With Marlborough to Malplaquet | Page 4

man, and would fain enter into no
quarrels."
On the Saturday afternoon a neighbour brought word up to the house
that there was some sort of a squabble going on down at the river side.
"Better run along and see what is the matter, George," said the mother.
"Father's gone to the town and won't be back till supper time."
So the boy pulled on his cap, twisted a big scarf about his neck, and
made off to the Tyne, nearly a mile away.
He found a tremendous hubbub on the wharf, men pulling and
struggling and cursing and fighting in vigorous fashion. What might be

the right or the wrong of the quarrel, George did not know, and he had
not time to inquire before he too was mixed up in the fray. The first
thing that met his eye, in truth, was one of the crew of the Fairburn
collier brig lying helpless on his back and at the mercy of a fellow who
was showing him no favour, but was pounding away at the upturned
face with one of his fists, whilst with the other hand he held a firm grip
of his prostrate foeman.
"Let him get up, coward!" the lad shouted as he rushed to the spot. "Let
him get up, I tell you, and fight it out fair and square."
The fellow was by no means disposed to give up the advantage he had
obtained, however, and redoubled the vigour of his blows.
He was a strong thickset collier, not an easy man to tackle; but without
more ado George flung himself at the bully, and toppled him over, the
side of his head coming into violent collision with the rough planks of
the landing-stage.
"Up with you, Jack!" George cried, and, seizing the hand of the
prostrate sailor, he jerked him to his feet. Jack, however, was of little
more use when he had been helped up, and staggered about in a dazed
and aimless sort of way. He was, in truth, almost blind, his eyes scarce
visible at all, so severe had been his punishment, while his face
streamed with blood.
Meanwhile his antagonist had jumped to his feet, his face black with
coaldust and distorted with fury.
"Two on ye!" he yelled with an oath, "then I must fend for myself," and
he seized a broken broom handle that was lying near.
"A game of singlestick is it?" George replied gleefully, as he made a
successful grab at another stick a couple of yards away. It was the
handle of a shovel; there were several broken tools lying about the
quay.
"Come on," said the boy, brandishing his short but heavy weapon, "this

is quite in my line, I can tell you!"
It was a curious sight as the two rushed upon each other, so unequal did
the antagonists seem. Bill, the collier, was tall as well as strongly built,
and in the very prime of life; while George, though a sturdy lad for his
age, was many inches shorter, and appeared at first sight an absurdly
inadequate foeman.
In a moment the sticks were clattering merrily together, the lad
hesitating not a whit, for he felt sure that he was at least a match for the
other. George Fairburn had ever been an adept at all school games, and
had spent many a leisure hour at singlestick. In vain did Bill endeavour
to bring down his stick with furious whack upon the youngster's scalp;
his blow was unfailingly parried. It was soon evident to the man that
the boy was playing with him, and when twice or thrice he received a
rap on his shoulder, his arm, his knuckles even, his fury got quite
beyond his control, and he struck out blindly and viciously, forcing the
lad backwards towards the edge of the wharf.
But Fairburn was not to be taken in that style. Slipping agilely out of
the way, he planted another blow, this time on his opponent's head. In a
trice Bill threw down his cudgel and, raising his heavy boot,
endeavoured to administer a vicious kick. It was time to take to more
effective tactics, and while the man's leg was poised in the air, George
put in a thwack that made his skull resound, and threw him quite off his
already unstable balance. Bill fell to the ground and lay there stunned, a
roar of laughter hailing the exploit, with shouts of, "Thrashed by a lad;
that's a grand come off for Bill Hutchinson!"
George now had time to look about him. He found that the enemy,
whoever they might be, had been beaten off, and the crew of the
Fairburn brig was in possession of the landing-stage.
"What is it all about, Jack?" he inquired of the