DEFEAT OF BULLY BOB SLOAN
"I am the Valiant Cornishman
Who slew the giant Cormoran."
--_Cor. Ballad._
"Ande, my lad, I have been thinking about you and your unfortunate
experience, and have been pondering in my mind, for quite a time, what
to do. Your education, already so advanced, must not be slighted. You do
not feel like continuing school here?"
It was the parson who was speaking. Parson Trant with Ande was seated in
the study room of the rectory, a pretty, half stone, half brick edifice,
nearly concealed from the public road by masses of ivy and foliage. It
was built for the express use of the parson, and, according to his
desires, was as retiring from public notice as a mother bird ensconced
in her nest amidst enveloping leaves.
"No, Parson Trant, I think not."
"I thought so; but your education shall not be neglected. Squire Vivian
has come to me and realising how bravely you acted in the runaway, and
how unjustly you were treated, proposed that you should go to the
Helston Grammar School."
Ande's countenance flushed. The parson perceived it and continued.
"Now, Ande, lad, the ill feeling between the squire and you ought to
cease. He is good-hearted in the main. He has made ample reparation for
the offence of the stocks and he wishes to show his good will and
thankfulness for the rescue of his daughter. It is a creditable action
of his, and you are not receiving any favour, but a just due. I have
talked to your mother of the matter and she is willing for you to go. I
have written to the head and he will make room for you. You must not
allow any hard feeling on your part to mar the happiness of your mother
and the hopes of your best friends. Besides, it is not courteous to
refuse to meet the overtures of friendship from one whom you have always
esteemed an enemy, especially when that person meets you more than
halfway. Your father would not have scorned to do so, and you desire to
be as much of a gentleman as your father was."
The youth was won over by the earnest manner and words of his friend,
the parson. There was quite a conversation as to the time of entrance,
the necessary preparations, and the conclusion of it all was that Ande
should go after the Christmas holidays.
His mind delighted with the prospect of attending the Grammar School,
and with airy dreams of what that existence would be, he left the
rectory and wended his way with light steps down the walk and out on the
public road. The sun seemed to smile brighter upon him, the birds to
warble sweeter, and all nature seemed to be tinged with the bright hues
of his day dreams of the future. There were voices in the distance,
boyish voices, and with laugh and rude joke, a crowd of parish school
lads, bubbling with spirits, surged around a neck of woods. The master
had given them a half-holiday and they were bound to the Giant's Quoit,
a huge rock said to have been used as a plaything by the ancient Cyclops
of Cornwall.
[Illustration: "Yes, give three hoots for the red-'eaded Deane and all
his traitor hancestors"]
"'Allo, come along, Ande, will 'ee?" exclaimed Tommy Puckinharn.
"No, can't go," replied Ande, shaking his head. He must go home and talk
with his mother over the great prospects of attending the Grammar
School.
"Naw,--'e must ask 'is mawther fust," cried Bully Bob, with a great
coarse laugh. The laugh and the reference to his mother stung Ande, but
he pretended not to notice.
"'E's getting up too far now in society to 'sociate with we; 'e was
calling on squire some time ago, and squire give 'im the seat of
honour--fact," said Bob with a wink and a grin that seemed to bring
forth additional grins upon the countenances of several of his
satellites.
Ande stood for a moment, irresolute, then resumed his way.
"Les give three hoots for the red-'eaded Deane and all his traitor
hancestors."
The last was too much for the impatient spirit of the lad to brook.
Turning about and with a calm, steady voice, he cast his gauntlet at Bob
in the shape of a few words in the dialect, equivalent to a challenge to
battle the world over.
"Bob, thee'rt a great, ghastly coward, and thee knaw it."
A wave of redness swept over Bob's face, completely drowning the
freckles with which it was freely sprinkled.
"'Ow's that! I 'ave a good mind to scat thee in the chacks for thy
himpudence, m'lad." And then in a tantilising manner, as Ande
approached, he continued, "Thee art a traitor, for thy faather and
grandfaather were traitors. Everybody knaws they were traitors and
cowards hout in blooming hold America."
The words had hardly emanated from his lips when--smack!--went Ande's
hand on the mouth that had spoken this base libel. A thrill of
expectancy passed over all the crowd, a thrill of amazement, awe, vivid
interest.
"Damme," said Bob, as he spat his blood and froth from his lips, "I'll
make 'ee think Saint Michael's Cormoran had 'ee when I get done weth
'ee. Wilt fight or must I knack 'ee down?"
There was no occasion to ask, for Ande, boiling with rage, was coming at
him with a rush, when a deep voice from the side of the hedge cried,
"'Old hard, there a-bit."
Tom Glaze vaulted the neighbouring hedge and strode forward into their
midst.
"Now, I observed the quarrel and I suppose you 'ave got to fight un out,
but 'ee must follow the regular Cornish rules. Thee, Ande, get thy
second, and thee, Bob, get thine, wost tha, and I'll be timekeeper and
referee."
Glaze led the way over the hedge and the crowd of lads followed,
leaping the barrier like a flock of sheep. A circle was formed in true
British style. Bob chose one of his satellites, and Ande chose
Puckinharn to act as second. The crowd looked on with intense interest.
Was not this to be the greatest fight they had ever seen? Who had ever
dared to challenge redoubtable Bob before? And to make it additionally
interesting, Tom Glaze, one of the most expert wrestlers and boxers of
the Duchy, was to be the one in charge. It was of as much moment to them
as the battle of Waterloo to their fathers.
The coats of the contestants were cast aside and their sleeves were
deftly rolled up by the seconds.
"One, two, three," counted Glaze, and then the battle began.
With a roar, Bully Bob rushed as if to break every bone in his
antagonist's body, and truly had the blow fallen the battle would have
been a short one, for in age, height and weight Bob had the advantage.
Now did Ande feel grateful for the training in the furze croft.
Heretofore, it was stand up, take and give, but now, to Bob's intense
amazement and disgust, his blow landed on empty air, and as he swept by,
carried by his momentum, he received a fierce jab in the ribs that added
nothing to his good humour. Observing, after one or two encounters like
this, that he had no ordinary battle to fight, he began to be more
cautious and his usual confident, sneering face assumed a doubtful air,
but he still pressed the conflict. With his sledge-hammer fists he shot
out blows that would have felled a much larger opponent, but they were
either parried or fell on air. With the litheness and agility of a
leopard his opponent was here, there, everywhere, side-stepping and
putting in heavy body blows that made Bob gasp with something more than
astonishment.
But Ande was growing too confident. Pushing his antagonist in turn, he
sought to reach Bob's freckled countenance, fell short, and, to use his
own expression, "received a skevern on the noase and eyes that made un
see fire."
A yell went up from Bob's satellites. Bob had drawn first blood, and he
now pressed the dazed Ande, showering on him a number of blows that he
with difficulty avoided.
The mute silence of the crowd was broken by Bob's success. Whooping,
yelling, they urged Bob on.
"Give it to the hugly Deane! Knack down the traitor! Hooray!
Braavo-o-o!"
Only Puckinharn shouted encouragement to his principal.
"'It un in the ribs, Ande! Thee cussent reach 'is faace. Braavo! Braavo,
now he's gurking."[4]
[4] Gurking--weakening.
The latter was said in response to a crashing left jab in the ribs that
made Bob lower his guard spasmodically. "At un, Ande; his faace now is
like that of a roasted herring on a gridiron. Up and at un, lad!"
Puckinharn's shouts were swelled by the voices of one or two others who
had been silent before.
Bob now sought to end the battle in close quarters, and rights and
lefts were freely exchanged. Ande wheeled and his friends were silent in
dread for a moment, but only for a moment. Bob staggered back with a
heavy elbow jolt in the small ribs, but not before he had given his
opponent a blow that sent him to the ground, dazed. Ande's pivot blow
had left a bad opening. Bob seeing his opponent down, was rushing in to
finish the contest on the ground, apparently, no rules having as yet
been devised against it, when Tom Glaze shoved himself between.
"Round's hup."
The boys began to cheer for Bob, thinking that the battle was over and
that Bob was a victor, but that worthy silenced them with a growl.
"Shut up, will 'ee; 'e edent licked yet."
His crestfallen adherents were silent. In the meantime some of the crowd
had brought water to bathe and refresh the youthful gladiators. An old
horse trough was used by Bob and a battered field kibbel[5] by Ande. The
first round was manifestly Bob's. He had drawn first blood and had
knocked his antagonist down. His face was untouched, while Ande's was a
bit drawn; but to judge by the many soft rubs that Bob gave his ribs, he
had not come out of the first round unscathed.
[5] Kibbel--bucket.
As Ande rested on Puckinharn's knee, that worthy gave him sundry pieces
of advice.
"Thee must keep on 'itting 'im in the ribs; 'e's taller than 'ee, and
thee cussent reach 'is faace; 'e's sore and weak there now; 'e's
gurking, I tell'ee."
"Time!" called Tom Glaze, and to the fray again they rushed.
Bully Bob, flattered by his adherents, had regained his confidence. He
would finish the battle in close quarters, and rushed again and again,
but his wily antagonist was as agile as an eel. Bob paused for breath
and glared.
"At un, Bob! Eat un up!"
"I will," said Bob, "as soon as I catch un."
The fighting continued, Ande playing his old tactics--hitting in the
ribs and getting away. Puckinharn grinned in delight. Round two was up
and honours were equally divided. Bob was filled with wrath.
"See 'ere," he said to Tom Glaze, "I want to knaw if that is fair, for
'e to go running and dodging around like that? Us aren't playing fox and
hounds. Why doan't 'e stand up and take and give like a man?"
He was reassured by Glaze, and Glaze's word was law.
"Thee didn't think it was unfair to crack to Ande when he was down, did
'ee,--thee great bucca," exclaimed Puckinharn.
A bucca was the highest title of reproach that Puckinharn had in his
vocabulary.
"Silence," said Glaze; "the rules are that all dodging is allowed."
"And wrastling, too," said Bob.
"Aye, and wrastling, too," affirmed Glaze with a peculiar smile.
And so the rounds went on until the seventh, when
Bob being unwary, Ande seized his left guard, gave his ankle a queer,
Cornish side kick, and sent in a blow on Bob's jaw that toppled the
redoubtable bully over on his back.
"Hooray! Braavo!" exclaimed Puckinharn, swinging his cap up in the air
in his delight.
Bob was up the next instant and began to fight in a cautious, crouching
attitude. His ribs, black and blue, he sought to shield by drawing his
body back and shoving his head and arms forward. There was a better
chance, too, for a wrestle, he thought. The small boys held their
breath. This was the attitude Bob always assumed when meeting hard
opponents. Rumour had credited him with throwing a sailor in this
manner. The bully was at bay and would fight hard. Now, Ande, you have
need of all your skill, so hardly earned in the practice bouts with Tom
Glaze. There was no further chance at Bob's ribs, and his head seemed
perfectly guarded. They circled warily around each other seeking for an
opening. Then, like a flash came Ande's chance, the opportunity that he
would not let slip. "If 'ee ever get that chance and take it, it will
put thy opponent down and hout sure," Glaze had told him time and time
again, in their practice bouts.
Bob made a slight pass with his left. The next instant his wrist was
grasped in an iron grip. Up over his neck Ande raised Bob's arm, then
bending his back he grasped with his other hand his opponent's right
knee, and putting forth all his strength, Bob went up in the air as if
hoisted with a derrick.
"A clinch! a clinch!" shouted some, and it was a clinch in which one did
all the clinching.
Bob struggled manfully, but the grip that had stopped the squire's
runaway mare could not be unloosened. Up, up, up, went Bob, and then
with a heave the form of the bully, like a comet, went over his
opponent's head and over the heads of the close-pressing ring-siders,
his foot kicking off the cap of one of the lads in his involuntary
flight. There was a thud and a cry. The battle was ended. Bully Bob had
a broken collar-bone, and his prestige was forever terminated.
Trembath was the hero of the hour. Tom Glaze was jubilant and slapped
the victor on the back.
"Thee did what I telled thee, and I couldn't do un better myself.
Thee'lt be champion of the county yet. Thee make off home now, for thy
mother will be looking for 'ee, and I'll see to the tother chap."
Ande started homeward. The boys still remained around the fallen bully,
or in little knots by themselves discussed the great battle. Then a
short distance away were seen the approaching figures of the squire and
parson, and the spectators melted away like magic, until only Tom Glaze
remained.
"Ah, Tom, a bad day's work, inciting the young to fight," said Parson
Trant, shaking his head disapprovingly.
"Well, lads will fight and sometimes it does them good," said the
squire, who loved the old British game of boxing, and felt like
supporting Glaze, who was a favourite of his.
"A bad thing, stirring up the worst passions," replied the parson.
"I doan't knaw about that," sturdily replied Glaze, encouraged by the
squire's words. "This was a thing that 'ad to come off, and seeing as
'ow the little one 'as given the big un a much needed dressing down,--I
think it proper, sir," and Glaze touched his cap.
"Another case of the valiant Cornishman and the giant Cormoran, eh,
Glaze?" said the squire, laughingly.
"Aye, sir, 'tez so," said Glaze, as they passed on.