Around the River's Bend

by Aaron McCarver

  Finally she stowed the money she had brought in an inner pocket of the coat and stared out the window at the overcast afternoon. She was impatient for darkness to arrive. As she watched the crowd, everyone seemed to be headed down toward the wharf. She could hear two men who had passed beneath her window, one of them saying, “It won’t be much of a match.”

  “You don’ think so, Henry? Who is this fellow they found to fight the champ?”

  “Never ’eard of him, but ’e won’t be no match for Big Ben. . . .”

  Their voices faded as they headed down the street. Taking a deep breath, Sabrina left her room and found she could walk through the lobby with no one paying any particular attention to her. She held her breath as she stepped out onto the street, wondering if she really looked like a man. She ignored the vendors she passed who begged her to buy their wares.

  “Buy a ’andkerchief, mister?” A young woman held up a handkerchief, and Sabrina was pleased that the woman thought she was a man.

  She pulled a coin from her pocket and, making her voice as deep as she could, said, “That’s a nice kerchief.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir!” The young woman took the coin, her eyes bright.

  The crowd all seemed to be going the same way, and most of the talk that Sabrina was able to pick up was of the match that was to come. She listened carefully, moving slowly, until finally a woman stepped out of the shadows of an alley and took her by the arm. She was a rather chubby woman with a heavily painted face, and she said impudently, “Come along, husband. I’ll show yer a good time.”

  Sabrina was shocked. She knew prostitutes inhabited London but had never seen one—at least not this close. The woman’s face was pitted, and her face was so covered with paint it was difficult to tell her age. Sabrina shook her head and muttered no and took the woman’s curse as she went on down the street.

  Finally she reached the wharf and found herself in the middle of the milling crowd. Drawn up close to the shore was a barge. Sabrina could see that a square had been marked off in the middle of the barge with four posts marking the corners and ropes running about the square. Two men were cleaning the surface of the ring, and crowds of men were jostling for good seats around it.

  She edged in toward the gangway until she was stopped by a man who said, “Half a crown admission.” He held his hand out and waited until Sabrina had fished the coin out of her pocket. She made her way onto the wharf and determined where she could get a good view of the action. Vendors selling beer and gin moved among the crowd, shouting the virtues of their wares. Every spectator, it seemed, was smoking. Sabrina pulled out one of the cigars she had purchased but realized she had no match.

  “’Ere, you need a light?”

  Sabrina turned to her right, where a tall, lean man held his own cigar out. Putting the cigar in her mouth, she touched the other end to the glowing tip of the man’s cigar. She had never smoked in her life, but she had seen enough men doing it. She got the cigar going, but then suddenly her throat was full of smoke. She began to cough, and the tall man beside her patted her on the back. “Come now, lad, none of that!”

  Sabrina quickly drew back. “I’m all right,” she said huskily.

  “You come to many bouts?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, this is my first.”

  “You tell me that! Well, let me explain the rules to you. . . .”

  Sabrina was content to listen to her neighbor. He evidently loved the sound of his own voice, and it was, indeed, a pleasant voice. In fact, it was the best thing about the man, apparently. “It’s like this, you see. When a man gets knocked down or thrown down, he’s got thirty seconds to come to scratch.”

  “‘Come to scratch’? What’s that?”

  “Until he can come back to the middle of the ring and start fighting again. There ain’t no hittin’ below the belt allowed, and no strikin’ a man that’s fallen, don’t you see.”

  “How long does the fight last?”

  “How long? Well, you are a chicken, ain’t you? It lasts until one of the men ain’t able to come to scratch. Every time a man goes down, that’s one round. I seen one bout once where there was a hundred twenty-seven rounds.”

  “I see.” Sabrina listened as her neighbor continued his speech, like a river going on and on and on. She noticed that the noisy crowd around her was full of gamblers. Most of the men appeared to be from the lower class. She saw the tavern keeper from the Red Lion, and she even saw chimney sweeps dressed in the top hat of their trade. There were all sorts of young dandies out for a grand time. The only women there were prostitutes, and there were few of these.

  But the upper classes were represented, also. As she turned to scan the crowd, she saw her father and Charles Stratton up at the very edge of the ring in the best seats. They were smoking cigars and talking and laughing, and for an instant Sabrina had an impulse to go down and join them. This, however, would be far too risky, so she simply stood listening as the tall man continued to tell her about the match.

  “This won’t be much of a bout,” he said, waving his hand in a disparaging fashion.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, don’t you see, it’s Big Ben who’s fightin’.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Why, he’s the champion. Benjamin Brain. You ain’t never ’eard of Benjamin Brain?”

  “No, but as I say, this is my first visit.”

  The tall man stared at her in amazement. “Well, I thought everybody in England knew Big Ben. He ain’t never been beat, not ’im! I seen him take out four men one right after the other once over in Brighton. He can’t be beat!”

  “Who is his opponent?”

  “The pug he’s fightin’? Ah, he ain’t nobody.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Got a crazy name. Zion Kenyon. Somethin’ like that. Ain’t that a foolish name, now?”

  “Have you ever seen him fight?”

  “Not me. But my mate, he’s seen ’im. He says he’s fast, but that won’t help ’im. He can run, but he can’t hide! Big Ben will butcher ’im!”

  The sky was growing darker now, and large lanterns had been lit on the tall pilings around the barge. The crowd continued to grow until finally there was standing room only.

  “There ’e is—there’s Big Ben!”

  Sabrina put her eyes on the bulky man stepping into the ring. He threw off the coat he had worn about his shoulders to reveal his muscular form. He was a broad man in every respect, at least six feet tall with swelling muscles. He slammed one fist into the palm of his other hand and said something to the two men beside him, evidently his handlers.

  “Ain’t ’e a daisy?”

  “He looks very strong.”

  “Strong ain’t all. That poor Kenyon fellow, he’s in for a poundin’! Look, I reckon that’s him there.”

  A handsome young man was stepping over the rope, accompanied by another man. The fighter glanced at the champion, who laughed at him and said something Sabrina couldn’t make out. She heard the other men laugh.

  “Blimey! Like a sheep to the slaughter,” the tall man sneered.

  Sabrina took a good look at the man who was, apparently, supposed to lose this fight. His long, dark blond hair was tied into a ponytail in the back, and he looked short compared to the other fighter.

  “He looks so small.”

  “I reckon ’e is compared to Big Ben. I doubt if he weighs more than thirteen stone. The champ there, ’e weighs over fourteen. He’s all muscle!”

  Sabrina watched, and the proceedings took some time, but finally the two men came out to meet each other. The fighter called Sion Kenyon wore a pair of full-length blue trunks tied by a blue sash and a pair of black shoes. He was smoothly muscled and seemed to move very easily as he gave way to the advance of the champion.

  Big Ben was a frightening sight. Even at this distance Sabrina could see that his face had been scarred by innumerable conflicts. He held his left hand out straight, and he held his right cocked.
As she watched, he suddenly threw a tremendous blow, but the challenger simply stepped under it. The challenger responded with a solid blow to the side of the head as the powerful champion moved by. It had no effect on Big Ben, however, who whirled, and Sabrina could see the paleness of his eyes. He was a frightening sight indeed! A broad, brutalized face, little evidence of a neck, and not an ounce of fat on him.

  The crowd yelled at each blow, and for a time it appeared that the younger man was making headway. He was very fast and seemed to be able to hit the champion easily, but most of the blows were caught on Ben’s forearm. Finally Big Ben thrust his arms around the younger man and simply threw him down.

  “Why, he didn’t hit him, he just wrestled him!”

  “That’s fair. Any way you can get a man down. I’ll tell you, it takes something out of a man to get thrown down like that and then ’ave to crawl to ’is feet.” The tall stranger shook his head. “That young fellow’s got more courage than ’e has sense. Why, ’e shouldn’t be in the ring with the champ!”

  As the bout progressed, time after time Big Ben either struck the young man in the head and drove him backward or else he simply grabbed him and threw him down.

  Sabrina was appalled. The younger fighter’s face was bloody, but he continued to get up. Looking around at the crowd, Sabrina saw no trace of sympathy for Kenyon’s plight. The men were yelling and screaming, their faces red. The sight of blood seemed to inflame them. Sabrina had heard prizefighters described as beasts, but she thought grimly, This crowd is the beast—not those two men out there. They wouldn’t be fighting at all if these men hadn’t come and paid their money.

  The fight went on interminably. Sabrina saw the young man systematically beaten to the floor of the ring again and again, and she wished she could leave. She could not see the attraction it had for these men. Finally the young man struck his head as he went down, and though he tried, he could not get to his feet within the thirty seconds.

  “Well, that’s it. Weren’t much, were ’e? Didn’t ’ave no business fightin’ Big Ben. It looks like they could find a better opponent.”

  Sabrina stood as the crowd began to fade away. She was watching the young man, who was still lying on his back. The champion gave him a contemptuous look as he passed him on his way out of the ring. Sabrina saw the man who had accompanied Kenyon and attended him during the fight, but he did not go to the fallen man. Instead, he left the barge and was standing on the wharf. He had taken his hat off and was talking to the spectators. Sabrina worked her way off the barge and as she passed the man, he said, “A bit for the loser, sir?”

  She reached into her inner pocket and came out with a ten-pound note for the man. The man’s eyes brightened, and he said, “Thank you, sir. You’re a real gent!”

  Sabrina nodded and then spotted her father and Charlie leaving. She turned back to see if someone was going to help the fighter, who was now beginning to stir. He came up on his hands and knees, and his face was a bloody mass. Slowly he rose and swayed.

  Compassion came over Sabrina Fairfax then, a very rare thing for her. She watched the young man as he staggered toward the ropes and draped his body over them, apparently unable to go farther. Unable to watch, Sabrina turned. She had seen enough of bareknuckled prizefighting to last her a lifetime. She had to hurry now to get back to the inn, change into her own clothes, and get back home before her father did.

  Sabrina was sickened by the spectacle and fled as quickly as she could. One thing she well knew, she would never go to another prizefight as long as she lived!

  Chapter Three

  The World Turns Upside Down

  “You’ll notice that the craftsmanship is the very finest, Miss Fairfax.”

  Sabrina had been walking slowly around the small vehicle, and she ran her hand along the polished shaft that extended forward. “It does seem very nice,” she admitted. “I’d like to try it out, I think.”

  The carriage maker, a big burly man with bushy whiskers and shoulders like mountains, nodded eagerly. “Of course. I have a fine mare. I am sure you’ll be able to handle her. Everyone knows what a fine hand you have with horses, Miss Fairfax.”

  Fifteen minutes later Sabrina was seated in the cabriolet and delighted with the mare and the feel of the small vehicle. The sun was still high in the sky, and a crisp breeze ruffled her hair where it had come loose from the pins. She leaned forward, urging the mare on to more speed, and at the same time was conscious that the small carriage offered a very fine ride indeed.

  Finally she turned the mare around and drove back to the carriage shop. Crawford was the carriage maker’s name, and he was there at once to hold the horse while Sabrina leaped to the ground without help. “I like it very much, Mr. Crawford.”

  “It’s a beautiful piece of work. The very finest materials.”

  Sabrina laughed. “You don’t have to sell me. I’ve been looking for a cabriolet for some time, and I like this as well as any I’ve seen. Even better. How much is it?”

  Crawford’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head as he said, “Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to have a hundred and ten pounds for it, Miss Fairfax. The materials were very expensive, and as you know, I used only the best. I know it sounds high, but—”

  “It sounds like a fair enough price. I’ll take it. I’ll come for it tomorrow and bring the money.”

  “Thank you very much, Miss Fairfax. I’m sure you’ll be satisfied. If you ever have any problem, bring it back to me, and I’ll make it right.”

  Sabrina smiled and turned to get back into her own carriage. It was a large affair requiring two horses, and she thought with pleasure how nice it would be to simply fly along behind in her new cabriolet. She spoke to the horses, and they leaned forward against their collars and broke into a trot.

  Sabrina drove the horses hard, as she usually did, and when she finally pulled up in front of the house, Caesar was there at once. The tall black man with enormous hands apparently knew all there was to know about horses.

  “I’ll put your animal up, miss.”

  “Thank you, Caesar. Oh, and tomorrow I’ll be bringing back a cabriolet. I think I’ll ride Lady in, and then I won’t have two horses to worry over.”

  “Yes, miss. I’ll have her ready any time you say.”

  Sabrina went inside the house and went at once to her father’s study. She found the door shut, which was rather unusual. She hesitated before knocking. “Father, are you there?”

  “Come in, Sabrina.”

  Sabrina stepped inside and found her father seated at the desk. Before him was every sort of paper imaginable, and his eyes were troubled as he looked at her. He ran his hands through his hair and then suddenly slapped the desk. “I hate paper work!” he exclaimed.

  “You always did.” Sabrina kissed him and then indicated the mess of papers on the desk. “What are all these?”

  “I’m trying to make sense out of the business, and I can’t do it. I’ll have to take all these blasted things down and let Smith put them in order.” He rose and went to the window. He stood with his back to her, staring out for such a long time that Sabrina walked over to stand beside him.

  Putting her hand on his arm, she turned him around and said, “You’re worried about the business?”

  “It’s such a mess! Oh, what a tangled web the business world is.”

  “I don’t see why Smith can’t take care of it. That’s what you pay him for.”

  “Well, to be truthful,” Fairfax said, his mouth twisting in a cynical fashion, “he can’t manufacture money. That’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean, Father?”

  “I mean we’ve been going downhill for some time now. Smith’s been complaining about it. He’s having to shift money from one account to another. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, as he put it. But he told me this morning that he had done all the arranging he could. Said we’d have to have fresh capital.”

  Sabrina stood there quietly. In fact, she understood little
of business. She knew much more about balls and horses and dresses than she knew about the stock market. “Couldn’t we sell something?” she asked timidly.

  “I’d sell in a minute if I could.”

  “Well, this house must be worth a fortune. We could sell it and get a smaller place.”

  Fairfax shook his head. “We could if it weren’t mortgaged already. As a matter of fact—” He walked to his desk and picked up a sheet of paper. “I have a letter here from the man who owns the mortgage. I’ve missed several payments, and he’s threatening foreclosure.”

  A chill swept through Sabrina. “You mean we might lose this place?”

  Fairfax looked up quickly and formed his lips into a smile, although the rest of his face didn’t cooperate. Sabrina saw this, but he made the most of it. “I don’t want you worrying about this. It’s my problem. But I will ask you not to be spending any large sums of money until we get this straightened out.”

  Sabrina opened her lips to mention the cabriolet she had just agreed to buy but knew she could not worry her father when he was already burdened down. “Of course not, Father.” She hugged him and said, “We’ll get through this.”

  “Of course we will. When the Sabrina gets to America with that load of slaves, we’ll have cash in every pocket.”

  Sabrina was aware that her father was an optimistic man swayed by his moods. He could be as happy as a bird when things went well, but the next day he could be down deep in depression if he suffered a heavy loss at the gambling table. As she stood beside him, she realized suddenly that for all of his high family connections and the trappings of wealth he had inherited from his father, Roger Fairfax was a very unstable individual. He was basically a gambler at heart, not a businessman.

  Now Sabrina pushed those thoughts out of her mind, not wanting to be disloyal to her father. She hugged him again and kissed his cheek. “The Sabrina will make us rich,” she nodded with a laugh. “It can’t miss with a name like that, can it?”