Poor Tom! I think I see him now, as he came with his long face to tell me of the scrape he had got into.
"I would stay at home," said the unfortunate youth, with tears in his eyes, "but that I am afraid of offending Captain Bulldog, who will, perhaps, challenge me himself, if I don't fight Chanticleer; and of the two enemies," added Tom, forcing a faint smile, "you know which I should prefer."
Afterwards, Tom told me where the meeting was to be; and as I thought my young neighbour might want a friend, I determined to be near at hand.
It was about six o'clock on a cold, grey, autumn morning, that I concealed myself in a thicket by the side of Goose Common, and waited the arrival of the combatants. Captain Bulldog, with young Leverett by his side, were first on the field, and I could see that poor Tom shook in every limb. They did not wait long. A post-chaise soon came clattering along the road, and out of it jumped Sir Wiley Reynard, Doctor Crane, and Mr. Chanticleer. Sir Wiley and the Captain soon arranged the preliminaries, and Chanticleer walked boldly and jauntily to his post. Not so my friend. Poor Tom, fainthearted at all times, was now terrified to such a degree, that the Captain had absolutely to support him, or he would certainly have dropped. Presently, Sir Wiley gave the signal to fire; Tom complied at once, and sent his bullet flying somewhere above my head, about as wide of the mark as it well could be; and then, without waiting for the compliment of a return, off he started as fast as ever his legs carried him in his life, cleared the hedge at a bound, and ran straight into a thick wood. I nearly died with laughter, not only to see Tom run, but to behold the terrible look of the Captain, as he gazed after his flying friend; to watch the surprised and somewhat pleased look of Chanticleer, who seemed half inclined to fire after the fugitive; and to see the puzzled expression of Sir Wiley's face, and the comical grin on Dr. Crane's, as he tapped his box and offered the Baronet a pinch. After a few moments of silence, no one knowing what to do in such an unusual dilemma, the Captain walked up to Sir Wiley, and offered, if the Baronet were not satisfied, to fight either Mr. Chanticleer or the Baronet himself, whichever was preferred. But Sir Wiley replied very politely that he was perfectly satisfied with Captain Bulldog, and that he only regretted that the Captain should act for such a coward as Mr. Thomas Leverett. On this the Captain began abusing poor Tom so terribly, that I thought it best to beat a retreat and see after my runaway friend. When I arrived home I found him sitting in my little back-parlour, just as I expected. He had covered his face with his hands, and was crying bitterly. I comforted the poor fellow as well as I could, and did not give him the least grounds for suspecting that I had been a witness of his behaviour. In a little time he became calmer, and then he told me that the report of his own pistol had frightened him so much, that, for his life, he could not help running away.