By this time the word was passed along the top of the cliff that there was a fight on, and the fishermen began slowly to take themselves off the rail and descend the slope to see the fun, as they called it. They did not hurry themselves in the least, so that there was plenty of time for the encounter to progress, with Aleck still calm and cool, warding off the blows struck at him most skilfully, and mastering his desire to retaliate when he could have delivered others with masterly effect.
But a change was coming on.
Enraged by his inability to close with his skilful, active adversary, the big lad made more and more use of his tongue, the torrent of abuse grew more foul, and Aleck more cool and contemptuous, till all at once his adversary yelled out something which was received with acclamations by the excited ring who surrounded the pair, while it went through Aleck like some poisoned barb. He saw fire for the moment, and his teeth gritted together, as caution and the practice and skill he had displayed were no more, for, to use a schoolboy phrase, his monkey was up and he meant fighting—he meant to use his fists to the best effect in trying to knock the vile slanderous words, uttered against the man he loved and venerated, down the utterer’s throat, while his rage against those who crowded around, yelling with delight, took the form of back strokes with his elbow and more than one sharp blow at some intruding head.
But it was against the lout who had spoken that the fire of his rage was principally directed, and the fellow realised at once that all that had gone before on the part of the stranger from the Den was mere sparring and self-defence. Aleck meant fighting now, and he fought, showering down such volleys of blows that, at the end of a couple of minutes, in spite of a brave defence and the planting of nasty cracks about his adversary’s unguarded face, the big lad was being knocked here and there, up, down, and round about, till the shouts and cries about him lowered into a dull, dead hum. The pier stones reeled and rose and sank and seemed to imitate the waves that floated in, and when at last, in utter despair, he locked Aleck in his arms and tried to throw him, he received such a stunning blow between the eyes that he loosened his grasp to shake his head, which the next moment was knocked steady and inert, the big fellow going down all of a heap, and the back of his big bullet skull striking the pier stones with a heavy resounding bump.
Chapter Three.
In his excitement it seemed to Aleck that the real fight was now about to begin, for the little mob of boys uttered an angry yell upon seeing their champion’s downfall, and were crowding in. But he was wrong, for a gruff voice was heard from the fishermen, who had at last bestirred themselves to see more of what they called the fun, and another deep-toned voice, accompanying the pattering of two wooden legs, came from the direction of the steps.
“Here, that’ll do, you dogs!” cried the first voice, and—
“Stand fast, Master Aleck, I’m a-coming,” cried the other.