Ernest Bracebridge: School Days

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“No,” bawled out Bouldon.

Several cuffs and blows now descended on his head and shoulders. Again Blackall asked him if he would fag. Bouldon did not deign to answer.

“Do you hear me? Are you deaf?” thundered out the bully.

Bouldon made not the slightest reply to this question either by word or look. The consequence was that the bully began striking away at him right and left, till Tom felt that he was getting very severely punished, and he could not help wishing that some relief was at hand. He struggled as much as his strength would allow, and at last, forgetting all the rules of prudence, he broke away, and instead of endeavouring to escape, he clenched his fists and struck at the bully in return. The consequence was, that he was soon knocked down on the grass. He was not very much hurt, so when he saw Blackall about to kick him, he sprang up in time to avoid the blow.

“Ah, you arrant coward, to think of kicking a fellow half your size when he is on the ground!” he exclaimed, standing at a distance, however, so that he might have time to leap out of Blackall’s way. Under any circumstances he would not have deigned to run; that is not the fashion of any English boys I have ever met. On the contrary, he was anxious to keep near Blackall, and to spin out the time till his friends could arrive to his assistance. He would particularly have wished them to find him on the ground, and Blackall engaged in kicking him. Of course Tom’s look, and attitude, and words very much increased the exasperation of the latter, who now, springing after him, caught him again by the collar, and began pummelling him with all his might about the ribs and head, till his face was one mass of bumps and bruises. Still Bouldon would not cry out for mercy, or give in. Whenever he had an opportunity he broke away from his persecutor, and once more stood on the defensive, returning, when he could, blow for blow. He was soon, however, again knocked down with a blow on the forehead, which almost stunned him. He saw the bully advancing with his foot to kick him.

“Oh, don’t, don’t; you’ll kill me,” sang out poor Tom, who really did dread the force of the big fellow’s heavy shoe, given with the full swing of his leg.

Blackall heeded him not, and would have executed his barbarous purpose, had he not that instant felt a heavy load fall down on his back, and a pair of arms encircling his neck. He had once before been treated much in the same manner, but who or what his present assailant was he could not tell. The nails were long, and the hands not a little grimy, while the knees of his assailant kept pressing his ribs in a most unpleasant manner. Blackall’s look of horror showed that he fully believed that he had been seized by a big baboon, or some monster who might strangle him.

“Now at him again, Tom, and don’t let him go till he has promised never to attack you more,” said a voice, which Blackall recognised as that of Gregson.

However, Tom was this time too much hurt to get up, and he lay moaning on the grass, anxiously wishing that some one would come to his rescue. Gregson had, it appears, been up in a tree hunting for young squirrels and various insects. He had remained a spectator of the fight for some time, thinking that he could not do much good by his interference. When, however, he saw how hard it was going with Tom, he resolved to go to his help. Descending a tree, he climbed along one of the lower branches, from the end of which he had easily dropped down on the bully’s back. There he clung, like the old man of the sea who clung to the back of Sinbad the sailor. But, as I have said, Blackall was a very powerful fellow, and after he had got over his terror at this sudden assault, he used every means to get rid of his assailant. He could not shake him off; and Gregson did not flinch from all the pinches and blows behind his back which he received. At last, Blackall bethought him of backing against a tree. Unfortunately for the young naturalist, one with some stout branches grew near, and Blackall backed up to it, till he bumped it with such force that he very nearly broke both his back and his head, and he was very soon fain to let go. No sooner was he on the ground than the bully vented all his fury on him, and knocking him over with a blow of his ox-like fist, kicked and cuffed him till he was even in a worse condition than Bouldon.

“I’ll teach you to play your pranks on me, you young scoundrel,” he exclaimed. “However, you could not have chosen a better place, for there is no one likely to come here to interfere with us, and I intend to pay you both off in a way you will not fancy, let me tell you that. My fists are rather heavy, so I do not intend to use them, lest I should kill you outright, but I have a colt about me, of which you shall now have a taste.” Saying this, the bully pulled out of his pocket a piece of hard rope, covered from one end to the other with hard knots. Seizing poor Gregson, who lay on the grass even more hurt than Bouldon, Blackall dragged him along, and placed him near his friend, and then flourishing his formidable colt, was about to make it descend first on the back of one and then on that of the other of his victims, when a loud shout arrested his arm, and, looking up, he saw from both ends of the glade a strong body of boys, in military order, advancing towards him.