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Hollowdell Grange: Holiday Hours in a Country Home, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 21. Catching Tartars |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. CATCHING TARTARS Mr Jones used to have a man, who was a jobbing gardener, come once a week "to put him a bit straight," as the man called it; and this gardener used sometimes to meet old Sam at the Red Lion, when they would have a pint of beer together, and compare cabbages and gooseberries; talk about peas and plums; and relate how many snails they had each killed, by putting salt on their tails, during the past week. Now, it so happened that Sam went to the Red Lion on the very night that closed in upon the day when Mr Jones muddied his white trousers; and it also so happened that Ikey Fogger, the jobbing gardener, thought that he too should like a half-pint at the Red Lion. The consequence was, that the two tillers of the soil began to compare notes, and very soon the history of Mr Jones's misfortune was talked over, and so heartily laughed at by every one present, that old Sam grew quite proud of the feat; and at last let out that Master Harry and he had done it, and it "sarved old Jones right." Next morning, Ikey Fogger was putting Mr Jones's garden "a bit straight," which was done by means of the rake, scythe, hoe, spade, and broom, when Mr Jones came out to superintend as usual, for he had his own particular way of having things done; and in the course of the conversation that followed, Ikey Fogger told him what had been said at the Red Lion by old Sam; the fruit of which was that Ikey had an extra sixpence to "drink master's health," and Mr Jones sat down in his best parlour to see whether he could not devise some plan of attack upon Harry and the other boys,--for he considered all bad alike,--so as to enjoy what he called the "sweets of vengeance." Just then he happened to look up and see the three boys, accompanied by their dog, go strolling past on the other side of the road, when a thought struck him which he hastened to put into execution. The boys were going out for a stroll till tea-time, for they scarcely knew what to do with themselves, having no particular object in view, one and all having declared it too hot for cricket. They therefore loosened the dog, and went off to see what would turn up in the way of amusement. They strolled past the end of the village, and down a lane that led to a bend of the river, and at last sat down upon the bank, and amused themselves by throwing sticks and stones in the water for the dog to fetch out,--a feat, by the way, that he never accomplished, for he was not well broken in to the task. He would run in fast enough, and pretend to make a dash at the stick or stone, but that was all he did, save bark and yelp as he stood up to his middle in the water. At last they grew tired of even this effort, for the heat made them languid and idle; so they sprawled about on the grass, lazily watching the flies that skimmed about and flitted over the surface of the water in such rapid motion that they looked like strings of flies. All at once there was a splash in the river close to their feet. "There's a great fish," said Fred. "It was a stone, I think," said Philip. "But who was to have thrown it?" said Harry; "there's no one about." Just then a great stone splashed up the water, and another struck the poor dog such a blow upon the head that it gave a sharp howl, and rolled right down the bank into the river, from whence it crawled with its eye swelling up fast, and a cut in the skin bleeding profusely. The boys now saw that the stones were thrown from behind a hedge on the right, and three more came directly, one of which hit Philip a smart blow in the back and made him wince again. Just then three big lads made their appearance, and began to pick up more stones. "Let's run," said Fred, "or we shall be hurt." "Yes, come along," said Philip, rubbing his back and twisting with pain. "No, I shan't run," said Harry; "the cowards have half killed poor Dick, or I'd set him at them. I know who they are,--there's Bill Jenkins, and the two Stapleses. Don't I wish I was bigger, I'd give it them;" and Harry ground his teeth together, and clenched his fists tightly. "Yah; yah-ha; go home!" shouted the assailants. But Harry wouldn't budge an inch, but stooped down and began to tie his pocket handkerchief round the dog's bleeding head. "Yah-ah! yah-ah-ah-ah; go home wi' yer!" shouted the lads again, running up, evidently meaning to chevy the Grange boys away; and this seemed an easy task, for the new-comers were all bigger and stronger. "Yah-ah-ah-ah; go home!" they shouted again; and then one, who seemed to be the leader, said to his comrades,--"Let's pitch the dog in, come on." "You'd better not touch him, Bill Jenkins," said Harry, turning very white, either with fear or rage. "We did not interfere with you, so leave us alone." "Yah-ah-ah-ah; go home with yer!" shouted the boys again, for this seemed to be a kind of battle-cry with which they warmed themselves to attack the inoffensive party. Philip half-screwed himself behind Harry, while Fred, who felt dreadfully alarmed, stood behind Philip. "Let us go home quietly, please," said Fred, "and I'll give you a shilling." "Give us the shilling, then," said the boy called Jenkins, who, upon its being produced, snatched it away from Fred, put it in his pocket, and then laid hold of the dog's hind leg and dragged it towards the river. "You let him go now, come," whimpered Harry. "Wow--wow--wow--wow--wow--wow," said the boys, mocking Harry's whimper, and in another moment poor Dick would have been plunged in, when Harry, pushing back one of the Stapleses, who tried to stop him, planted such a well-directed blow in Bill Jenkins's ear that he dropped the dog in a moment, and shook his head as though something was buzzing inside it, as no doubt there was, for the blow was a smart one, Master Harry having had boxing gloves on more than once at school. But this was the signal for a combined attack from the enemy upon Harry, who struck out manfully, but was getting terribly knocked about, when Philip dashed into the fray, and relieved his brother of one assailant. But two were too many for Harry, and seeing Fred doing nothing, he shouted to him for help. Poor Fred! He felt terribly alarmed, and would gladly have run away; but he saw Philip punching away at his adversary like a Trojan, while Harry, with the blood streaming down his face, was being beaten back step by step towards the river by his two formidable opponents. This was too much for Fred, who threw off his cap and jacket and then crept cautiously up to try and aid his cousin, who was getting rapidly worsted. Now Fred afterwards confessed that he felt dreadfully alarmed, and Bill Jenkins evidently saw this, and tried to frighten him away; but he went the wrong way to work, for as Fred came timidly up, Bill swung round one of his long arms, and gave the new-comer a back-handed smack in his mouth that made the blood spurt out in a moment, and then, by a clever thrust of his leg, tripped him up so that he lay sprawling on the grass. But this blow, instead of frightening the town-bred lad, knocked all the fear out of him; for, to Bill Jenkins's great astonishment, he leapt up as though made of springs, and dashed at him like a fury. From that moment, Harry had only one enemy to deal with, for Bill Jenkins began to find that he was getting such a thrashing as he never before had in his life. Fred's fists battered him about the face like a shower of blows, and in the scuffles that ensued the big lad was more than once completely knocked off his feet. He had very soon had enough of it, and began to show it; but Fred had not, for he warmed with the fray, and, in spite of the other's cries for quarter, hammered and battered away at him with greater fury than ever, till at last they closed together, wrestled backwards, forwards, this way, that way, and at last, seizing his opportunity, Fred gave a regular spring off the ground, and drove his enemy backwards, but, as it happened, not on to the ground, but dash, splash into the river, where they both sank, but came up again directly, Bill Jenkins roaring for help, and Fred holding on to him like a tiger. This put an end to the fight, for the fall into the river and conquest of their leader made the two Stapleses take to their heels, so that Harry and Philip were at liberty to help Fred, which they did, by dragging Bill Jenkins half-drowned from the river, for Fred, in his anger, had kept him under water more than once; and then all three kicked him rather unmercifully to bring him well to again; and it must be said, in mitigation of this rather barbarous proceeding, that the blood of the conquerors was a little up, and they were in that state in which we hear of soldiers being when they sack and burn towns. But Bill Jenkins was thoroughly thrashed--thoroughly--for he lay on the grass and blubbered like a great cowardly calf as he was. He did not say, "Yah-ah-ah-ha," now, but "boo-hoo-hoo-hooed" dreadfully; and at last came out-- "We shouldn't ha' touched you if that genelman hadn't given us a shilling each to pay you at out." "What gentleman?" said Harry. "Why, him as lives at the little house yonder, the little fat man, Muster Jones, hoo--hoo--ooh--ooh," said Bill, who with his swelled eyes and wet hair now looked a beauty, not that the conquerors had anything to boast of in that respect. "Now, then," said Fred, viciously; "you give me my shilling back, or I'll give you another ducking." "Boo--hoo," said Bill, refunding the cash very reluctantly, and ducking his head as though to avoid a blow. "Ah! you deserve it, you great coward," said Harry. "Now get up, and be off home; and don't you meddle with us again." And so these young cocks crowed, for the day was regularly their own; while Bill Jenkins sneaked off, with his feathers draggling down about his sides, and with bitterness in his heart, for he knew that another thrashing was in waiting for him at home, for getting his clothes wet, and his face bruised. And now that the victors had the field entirely to themselves, and the excitement was over, they began to find that they were all very stiff and sore; and upon looking at one another, they found that the victory had been dearly bought Fred had, after all, been the greatest hero, and, as a matter of course, he had come in for the greatest amount of damage: his clothes were soaked with water; his shirt stained with blood; his collar torn off; but; as to personal damage, he had escaped with a cut mouth and bleeding knuckles, for he had found that Bill Jenkins possessed a terribly thick head. Harry's clothes were terribly dragged about, and his knuckles were in nearly as bad a state as Fred's, while his face was in such a condition that Philip said he might pass for somebody else. Poor boy, he was sadly "punished," as sporting people call it, while more matter-of-fact folks would say, "knocked about:" the general appearance of his face was such that it might have been supposed that he had been the combatant who was immersed in the water, and that, having stayed in too long, his face had swelled and grown puffy. Philip had a nasty cut on the ear, and had had his nose flattened, but it had regained its proper position, though not without deluging him with blood. Altogether, the boys unmistakeably bore the appearances of having been in a sharp engagement; and, as the sailors say, they "hove to" for the purpose of repairing damages. The first proceeding was to wring all the water out of Fred's clothes, and then, when he had put on his dry jacket and cap,--which he had flung off on commencing the conflict,--he did not look so very, very bad. Philip, too, was made pretty decent, when he had taken his stained collar off, and buttoned his waistcoat up with the collar reversed, so that it covered his shirt. But Harry was the worst, for he looked dreadful; and no amount of bathing would make him decent. To begin with, his cap would not go on so as to cover his bruised forehead; his eyes were reduced to narrow slits, so that he could scarcely see; while his mouth was drawn down all on one side. "Only look what an old gutta-percha head," said Philip; "don't he seem as if some one had been squeezing him out of shape?" And then all three burst out laughing, till Harry begged of them not to make him laugh. "Oh, don't, Phil; it does hurt so." "I say," said Fred, "however are we to go in to tea?" "I don't know," said Philip; "I don't know what they will say to us! But we had better go home at once. What a set of guys we look! Let's go along by the river side, and get over the palings into the fields, and then, perhaps, we can slip in without being seen." "Come along then," said Harry, "for I do feel so stupid, and I can't see a bit." "Oh! let's make haste," said Fred, "for wet clothes are not at all comfortable." It was getting on fast for tea-time, so they hurried along, and having, by means of jumping a couple of ditches, reached the palings which skirted Mr Inglis's property, they helped Harry over, and crept along close to the trees. It had been no joke for Harry to leap the ditches, for he had to do it standing, but he managed to get pretty well over, and then blundered along behind his brother and cousin. "Now, then, keep close, Harry," whispered Philip, when they were in the garden; "keep close, and we'll soon slip in." Harry did keep close, and Philip dodged behind all the evergreens and clumps that he could till they had only one great Portugal laurel to pass round, and then they could reach the side-door. Half a minute more would have settled it, when one of the French windows opened, and out stepped Mr and Mrs Inglis just in front of the trio. Mrs Inglis's face expressed the horror and compassion that she felt to see the boys in such a state, and, without stopping to ask questions, they were hurried in, and nursed and doctored into a state that made them a little more presentable at the tea-table, round which, when they were assembled, Mr Inglis listened to the recital of the conflict; and, much as he was annoyed at the not very creditable affair, still he could not see how the lads could have acted differently. It was a thing that he could not praise them for, and he did not wish to blame; so he contented himself that night with pointing out the folly of playing such practical jokes as had been schemed by Harry, saying that, however wrong others might behave, retaliation in any shape ought not to be thought of. "But I say, Pa," said Harry, "you would not have had us stand still and let those fellows knock poor Dick about, would you?" "Come, boys," said Mr Inglis, "it's quite time you went off to bed, particularly after such a day as you have had." The boys said "good night," and went off to their bedrooms, and as soon as they were out of hearing, Mr Inglis turned to his wife, and said-- "That last question was unanswerable, my dear, for duty said 'Yes,' while my heart said 'No.' The young dogs! What a knocking about they've got; but I expect that their opponents are in a worse position still. I've been thinking of taking proceedings against this Jones, for really this is such a flagrant affair; but, after all, perhaps we had better treat the matter with the contempt it deserves." What more Mr Inglis would have said I cannot tell, for he was interrupted by the stuffy-looking head of Harry being thrust into the room, and a voice that must have been his, though the lips were immovable, saying-- "I say, Pa, you ain't very cross, are you?" Harry was started off to bed again, and Mr Inglis turned to his books, so that the question was not discussed any more. _ |
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