CHAPTER III
THE GREAT FIGHT
"Martin!" said the school-master, in a severe tone, looking up from thebook with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turnyour back to it."
"Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with eagernessas he stared across the fields.
"Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the master in a loud tone, atthe same time striking the desk violently with his cane.
"Oh, sir, let me out! There's Bob Croaker with my kitten. He's going todrown it. I know he is,--he said he would; and if he does aunty will die,for she loves it next to me; and I _must_ save it, and--and, if you_don't_ let me out--you'll be a murderer!"
At this concluding burst, Martin sprang forward and stood before hismaster with clenched fists and a face blazing with excitement. Theschoolmaster's gaze of astonishment gradually gave place to a dark frownstrangely mingled with a smile, and, when the boy concluded, he saidquietly--"You may go."
No second bidding was needed. The door flew open with a bang; and thegravel of the play-ground, spurned right and left, dashed against thewindow panes as Martin flew across it. The paling that fenced it off fromthe fields beyond was low, but too high for a jump. Never a boy in allthe school had crossed that paling at a spring, without laying his handsupon it; but Martin did. We do not mean to say that he did anythingsuperhuman; but he rushed at it like a charge of cavalry, sprang from theground like a deer, kicked away the top bar, tumbled completely over,landed on his head, and rolled down the slope on the other side as fastas he could have run down,--perhaps faster.
It would have required sharper eyes than yours or mine to have observedhow Martin got on his legs again, but he did it in a twinkling, and washalf across the field almost before you could wink, and panting on theheels of Bob Croaker. Bob saw him coming and instantly started off at ahard run, followed by the whole school. A few minutes brought them to thebanks of the stream, where Bob Croaker halted, and, turning round, heldthe white kitten up by the nape of the neck.
"O spare it! spare it, Bob!--don't do it--please don't, don't do it!"gasped Martin, as he strove in vain to run faster.
"There you go!" shouted Bob, with a coarse laugh, sending the kitten highinto the air, whence it fell with a loud splash into the water.
It was a dreadful shock to feline nerves, no doubt, but that white kittenwas no ordinary animal. Its little heart beat bravely when it rose to thesurface, and, before its young master came up, it had regained the bank.But, alas! what a change! It went into the stream a fat, round,comfortable ball of eider-down. It came out--a scraggy blotch of whitepaint, with its black eyes glaring like two great glass beads! No soonerdid it crawl out of the water than Bob Croaker seized it, and whirled itround his head, amid suppressed cries of "Shame!" intending to throw itin again; but at that instant Martin Rattler seized Bob by the collar ofhis coat with both hands, and, letting himself drop suddenly, dragged thecruel boy to the ground, while the kitten crept humbly away and hiditself in a thick tuft of grass.
A moment sufficed to enable Bob Croaker, who was nearly twice Martin'sweight, to free himself from the grasp of his panting antagonist, whom hethrew on his back, and doubled his fist, intending to strike Martin onthe face; but a general rush of the boys prevented this.
"Shame, shame, fair play!" cried several; "don't hit him when he's down!"
"Then let him rise up and come on!" cried Bob, fiercely, as he sprang upand released Martin.
"Ay, that's fair. Now then, Martin, remember the kitten!"
"Strike men of your own size!" cried several of the bigger boys, as theyinterposed to prevent Martin from rushing into the unequal contest.
"So I will," cried Bob Croaker, glaring round with passion. "Come on anyof you that likes. I don't care a button for the biggest of you."
No one accepted this challenge, for Bob was the oldest and the strongestboy in the school, although, as is usually the case with bullies, by nomeans the bravest.
Seeing that no one intended to fight with him, and that a crowd of boysstrove to hold Martin Rattler back, while they assured him that he hadnot the smallest chance in the world, Bob turned towards the kitten,which was quietly and busily employed in licking itself dry, and said,"Now, Martin, you coward, I'll give it another swim for your impudence."
"Stop, stop!" cried Martin earnestly. "Bob Croaker, I would rather doanything than fight. I would give you everything I have to save mykitten; but if you won't spare it unless I fight, I'll do it. If youthrow it in before you fight me, you're the greatest coward that everwalked. Just give me five minutes to breathe and a drink of water, andI'll fight you as long as I can stand."
Bob looked at his little foe in surprise. "Well, that's fair. I'm yourman; but if you don't lick me I'll drown the kitten, that's all." Havingsaid this, he quietly divested himself of his jacket and neckcloth, whileseveral boys assisted Martin to do the same, and brought him a draught ofwater in the crown of one of their caps. In five minutes all was ready,and the two boys stood face to face and foot to foot, with their fistsdoubled and revolving, and a ring of boys around them.
Just at this moment the kitten, having found the process of lickingitself dry more fatiguing than it had expected, gave vent to a faint mewof distress. It was all that was wanting to set Martin's indignant heartinto a blaze of inexpressible fury. Bob Croaker's visage instantlyreceived a shower of sharp, stinging blows, that had the double effect oftaking that youth by surprise and throwing him down upon the green sward.But Martin could not hope to do this a second time. Bob now knew thevigour of his assailant, and braced himself warily to the combat,commencing operations by giving Martin a tremendous blow on the point ofhis nose, and another on the chest. These had the effect of temperingMartin's rage with a salutary degree of caution, and of eliciting fromthe spectators sundry cries of warning on the one hand, and admiration onthe other, while the young champions revolved warily round each other,and panted vehemently.
The battle that was fought that day was one of a thousand. It created asgreat a sensation in the village school as did the battle of Waterloo inEngland. It was a notable fight; such as had not taken place within thememory of the oldest boy in the village, and from which, in after years,events of juvenile history were dated,--especially pugilistic events, ofwhich, when a good one came off, it used to be said that "such a battlehad not taken place since the year of the _Great Fight_" Bob Croaker wasa noted fighter. Martin Rattler was, up to this date, an untried hero.Although fond of rough play and boisterous mischief, he had anunconquerable aversion to _earnest_ fighting, and very rarely indeedreturned home with a black eye,--much to the satisfaction of Aunt DorothyGrumbit, who objected to all fighting from principle, and frequentlyasserted, in gentle tones, that there should be no soldiers or sailors(fighting sailors, she meant) at all, but that people ought all to settleeverything the best way they could without fighting, and live peaceablywith one another, as the Bible told them to do. They would be far happierand better off, she was sure of that; and if everybody was of her way ofthinking, there would be neither swords, nor guns, nor pistols, norsquibs, nor anything else at all! Dear old lady. It would indeed be ablessing if her principles could be carried out in this warring andjarring world. But as this is rather difficult, what we ought to becareful about is, that we never fight except in a good cause and with aclear conscience.
It was well for Martin Rattler, on that great day, that the formation ofthe ground favoured him. The spot on which the fight took place wasuneven, and covered with little hillocks and hollows, over which BobCroaker stumbled, and into which he fell,--being a clumsy boy on hislegs,--and did himself considerable damage; while Martin, who was firmlyknit and active as a kitten, scarcely ever fell, or, if he did, sprang upagain like an India-rubber ball. Fair-play was embedded deep in thecentre of Martin's heart, so that he scorned to hit his adversary when hewas down or in the act of rising; but the thought of the fate thatawaited the white kitten if he were conquered, acted like lig
htning inhis veins, and scarcely had Bob time to double his fists after a fall,when he was knocked back again into the hollow out of which he had risen.There were no _rounds_ in this fight,--no pausing to recover breath.Martin's anger rose with every blow, whether given or received; andalthough he was knocked down flat four or five times, he rose again, and,without a second's delay, rushed headlong at his enemy. Feeling that hewas too little and light to make much impression on Bob Croaker by meansof mere blows, he endeavoured as much as possible to throw his weightagainst him at each assault; but Bob stood his ground well, and after atime seemed even to be recovering strength a little.
Suddenly he made a rush at Martin, and, dealing him a successful blow onthe forehead, knocked him down; at the same time he himself tripped overa molehill and fell upon his face. Both were on their legs in an instant.Martin grew desperate. The white kitten swimming for its life seemed torise before him, and new energy was infused into his frame. He retreateda step or two, and then darted forward like an arrow from a bow. Utteringa loud cry, he sprang completely in the air and plunged--head and fiststogether, as if he were taking a dive--into Bob Croaker's bosom! Theeffect was tremendous. Bob went down like a shock of grain before thesickle; and having, in their prolonged movements, approached close to thebrink of the stream, both he and Martin went with a sounding splash intothe deep pool and disappeared. It was but for a moment, however, Martin'shead emerged first, with eyes and mouth distended to the utmost.Instantly, on finding bottom, he turned to deal his opponent anotherblow; but it was not needed. When Bob Croaker's head rose to the surfacethere was no motion in the features, and the eyes were closed. Theintended blow was changed into a friendly grasp; and, exerting himself tothe utmost, Martin dragged his insensible school-fellow to the bank,where, in a few minutes, he recovered sufficiently to declare in a sulkytone that he would fight no more!
"Bob Croaker," said Martin, holding out his hand, "I'm sorry we've had tofight. I wouldn't have done it, but to save my kitten. You compelled meto do it, you know that. Come, let's be friends again."
Bob made no reply, but slowly and with some difficulty put on his vestand jacket.
"I'm sure," continued Martin, "there's no reason in bearing me ill-will.I've done nothing unfair, and I'm very sorry we've had to fight. Won'tyou shake hands?"
Bob was silent.
"Come, come, Bob!" cried several of the bigger boys, "don't be sulky,man; shake hands and be friends. Martin has licked you this time, andyou'll lick him next time, no doubt, and that's all about it."
"Arrah, then, ye're out there, intirely. Bob Croaker'll niver lick MartinRattler though he wos to live to the age of the great M'Thuselah!'" saida deep-toned voice close to the spot where the fight had taken place.
All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it proceeded, andthe boys now became aware, for the first time, that the combat had beenwitnessed by a sailor, who, with a smile of approval beaming on hisgood-humoured countenance, sat under the shade of a neighbouring treesmoking a pipe of that excessive shortness and blackness that seems to bepeculiarly beloved by Irishmen in the humbler ranks of life. The man wasvery tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself with a free-and-easyswagger, as he rose and approached the group of boys.
"He'll niver bate ye, Martin, avic, as long as there's two timbers of yehouldin' togither."
The seaman patted Martin on the head as he spoke; and, turning to BobCroaker, continued: "Ye ought to be proud, ye spalpeen, o' bein' woppedby sich a young hero as this. Come here and shake hands with him: d'yehear? Troth an' it's besmearin' ye with too much honour that same. There,that'll do. Don't say ye're sorry now, for it's lies ye'd be tellin' ifye did. Come along, Martin, an' I'll convarse with ye as ye go home.Ye'll be a man yet, as sure as my name is Barney O'Flannagan."
Martin took the white kitten in his arms and thrust its wet little bodyinto his equally wet bosom, where the warmth began soon to exercise asoothing influence on the kitten's depressed spirits, so that, ere long,it began to purr. He then walked with the sailor towards the village,with his face black and blue, and swelled and covered with blood, whileBob Croaker and his companions returned to the school.
The distance to Martin's residence was not great, but it was sufficientto enable the voluble Irishman to recount a series of the most wonderfuladventures and stories of foreign lands, that set Martin's heart on firewith desire to go to sea,--a desire which was by no means new to him, andwhich recurred violently every time he paid a visit to the small sea-portof Bilton, which lay about five miles to the southward of his nativevillage. Moreover, Barney suggested that it was time Martin should bedoing for himself (he was now ten years old), and said that if he wouldjoin his ship, he could get him a berth, for he was much in want of anactive lad to help him with the coppers. But Martin Rattler sigheddeeply, and said that, although his heart was set upon going to sea, hedid not see how it was to be managed, for his aunt would not let him go.
Before they separated, however, it was arranged that Martin should paythe sailor's ship a visit, when he would hear a good deal more aboutforeign lands; and that, in the meantime, he should make another attemptto induce Aunt Dorothy Grumbit to give her consent to his going to sea.