Presently there was a murmur, and a movement, and Crawley, with Robarts and Tom Buller on each side of him, and a knot of others following, appeared. Without saying a word both boys went down the sides of the dell to the circular space which had been carefully left for them at the bottom, took off their jackets, waistcoats, and braces, and gave them to their seconds, who folded them up and laid them aside, tied pocket-handkerchiefs round their waists, turned up the bottoms of their trousers, and stepped into the middle of the arena.
“Won’t you offer to shake hands?” said Stubbs to Saurin. “I believe it is usual on such occasions.”
“Pooh!” replied Saurin, “that is in friendly encounters, to show there is no malice. There is plenty of malice here, I can promise you.” He finished rolling up his shirt sleeves to the armpits as he spoke, and walked to the middle of the ring, where Crawley confronted him. All were wrapped in breathless attention as the two put up their hands, and every note of a thrush singing in a tree hard by could be distinctly heard.
The two boys were just about the same height and age, but Crawley had a slightly longer reach in the arms, and was decidedly more “fit” and muscular. But, on the other hand, it was evident directly they put their hands up, that Saurin was the greatest adept at the business. The carriage of his head and body, and the way he worked his arm and foot together, showed this. He moved round his adversary, advancing, retiring, feinting, watching for an opening. Crawley stood firm, with his eyes fixed on those of his antagonist, merely turning sufficiently to face him. At length Saurin, judging his distance, sent out his left hand sharply, and caught Crawley on the right cheekbone. Crawley hit back in return, but beat the air; Saurin was away. Again Saurin came weaving in, and again he put a hit in without a return. The same thing happened a third, a fourth, and a fifth time, and then Crawley, stung by the blows, went at the other wildly, hitting right and left, but, over-reaching himself, lost his balance and rolled over. The lookers on were astonished; they had expected Saurin to be beaten from the first, and though Crawley was so popular, murmurs of applause were heard, such is the effect of success. Buller knelt on his left knee so that Crawley might sit on his right. In the same manner Saurin sat on Edwards’ knee. Saurin’s face had not been touched, while that of Crawley was flushed and bleeding.
“You will not be able to touch his face just yet,” said Buller. “Fight at his body and try to hit him in the wind. And never mind what I said yesterday about closing with him, we must risk his cross-buttock, and your superior strength may serve you.”
“Time! time!” cried the boys, and the antagonists jumped up from their seconds’ knees, and met again. Saurin had lost all his nervousness now; his superiority was evident, and he felt nothing but triumph and gratified malice. He did not stop to spar now, but directly he was within reach hit out with confidence. Crawley took the blow without flinching or attempting to parry it, and sent his right fist with all his strength into Saurin’s ribs, just as Buller had directed him. Saurin recovered himself, and the round went on, Crawley being further mauled about the face, neck, and head, but getting a hit in now on the other’s body, now a round right-hander on his side or the small of his back. In the end they grappled, wrestled, and rolled over together, and were then helped by their seconds to their respective corners. Saurin’s face was still untouched, but he puffed and panted for breath, and seemed to feel the effect of the body blows.
“That is capital,” said Buller to Crawley; “stick to that for the present, he will soon begin to tire.”
“Why, Buller, you seem to be quite up to this sort of thing!” said Robarts in surprise.
“My elder brother went in for the Queensbury cups, and is always talking about boxing and fighting: that’s how I know,” replied Buller quietly.
“And that is why you wished to be my second?” asked Crawley, who, though his face was a pitiable object, was perfectly cool and self-possessed, and not a bit blown or tired.