Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall EnglandKemp, Matthew Stanley
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Ande Trembath: A Tale of Old Cornwall England
Kemp, Matthew Stanley
Cornwall (England : County) -- Fiction
"Damme, Ande, ef thee'rt going to cut my nose off my faace and scat my
brains out, I'll be a Turk no longer," and Tommy Puckinharn flung down
his sword in disgust, and stalked on ahead of the company. With one hand
nursing his injured olfactory and the other thrust in his breast, and
meekly followed by his fellows, he looked like Napoleon and army on the
retreat from Moscow. Some one picked up the Turk's weapon and
immediately a discussion arose. No one but a knight must carry a sword
in the company. Sword bearing was the special prerogative of a knight
and "tother chaps must carry spears." The sword bearer then pleaded to
be made a knight, and if Tommy wouldn't be the Turk to install him in
his place. But that was what Tommy didn't want. He had no desire of
being turned out of the second place in the company, even if he did
throw down his weapon, and so he returned and indignantly protested.
When a soldier loses his sword and another finds it, he ought to return
it, was the Turk's argument.
St. George settled the affair by raising the sword finder to the rank of
a squire. The bravery of the Turk in their late encounter, and his
heroic courage on other occasions, merited that he should have an armour
bearer, a squire, to be his constant attendant. The sword finder was
elated and, somehow or other, the pain in the Turk's nose was healed by
this new dignity that his valour had added to his reputation. There was
no more practice in the warlike arts, for the Manor gates were passed
and the great house was near.
The numerous chimney pots sent up various curling clouds of smoke that
glistened palely in the moonlight. The diamond-shaped window panes
gleamed and scintillated with the illumination within, except where a
dark shadow of holly wreath obstructed the light. The broad verandas
were festooned with ropes of evergreen. Up the broad steps strode the
players and, after a few mute looks and a little whispered colloquy, the
herald lifted the rapper and sent a peal through the old building that
would have been certainly heard at any other time but Christmas eve.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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