“Where’s that scamp of a Boswell?” he shouted angrily.
Jonathan stepped forward, hanging his head somewhat.
“What does all this mean?” asked the farmer. “I thought it was only for yourself that you begged leave to stop here. Who the divil’s all this gang?”
“I really couldn’t help it,” said Jonathan. “They stuck to me, and would come in. They’re all delations of mine, don’t you see, sir?”
A look from the Gypsy made me step forward and plead for the party, which I did with success.
About the middle of June I was again in Old Boswell’s company. Under a hedge pink with wild-roses, we sat smoking and waiting for the fair to begin on Stow Green, a South Lincolnshire common. Already horses were assembling and dealers were beginning to arrive in all sorts of conveyances. Hot sunshine blazed down upon the common, whose only building was a wretched-looking lockup, around which lounged several representatives of the county constabulary. Wandering in and about the motley throng, I caught a whisper going the round that a fight was to take place before the end of the day. It had been explained to me that this fight was not the result of any quarrel arising at the fair. It had been arranged long beforehand. Whenever a difference arose between two families, champions were told off to fight the matter out at Stow Green Fair.
Somewhere about the middle of the afternoon, as the business began to slacken, a number of people were seen to move to one corner of the common. Evidently something was afoot. I wandered across and found a crowd consisting mainly of Gypsies, and in order to get a better view, I climbed upon a trestle table outside a booth. In the middle of a ring of people stood two of the dark Grays, stripped to the waist, and, at a signal given by an elderly man, the combatants put up their “maulers” and the fight began. It was by no means a one-sided contest, the men being well matched with regard to weight and strength. Blow followed blow in quick succession, and at the first drawing of blood the Gypsy onlookers became excited, and the entire crowd began to surge to and fro. Of course, the police hurried up, but soon perceived that it was useless to interfere.
“Let ’em have it out,” cried many voices. After a breathing space, the fighters again closed in, and, parting a little, one of them stepped back a pace or two and, springing towards his opponent, dealt him a heavy blow which determined the battle, and all was over. At this juncture, the table on which I and others stood suddenly gave way, and we were precipitated to the grass, but no harm was done, beyond a few bruises and the shattering of sundry jugs and glasses.