunch supporter in
the laughter-loving landlady of the "Trevethlan Arms." Indeed she
undertook to roast a sheep, and broach a hogshead of cider, as the
foundation of a free feast; and the liberality being met with similar
offers from other quarters, the hamlet was in a position to offer
tolerably profuse hospitality to all comers.
Valentine's day was fixed upon for the revel; and several evenings
before it came, some of the villagers met at Dame Miniver's, to arrange
the programme of the sports. And it was finally decided to revive the
old game of hurling, by challenging Pendarrel to play them home and home
across the country, as the principal event of the frolic. The
determination, however, was not unopposed.
"Are ye sure, neighbours," said our acquaintance Germoe, the tailor,
"that this challenge will be agreeable on the hill? Ye know what we
spoke of only the other night. There's no love lost between the hall and
the castle."
"The very cause for why to play out the quarrel," said Edward Owen. "And
as to the castle, I warrant the young squire'll be none displeased to
hear we've given Pendar'l a beating. I say play."
"But in such case," urged farmer Colan, "playing often turns to
fighting."
"And what then?" Owen asked again, who took great interest in the
meditated match, from a vague hope of encountering his rival in the
hostile ranks,--"what then, I say? Have we not thrashed them before?
'Tis ill nursing a quarrel."
"Ay, ay, lad," said Mrs. Miniver aside to the last speaker, "I know
where thy cap's set. She's a proud minx, and an' I were thee----. But,
neighbours, how long has Trevethlan been afraid of Pendar'l?"
A true woman's question, and one which settled the matter off-hand.
There was no further hesitation as to despatching the challenge. The
tailor's hint concerning the castle had, however, more foundation than
was supposed; for Randolph much regretted the resolution of his
dependents. But he did not learn it until the invitation had been sent
and accepted, and it was then impossible to retreat.
On the other side, the match received the formal sanction of Mrs.
Pendarrel, who had been at the park a day or two when the proposal
arrived. Remembering that her retainers far outnumbered those of
Trevethlan, she rather rejoiced at the prospect of humiliating her
adversary, and graciously promised to provide the silver-plated ball
with which the game should be played.
The village green was "home" for the players of Trevethlan. Early in the
appointed holiday it was thronged with busy, noisy groups, and presented
an extremely lively aspect, strikingly at variance with its recent
tranquillity, and with the sombre gravity of the castle, where there
were no symptoms of participation in the frolics of the day. Reverend
elders occupied the bench round the old chestnut in front of the inn,
and discoursed of the matches of their youth, before the harmony of
Trevethlan and Pendarrel was interrupted, and when the open doors of the
castle proffered unbounded hospitality. Stalwart youths, girded for the
sport, strolled about in knots, plotting devices for carrying off the
ball, arranging plans for watching the enemy's home, cracking jests with
the maidens who idled in the throng, in their Sunday frocks and smartest
ribbands, and extorting half promises of reward in the evening for
prowess displayed in the day. Dame Miniver had ample cause for
satisfaction with the result of her liberality.
Mrs. Pendarrel permitted her side to make the lawn before her house
their home. Refreshments of all kinds were distributed among the crowd
there collected with a bounteous hand. The lady herself descended among
her tenants, leaning on the arm of her daughter, speaking to old
acquaintance, everywhere bestowing encouragement. Even Mildred was
excited by the liveliness of the scene. It was a fine genial day, with a
warm breeze blowing, which kept the trees in constant motion, and gave
life to the company beneath their leafless branches.
Michael Sinson, only just arrived from London, was to lead the forces of
Pendarrel. So his patroness, aware of his former reputation, desired; so
his vanity, as well as his duty, prompted. He was active in the throng,
assigning their stations to his mates, providing for all the chances of
the struggle, but glancing ever and anon on the fair young form that
glided through the rustic assembly like a being from another sphere.
Little thought he that morning of the rosy-cheeked girl whom he had once
pretended to love, and who now walked among the maidens of Trevethlan,
with a sympathy divided between her sweetheart and her home.
The goals were not much more than two miles apart, a short distance in a
match "to the country;" but this circumstance prevented the interference
of horsemen, diminished the opportunities for artifice, and made the
contest depend more on the personal skill and prowess of the players. In
a longer game the ball might be thrown into the hands of a mounted
partizan, who would trust to the speed of his horse to carry it home in
triumph; or again into the keeping of a rustic, selected for his simple
appearance, who would trudge tranquilly along the high road seemingly
unconscious of his valuable charge, while the hurlers on both sides
sought the prize with great animation; until the news of the crafty
bearer's arrival at his destination told the victory of his friends, and
both parties repaired to the winning quarters to laugh over the trick,
and fight the battle anew, in a high jollification.
There was a meadow situated on an eminence about midway between
Trevethlan and Pendarrel, between which and either goal no obstacle
intervened to turn aside the play. Here it was arranged the ball should
be thrown up, and hither Mrs. Pendarrel and Mildred repaired to behold
the commencement of the game. The players chosen to begin stood in an
irregular ring on the hill, and amongst them Sinson and Owen, the
opposing generals, the latter of whom regarded the former with looks
which indicated more ill-will than befitted the occasion, but which
Michael observed with contemptuous indifference.
And now Mildred has tossed the new apple of discord, a wooden ball, some
three inches in diameter, covered with silver, and bearing the motto
which heads this chapter, as the trophy, to remain in the possession of
the victors of the day, into the middle of the ring, and a dozen men are
on the ground, struggling to obtain a hold of the prize. Rolling over
and over, twisting, tangled like a coil of snakes, they writhe and
struggle in intricate confusion. Where is the ball? Who shall discern it
in so close a conflict? See, a combatant shakes himself clear of
competitors, rises in the midst, springs over them, and bounds away in
the direction of Pendarrel, cheered by the partizans of the hall. Not
long shall the cheering endure: an opponent bars his career: him the
holder of the ball thrusts aside, "butts" with his closed fist. Reprisal
in like fashion is against the rules. But there is another, and another,
one at a time, for so it is ordained. Nor are the holder's friends
inactive: they screen him round, and strive to keep off his adversaries.
And thus he makes some way, but may not even clear the field. His vigour
fails at last under repeated attacks; he has no longer strength to butt;
"hold," he must cry, in token of surrender, and deal the ball to be
seized by fresher hands: a stouter heart, he thinks, 't were hard to
find.
Again the first struggle is renewed, but the crowd is not so great, nor
does it last so long. This time the ball is borne swiftly back in the
direction of Trevethlan. Light of foot is the holder, but his speed
shall not avail him long. At the very hedge of the field he is
encountered; he may not pass the barrier; he tries another point, again
to be defeated; he, too, must shout the word of submission, and recover
breath for a renewed onset.
And thus, with varied fortune, the game proceeds, continually growing
wider in its scene. The ball is borne in succession towards either goal,
far away from the field where the game began. It seems the lady of
Pendarrel reckoned without her host, for there are many volunteers in
the play, and they, with proper heroism, have chosen the weaker side.
She and her daughter have retired to the hall, but the country is still
alive with the excitement of the game, and the woods and the sky are
vocal with the cries of the rival partizans, as they mark the course of
the ball with shouts of "Ware east," "Ware west."
An old writer compares the ball used in this game to an evil demon; for,
says he, no sooner does a player become possessed of it than he acts as
if he were possessed of a devil; flying like a madman over the country,
bursting through hedges, bounding over ditches, rushing furiously
against all opponents, heedless of everything but his progress towards
home. When suddenly, having been obliged at last to surrender, he
becomes once more tranquil and peaceable, as though the evil spirit had
then left him, and entered his successor, who instantly commences a like
impetuous career.
Many a possession of this kind was witnessed in the match between
Pendarrel and Trevethlan. Once the former hamlet seemed almost on the
point of victory. The holder had disencumbered himself of all who had
been active in the field, and was dashing triumphantly homewards, when
he met the reserve especially stationed to prevent a surprise. At the
same moment Owen bounded up to rally his forces. The game was rescued,
and renewed with increased vigour on both hands. Step by step the path
of the holder, now on this side and now on that, was contested in every
way permitted by the laws of the game. Passion grew hotter, and ever and
anon rose cries of "foul." The leaders, who had hitherto rather directed
the fray than engaged in it personally, now rushed into the thick of the
fight. The partizans of Trevethlan gained ground in their turn. The
chestnut on their green was already in sight. Owen himself held the
ball. The road, for the fight had descended from the fields into the
highway, was thronged with the combatants. The maidens of the village,
approached the end of the green, and joined in the animating cries. Owen
had repelled many an antagonist, when Michael Sinson met him face to
face. It was what he had long wished for, and he was delighted when, as
he always affirmed and as was sturdily maintained by all his partizans,
his opponent butted him unfairly. The excitement of the game and
personal exasperation united to give force to the blow which sent his
rival staggering away. The next moment Owen stood on the grass of the
hamlet, and flung the ball high into the air, while loud and reiterated
shouts proclaimed the victory of Trevethlan, and were heard, perhaps not
without some satisfaction, within the walls of the castle.
Whatever ill-blood might have been generated in the heat of the
engagement, rapidly subsided when it was over. It had been gallantly
fought, and discomfiture was only less honourable than success. Victor
and vanquished met in friendly groups on the green, formed parties for
the athletic sports of the country, or sought partners for the dance
which would terminate the amusements of the day, while the landlady of
the Trevethlan Arms was finishing her preparations for the feast, and
the children were continually increasing a pile of combustibles in front
of the inn, destined to blaze after nightfall in celebration of the
holiday.
There was, however, one breast in which disappointed rage still rankled.
Michael Sinson rose after the fall he received from Owen, to hear the
acclamations hailing his conqueror, and to feel an aggravation of his
animosity, not so much against his rival, as against Trevethlan, its
master, and its inhabitants. He looked angrily at the jocund doings on
the green, and then turned to bear the tidings of his defeat to his
patroness. But he had not proceeded many steps, when a light hand was
laid upon his arm, and a sharp glance round showed him the rosy cheeks
and black eyes of Mercy Page.
"Why, Michael," said the maiden, "is this the welcome ye learn to give
in London? Is this the way ye would leave Mercy to seek for a partner at
a village revel? What if we have won the match, is it a cause for
shame?"
"Pish!" Sinson said, sulkily. "Go to your Edward Owen. He is the hero of
the day. Let him be your partner."
"Then it's not heroes, nor none such I care for," pursued the wilful
girl. "I'm no sure I'm glad that our side's won. Come now, Michael,
what's to fret for?"
Sinson cast his sinister eyes upon Mercy's face. It was very pretty,
even in reproach, and besides, he thought she might be of use to him.
"May-be," said he, "I shall be back in the evening. But now I must take
the news to Pendarrel."
With which ungracious saying, Mercy was forced to content herself, and
return, pouting, to her mirthful companions, while Michael pursued his
way to Wilderness Lodge.
His old grandmother asked him concerning the game, and on being surlily
informed of its result, muttered something about a judgment on such
sacrilegious doings, which her dutiful grandson did not hear, and if he
had, would have laughed at. His patroness learned the news with an air
of indifference, which to him appeared at variance with her previous
interest in the match; and as he left her presence, he could not help
saying, that Trevethlan should yet pay dearly for the morning's victory.
Meantime the feast was spread in a low, long barn at the Trevethlan
Arms, and the board was crowded by adherents of both parties with right
west-country appetites. Lads and lasses ate to their heart's content.
Dame Miniver's sheep was declared to make very excellent mutton, and no
one quarrelled with the quality of her cider. The guests from Pendarrel
honoured the health of the squire of Trevethlan, and the company who
were at home paid due respect to the lord and lady of the strangers. So
"all went merry as a marriage bell." The relics of dinner were reserved
to furnish forth a supper, and the company resumed their morning sports,
exhilarating themselves with copious libations of the juice of the
apple, and occasionally with a dram of whisky or Hollands, which was,
probably, still indebted to his Majesty's customs.
On the whole, the frolic proceeded in perfect good-humour; but
occasionally a dispute arose respecting the final contest between Owen
and Sinson, which threatened for a moment or more to interrupt the
general harmony. No serious quarrel had arisen, however, before daylight
died away, and the shadow of night called for the lighting of the
bonfire. But when the crackling logs flung a ruddy glow over the green,
and the white smoke went circling away on the breeze, and the village
musicians, a fiddle and clarionet, who on Sunday led the choir in
church, became more energetic in their strains, then the fun began to
grow fast and furious, and practical jokes continually endangered the
peace of the green. As the boys and girls danced wild country measures
around the blazing pile, a few of their comrades distributed at each end
of a long and stout cord, would single a couple from the throng, catch
them in the snare, and running adroitly round and round in opposite
directions, bind the unlucky pair in a noose to which they would not
have objected, perhaps, in a gentler and quieter assembly, but which
here exposed them to many a shout of rustic laughter. Or, again, running
rapidly along the green with the cord trailing loose between them, the
same confederates would trip up the heels of all in their way--a jest
not always accepted with perfect equanimity.
In the midst of these rough gambols, and when no small portion of the
folks had somewhat exceeded the bounds of sobriety, Michael Sinson made
his appearance on the green, himself flushed with festive doings at
Pendarrel. He spoke and laughed with some of his acquaintance, and
sought his neglected flame, Mercy Page. She sat on a stool at her
mother's cottage-gate, having steadily refused every invitation to take
an active part in the dance, relying on the half-promise she had
received from Michael. As for her rejected lover, the hero of the day,
he seemed to challenge her jealousy by dancing vigorously with half the
girls on the green, and ostentatiously parading his partners in Mercy's
sight; without, however, succeeding in his object, by awaking her
indignation.
Sinson soon discovered his too faithful beauty, and led her, willing
enough, for a romping dance around the bonfire. But they had tripped
together for a very short time, when the rope was swept round them, and
in a twinkling they were fast enveloped in its coils. Michael grew
furious with rage. He recollected having once boasted to Mercy of
rescuing her from a similar disaster. His wrath was far from diminished
when he perceived Owen active in endeavouring to procure his release.
When those efforts succeeded, he fixed a quarrel upon his rescuer, on
the old ground of the foul play at the hurling-match. Mischief was
meant, and mischief came. In a very few minutes the whole green was the
scene of a furious conflict; the parties which had met in the morning in
friendly rivalry, and broken bread together cheerfully in the afternoon,
now proceeding to break one another's heads without the slightest
reserve. The girls ran crying to their homes; the bonfire was trodden
under foot; and so, in confusion and uproar, terminated the sports at
Trevethlan.
The battle might be considered in its end as drawn. But it was said that
individual cries were heard in the fray, to the effect that the heir of
the castle was about to claim his own, and that they would have tidings
of him at Pendarrel before many weeks had gone by. If the bonfire at
Trevethlan was extinguished in tumult, some of the hamlet would dance by
the light of a greater. No one seemed to know what such words meant, but
some folks remembered them when the heat of the struggle was past.