CHAPTER III.
Aid me, O ye Nine! whom the incomparable Persius satirized his
contemporaries for invoking, and then, all of a sudden, invoked on his
own behalf,--aid me to describe that famous battle by the stocks, and in
defence of the stocks, which was waged by the two representatives of
Saxon and Norman England. Here, sober support of law and duty and
delegated trust,--/pro aris et focis/; there, haughty invasion and
bellicose spirit of knighthood and that respect for name and person which
we call "honour." Here, too, hardy physical force,--there, skilful
discipline. Here--The Nine are as deaf as a post, and as cold as a
stone! Plague take the jades! I can do better without them.
Randal was a year or two older than Lenny, but he was not so tall nor so
strong, nor even so active; and after the first blind rush, when the two
boys paused, and drew back to breathe, Lenny, eying the slight form and
hueless cheek of his opponent, and seeing blood trickling from Randal's
lip, was seized with an instantaneous and generous remorse. "It was not
fair," he thought, "to fight one whom he could beat so easily." So,
retreating still farther, and letting his arms fall to his side, he said
mildly, "There, let's have no more of it; but go home and be good."
Randal Leslie had no remarkable degree of that constitutional quality
called physical courage; but he had some of those moral qualities which
supply its place. He was proud, he was vindictive, he had high self-
esteem, he had the destructive organ more than the combative,--what had
once provoked his wrath it became his instinct to sweep away. Therefore,
though all his nerves were quivering, and hot tears were in his eyes, he
approached Lenny with the sternness of a gladiator, and said between his
teeth, which he set hard, choking back the sob of rage and pain,--
"You have struck me--and you shall not stir from this ground till I have
made you repent it. Put up your hands,--defend yourself."
Lenny mechanically obeyed; and he had good need of the admonition; for if
before he had had the advantage, now that Randal had recovered the
surprise to his nerves, the battle was not to the strong.
Though Leslie had not been a fighting boy at Eton, still his temper had
involved him in some conflicts when he was in the lower forms, and he had
learned something of the art as well as the practice in pugilism,--an
excellent thing too, I am barbarous enough to believe, and which I hope
will never quite die out of our public schools. Ah, many a young duke
has been a better fellow for life from a fair set-to with a trader's son;
and many a trader's son has learned to look a lord more manfully in the
face on the hustings, from the recollection of the sound thrashing he
once gave to some little Lord Leopold Dawdle.
So Randal now brought his experience and art to bear; put aside those
heavy roundabout blows, and darted in his own, quick and sharp, supplying
to the natural feebleness of his arm the due momentum of pugilistic
mechanics. Ay, and the arm, too, was no longer so feeble; for strange is
the strength that comes from passion and pluck!
Poor Lenny, who had never fought before, was bewildered; his sensations
grew so entangled that he could never recall them distinctly; he had a
dim reminiscence of some breathless impotent rush, of a sudden blindness
followed by quick flashes of intolerable light, of a deadly faintness,
from which he was roused by sharp pangs--here--there--everywhere; and
then all he could remember was, that he was lying on the ground, huddled
up and panting hard, while his adversary bent over him with a countenance
as dark and livid as Lara himself might have bent over the fallen Otho.
For Randal Leslie was not one who, by impulse and nature, subscribed to
the noble English maxim, "Never hit a foe when he is down;" and it cost
him a strong, if brief, self-struggle not to set his heel on that
prostrate form. It was the mind, not the heart, that subdued the savage
within him, as muttering something inwardly--certainly not Christian
forgiveness--the victor turned gloomily away.
