CHAPTER I
Mr. Benjamin Halbut Interferes
It was late in the afternoon of a lovely summer's day in the year ofgrace 1798, and all the world and his wife were abroad, taking advantageof the brilliant weather, for it had rained heavily for a week past, andthe countryside had been flooded. But another cause had brought thepeople from their homes to the town of Winchester, for it was marketday, the weekly day for sales, when farmers gathered at the square,having driven in their sheep or cattle from miles around, while thehorse-breeders had come in with their droves of animals, many of themhaving spent the previous night on the road. And in consequence thepleasant town of Winchester wore a gay appearance. The market square wasthronged to overflowing, while within the space of a few yards one couldsee such a medley of beings that the sight caused any stranger to pauseand wonder. Standing there perhaps in some retired corner watching thecrowd, he could tell at a glance that the rough fellow who had justpassed, with tattered coat and breeches, odd-coloured hose and shockhead of hair, was a cattle-drover, who had more than likely slept lastnight in some wayside ditch within hearing of his beasts. Then wouldcome a burly farmer, stout and strong, a patron of good English beef andale, red of face and round of limb, jolly and hearty as a sand-boy. Andif his face failed to tell of his calling, his clothing was a surecriterion, for your farmer has had his own particular dress for many acentury, and in the year of which we speak, providing prosperity hadcome to him, the man who rented or owned his farm, and employed hishands, turned out on market days in a manner which was distinctive. Andvery well and prosperous did they look in their grey beaver hats, theirtailed jackets of broadcloth, with a cravat of ample dimensions abouttheir necks. And down below perhaps a pair of silken hose, as this wasmarket day, or, if they had ridden in, boots and spurs, the former wellblacked and polished.
But all were not farmers and drovers. Women sat huddled in the corners,some with baskets of sweets and cakes, others selling combs,handkerchiefs, and fancy articles likely to attract the maids whopatronised the spot. Horsy-looking men tramped the pavements, or stoodopposite the Black Bull, chewing the inevitable piece of straw,discussing the prices of the day and the business which they had done.Boys, for the most part barefooted and in tatters, rushed here andthere, seeking to earn an odd copper by carrying a bag or holding ahorse. And lurking in the crowd one caught sight of furtive-lookingindividuals, whose slouch hats were pulled well over their eyes, and whostood, with hands deep in their pockets, surveying the scene idly,waiting for the night to come. For then it would be their turn to hustlethe tired marketers, to pick the pockets of the women as they looked onat some outdoor fair, and to lure the revellers to some dark cornerwhere they might easily rob them of the results of their marketing.
It was all very interesting and very entertaining to one of thoughtfulmind, and Mr. Benjamin Halbut, of the celebrated East India Company,found ample food for thought as he wandered amidst the booths andcattle-pens. He was a gentleman of more than middle age, moderatelytall, and practically clean shaven, as was the custom of the day. He waselegantly dressed in the height of the fashion, and wore a high stock.But there was nothing frivolous about his appearance, for his featurestold a tale of study, of a peaceful and thoughtful mind, and of a naturewhich was the reverse of unfriendly. And there was somethingdistinguished about him too, something which his refined featuresenhanced, and which caused many a farmer to glance at him with approval.Some, in fact, raised their beavers to him and smiled, a salutationwhich he instantly responded to, tucking his malacca under his arm inmilitary style, and lifting his hat with a grace which was captivating.And at such times he showed a splendid head of hair, continuous withshort and bushy whiskers which were then commonly worn by those whobelonged to the quality.
"A proper gentleman, and one as it's a pleasure to rent from," saidyoung Farmer Smiles, as Mr. Benjamin passed before the Black Bull. "Ireckon as he's the best landlord this side o' London Town."
"And for many a mile round, lad," added a rotund individual, as he wipedthe perspiration from his brow with a brilliant bandana handkerchief,and replaced his beaver with great care, giving it that rakish list toone side which many a farmer practised. "And to think as he's abachelor, and at his time o' life," he went on. "They say as there'smany a lass from the fine houses as would willingly look over his ageand take him as a husband. But, bless yer, he don't see it. He's toobusy a man for marriage. What with sailin' to India every other year,and posting backwards and forwards between this and town, he ain't gotthe time. Well, Simon, it's main hot to-day, and so we'll have anothertankard to drink his health in. Hi, lass! another full to the brim, andas cold as you can draw it from the cellar."
It seemed, indeed, as if all in the market square were cheerful andcontented on this day, and as Mr. Benjamin sauntered along histhoughtful face wore a smile of pleased approval. He stopped at thisbooth and at that, lifting his hat to the farmers' wives and daughters,nodding to the drovers whom he knew by sight, and acknowledging thesalutations of the smaller fry, unknown to him personally, but who knewwell who this fine gentleman was. And presently, as he gained thefarther side of the market, a gathering crowd attracted his attention,and, being curious, he allowed himself to be carried by the people inthat direction. It was the portion of the square given over to thecarts and teams of the marketers. Here all who drove in from thesurrounding country brought their conveyances, and taking the horses outtied them to the wheel. Some brought large tarpaulins with them, andrigged up a shelter for the use of their women folk, and a peep beneathsome of these improvised tents disclosed chairs and a box or two uponwhich the occupants ate their meals. This was, in fact, the quarterwhere the smaller farmers came, those who could not afford to take theirconveyances to the ample yard of the Black Bull.
In the far corner of this portion the crowd had collected round a roughsquare, in the centre of which stood a farmer's cart, with the horseharnessed to the shafts, and a woman seated in the vehicle, holding achild in her arms. At the horse's head stood a burly fellow, a smallfarmer of rough and brutal appearance, who was engaged in examining thebroken knees of the animal, and mopping the blood which poured fromthem.
"Thirty guineas lost! Not a penny less," he shouted with an oath, as helooked at the wounds. "Here have I been tending the beast as if he werea child, and then this rascal lets him down. I tell you he did it onpurpose!"
He flung the last words at his wife, who sat in the vehicle, and glaredat her maliciously as if he dared her to deny the fact. Then his eyessought one corner of the square about which stood the crowd ofmarketers, composed of the rougher element, and for the most partconsisting of touts and drovers, though there was a small sprinkling offarmers, and in one part a tall sergeant from the regiment stationed inthe town. His gaze fixed itself upon a lad some fourteen years of age,down at heel and shabbily dressed. In fact, his clothes hung grotesquelyabout him, for they were the cast-off garments of the farmer, and hadhad but little alteration. He was bareheaded, his cap lying at thefarmer's feet, showing that the latter had struck him already. Thelittle fellow stood there looking fearfully at his master, waiting forthe thrashing which he knew would be given him as soon as the horse'sinjuries had been seen to. But if he feared his master's blows there wasan air of desperation about the lad now, and his clenched fists seemedto argue that he would not suffer without offering some opposition.
"Broken the knees of the best horse in the stable and lost me thirtyguineas," growled the man. "Come here and take your whipping!"
"Leave the lad alone, George," cried his wife, looking fearfully at herhusband. "He couldn't help it. The horse slipped on the cobbles. Ask anyone who stood near at hand."
"And all because you'd save his skin from a hiding. Hold your tongue,woman," retorted the farmer, snapping the words at her.
He was a nasty-tempered fellow, as any one could see, and the oppositionoffered by his wife hardly helped to smooth his anger. He wrapped apiece of linen about the animal's knees, and then calmly unst
rapped theleather belt which was about his waist. And all the while the crowdlooked on expectantly, while the lad cowered in his corner, tremblingwith apprehension. A moment or two later the ruffianly farmer steppedtowards him, and as he stretched out a hand to take him by the shoulderstruck the boy a cruel blow across the face with his strap. Next seconda tiny fist flew out, and the knuckles struck the brute full in themouth. At once there was intense silence in the crowd. All held theirbreath while they awaited the result of such audacity, craning theirheads to obtain a better view. As for the farmer he staggered back,spitting blood from his mouth, and growling out curses at the boy. Thenhis anger got the better of his discretion, and he threw himselffuriously at the boy, his eyes blazing with rage, and his strap heldwell aloft, prepared to deal a stinging blow. But it was neverdelivered, for just as Mr. Benjamin Halbut pressed his way to the front,and stepped into the square with the intention of putting a stop to thecontest, the sergeant who had been a spectator of the scene ran from hiscorner and faced the man.
"Fair play!" he cried. "The lad's too small. Strike one of your own sizeand weight."
If there had been five sergeants there it would have made no difference,for George Ransom, the farmer, was blind with anger. Always aself-willed man he was noted for his brutality, and many a time had thelad whom he now attacked suffered a severe thrashing at his hands. Heknew his strength and weight, and with a shout of fury he flung himselfupon the sergeant, bringing his belt down with a thud on his shoulder.Then a strange thing happened. The sergeant, a man of some forty yearsof age, leapt to one side, and in a trice George Ransom was met with aterrific blow beneath the jaw, which sent him flying back on to theground.
"Straight from the shoulder! A fine blow! A very fine knock-out indeed!"
It was Mr. Benjamin who spoke, and at the sound of his voice theinterest of the spectators was for the moment distracted from thecombatants. A moment later George Ransom had all their attention, for herose slowly to his feet, his face scarlet with rage and his fistsclenched tightly. Then he slowly divested himself of his coat and rolledhis sleeves to the elbow. And as he did so the news that a fight wasabout to take place spread with the rapidity of a fire, bringing thepeople crowding to that end of the market square.
"A fight! A fight! Stand back and give 'em room," they shouted.
"You've taken it into your thick head to stick up for the shaver,"growled George Ransom, as he made the final preparations. "Well, you'vegot to fight for him, and you've got to take punishment for that blow.Best get that red jacket off, unless you'll keep it on to hold up yourcourage."
"Nay, I'll take it off to keep it clear of your fingers. Think I'd haveit soiled by the hands of a man like you, a big hulking brute whostrikes children! That coat, my friend, has been on the shoulders of abetter man than you, as I'll try to show you. Who'll take charge of itfor me?"
Very quietly and coolly the sergeant had begun to do as George Ransomwas doing. He had already unbuttoned his tailed tunic, and slung hisbelt and sabre or side-arm from his shoulders. And now, as he turned tothe mob he called for some one to take his part. Then his eye fell onthe lad standing beside him, his cheeks flushed with excitement and hiseyes shining.
"You're the man," he said. "Here, my lad, take charge, and stand in thecorner out of harm's way."
"Silence for a moment, my friends," suddenly rang out another voice, asMr. Benjamin Halbut moved to the centre of the circle. "Ah, Mr. JosephRomwell and Mr. Tasker, you have come in good time. This gentleman, whowears his Majesty's uniform, has been challenged to fight bythis--er--this fellow here, whom I witnessed myself striking the lad. Wewill see fair play. I am an old hand at the game, and with your pleasurewill keep the rounds. Let us have a couple of chairs, and with a fewmore of these friends of ours we will keep a circle. One moment,sir"--he turned upon the farmer who was now fully prepared and wasmoving towards his opponent--"one moment till all is ready. Ah, here areothers, and we shall soon be prepared for you. Gentlemen, I wager fiftyguineas on the sergeant, and if he loses I will give this fellow herethe same and twenty for the boy. If the sergeant wins I will pay twentyguineas for the boy, and so take him off his hands. Is that a bargain?"
"I'd give him away," answered George Ransom. "But if you're fool enoughto bet on a match like this, all the better. Fifty guineas to me if Iwin, and twenty also for the boy. I'm ready."
He spat on his hands and doubled his fists, bringing both in front ofhis massive chest. And to look at him there seemed every prospect of hisproving the victor; for he was at least two stones heavier than thesergeant, while his arms, now that they were bared, proved to be of asmassive proportions as were his thighs and calves. But Mr. BenjaminHalbut seemed to have no uneasiness as to the results of the conflict,and it was very clear to all that he at least was well able to judge.The manner in which he held his watch, his authoritative tones, and theprecision with which he placed the opponents and the judges, showed thathe was not unused to pugilistic encounters. And in fact, like largenumbers of gentlemen of that day, he was keenly in favour of the art offighting. True, as viewed nowadays, prize-fighting is and was abarbarous sport, but it had many adherents in the old days, and was notalways conducted on barbarous lines. And Mr. Halbut had done his utmostto foster the art, feeling that it helped to make men of his countrymen.He had attended many a bout, and was considered as good a judge ofpugilists as any in the country. At the very first he had noticed thewiry, active proportions of the sergeant, his keen eye, and the coolmanner in which he made his preparations. And now that he saw himstripped, the hardness of his muscles, his pose as he stepped into thering, and the poise of his head, told that here was a man who hadpractised the game.
"A champion, if I am not mistaken," thought Mr. Halbut. "Game to fightto a finish, and has science. Well, he will want it, for this big bullywill strike with the power of a giant. All the better; if he is beatenit will mean that my friend the sergeant will have obtained a finervictory."
By now the news had filtered to every portion of the square, and a bigconcourse of people was gathered in the corner; in fact, all who couldpossibly leave their stalls or their animals had come across, while thehall of the Black Bull was emptied. And thanks to this fact, there werenow numbers of better-class farmers and breeders close at hand, andthese, at a sign from Mr. Halbut, took up a position within the circleso as to keep the crowd back.
"We are ready, I think," said Mr. Halbut. "Corners, please. Break awaywhen time is called. Now, time!"
The two opponents at once approached one another, the farmer burning tobeat down the sergeant, and confident that his strength and superiorweight would help him to do so; while the latter came up with a quietand intent little smile, wary and watchful, knowing that for a time atleast he would have his hands very full. Nor was it long before hisenemy showed the tactics he was prepared to follow. For a moment or twohe stood to the utmost of his height, his fists moving to and fro like acouple of enormous sledge-hammers. Then, dropping his head suddenly herushed at the sergeant, swinging both arms about his head. And in thismanner he reached the opposite corner, only to find that his opponenthad slipped past him and was waiting for him to turn and renew thecombat. There was a shout of applause from the crowd, and then a cheeras George Ransom again rushed to the attack. When time was called thefarmer was breathing heavily, while he had so far failed to touch hisopponent. His anger now had risen, if that were possible, and when Mr.Halbut again called the combatants into the circle the farmer cameforward without a pause, and with a shout rushed at his enemy. He wasmet this time with a terrific blow beneath the guard, and staggeredback, spitting teeth from his mouth. But the blow was nothing to a manof his size and strength, and in a little while he had closed with thesergeant and the two were striking at one another, the farmer with blindfury, and the sergeant with skill and coolness. Once, in the thirdround, the latter failed to check a rush, and a blow from George Ransomlaid him on the ground, where he lay for a time half stunned, while Mr.Halbut slowly counted out the se
conds. Was he to be beaten after all?for by the rules of the science of pugilism, if he failed to come upwhen time was called he was defeated. But a little later he rose on hiselbow, looked about him as if bewildered, and then sprang to his feet.And the blow seemed to have increased his activity. For in the threerounds which followed he struck the farmer many a blow, while the latterexpended his powers on the air, and rapidly became more and moreexhausted as his more active opponent escaped his rushes. Finally, inthe eighth round the climax came. The sergeant, seeing that his man wasat the end of his tether and no longer so dangerous, struck himunmercifully, driving him round the circle and then into one corner,where he retained him till the man was ready to drop. He escaped,however, and the two faced one another. But it was only for a moment. AsGeorge Ransom advanced again he was met with a blow on the point of thechin which threw him from his feet, and in an instant he lay unconsciouson the ground.
"One, two, three, four," Mr. Halbut began to count. "Stand away there.Keep the circle, my friends. He has a quarter of a minute yet. Time!"
A shout went up from all who were present as the sergeant went back tohis corner and took his coat from the lad. Mr. Halbut and the otherswent to the farmer and ascertained that he was merely stunned. Indeed,in a few minutes he was conscious again and being supported on his feet,where he remained looking sourly at the group about him. Then hestumbled blindly towards his cart, and with the aid of his wife managedto scramble into his coat.
"One moment," said Mr. Halbut, as he was about to climb into the cart."The wager was that if you lost I should pay twenty guineas for the boy.Give me your name and address and I will bring the money and have thelad legally handed over. Wait, though, here is half the sum down. I willlook after the boy, and the rest shall be paid through an attorney."
He pulled a long purse from his pocket and told out the guineas. Thenwith a sympathetic nod to the farmer's wife he turned on his heel andwent to the sergeant.
"You are a fine fellow, and I thank you," he said. "You are a littleshaken, as is natural, and a glass and something to eat at the inn willdo you no harm. Bring the lad with you and follow."
Ten minutes later they were gathered in the hall of the famous BlackBull, waiting while the victuals were put before them.
Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree Page 2