“There,” shouted Burr major, “finish the beggar this time, Dicky!”
I have some recollection of our encountering again, and feeling blow after blow on my face, on my ear, chest, and shoulders; and our going down once more in another wrestling match.
“Never mind,” whispered Mercer; “you’re doing splendidly.”
“Am I?” I gasped.
“Yes; only keep him off more, and hit straight out like he does.”
“Now then,” cried Burr major again, “I want to go and wash my hands. Come along, new boy, and lay your nose against old Dicksy’s left, and your left eye against his right, and then he’ll smooth your cheeks over and lay you on the boards, and by that time I think you’ll be about cooked.”
“Don’t let him lick you,” whispered Mercer imploringly. “Do give it him this time. Hit him on the nose always, he don’t like that.”
“There!” roared Burr major, as, giddy and confused, I was swinging my arms about, hitting nothing half the time, and never getting one blow home with any force to signify, and at last, after a few minutes of burning rage and confusion, during which I had received quite a shower of blows, I found myself, giddy and panting, seated upon the floor, listening to Burr major’s voice.
“That’s enough, Dicky; that’ll do the beggars no end of good, and make ’em behave themselves when they meet gentlemen. Come on, boys. Here, you two, go and wash yourselves, and make yourselves right. The bell will ring directly, and if old Reb sees you’ve been fighting, he’ll report you both to the Doctor, and you’ll get no end of punishment.”
This seemed the unkindest cut of all, and as soon as the boys had gone racing down into the yard, where Dicksee gave vent to a loud “Cock-a-doodle-doo,” I slowly rose to my feet and faced Mercer, who was gazing straight before him.