A hail of exclamations followed the combatants.
"Bravo, Helmsgail! Good! Well done, Highlander! Now, Phelem!"
And the friends of Helmsgail repeated their benevolent exhortation,--
"Bung up his peepers!"
Helmsgail did better. Rapidly bending down and back again, with the undulation of a serpent, he struck Phelem-ghe-Madone in the sternum. The Colossus staggered.
"Foul blow!" cried Viscount Barnard.
Phelem-ghe-Madone sank down on the knee of his second, saying,--
"I am beginning to get warm."
Lord Desertum consulted the umpires, and said,--
"Five minutes before time is called."
Phelem-ghe-Madone was becoming weaker. Kilter wiped the blood from his face and the sweat from his body with a flannel, and placed the neck of a bottle to his mouth. They had come to the eleventh round. Phelem, besides the scar on his forehead, had his breast disfigured by blows, his belly swollen, and the fore part of the head scarified. Helmsgail was untouched.
A kind of tumult arose amongst the gentlemen.
Lord Barnard repeated, "Foul blow."
"Bets void!" said the Laird of Lamyrbau.
"I claim my stake!" replied Sir Thomas Colpepper.
And the honourable member for the borough of Saint Ives, Sir Bartholomew Gracedieu, added, "Give me back my five hundred guineas, and I will go.
Stop the fight."
Phelem arose, staggering like a drunken man, and said,--
"Let us go on fighting, on one condition--that I also shall have the right to give one foul blow."
They cried "Agreed!" from all parts of the ring. Helmsgail shrugged his shoulders. Five minutes elapsed, and they set to again.
The fighting, which was agony to Phelem, was play to Helmsgail. Such are the triumphs of science.
The little man found means of putting the big one into chancery--that is to say, Helmsgail suddenly took under his left arm, which was bent like a steel crescent, the huge head of Phelem-ghe-Madone, and held it there under his armpits, the neck bent and twisted, whilst Helmsgail"s right fist fell again and again like a hammer on a nail, only from below and striking upwards, thus smashing his opponent"s face at his ease. When Phelem, released at length, lifted his head, he had no longer a face.
That which had been a nose, eyes, and a mouth now looked only like a black sponge, soaked in blood. He spat, and on the ground lay four of his teeth.
Then he fell. Kilter received him on his knee.
Helmsgail was hardly touched: he had some insignificant bruises and a scratch on his collar bone.
No one was cold now. They laid sixteen and a quarter to one on Helmsgail.
Harry Carleton cried out,--
"It is all over with Phelem-ghe-Madone. I will lay my peerage of Bella-aqua, and my t.i.tle of Lord Bellew, against the Archbishop of Canterbury"s old wig, on Helmsgail."
"Give me your muzzle," said Kilter to Phelem-ghe-Madone. And stuffing the b.l.o.o.d.y flannel into the bottle, he washed him all over with gin. The mouth reappeared, and he opened one eyelid. His temples seemed fractured.
"One round more, my friend," said Kilter; and he added, "for the honour of the low town."
The Welsh and the Irish understand each other, still Phelem made no sign of having any power of understanding left.
Phelem arose, supported by Kilter. It was the twenty-fifth round. From the way in which this Cyclops, for he had but one eye, placed himself in position, it was evident that this was the last round, for no one doubted his defeat. He placed his guard below his chin, with the awkwardness of a failing man.
Helmsgail, with a skin hardly sweating, cried out,--
"I"ll back myself, a thousand to one."
Helmsgail, raising his arm, struck out; and, what was strange, both fell. A ghastly chuckle was heard. It was Phelem-ghe-Madone"s expression of delight. While receiving the terrible blow given him by Helmsgail on the skull, he had given him a foul blow on the navel.
Helmsgail, lying on his back, rattled in his throat.
The spectators looked at him as he lay on the ground, and said, "Paid back!" All clapped their hands, even those who had lost.
Phelem-ghe-Madone had given foul blow for foul blow, and had only a.s.serted his right.
They carried Helmsgail off on a hand-barrow. The opinion was that he would not recover.
Lord Robartes exclaimed, "I win twelve hundred guineas."
Phelem-ghe-Madone was evidently maimed for life.
As she left, Josiana took the arm of Lord David, an act which was tolerated amongst people "engaged." She said to him,--
"It is very fine, but--"
"But what?"
"I thought it would have driven away my spleen. It has not."
Lord David stopped, looked at Josiana, shut his mouth, and inflated his cheeks, whilst he nodded his head, which signified attention, and said to the d.u.c.h.ess,--
"For spleen there is but one remedy."
"What is it?"
"Gwynplaine."
The d.u.c.h.ess asked,--
"And who is Gwynplaine?"