Meanwhile,
The Object Of Each Man Was To Find His Opportunity For A Sweeping Blow
Which Would Lay His Opponent's Face Open.
Now all that was pretty to
look at, but it was mere playing at fighting and he never wanted to
practise it.
He was not a fighter by inclination; he wanted to live
with and be one with the gauchos, but not to fight. There were numbers
of men among them who never fought and were never challenged to fight,
and he would be of those if they would let him. He never had a pistol,
he wore a knife like everybody else, but a short knife for use and not
to fight. But when he found that, after all, he had to fight or else
exist on sufferance as a despised creature among them, the butt of
every fool and bully, he did fight in a way which he had never been
taught and could not teach to another. It was nature: it was in him.
When the dangerous moment came and knives flashed out, he was
instantly transformed into a different being. He was on springs, he
couldn't keep still or in one place for a second, or a fraction of a
second; he was like a cat, like india rubber, like steel - like
anything you like, but something that flew round and about his
opponent and was within striking distance one second and a dozen yards
away the next, and when an onset was looked for it never came where it
was expected but from another side, and in two minutes his opponent
became confused, and struck blindly at him, and his opportunity came,
not to slash and cut but to drive his knife with all his power to the
heart in the other's body and finish him for ever. That was how he had
fought and had killed, and because of that way of fighting he had got
his desire and had been permitted to live in peace and quiet until he
had grown grey, and no fighter or swashbuckler had said to him, "Do
you still count yourself a killer of men? then kill me and prove your
right to the title," and no one had jeered at or called him "gringo."
In spite of this discouragement my brother was quite determined to
learn the art of defending himself with a knife, and he would often go
out into the plantation and practise for an hour with a tree for an
opponent, and try to capture Jack's unpremeditated art of darting
hither and thither about his enemy and making his deadly strokes. But
as the tree stood still and had no knife to oppose him, it was
unsatisfactory, and one day he proposed to me and my younger brother
to have a fight with knives, just to find out if he was making any
progress. He took us out to the far end of the plantation, where no
one would see us, and produced three very big knives, with blades like
butchers' knives, and asked us to attack him with all our might and
try our best to wound him, while he would act solely on the defensive.
At first we declined, and reminded him that he had punished us
terribly with gloves and foils and singlestick, and that it would be
even worse with knives-he would cut us in pieces! No, he said, he
would not dream of hurting us: it would be absolutely safe for us, and
for him too, as he didn't for a moment believe that we could touch him
with our weapons, no matter how hard we tried. And at last we were
persuaded, and taking off our jackets and wrapping them, gaucho-
fashion, on our left arms as a protection, we attacked him with the
big knives, and getting excited we slashed and lunged at him with all
our power, while he danced and jumped and flew about a la Jack the
Killer, using his knife only to guard himself and to try and knock
ours out of our hands; but in one such attempt at disarming me his
weapon went too far and wounded my right arm about three inches below
the shoulder. The blood rushed out and dyed my sleeve red, and the
fight came to an end. He was greatly distressed, and' running off to
the house, quickly returned with a jug of water, sponge, towel, and
linen to bind the wounded arm. It was a deep long cut, and the scar
has remained to this day, so that I can never wash in the morning
without seeing it and remembering that old fight with knives.
Eventually he succeeded in stopping the flow of blood, and binding my
arm tightly round; and then he made the desponding remark, "Of course
they will have to know all about it now."
"Oh no," I returned, "why should they? My arm has stopped bleeding,
and they won't find out. If they notice that I can't use it - well, I
can just say I had a knock."
He was immensely relieved, and so pleased that he patted me on the
back - the first time he had ever done so - and praised me for my
manliness in taking it that way; and to be praised by him was such a
rare and precious thing that I felt very proud, and began to think I
was almost as good as a fighter myself. And when all traces of blood
had been removed and we were back in the house and at the supper-
table, I was unusually talkative and hilarious, not only to prevent
any one from suspecting that I had just been seriously wounded in a
fight with knives, but also to prove to my brother that I could take
these knocks with proper fortitude. No doubt he was amused; but he
didn't laugh at me, he was too delighted to escape being found out.
There were no more fights with knives, although when my wound was
healed he did broach the subject again on two or three occasions, and
was anxious to convince me that it would be greatly to our advantage
to know how to defend ourselves with a knife while living among people
who were always as ready on any slight provocation to draw a knife on
you as a cat was to unsheathe its claws.
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