Having thus obtained the victory, he did not much regard the punctilios of chivalry; but, taking it for granted he had a right to make the most of his advantage, resolved to carry off the spolia opima. Alighting with great agility, “Brother,” cried he, “I think as haw yawrs bean’t a butcher’s horse, a doan’t carry calves well—I’se make yaw knaw your churning days, I wool—what, yaw look as if yaw was crow-trodden, you do —now, you shall pay the score you have been running on my pate, you shall, brother.”
So saying, he rifled his pockets, stripped him of his hat and coat, and took possession of his master’s portmanteau. But he did not long enjoy his plunder. For the lacquey complaining to Sir Launcelot of his having been despoiled, the knight commanded his squire to refund, not without menaces of subjecting him to the severest chastisement for his injustice and rapacity. Timothy represented, with great vehemence, that he had won the spoils in fair battle, at the expense of his head and shoulders, which he immediately uncovered, to prove his allegation. But his remonstrance having no effect upon his master, “Wounds!” cried he, “an I mun gee thee back the pig, I’se gee thee back the poke also; I’m a drubbing still in thy debt.”
With these words, he made a most furious attack upon the plaintiff with his horsewhip, and, before the knight could interpose, repaid the lacquey with interest. As an appurtenance to Sycamore and Dawdle, he ran the risk of another assault from the novice Crowe, who was so transported with rage at the disagreeable trick which had been played upon him by his fugitive antagonist, that he could not for some time pronounce an articulate sound, but a few broken interjections, the meaning of which could not be ascertained. Snatching up his pole, he ran towards the place where Mr. Sycamore sat on the grass, supported by the trumpeter, and would have finished what our adventurer had left undone, if the knight of the Crescent, with admirable dexterity, had not warded off the blow which he aimed at the knight of the Griffin, and signified his displeasure in a resolute tone. Then he collared the lacquey, who was just disengaged from the chastising hand of Crabshaw, and swinging his lance with his other hand, encountered the squire’s ribs by accident.
Timothy was not slow in returning the salutation with the weapon which he still wielded. Mr. Clarke running up to the assistance of his uncle, was opposed by the lacquey, who seemed extremely desirous of seeing the enemy revenge his quarrel, by falling foul of one another. Clarke, thus impeded, commenced hostilities against the footman, while Crowe grappled with Crabshaw; a battle-royal ensued, and was maintained with great vigour, and some bloodshed on all sides, until the authority of Sir Launcelot, reinforced by some weighty remonstrances applied to the squire, put an end to the conflict. Crabshaw immediately desisted, and ran roaring to communicate his grievances to Gilbert, who seemed to sympathise very little with his distress. The lacquey took to his heels; Mr. Clarke wiped his bloody nose, declaring he had a good mind to put the aggressor in the Crown-office; and Captain Crowe continued to ejaculate unconnected oaths; which, however, seemed to imply that he was almost sick of his new profession. “D—n my eyes, if you call this—start my timbers, brother—look ye, d’ye see—a lousy, lubberly, cowardly son of a—among the breakers, d’ye see—lost my steerage way—split my binnacle; bawl away—O! d—n all arrantry—give me a tight vessel, d’ye see, brother—mayhap you may n’t—snatch my—sea-room and a spanking gale— odds heart, I’ll hold a whole year’s—smite my limbs; it don’t signify talking.”
Our hero consoled the novice for his disaster, by observing that if he had got some blows he had lost no honour. At the same time he observed, that it was very difficult, if not impossible, for a man to succeed in the paths of chivalry, who had passed the better part of his days in other occupations, and hinted that, as the cause which had engaged him in this way of life no longer existed, he was determined to relinquish a profession which, in a peculiar manner, exposed him to the most disagreeable incidents. Crowe chewed the cud upon this insinuation, while the other personages of the drama were employed in catching the horses, which had given their riders the slip. As for Mr. Sycamore, he was so bruised by his fall, that it was necessary to procure a litter for conveying him to the next town, and the servant was despatched for this convenience, Sir Launcelot staying with him until it arrived.
When he was safely deposited in the carriage, our hero took leave of him in these terms: “I shall not insist upon your submitting to the terms you yourself proposed before this rencontre. I give you free leave to use all your advantages, in an honourable way, for promoting your suit with the young lady of whom you profess yourself enamoured. Should you have recourse to sinister practices, you will find Sir Launcelot Greaves ready to demand an account of your conduct, not in the character of a lunatic knight-errant, but as a plain English gentleman, jealous of his honour, and resolute in his purpose.”
To this address Mr. Sycamore made no reply, but with a sullen aspect ordered the carriage to proceed; and it moved accordingly to the right, our hero’s road to London lying in the other direction.
Sir Launcelot had already exchanged his armour for a riding-coat, hat, and boots; and Crowe, parting with his skull-cap and leathern jerkin, regained, in some respects, the appearance of a human creature. Thus metamorphosed, they pursued their way in an easy pace, Mr. Clarke endeavouring to amuse them with a learned dissertation on the law, tending to demonstrate that Mr. Sycamore was, by his behaviour on that day, liable to three different actions, besides a commission of lunacy; and that Dawdle might be prosecuted for having practised subtle craft to the annoyance of his uncle, over and above an action for assault and battery; because, for why? The said Crowe having run away, as might be easily proved, before any blows were given, the said Dawdle, by pursuing him even out of the highroad, putting him in fear, and committing battery on his body, became to all intents and purposes the aggressor; and an indictment would lie in Banco Regis.
The captain’s pride was so shocked at these observations, that he exclaimed with equal rage and impatience, “You lie, you dog, in Bilcum Regis—you lie, I say, you lubber, I did not run away; nor was I in fear, d’ye see. It was my son of a bitch of a horse that would not obey the helm, d’ye see, whereby I cou’d n’t use my metal, d’ye see. As for the matter of fear, you and fear may kiss my—So don’t go and heave your stink-pots at my character, d’ye see, or—agad I’ll trim thee fore and aft with a—I wool.” Tom protested he meant nothing but a little speculation, and Crowe was appeased.
In the evening they reached the town of Bugden without any farther adventure, and passed the night in great tranquillity.