“Bother!” exclaimed Martin, growing impatient; “why don’t they begin? They look as if one is afraid, and the other dares not.” But not so thought the spectators. To them it was a moment of great excitement, and as, to give effect to the scene, the music lowered its tones so as only just to be heard, and the two seconds withdrew to a distance of several paces, to leave the ground clear for the combatants, they gazed with the most eager and breathless anxiety.
For a time they continued to grapple each other, at the same time performing a sort of waving or bending motion with their bodies, while their feet described circles on the grass; one or the other, seeing his opportunity, gave his antagonist a violent blow, either on the left side, or more generally on the calf of his left leg, accompanying the stroke with a loud yell. The instant the blow fell, its dealer sprang quickly backwards, in order to escape retaliation from the other, who was not slow to return the compliment, which he, in like manner, if successful, graced with a scream.
“That’s plucky!” Martin would exclaim, as each blow fell, and its receiver accepted it without a cry or the movement of a muscle. As for the spectators, at every well-dealt blow, or dextrous avoidance of a blow, they raised a savage yell of delight or admiration that made my blood run cold. Now, I do not care for such unnecessary exhibitions, any more than I do for the brutal “noble science of self-defense,” as it is called, and so I said, “Come, Martin, I have had enough of this.”
“Bother!” again cried my brother, for he used the expression whenever he was vexed; “if they were doing each other any great harm, they would cry out. They are only in play.”
He believed, however, that it was something more than play, when, going into the ring after the contest, we saw that in every instance where the blows had taken effect, a gash, or, rather, a livid ridge of some inches in length, had been left in the flesh.
The boys’ contest was followed by others between men, but by both youngsters and oldsters the combats were carried on with wonderful good temper, considering their sufferings and their naturally hot blood. But proverbially ferocious as are all the races akin to the Malay, during these games they are not permitted to wear dagger or creese, or, indeed, to show “temper.” If ever a real quarrel arises out of these jousts, the spectators rush into the circle, seize the squabblers, and expel them in disgrace from the games.
But now I have to relate a most extraordinary incident—one that was within an ace of abruptly terminating the adventurous career of one of us two brothers.
The games had finished, and the warlike players gone to their homes. The band, however, struck up another tune, for the simple-minded villagers had congregated round a conjuror just about to exhibit his tricks, when Martin, impulsive at all times, began to push his way through the throng, saying,—
“Come, Claud, let us get a good sight of this fellow.”
It would have been as well as if he had failed in the attempt; for, no sooner did his eyes light upon the conjuror, than, with a shriek more like that of some wild animal than a human being, he darted towards him, and, as the people came between them, he cried,—“Let me get at the rogue!”