Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
I heard them appoint a flat place beside the burn, just on the edge of
the bog, and watched them trooping out of the yard. The rabble went
first, with a great semblance of valour, and the brown-faced stranger,
with a sardonic grin on his countenance, stepped jauntily behind. Now I
dearly love a fight, but yet I scarce thought fit to go and look on with
the rest; so I had Maisie saddled, and rode after them, that I might
look like some chance passer-by stopping to witness the encounter.
When I came up to the place, there were already some thirty men
collected. It was a green spot by the side of the Hawes burn, with the
frost not lifted from the grass; and in the burn itself the ice lay
thick, for it flows sluggishly like all bogland waters, The place was
beaten down as if folk were used to go there, and here the men made a
ring about their champion, some helping him to unbuckle his belt, some
giving advice about how to close with his adversary. The adversary
himself stood waiting their pleasure with the most unconcerned air,
whistling "The Green Holms o’ Linton," and stamping his feet on the
ground to keep himself warm.
In a little the two were ready, and stood facing each other on the cold
moor. A whistling wind came in short blasts from the hills, and made
their ears tingle, and mine also, till I wished that I were one of the
two to have some chance of warming my blood. But when once the fight
began, I thought little more of the cold.
The countryman gripped the stranger round the middle and tugged
desperately to throw him. Up and down, backwards and forwards they
went, kicking up in their struggle pieces of turf and little stones.
Once they were all but in the water, but the stranger, seeing his peril,
made a bold leap back and dragged the other with him. And now I feared
that it was going to go hard with the succourer of distressed dogs; for
his unwieldy opponent was pressing so heavily upon him that I expected
every moment to see him go down. Once I caught sight of his face, and,
to my surprise, it was calm as ever; the very straw he had been chewing
before being still between his teeth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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