CHAPTER XXXV.
A WRESTLING BOUT.
Valentine's Day was on Sunday that year, and a violent gale from thesouth and west set in before daylight, and lasted until the evening,without bringing any rain. Anxiety was felt about the Chancel roof,which had only been patched up temporarily, and waterproofed with thicktarpaulins; for the Exeter builders had ceased work entirely during thatDecember frost, and as yet had not returned to it. To hurry them, whileengaged elsewhere, would not have been just, or even wise, inasmuch asthey might very fairly say, "let us have a little balancing of booksfirst, if you please."
However, the old roof withstood the gale, being sheltered from the worstof it, and no further sinking of the wall took place; but at the Abbey,some fifty yards eastward, a very sad thing came to pass. Thesouth-western corner and the western end (the most conspicuous partremaining) were stripped, as if by a giant's rip-hook, of all their darkmantle of ivy. Like a sail blown out of the bolt-ropes, away it all wentbodily, leaving the white flint rough and rugged, and staring like asuburban villa of the most choice effrontery. The contrast with theremainder of the ruins and the old stone church was hideous; and Mr.Penniloe at once resolved to replace and secure afresh as much of thefallen drapery as had not been shattered beyond hope of life. WalterHaddon very kindly offered to supply the ladders, and pay half the cost;for the picturesque aspect of his house was ruined by this baldbackground. This job was to be put in hand on Thursday; but worse thingshappened before that day.
"Us be going to have a bad week of it," old Channing, the clerk,observed on Monday, as he watched the four vanes on the tower (for hiseyes were almost as keen as ever) and the woodcock feathers on thewestern sky; "never knowed a dry gale yet, but were follered by a wetone twice as bad; leastways, if a' coom from the Dartmoor mountains."
However, things seemed right enough on Tuesday morning, to people whoseldom think much of the sky; and the rustics came trooping in to theFair, as brave as need be, and with all their Sunday finery. A prettierlot of country girls no Englishman might wish, and perhaps no other manmight hope to see, than the laughing, giggling, blushing, wondering,simpering, fluttering, or bridling maidens, fresh from dairy, or churn,or linhay, but all in very bright array, with love-knots on theirbreasts, and lavender in their pocket-handkerchiefs. With no depressingelegance perhaps among them, and no poetic sighing for impossibleideals; and probably glancing backwards, more than forwards on the pathof life, because the rule and the practice is, for the lads of the partyto walk behind.
Louts are these, it must be acknowledged, if looked at from too high apoint; and yet, in their way, not by any means so low, as a topper onthe high horse, with astral spurs, and a banner of bad Latin, mightcondemn them for to be. If they are clumsy, and awkward, and sheepish,and can only say--"Thank 'e, sir! Veyther is quite well," in answer to"How are you to-day, John?"--some of it surely is by reason of a verynoble quality, now rarer than the great auk's egg; and known, while itwas a noun still substantive, as modesty. But there they were, andplenty of them, in the year 1836; and they meant to spend their money ingood fairing, if so be their girls were kind.
Mr. Penniloe had a lot of good heart in him; and when he came out tostand by the bellman, and trumpeter who thrilled the market-place, hiscommon sense, and knowledge of the darker side, had as much as theycould do to back him up against the impression of the fair young faces,that fell into the dumps, at his sad decree. The strong evil-doers werenot come yet, their time would not begin till the lights began to flare,and the dark corners hovered with temptation. Silence was enjoined threetimes by ding-dong of bell and blare of trump, and thrice the fataldocument was read with stern solemnity and mute acceptance of everycreature except ducks, whom nothing short of death can silence, andscarcely even that when once their long valves quiver with the elegiacstrain.
The trumpeter from Exeter, with scarlet sash and tassel, looked downfrom an immeasurable height upon the village bellman, and a fiddler inthe distance, and took it much amiss that he should be compelled to timehis sonorous blasts by the tinkle tinkle of old nunks.
"Truly, I am sorry," said the Curate to himself, while lads and lasses,decked with primrose, and the first white violets, whispered sadly toone another--"no more fairing after this"--"I am sorry that it should beneedful to stop all these innocent enjoyments."
"Then why did you send for me, sir?" asked the trumpeter rathersavagely, as one who had begged at the rectory for beer, to medicate hislips against the twang of brass, but won not a drop from Mrs. Muggridge.
Suddenly there came a little volley of sharp drops--not of the liquid hedesired--dashed into the trumpeter's red face, and against the back ofthe Parson's hat--the first skit of rain, that seemed rather to rise, asif from a blow-pipe, than fall from the clouds. Mr. Penniloe hastened tohis house close by, for the market-place was almost in a straight linewith the school, and taking his old gingham umbrella, set off alone fora hamlet called Southend, not more than half a mile from the village.Although not so learned in the weather as his clerk, he could see thatthe afternoon was likely to prove wet, and the longer he left it theworse it would be, according to all indications. Without any thought ofadversaries, he left the village at a good brisk pace, to see an oldparishioner of whose illness he had heard.
Crossing a meadow on his homeward course he observed that the footpathwas littered here and there with strips and patches of yellow osierpeel, as if, since he had passed an hour or so ago, some idle fellow hadbeen "whittling" wands from a withy-bed which was not far off. For amoment he wondered what this could mean; but not a suspicion crossed hismind of a rod in preparation for his own back.
Alas, too soon was this gentleman enlightened. The lonely footpath camesideways into a dark and still more lonesome lane, deeply sunk betweentangled hedges, except where a mouldering cob wall stood, sole relic ofa worn-out linhay. Mr. Penniloe jumped lightly from the treddled stileinto the mucky and murky lane, congratulating himself upon shelterhere, for a squally rain was setting in; but the leap was into a den ofwolves.
From behind the cob wall, with a yell, out rushed four hulking fellows,long of arm and leg, still longer of the weapons in their hands. Each ofthem bore a white withy switch, flexible, tough, substantial, seemlyinstrument for a pious verger--but what would pious vergers be doinghere, and why should their faces retire from view? Each of them had tiedacross his most expressive, and too distinctive part, a patch of whitemuslin, such as imparts the sweet sense of modesty to a chamber-window;but modesty in these men was small.
Three of them barred the Parson's road, while the fourth cut off hiscommunications in the rear; but even so did he not perceive the fullatrocity of their intentions. To him they appeared to be inditing ofsome new form of poaching, or some country game of skill perhaps, orthese might be rods of measurement.
"Allow me to pass, my friends," he said; "I shall not interfere withyour proceedings. Be good enough to let me go by."
"Us has got a little bit o' zummat," said the biggest of them, with hislegs astraddle, "to goo with 'e, Passon, and to 'baide with 'e a bit. Achoice bit of fairing, zort o' peppermint stick, or stick lickerish."
"I am not a fighting man; but if any man strikes me, let him beware forhimself. I am not to be stopped on a public highway, like this."
As Mr. Penniloe spoke, he unwisely closed his umbrella, and holding itas a staff of defence, advanced against the enemy.
One step was all the advance he made, for ere he could take another, hewas collared, and tripped up, and cast forward heavily upon hisforehead. There certainly was a great stone in the mud; but he neverknew whether it was that, or a blow from a stick, or even the ebony knobof his own umbrella, that struck him so violently as he fell; but theeffect was that he lay upon his face, quite stunned, and in danger ofbeing smothered in the muck.
"Up with's coat-tails! Us'll dust his jacket. Ring the bull on 'un--one,two, dree, vour."
The four stood round, with this very fine Christian, ready--as theChristian fait
h directs, for weak members, not warmed up with it,--readyto take everything he could not help; and the four switches hummed inthe air with delight, like the thirsty swords of Homer; when a rush asof many winds swept them back to innocence. A man of great stature, andwith blazing eyes, spent no words upon them, but lifted up the biggestwith a chuck below his chin, which sent him sprawling into the ditch,with a broken jaw, then took another by the scruff of his small clothes,and hefted him into a dog-rose stool, which happened to stand on the topof the hedge with shark's teeth ready for their business; then he leapedover the prostrate Parson, but only smote vacant air that time. "Thedevil, the devil, 'tis the devil himself!" cried the two other fellows,cutting for their very lives.
"Reckon, I were not a breath too soon;" said the man who had done it, ashe lifted Mr. Penniloe, whose lips were bubbling and nose clotted up;"why, they would have killed 'e in another minute, my dear. D--d if Ibain't afeared they has done it now."
That the clergyman should let an oath pass unrebuked, would have beenproof enough to any one who knew him that it never reached his mind. Hissilver hair was clogged with mud, and his gentle face begrimed with it,and his head fell back between the big man's knees, and his blue eyesrolled about without seeing earth or heaven.
"That doiled Jemmy Fox, we wants 'un now. Never knowed a doctor come,when a' were wanted. Holloa, you be moving there, be you? You dare stir,you murderer!" It was one of the men lately pitched into the hedge; buthe only groaned again, at that great voice.
"Do 'e veel a bit better now, my dear? I've a girt mind to kill they twohosebirds in the hedge; and what's more, I wull, if 'e don't came roundpretty peart."
As if to prevent the manslaughter threatened, the Parson breathedheavily once or twice, and tried to put his hand to his temples; andthen looked about with a placid amazement.
"You 'bide there, sir, for a second," said the man, setting himcarefully upon a dry bank with his head against an ash-tree. "Thy soulshall zee her desire of thine enemies, as I've a'read when I waz alittle buy."
To verify this promise of Holy Writ, he took up the stoutest of thewhite switches, and visiting the ditch first, and then the hedge-trough,left not a single accessible part of either of those ruffians without aweal upon it as big as his thumb, and his thumb was not a little one.They howled like a couple of pigs at the blacksmith's, when he slips thering into their noses red-hot; and it is lawful to hope that they felttheir evil deeds.
"T'other two shall have the very same, bumbai; I knows where to puthands on 'em both;" said the operator, pointing towards the village; andit is as well to mention that he did it.
"Now, sir, you come along of I." He cast away the fourth rod, havingelicited their virtues, and taking Mr. Penniloe in his arms, wentsteadily with him to the nearest house. This stood alone in theoutskirts of the village; and there two very good old ladies lived, witha handsome green railing in front of them.
These, after wringing their hands for some minutes, enabled Mr. Penniloeto wash his face and head, and gave him some red currant wine, and senttheir child of all work for Mrs. Muggridge. Meanwhile the Parson beganto take a more distinct view of the world again, his first emotion beinganxiety about his Sunday beaver, which he had been wearing in honour ofthe Proclamation--the last duty it was ever destined to discharge. Butthe "gigantic individual," as the good ladies called him, was nowhere tobe seen, when they mustered courage to persuade one another to peepoutside the rails.
By this time the weather was becoming very bad. Everybody knows how agreat gale rises; not with any hurry, or assertion of itself, (as alittle squall does, that is limited for time) but with a softhypocritical sigh, and short puffs of dissimulation. The solid greatstorm, that gets up in the south, and means to make every tree inEngland bow, to shatter the spray on the Land's-end cliffs while itshakes all the towers of London, begins its advance without any broadrush, but with many little ticklings of the space it is to sweep. Atrumpery frolic where four roads meet, a woman's umbrella turned insideout, a hat tossed into a horse-pond perhaps, a weather-cock befooledinto chace of head with tail, and a clutch of big raindrops sheafed intothe sky and shattered into mist again--these, and a thousand otherlittle pranks and pleasantries, are as the shrill admonitions of thefife, in the vanguard of the great invasion of the heavens.
But what cares a man, with his money in his pockets, how these largerthings are done? And even if his money be yet to seek, still more shallit preponderate. A tourney of wrestlers for cash and great glory wascrowding the courtyard of the _Ivy-bush_ with every man who could raisea shilling. A steep roof of rick-cloth and weatherproof canvas,supported on a massive ridge-pole would have protected the enclosurefrom any ordinary storm; but now the tempestuous wind was tugging,whistling, panting, shrieking, and with great might thundering, and theviolent rain was pelting, like the rattle of pebbles on the Chessilbeach, against the strained canvas of the roof; while the rough hoops ofcandles inside were swinging, with their crops of guttering tallowwelted, like sucked stumps of Asparagus. Nevertheless the spectatorsbelow, mounted on bench, or stool, or trestle, or huddled against therope-ring, were jostling, and stamping, and craning their necks, anddigging elbows into one another, and yelling, and swearing, and wavingrotten hats, as if the only element the Lord ever made was mob.
Suddenly all jabber ceased, and only the howls of the storm were heard,and the patter from the sodden roof, as Polwarth of Bodmin, having takenformal back from Dascombe of Devon, (the winner of the Standards, a veryfine player, but not big enough for him) skirred his flat hat into themiddle of the sawdust, and stood there flapping his brawny arms, andtossing his big-rooted nose, like a bull. In the flare of the lights,his grin looked malignant, and the swing of his bulk overweening; andthough he said nothing but "Cornwall for ever!" he said it as if itmeant--"Devonshire be d--d!"
After looking at the company with mild contempt, he swaggered towardsthe umpires, and took off his belt, with the silver buckles and the redstones flashing, and hung it upon the cross-rail for defiance. A shiverand a tremble of silence ran through the hearts, and on the lips ofthree hundred sad spectators. Especially a gentleman who sate behind theumpires, dressed in dark riding-suit and a flapped hat, was swingingfrom side to side with strong feeling.
"Is there no man to try a fall for Devonshire? Won't kill him to bebeaten. Consolation money, fifty shillings." The chairman of theCommittee announced; but nobody came forward.
A deep groan was heard from old Channing the Clerk, who had known suchvery different days; while the Cornishman made his three rounds of thering, before he should buckle on the belt again; and snorted each time,like Goliath. Gathering up the creases of his calves, which hung likethe chins of an Alderman, he stuck his heels into the Devonshire earth,to ask what it was made of. Then, with a smile, which he felt to bekind, and heartily large to this part of the world, he stooped to pickup the hat gay with seven ribbons, wrung from Devonshire button-holes.
But behold, while his great hand was going to pick it up thuscarelessly, another hat struck it, and whirled it away, as a quoitstrikes a quoit that appears to have won.
"Devon for ever! And Cornwall to the Devil!" A mighty voice shouted, anda mighty man came in, shaking the rain and the wind from his hair. Aroar of hurrahs overpowered the gale, as the man taking heed of nobody,strode up to the belt, and with a pat of his left hand, said--"I wantsthis here little bit of ribbon."
"Thee must plai for 'un fust," cried the hero of Cornwall.
"What else be I come for?" the other enquired.
When formalities had been satisfied, and the proper clothing donned, andthe champions stood forth in the ring, looking at one another, the roofmight have dropped, without any man heeding, until it came across hiseyes.
The challenger's name had been announced--"Harvey Tremlett, ofDevonshire"--but only one or two besides old Channing had any idea whohe was; and even old Channing was not aware that the man had been awrestler from early youth, so seldom had he visited his native place.
&nb
sp; "A' standeth like a man as understood it," "A' be bigger in the backthan Carnishman," "Hope 'a hath trained, or 's wind won't hold;" sundrysuch comments of critical power showed that the public, as usual, knewten times as much as the performers.
These, according to the manner of the time, were clad alike, but wore nopads, for the brutal practice of kicking was now forbidden at meetingsof the better sort. A jacket, or jerkin, of tough sail-cloth,half-sleeved and open in front afforded firm grasp, but no clutch forthrottling; breeches of the stoutest cord, belted at waist and strappedat knee, red worsted stockings for Devonshire, and yellow on behalf ofCornwall, completed their array; except that the Cornishman woreankle-boots, while the son of Devon, at his own request, was providedonly with sailor's pumps. The advantage of these, for lightness of stepand pliancy of sole, was obvious; but very few players would ventureupon them, at the risk of a crushed and disabled foot. "Fear he bain'tnim' enough for they pea-shells. They be all very well for a boy;" saidChanning.
The Cornishman saw that he had found his match, perhaps even his masterin bodily strength, if the lasting power could be trusted. Skill andendurance must decide the issue, and here he knew his own pre-eminence.He had three or four devices of his own invention, but of very doubtfulfairness; if all other powers failed, he would have recourse to them.
For two or three circuits of the ring, their mighty frames and limbskept time and poise with one another. Each with his left hand graspedthe other by the shoulder lappet; each kept his right hand hovering likea hawk, and the fingers in ply for a dash, a grip, a tug. Face to face,and eye to eye, intent upon every twinkle, step for step they marchedsideways, as if to the stroke of a heavy bell, or the beating of slowmusic. Each had his weight thrown slightly forwards, and his shouldersslouched a little, watching for one unwary move, and testing by somesubtle thrill the substance of the other, as a glass is filliped to tryits ring.
By a feint of false step, and a trick of eye, Polwarth got an opening.In he dashed, the other's arm flew up, and the Cornish grip went roundhim. In vain he put forth his mighty strength, for there was no room touse it. Down he crashed, but turned in falling, so that the back wasdoubtful.
"Back"! "Fair back"! "No back at all." "Four pins." "Never, no, threepins." "See where his arm was?" "Foul, foul, foul!" Shouts of wrath, andeven blows ensued; for a score or two of Cornishmen were there.
"Hush for the Umpires!" "Hold your noise." "Thee be a liar." "So beyou." The wind and the rain were well out-roared, until the Umpires,after some little consultation gave award.
"We allow it true back, for Cornwall. Unless the fall claims foul belowbelt. If so, it will be for Referee." Which showed that they differedupon that point.
"Let 'un have it. I won't claim no foul. Let 'un do it again, if 'acan." Thus spake the fallen man, striding up to the Umpires' post. Aroar of cheers rang round the tent, though many a Devonshire face lookedglum, and a few groans clashed with the frank hurrahs.
The second bout was a brief one, but afforded much satisfaction to alllovers of fair play, and therefore perhaps to the Cornishmen. WhatTremlett did was simply this. He feigned to be wholly absorbed inguarding against a repetition of the recent trick. The other expectingnothing more than tactics of defence was caught, quite unawares, by hisown device, and down he went--a very candid four-pin fall.
Now came the final bout, the supreme decision of the tie, the crowningstruggle for the palm. The issue was so doubtful, that the oldest andmost sage of all palaestric oracles could but look,--and feared thatvoice might not prove--wise. Skill was equally divided, (setting dubioustricks aside), strength was a little in favour of Devon, but not toomuch turn of the balance, (for Cornwall had not produced a man of suchmagnitude for many years) experience was on Cornwall's side; condition,and lasting power, seemed to be pretty fairly on a par. What was tosettle it? Devonshire knew.
That is to say, the fair County had its hopes,--though always too modestand frugal to back them--that something which it produces even morefreely than fair cheeks and kind eyes, and of which the corner land isnot so lavish--to wit fine temper, and tranquillity of nature, mightcome to their mother's assistance. Even for fighting, no man is at thebest of himself, when exasperated. Far less can he be so in the gentlerart.
A proverb of large equity, and time-honoured wisdom, declares (with thebluntness of its race) that "sauce for the goose is sauce for thegander." This maxim is pleasant enough to the goose; but the gandersputters wrathfully when it comes home to his breast. Polwarth felt itas a heinous outrage, that he had been the victim of his own device. Ashe faced his rival for the last encounter, a scowl came down upon hisnoble knobby forehead, his keen eyes glowered as with fire in his chest,and his wiry lips closed viciously. The Devonshire man, endowed withlarger and less turbid outlook, perceived that the other's wrath waskindled, and his own duty was to feed the flame.
Accordingly, by quiet tricks, and flicks, such as no man would even feelunless already too peppery, he worked the moral system hard, and rousedin the other's ample breast--or brain, if that be the combative part--alofty disdain of discretion. Polwarth ground his teeth, and clenched hisfist, spat fire--and all was up with him. One savage dash he made, whichmight have swept a milestone backward, breast clashed on breast, heswung too high, the great yellow legs forsook the earth, and the greatred ones flashed between them, then the mighty frame span in the airlike a flail, and fell flat as the blade of a turf-beater's spade.
"All over! All up! Needn't ask about that. Three times three forDevonshire! Again, again, again! Carnies, what can 'e say to that now?"
Wild triumph, fierce dejection, yearning to fight it out prevailed;every man's head was out of the government of his neck--when these twoleading Counties were quenched alike. The great pole of red pine, fitmast for an Admiral, bearing all the structure overhead, snapped, like acarrot, to a vast wild blast. In a weltering squash lay victor andvanquished, man with his fists up, and man eager to go at him, heartstoo big to hold themselves for exultation, and hearts so low that wifelytouch was needed to encourage them, glorious head that had won fiftyshillings, and poor numskull that had lost a pot of beer. Prostrateall, with mouths full of tallow, sawdust, pitch, and another fellow'stoes. Many were for a twelvemonth limpers; but nobody went toChurchyard.