The Lost Middy: Being the Secret of the Smugglers' Gap

by George Manville Fenn

So far every movement had been followed by cutting remarks expressive of the contempt in which the visitor was held. There had been threats, too, of how he would be served one of these times. Remarks were made, too, on his personal appearance and the cut of his clothes, but there was nothing more than petty annoyance till the quarry was on his way back to where he would be under the protection of the redoubtable Dumpus, who did not scruple about “letting ’em have it,” to use his own words, it being very unpleasant whatever shape it took. But now the pack began to rouse up and show its rage under the calm, careless, defiant contempt with which it was being treated. Words, epithets, and allusions grew more malicious, caustic, and insulting, and, these producing no effect by the time the top of the slope was reached, bolder tactics were commenced, the boys closing round and starting a kind of horse-play in which one charged another, to give him a thrust so as to drive him—quite willing—against the retiring visitor.

This was delightful; the mirth it excited grew more boisterous, and the covert attacks more general.

But Aleck was on the alert and avoided several, till a more vigorous one was attempted by the biggest lad present, a great, hulking, stupid, hobbledehoy of a fellow, who drove a companion against Aleck’s shoulder, making him stagger for a moment, while the aggressor burst out into a hoarse laugh which was chorussed by the little crowd, and then stopped.

The spring which set Aleck’s machinery in motion had been touched, making him wheel round from the boy who had been driven against him, make a spring at the great, grinning, prime aggressor, and bring his coarse laugh to an end by delivering a stinging blow on the ear which drove him sidewise and made him stand shaking his head and thrusting his finger inside his ear as if to try and get rid of a peculiar buzzing sound which affected him strangely.

There was a roar, and the boy who had been thrust against Aleck sprang at him to inflict condign punishment upon the stranger who had dared to strike his companion.

The attack was vigorous enough, but the attacker was unlucky, for he met Aleck’s bony fist on his way before he could use his own. Then he clapped his open hands to his nose and stood staring in wonder, and seemed to be trying to find out whether his nose had been flattened on his face.

There was an ominous silence then, during which Aleck turned and walked on down the slope in a quiet leisurely way, scorning to run, and even slackening his pace to be on his guard as he reached the bottom of the slope, for by that time the boys had recovered from their astonishment, and were in full pursuit.

In another minute Aleck was surrounded by a roughly-formed crowding-in ring, with the two lads who had tested the force of his blows eager to obtain revenge, incited thereto by a score or two of voices urging them to “give it him,” “pay him,” “let him have it,” and the like.

The two biggest lads of the party then came on at Aleck at once; but, to be just, it was from no cowardly spirit, but from each being urged by a sheer vindictive desire to be first to obtain revenge for his blow. Hence they were mastered by passion and came on recklessly against one who was still perfectly cool and able to avoid the bigger fellow’s assault while he gave the other a back-handed blow which sent him reeling away quite satisfied for the present and leaving the odds, so to speak, more even in the continuation of the encounter.

Aleck was well on the alert, and, feeling that he was utterly out-matched, he aimed at getting as far as the steps, where he would have Tom Bodger for an ally and the attack would come to an end; but he was soon aware of the fact that to retire was impossible, hedged in as he was by an excited ring of boys, and there was nothing for him but to fight his way back slowly and cautiously. So he kept his head, coolly resisting the attack of the big fellow with whom he was engaged, guarding himself from blows to the best of his ability, and paying little heed to the torrent of abuse which accompanied the blows the big fisher lad tried to shower upon him, and always backing away a few yards, as he could, nearer to the way down to his boat.