FERNANDO'S FRIEND GETS HIM INTO A SERIOUS SCRAPE.
In due time Fernando and Sukey were entered in the college. They were
transferred to more comfortable quarters than the wretched inn of Mrs.
Mahone. Terrence superintended everything and was, in truth, the good
angel of the boys. He had a warm heart, was a genuine friend, and would
have shed his last drop of blood for them; but Terrence was, after all,
a young scamp, whose dearest friend was not free from a practical joke.
His jokes often became serious affairs and involved himself as well as
friends in trouble, though he never intended anything unpleasant.
Fernando had been in college but a few months, and was already making
excellent progress, when one day Terrence came to his room and said:
"Me frind, d'ye want to see a bit of good society?"
Laying down a heavy mathematical work, Fernando smilingly answered:
"I don't know, Terrence; I've hardly time for society."
"What's the need of worryin' yer brains out over Latin, Greek and
astronomy, when there's my amount of fun to be had? Come; a little mite
of society will brighten up yer ideas. Now listen to me, lad. There's
goin' to be a big ball given at the mayor's, and d'ye remimber the
darlint little craythur ye met on the street that day?"
Remember her? of course Fernando remembered her. She had scarcely been
out of his mind day or night since he had seen her. She had been the
angel of his dreams, the princess of countless air castles; but he had
never indulged a hope that he might see her again.
"Will she be at the ball, Terrence?"
"To be sure. It's mesilf as heard it, and thin if ye'll look over the
Baltimore papers, ye'll see her name Morgianna Lane, the daughter of
Captain Felix Lane of Mariana, whose entree into society is to be the
ninth, chaperoned by Madame Barnhart."
Terrence Malone evinced a wonderful ability at picking up information on
any question that took his fancy. He had a bold way of insinuating
himself into people's affections, for no one could dislike the
light-hearted, merry Irishman.
"Now there is no need for ye to say ye won't go, because ye will," said
Terrence. "It's a grand occasion to be sure. One of his majesty's ships
o' war is in port, and some of the officers from her will be there,
every alderman in the town, some congressmen and ex-President Jefferson
will be there."
Fernando looked at him in amazement and, after a moment, he said:
"Terrence, if the ball is to be such a grand affair, please to inform me
how we are to gain admission."
"Now, me boy, lave that to me. Will ye go?"
"Yes."
"And ye don't mind it if it's a thrifle of an adventure, do yez?"
"No."
"That's it. I always said ye was a lad after me own heart; but,
Fernando, don't yez say one word to Sukey. He's too slow and careful. He
might make trouble with us and upset all our plans."
At first, Fernando, who hated anything like deceit, opposed secresy; but
his Irish friend brought so many excellent arguments to bear, that he
virtually carried his point.
"Terrence, I fear I will make an awkward figure in a ball room!"
declared Fernando. "I am not accustomed to such things."
"A glass or two of champagne will do it for ye."
"But I never danced in my life."
"I'll teach ye mesilf, and, bedad, ye'll be as foine a terpechorian
artist be the toime, as will be at the ball."
The last objection swept away, Fernando began secretly to take lessons
in the waltz, cotillon and other dances of the day.
Whatever may be said against Terrence, one thing is quite certain, he
was no bad dancing master, and Fernando was an apt pupil. Somehow, there
was a spice of adventure in the escapade, which seemed to thrill
Fernando with pleasure, and he entered into it with a zeal that was
remarkable.
The English man-of-war in the harbor was the _Xenophon_, Captain
Conkerall commander. The captain had some acquaintances and friends in
Baltimore, and this event transpired before the war spirit became so
strong that English officers dared not venture on shore. The captain and
his officers were of course invited to the ball.
The day of the ball, the captain came ashore and was snugly quartered at
the Baltimore House, getting ready for the affair.
The captain was in his room talking with some citizens of Baltimore and
a congressman; a decanter and glasses were on a sideboard, and the
captain's face was somewhat flushed, when there entered a neat,
well-dressed young gentleman, whose language and features were slightly
Hibernian.
"I beg pardon, gintlemen, but this is Captain Conkerall? Sure I make no
mistake, for the very bearin' tells me he is a son of Neptune."
As the captain was in full uniform, of course there was no trouble about
recognizing him. The captain rose and, taking the hand of the young man,
tried hard to remember where he had seen him before.
"Sure, ye don't remember me. I am Lord Kildee, the son of the ould baron
of Kildee Castle, who was a schoolmate of yer father."
The captain, delighted at having so noted an acquaintance, took great
pleasure in introducing a scion of such a noble family as Kildee. One
would have thought, from Captain Conkerall's manner, that he had been on
intimate terms with the house of Kildee all his life, while in reality
he had never until that moment known that there lived such a being as
the Lord of Kildee. Wine and vanity work wonders, and the captain felt
great pride in being recognized at Baltimore by Lord Kildee, whose
father was, as the new acquaintance assured him, a member of the
house of lords.
The visiting aldermen of the town and the congressman were introduced to
the Lord Kildee, who had the air of a genuine nobleman, with just enough
of the rich brogue to entitle him to the name of Irishman.
Would his lordship have a glass of wine with them. To be sure he would.
Captain Conkerall, who was expected to be the lion of the evening,
indulged rather freely, and the more he indulged the more he had a
desire to.
At last the congressman rose to make a speech. He was rather unsteady on
his legs, but exceedingly eloquent on the question of Jefferson's
embargo act. He thought it an outrage designed to foster the unfortunate
estrangement between the mother country and America. He, as a
Federalist, had opposed Jefferson and Jeffersonianism.
How much longer his harangue might have lasted, no one could have told,
but the captain was warned that the hour for the ball was drawing near,
and he gently insinuated that the speech be deferred for an after-dinner
talk. Just as the captain's guests were on the point of retiring, Lord
Kildee, by a gentle hint, suggested that if he had an invitation he
would be glad to meet them at the ball. Of course so noted a person as
Lord Kildee could not be neglected, and, as one of the invitation
committee was present, he issued a ticket at once. Then the captain and
his lordship were left alone.
His lordship hinted that he had much to say to the captain in
confidence, having just come from the fleet of Vice Admiral Berkeley.
Over their wine, he informed the captain that he was on intimate terms
with the vice admiral and that the captain of the _Xenophon_ was down
for an early promotion. Captain Conkerall was delighted. He drank deep
to the health of Vice Admiral Berkeley, Lord Kildee and himself. By this
time, the captain was ready to drink to the health of anybody. The Lord
Kildee, strange to say, imbibed very little, and soon the captain was
insensible on the floor, while his lordship was as sober as a judge.
"Faith, it's a dacint bit of work," he said, eyeing the prostrate
captain. "Now to the rest of the plan."
Lord Kildee was none other than the rollicking Irish student Terrence
Malone. In a few moments, he had divested the captain of his coat,
trousers and vest, which, with his chapeau, he rolled up in a neat
bundle and hurried away to his friend Fernando Stevens. The hour was
late, and Fernando had almost given up going to the ball, when Terrence
bolted into his room, his cheeks aglow with excitement.
"Here, me lad, don the royal robes at once. Begorra, it's noblemen we
are goin' to be to-night!"
"What does this mean, Terrence?" Fernando asked, as Malone unrolled the
bundle containing the elegant uniform of a British officer.
"Divil a question need ye be askin'; put on the uniform; it will fit ye
to an exactness."
In vain Fernando expostulated; his friend forced him into compliance,
and, almost before he knew it, he was encased in a British uniform, and
a handsome looking officer he made. Terrence then gave him a drink at
his bottle to "steady his nerves," and told him that it was one of the
"divil's own toimes" they would have.
Fernando, despite all his staid qualities and Puritanic instincts, loved
an adventure which promised fun, and finally entered into the scheme
with a zest second only to his friend. The very idea of playing a prank
on the captain of a man-of-war was enough to induce him to engage in
almost any enterprise. They managed to escape the house without being
detected by Sukey, who was puzzling his brain over deep questions in
philosophy, and hastened down the street to a carriage which Terrence
engaged to take them to the mayor's.
There was a ticket of admission in the captain's vest, which Fernando
used, and Lord Kildee had one for himself.
As Terrence contemplated his young friend, whom the uniform fitted as
neatly as if he had grown in it, he declared that he was perfection.
Arrived at the door, Fernando, whose brain was in a whirl, found himself
suddenly hurried up a flight of marble steps to the great vestibule
where there was a flood of subdued light. The wine made him bold,
reckless, and when he was introduced as Lieutenant Smither, of his
majesty's vice admiral's flag-ship, he half believed he was that person
and, assuming what he supposed to be the manner and carriage of so high
an official, received the bows and smiles of the fair ladies assembled
with the grace of a veteran seaman.
There were a few officers from the _Xenophon_ present, among them a
Lieutenant Matson, who was dividing his time between a very pretty girl
and asking why Captain Conkerall was so late.
Fernando played his part remarkably well, considering that he was new in
the role. Whenever he was in danger of "making a bad break," Lord
Kildee, who was the lion of the hour, was at hand to aid him, and with
consummate grace and ease helped him through the worst difficulties. A
few glasses of champagne made Fernando bolder.
At last he met that beautiful creature whom he had seen alight from the
carriage and was introduced to Miss Morgianna Lane. Morgianna, young as
she was, detected the deception. Fernando talked without reserve on any
and every topic. Those he knew the least about, he discussed with most
fluency, until he bid fair to become the centre of attraction.
When they were alone, Morgianna, with one of her sweetest smiles, said:
"I don't believe you are an Englishman."
"I'll be honest with you, Miss Lane," said he. "I am not."
"Who are you?"
"If you will keep my secret, I will tell you all." Morgianna, as fond of
mischief as Terrence, agreed to do so, and he told her everything. She
laughed until the tears coursed down her pretty cheeks. She said it was
a good joke and as soon as she got home, she would tell her papa and he
would, she knew, enjoy it.
"But you must not drink any more wine," she added. "It affects your
head." Fernando admitted that he was not used to it, and he promised to
desist. After waltzing for an hour with her and getting a tender squeeze
of the hand, he restored her to an affable old lady who acted as
Morgianna's chaperon, and then Fernando retired to new conquests, his
head in a whirl and his heart in a flutter.
Lord Kildee soon had him under his care and introduced him to some
friends, among them Lieutenant Matson, who had early in the evening made
so many unsuccessful attempts to attract Miss Lane's favorable notice
that Fernando had come to regard him as a dangerous rival. Despite the
injunction of the fair Morgianna, he found himself half unconsciously
quaffing three or four glasses to the good health of somebody; he really
did not know whether it was King George or President Jefferson.
Fernando, naturally witty, soon ingratiated himself into this well
occupied clique, and he dosed them with glory to their heart's content.
He resolved at once to enter into their humor, and as the wine mounted
up to his brain, he gradually found his acquaintance and politics
extending to every country and political creed.
"Did you know Thomas Matson of his majesty's ship _Spit-Fire?"_ asked
the lieutenant.
"Tom Matson!" cried Fernando. "Indeed I did sir, and do still! and there
is not a man in the British navy I am prouder of knowing." Of course he
had never heard of Thomas Matson until this moment.
"You don't say, sir?" said the lieutenant in astonishment. "Has he any
chance of promotion, sir?"
"Promotion!" cried Fernando, in well-feigned astonishment. "Why, have
you not heard that he is already in command of a ship? You cannot
possibly have heard from him lately, or you would have known that!"
"That's true, sir; I have not heard from him since he quitted the _Black
Cloud_ in the South, I think they said for his health; but how did he
get the step?"
"Why, as to the promotion, that was remarkable enough," said Fernando,
quaffing off a tumbler of champagne to aid his inventive faculties; but
Fernando, despite his native shrewdness and wonderful inventive powers,
was liable to get into trouble. He knew as little about a ship as a
landlubber might be supposed to know, and his companion saw at once that
he would make a mess of the story, so he came to his rescue by informing
the assembly that a fine vocalist at the other end of the room was going
to sing, and asked that the story be deferred until after the song. They
all hurried away save Fernando, who, overcome by too deep potations,
sank upon a sofa temporarily unconscious.
He was roused from his stupor by his companion shaking him and saying:
"Fernando, me boy, it's a divil's own mess ye are makin' of this! Wake
up and get out!"
He roused himself and looked about. The room they were in was a small
apartment off the great saloon, and through the half-open folding-door,
he could see that the festivities still continued. The music and gay
forms of dancers reminded him where he was.
"Fernando, we've played this game jist as long as we can, successfully;
we had better go."
"I am ready," and Fernando got up and started diagonally across the
room, stepping with his feet very wide apart. The pretended Lord Kildee
took his arm, and they got to the door, where Fernando missed his
footing and went tumbling down the steps in a very undignified manner.
His lordship, Kildee, having imbibed rather freely himself, kept him
company, and for a few seconds they remained at the bottom of the
flight, dividing their time between studying astronomy and the laws of
gravitation.
Fernando had badly smashed the captain's chapeau and one fine plume was
gone. They had not gone far before they ran upon a watchman, who
threatened to run them in; but the police of those days were as
susceptible to a bribe as they are to-day, and after donating liberally
to the cause of justice and protection, they were taken to their rooms
instead of the calaboose.
Young Stevens had no definite recollection of how he ever got to bed;
but he awoke next morning with a wretched headache and found himself in
a red coat, with the epaulets and gold lace of an officer. By degrees,
the whole thing came back to him.
Terrence came in a few moments later, a smile on his face, as he
remarked they were in "the divil's own scrape."
"Why?" asked Fernando.
"We should have taken the clothes back to the captain."
Fernando, who was in total ignorance of the manner in which the uniform
was procured, asked:
"How did you get them?"
Terrence told him the whole story, and Fernando, despite his wretched
headache, laughed until the tears coursed down his cheeks.
"That's not all, me foine boy. The whole thing is out. The papers
printed this morning are full of it. They say the captain was seen just
before daylight goin' down the street to his boat with a sheet wrapped
about him."
Again the youngsters roared. It was such a madcap frolic as students,
utterly reckless of consequences, might engage in; but, after all, it
was a serious affair. The clothes had to be returned; then the
perpetrators of the outrage would be known at the college, and they
might be expelled from the institution in disgrace.
The clothes were returned. That was a point of honor which Fernando
insisted upon, as he would neither agree to steal or wear stolen goods.
For a day or two he was indisposed, and good, honest Sukey was afraid
his friend was "going to be real sick." On the evening of the second day
after their madcap frolic, Fernando told Sukey all about it and asked
his advice. After the tall young westerner had heard him through,
he said:
"Well, Fernando, I am sorry you were in the game at all; but you are in
it, and now the best thing is to go to the college and make a clean
breast of it to the president. It's your first, you know, and then a
fellow just from the woods like us is liable to stumble into bad
scrapes. Make a clean breast of it and keep out of such games in
the future."
This was really the best advice that could have been given, and
Fernando, after consulting Terrence, decided to follow it. Consequently
they all three presented themselves to the president of the faculty and,
in the best way they could, laid the story before him. Terrence brought
all the pathos and eloquence which he naturally possessed to the aid of
his friend and got both of them off pretty well.
The old professor was one of the best-hearted men in the world, and when
he came to contemplate the lonely condition of the boys so far from
home, he forgave them freely, and Fernando went out of his presence
resolved never to be guilty of another unseemly trick again.
"Now, if that divil's own ship the _Xenophon_ would only lave port, I'd
fale better," remarked Terrence as they wended their way to their
rooms. Fernando could not see any harm the _Xenophon_ could do them.
The president of the college had forgiven them, and surely they need not
care for the ship.
The students entered ardently into their studies, and Fernando tried to
forget everything about the mayor's ball save the beautiful face of
Morgianna Lane. She was the only sweet picture in that wild dream, and
he would not have forgotten her for the world. Time wore slowly on. A
week had passed, and all the papers in the country were nagging the
captain about going to his vessel in a winding sheet. A wag wrote some
verses which must have been galling to the pride of the haughty Briton.
At last it leaked out that two students had played the trick on Captain
Conkerall. A newspaper reporter came to see Fernando, who gave him a
truthful history of the affair.
"You've played the divil now," said Terrence, when he read the interview
in the next issue of the _Baltimore Sun_.
"Why?"
"Never moind, Fernando, I'll not desert ye, and if my one comes to ye
about satisfaction, or inything of the kind, and asks you to mintion
your frind, sind thim to Terrence Malone, and he will make the
arrangements, that's all."
Fernando had no more idea what he meant than if he had addressed him in
Hindoo, and he gave the matter little or no further thought. He was in
his room poring over his books the second day after the interview, when
there came a rap at his door.
"Come in!" he cried in his broad, western fashion.
The door opened, and, to his surprise, a young English officer entered
the apartment.
"Is this Mr. Fernando Stevens?" he asked politely.
"It is."
"I am the bearer of a message from Lieutenant Matson."
"Pray who is Lieutenant Matson?"
"Of his majesty's ship the _Xenophon_."
Fernando thought he must be mistaken, as he had not the least
recollection of ever hearing of Lieutenant Matson; but the ensign
assured him that he was the person with whom the lieutenant had to deal,
and then asked if he could refer him to some friend with whom the
business might be arranged. Then the youthful American remembered
Terrence Malone's strange instructions and sent the ensign at once to
the young Irishman.
Just how Terrence would settle the matter, he did not know; but he who
had such remarkable ability for getting one into a scrape could surely
devise some means to get him out, and Fernando was perfectly willing to
trust him. So, deeming the matter wholly settled, he sat down to his
books once more, and had actually forgotten the officer, when Terrence
bolted into the room his face expressive of anxiety.
"It's all arranged, me boy. Ye did right in lavin' it to me. The young
Britisher and I have made all arrangements."
"Arrangements? what arrangements?" asked Fernando with guileless
innocence.
"Arrangements for the meeting, to be sure."
"What meeting?"
"Meeting with Lieutenant Matson."
Throwing down his book, Fernando started up impatiently said:
"I don't want to meet the infernal lieutenant. I thought you had settled
it."
"So I did, and right dacintly, too. Now what weapons do ye want?"
"Weapons!" cried Fernando, the truth at last beginning to dawn upon him.
"Great Heavens! Terrence, do you mean a duel?"
"Certainly, me frind, nothin' ilse. There's no way to get out of it,
honorably."
Fernando reeled as if he had been struck a blow. He had read of duels,
but, in the solitude of his western home on the farm, he had never known
of any. They were the bloody inventions of more polite civilization.
One had been fought between two trappers at a trading post, not over
forty miles away, in which rifles at thirty paces were used, and both
men were killed. The preacher had said it was murder. Fernando was
brave; but he shrank from a duel, and it was not until his pride had
been appealed to, that he determined to fight. Then Terrence assured him
the lieutenant's friend was waiting; all that was wanting was
the weapons.
"I must talk with Sukey."
Sukey was sent for, and when the tall, lanky fellow entered the
apartment, Fernando told him all.
"Don't you be in the game, Fernando. Let me tell you, don't you be in
it," Sukey answered.
But he was informed that he must, or be forever disgraced. Besides, his
enemy was a hated Briton, whom their country was almost on the verge of
war with, and it would not be a bad thing to kill him in advance.
"Well, if you must be in the game, Fernando, fight with hatchets. You
know you used to throw a hatchet twenty steps and split a pumpkin every
time. Fight with hatchets."
It was a novel mode of dueling; but Terrence took the proposition to the
lieutenant's friend. The Briton said his friend was a gentlemen,
willing to fight with any of the weapons which civilized gentlemen
used, and if Mr. Stevens would not consent to the same, the lieutenant
would publish him as a barbarian and a coward. Pistols were settled on
as a compromise, and Terrence went away to settle the final
arrangements. He returned with a smile on his face and, rubbing his
hands, said:
"Cheer up, me boy, it's all settled."
"What? won't we fight?"
"Yes, it's settled that you will fight."
For a long time, Fernando was silent, and then he said:
"When will it take place, Terrence?"
"To-morrow morning at sunrise."
Fernando did not go to school that day. Sukey was enjoined to keep the
matter a secret, and he went to his classroom as if nothing unusual were
about to happen. Fernando spent the day in writing letters to be sent
home in case he should not survive the affair which, after all, he
believed to be disgraceful. Dueling he thought little better than
murder; but he was in for it and determined not to show the white
feather. Don't blame Fernando, for he lived in a barbarous age, when the
"code of honor" was thought to be honorable. His chief remorse was for
his madcap, drunken freak, which had been the provocation for the
event, and yet, when he came to think of the ludicrousness of his
adventures, he smiled.
More than once on that gloomy day he thought of Morgianna, whom in
reality he loved at first sight. Would he ever see her again, or was she
only the evening star, which had risen on the last hours of his
existence? When Sukey returned, he held a long interview with him and
gave him a bundle of letters and papers to send home if--he could not
finish the sentence.
"Ain't there no way to get out of it, Fernando?" asked Sukey, his droll
face comical even in distress.
"Not honorably."
"Well, now that you're in the game, just shoot that infernal
Englishman's head right off his shoulders, that's my advice. I've read
lots about duels, and it all depends on who is quickest at the trigger.
Take good aim and don't let him get a second the advantage of you."
They went to bed early, and Fernando slept soundly. It was Terrence who
awoke them and said it would not do to be late. He had engaged a sailor
called Luff Williams to take them in his boat to the spot, a long sandy
beach behind a high promontory some five or six miles from the city. The
spot was quite secluded, and Terrence declared it a love of a place for
such little affairs.
"What are ye thinkin' of, Fernando?" asked Terrence, when the boat with
the three young men was under way.
"I'm thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after."
"Right, my boy; nothing like it; but 1811 will settle all for ye. I
don't believe, now that America is on the verge of war with the British,
that my one will make much of a row for killin' the murdherin' baste.
Are ye a good shot?"
"I am with a rifle; but I never could do anything to speak of with a
pistol."
"I don't moind that. Ye've a good eye; never take it off him after
you're on the ground; follow him everywhere. I knew a fellow in Ireland
who always shot his man that way. Look without winkin'; it's fatal at a
short distance--a very good thing to learn, when ye've a little
spare time."
As they came in sight of the beach where the duel was to be fought, they
perceived, a few hundred yards off, a group of persons standing on the
sands, whom they recognized as their opponents.
"Fernando," said Terrence, grasping his arm firmly, as if to instill
into him some of his own hope and confidence, "Fernando, although you're
only a boy, I've no fear of your courage; but this Lieutenant Matson is
a famous duelist, and he will try to shake your nerve. Now remember that
ye take everything that happens quite with an air of indifference;
don't let him think he has iny advantage over ye, and you'll see how the
tables will be turned in your favor."
"Trust me, Terrence, I'll not disgrace you," Stevens answered.
"You are twelve minutes late, Mr. Malone," said the ensign, who acted as
the lieutenant's second; "but we shall all be able to get back to
breakfast--those that will care to eat."
Not to be outdone, Terrence said:
"All will be at supper; but your friend will be where he is eaten,
rather than eats."
"Don't be too sure; the lieutenant has killed his sixth man in affairs
like this."
The remark was of course intended for Fernando's ears. Sukey heard it
and said:
"Fernando, that's a lie; don't you believe it. Aim at his plaguy head,
and you can hit it. You used to snuff a candle that distance."
Fernando smiled while he kept his eye on the lieutenant. That smile and
that eternal stare disconcerted the English officer, and he turned a
little pale. There was something about the imperturbable youth which
made him dread the meeting. Fernando was strangely, unnaturally calm.
Ten minutes more, and he might be in eternity.