Two mornings after the period to which I have brought the reader in the preceding chapter, I sat by my fire at the bottom of the dingle. I had just breakfasted, and had finished the last morsel of food which I had brought with me to that solitude. “What shall I now do?” said I to myself: “shall I continue here, or decamp? This is a sad lonely spot—perhaps I had better quit it; but whither should I go? the wide world is before me, but what can I do therein? I have been in the world already without much success. No, I had better remain here; the place is lonely, it is true, but here I am free and independent, and can do what I please; but I can’t remain here without food. Well, I will find my way to the nearest town, lay in a fresh supply of provision, and come back, turning my back upon the world, which has turned its back upon me. I don’t see why I should not write a little sometimes; I have pens and an ink-horn, and for a writing-desk I can place the Bible on my knee. I shouldn’t wonder if I could write a capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible; but first of all I must think of supplying myself with food.” I rose up from the stone on which I was seated, determining to go to the nearest town, with my little horse and cart and procure what I wanted. The nearest At a whistle which I gave, the little gry, which was feeding on the bank near the uppermost part of the dingle, came running to me, for by this time he had become so accustomed to me that he would obey my call for all the world as if he had been one of the canine species. “Now,” said I to him, “we are going to the town to buy bread for myself, and oats for you—I am in a hurry to be back; therefore, I pray you to do your best, and to draw me and the cart to the town with all possible speed, and to bring us back; if you do your best, I promise you oats on your return. You know the meaning of oats, Ambrol?” Ambrol whinnied as if to let me know that he understood me perfectly well, as indeed he well might, as I had never once fed him during the time he had been in my possession without saying the word in question to him. Now, Ambrol, in the Gypsy tongue, signifieth a pear. I stood stock still, supporting the shaft of the little cart in my hand, and bending the right side of my face slightly towards the ground; but I could hear nothing. The noise which I thought I had heard was not one of those sounds which I was accustomed to hear in that solitude—the note of a bird, or the rustling of a bough; it was—there I heard it again—a sound very much resembling the grating of a wheel amongst gravel. Could it proceed from the road? Oh no, the road was too far distant for me to hear the noise of anything moving along it. Again I listened, and now I distinctly heard the sound of wheels, which seemed to be approaching the dingle; nearer and nearer they drew, and presently the sound of wheels was blended with the murmur of voices. Anon I heard a boisterous shout, which seemed to proceed from the entrance of the dingle. “Here are folks at hand,” said I, letting the shaft of the cart fall to the ground: “is it possible that they can be coming here?” My doubts on that point, if I entertained any, were soon dispelled: the wheels, which had ceased moving for a moment or two, were once again in motion, and were now evidently moving down the winding path which led to my retreat. Leaving my cart, I came forward and placed myself near the entrance of the “Why don’t you move forward?” said a voice from behind, apparently that of a female; “you are stopping up the way, and we shall be all down upon one another;” and I saw the head of another horse overtopping the back of the cart. “Why don’t you move forward, Jack?” said another voice, also of a female, yet higher up the path. The man stirred not, but remained staring at me in the posture which he had assumed on first perceiving me, his body very much drawn back, his left foot far in advance of his right, and with his right hand still grasping the halter of the horse, which gave way more and more, till it was clean down on its haunches. “What’s the matter?” said the voice which I had last heard. “What is it?” said the same voice; “let me pass, Moll, and I’ll soon clear the way,” and I heard a kind of rushing down the path. “You need not be afraid,” said I, addressing myself to the man,—“I mean you no harm; I am a wanderer like yourself—-come here to seek for shelter—you need not be afraid; I am a Rome chabo The man eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then, turning to his horse with a loud curse, he pulled him up from his haunches, and led him and the cart farther down to one side of the dingle, muttering as he passed me, “Afraid? Hm!” I do not remember ever to have seen a more ruffianly-looking fellow: he was about six feet high, with an immensely athletic frame; his face was black and bluff, and sported an immense pair of whiskers, but with here and there a grey hair, for his age could not be much under fifty. He wore a faded blue frock coat, corduroys, and highlows—on his black head was a kind of red nightcap, round his bull neck a Barcelona handkerchief—I did not like the look of the man at all. “Afraid,” growled the fellow, proceeding to unharness his horse; “that was the word, I think.” But other figures were now already upon the scene. Dashing past the other horse and cart, which by this “What’s the matter, Jack?” said the latter, looking at the man. “Only afraid, that’s all,” said the man, still proceeding with his work. “Afraid at what?—at that lad? Why, he looks like a ghost—I would engage to thrash him with one hand.” “You might beat me with no hands at all,” said I, “fair damsel, only by looking at me: I never saw such a face and figure, both regal—why, you look like Ingeborg, Queen of Norway; she had twelve brothers, you know, and could lick them all, though they were heroes—
“None of your chaffing, young fellow,” said the tall girl, “or I will give you what shall make you wipe your face; be civil, or you will rue it.” “None of your Rommany chies, young fellow,” said the tall girl, looking more menacingly than before, and clenching her fist; “you had better be civil. I am none of your chies; and, though I keep company with gypsies or, to speak more proper, half and halfs, I would have you to know that I come of Christian blood and parents, and was born in the great house of Long Melford.” “I have no doubt,” said I, “that it was a great house; judging from your size, I shouldn’t wonder if you were born in a church.” “Stay, Belle,” said the man, putting himself before the young virago, who was about to rush upon me, “my turn is first.” Then, advancing to me in a menacing attitude, he said with a look of deep malignity, “‘Afraid’ was the word, wasn’t it?” “It was,” said I, “but I think I wronged you; I should have said, aghast—you exhibited every symptom of one labouring under uncontrollable fear.” The fellow stared at me with a look of stupid ferocity, and appeared to be hesitating whether to strike or not: ere he could make up his mind, the tall girl stepped forward, crying, “He’s chaffing; let me at him!” and, before I could put myself on my guard, “Enough,” said I, putting my hand to my cheek; “you have now performed your promise, and made me wipe my face: now be pacified, and tell me fairly the ground of this quarrel.” “Grounds!” said the fellow; “didn’t you say I was afraid? and if you hadn’t, who gave you leave to camp on my ground?” “Is it your ground?” said I. “A pretty question,” said the fellow; “as if all the world didn’t know that. Do you know who I am?” “I guess I do,” said I; “unless I am much mistaken, you are he whom folks call the ‘Flaming Tinman.’ To tell you the truth, I’m glad we have met, for I wished to see you. These are your two wives, I suppose; I greet them. There’s no harm done—there’s room enough here for all of us—we shall soon be good friends, I dare say; and when we are a little better acquainted, I’ll tell you my history.” “Well, if that doesn’t beat all!” said the fellow. “I don’t think he’s chaffing now,” said the girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; “the young man speaks civil enough.” “Civil!” said the fellow, with an oath; “but that’s just like you: with you it is a blow, and all over. Civil! I suppose you would have him stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to my two morts.” The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse, which was feeding amongst the trees. “What’s this?” said he, rushing forward and seizing the animal. “Why, as I am alive, this is the horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.” “It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for it.” “It’s mine now,” said the fellow; “I swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat—ay, and beat the master too.” “I am not Slingsby.” “All’s one for that.” “You don’t say you will beat me?” “Afraid was the word.” “I’m sick and feeble.” “Hold up your fists.” “Won’t the horse satisfy you?” “Horse nor bellows either.” “No mercy, then.” “Here’s at you.” “Mind your eyes, Jack. There, you’ve got it. I thought so,” shouted the girl, as the fellow staggered “Never mind, Anselo. You know what to do—go in,” said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now came forward with all the look of a fury; “go in, apopli; The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing, but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose. “You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way,” said the girl, looking at me doubtfully. And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the Flaming Tinman disengaged himself of his frock-coat, and, dashing off his red nightcap, came rushing in more desperately than ever. To a flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in another, he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me. The fellow’s strength appeared to be tremendous. “Pay him off now,” said the vulgar woman. The Flaming Tinman made no reply, but planting his knee on my breast, seized my throat with two huge horny hands. I gave myself up for dead, and probably should have been so in another minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the handkerchief which the fellow wore round his neck with a grasp nearly as powerful as that with which he pressed my throat. “Do you call that fair play?” said she. But Belle paid no heed to the injunction, and tugged so hard at the handkerchief, that the Flaming Tinman was nearly throttled; suddenly relinquishing his hold of me, he started on his feet, and aimed a blow at my fair preserver, who avoided it, but said coolly:— “Finish t’other business first, and then I’m your woman whenever you like; but finish it fairly—no foul play when I’m by—I’ll be the boy’s second, and Moll can pick you up when he happens to knock you down.” The battle during the next ten minutes raged with considerable fury, but it so happened that during this time I was never able to knock the Flaming Tinman down, but on the contrary received six knock-down blows myself. “I can never stand this,” said I, as I sat on the knee of Belle: “I am afraid I must give in; the Flaming Tinman hits very hard,” and I spat out a mouthful of blood. “Sure enough you’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in the way you fight—it’s of no use flipping at the Flaming Tinman with your left hand: why don’t you use your right?” “Because I’m not handy with it,” said I; and then getting up, I once more confronted the Flaming Tinman, and struck him six blows for his one, but they were all left-handed blows, and the blow which the Flaming Tinman gave me knocked me off my legs. “I don’t know what you mean by Long Melford,” said I, gasping for breath. “Why, this long right of yours,” said Belle, feeling my right arm—“if you do, I shouldn’t wonder if you yet stand a chance.” And now the Flaming Tinman was once more ready, much more ready than myself. I, however, rose from my second’s knee as well as my weakness would permit me; on he came striking left and right, appearing almost as fresh as to wind and spirit as when he first commenced the combat, though his eyes were considerably swelled, and his nether lip was cut in two; on he came, striking left and right, and I did not like his blows at all, or even the wind of them, which was anything but agreeable, and I gave way before him. At last he aimed a blow which, had it taken full effect, would doubtless have ended the battle, but, owing to his slipping, the fist only grazed my left shoulder, and came with terrific force against a tree, close to which I had been driven; before the Tinman could recover himself, I collected all my strength, and struck him beneath the ear, and then fell to the ground completely exhausted, and it so happened that the blow which I struck the Tinker beneath the ear was a right-handed blow. “Hurrah for Long Melford!” I heard Belle exclaim; “there is nothing like Long Melford for shortness all the world over.” “A pretty manoeuvre,” said the woman: “leave my mard “I’m for fair play and Long Melford,” said the other. “If yow old man, as you call him, could have settled the boy fairly, he might, for all I should have cared, but no foul work for me; and as for sticking the boy with our gulleys “They were bad people,” said she, “and I did not like them, but they were my only acquaintance in the wide world.” |