“I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly;
A quarrel.”
“I do repent; but Heaven hath pleased it so
To punish me with this.”
“We will compound this quarrel.”
“'What's that?'--'Why, a horse.'
“'Tell thou the tale.'”
“Nay, I will win my wager better yet,
And show more signs of her obedience.”
“Now go thy ways, thou hast tamed a curst shrew.”
--_Shakspeare_.
“WHY did you prevent me from giving that insolent scoundrel the lesson
he deserved?” was Oaklands' first observation as we left the quadrangle
in which Lawless's rooms were situated; “I do not thank you for it,
Frank.”
“My dear Harry,” replied I, “you are excited at present; when you are a
little more cool you will see that I could not have acted otherwise than
I did. Even supposing I could have borne such a thing myself, what would
have ~174~~been said of me if I had allowed you to fight in my quarrel?
no honourable man would have permitted me to associate with him
afterwards.”
“But I don't see that the quarrel was yours at all,” returned Oaklands;
“your share of it was ended when the toast affair came to a conclusion;
the rest of the matter was purely personal between him and myself.”
“How can that be, when the origin of it was his doubting, or pretending
to doubt, the truth of the anecdote which I related?” inquired I. “No;
depend upon it, Harry, I have acted rightly, though I bitterly regret
now having gone to the party, and so exposed myself to all this. I have
always looked upon duelling with the greatest abhorrence; to run the
risk of committing murder (for I can call it by no milder name), when at
the very moment in which the crime is consummated you may fall yourself,
and thus even the forlorn hope of living to repent be cut off from you,
appears to me little short of madness. On one point I am resolved--if I
do go out with him, nothing shall induce me to fire at him; I will not
die a murderer, at all events.”
“Should your life indeed be sacrificed,” said Oaklands, and his deep
voice trembled with emotion as he spoke, “I will follow this man as the
avenger of blood, fix a mortal insult upon him wherever I meet him, and
shoot him like a dog, convinced that I shall perform a righteous act in
so doing, by ridding the world of such a monster!”
I saw by his manner that it would be useless to attempt to reason with
him at that moment--his warm feelings, and the fiery though generous
impulses of his impetuous nature, had so completely gained possession of
him, that he was no longer a reasonable creature--we therefore walked
in silence to my rooms, where we parted; I declining his offer to remain
with me till I should learn the decision of Lawless and his friends,
on the plea of wishing to be alone (which was, indeed, a true one),
although my chief reason for so doing was to prevent the possibility of
Oaklands saying anything in his present excited state of mind, which, if
repeated, might in any way involve him with Wilford.
My first act, when I found myself once more alone, was to sit down, and
endeavour calmly to review the situation in which I was placed. In the
event of their deciding that the affair might be arranged amicably, my
course was clear--I had only to avoid Wilford as much as possible during
the time I should remain at Cambridge, and, if ~174~~ever I were obliged
to be in his company, to treat him with a cool and studied civility,
which would leave him no pretext for forcing a quarrel upon me. On the
other hand, if they should think it imperative upon me to go out with
him, then indeed was the prospect a gloomy one. Wilford, whose ruthless
disposition was so well known as to have become, as it were, a by-word
among the set he mixed with, was not a man to be offended with impunity,
and as, moreover, I had made up my mind not to return his fire, the
chances were strongly against my escaping with life.
I am no coward; on the contrary, like most men whose physical energy is
unimpaired, I am constitutionally fearless, and in moments of danger
and excitement have never found myself wanting; still it would be
affectation to deny that the prospect of a sudden and violent death,
thus unexpectedly forced upon me, impressed my mind with a vague
sensation of terror, mingled with regret for the past, and sorrow for
the future. To be thus cut off in the bright spring-time of vigorous
manhood, when the warm blood of youth dances gladly through the veins,
and every pulse throbs with the instinct of high and noble daring--to
die with hopes unattained, wishes ungratified, duties unperformed--to
leave those we love without one parting look or word to struggle on
through this cold unsympathising world alone and unprotected--and, above
all, to lose one's life in an act the lawfulness of which was more than
questionable--all these things contributed to form a picture, which it
required either a very steadfast or an utterly callous heart to enable
one to gaze upon without blanching. I thought of the misery I should
entail upon my family; how, instead of fulfilling my father's dying
injunctions to take his place, and devote myself to comfort and protect
them, I should wound my mother's heart anew, and spread the dark mist
of sorrow over the fair prospect of my sister's young existence; and I
cursed my fastidious folly in objecting to the toast, to which, in my
self-accusation, I traced all that had afterwards occurred. Then, with
the inconsistency of human nature, I began to speculate upon what would
be Clara Saville's feelings, were she to learn that it was to prevent
the slightest breath of insult being coupled with her name that I was
about to peril, not only my life, but, for aught I knew, my hopes of
happiness here and hereafter. As the last awful possibility occurred
to me, the burden of my misery became too great for me to bear, and,
retiring to the privacy of my own chamber, I flung myself on my knees,
and poured ~176~~forth an earnest prayer for pardon for the past, and
deliverance for the future.
When I again returned to my sitting-room my mind had nearly recovered
its usual tone, and I felt prepared to meet and to go through whatever
might be before me with calmness and determination. As I was uncertain
how long it might be before Lawless would arrive, I resolved, in order
to avoid the horrors of suspense, to employ myself, and taking up the
mathematical treatise upon which I was engaged, and by a vigorous effort
of mind compelling my attention, I read steadily for about half an
hour, at the end of which time the sound of hasty footsteps was heard
ascending the stairs, and in another minute the door was flung open, and
Lawless and Archer entered the apartment.
“Reading mathematics, as I'm a slightly inebriated Christian!” exclaimed
Archer, taking the book out of my hands; “well, if that isn't pretty
cool for a man who may be going to be shot at six o'clock to-morrow
morning, for anything he knows to the contrary, I'm no judge of
temperature.”
“Oh! bother mathematics,” rejoined Lawless, flinging the book which
Archer held out to him at a bust of Homer adorning the top of my
bookshelves, which it fortunately missed--“Frank, old boy! it's all
right--you're not to have a bullet through your lungs this time--shake
hands, old fellow! I'm so glad about it that I've--”
“Drunk punch enough to floor any two men of ordinary capacity,”
interposed Archer.
“Of course I have,” continued Lawless, “and I consider I've performed
a very meritorious act in so doing;--there was the punch, all the other
fellows were gone away, somebody must have drunk it, or that young
reprobate Shrimp would have got hold of it; and I promised the venerable
fish-fag his mother to take especial care of his what do ye call
'ums--morals, isn't it? and instil by precept, and--and--”
“Example,” suggested Archer.
“Yes, all that sort of thing,” continued Lawless, “a taste for, that is,
an unbounded admiration of, the sublime and beautiful, as exemplified
under the form of--”
“Rum punch, and lashings of it,” chimed in Archer; “but suppose you were
to tell Fairlegh all that has passed since he came away, or let me do it
for you, whichever you like best.”
“Oh! you tell him, by all means,--I like to encourage ingenuous youth;
fire away, Archer, my boy!”
~177~~Thus urged, Archer informed me that upon my departure there had
been a somewhat stormy discussion, in which the events of the evening
were freely canvassed; and at last they came to a unanimous decision
that any man was at liberty to withdraw, if a toast was proposed to
which he objected, and that, if the toastmaster preferred giving it up
rather than allow him to leave the party, he had a perfect right to do
so. This being the case, they decided that Wilford, having been in the
wrong, ought to confess he had spoken hastily, and that, if he would do
so, and would add that he had meant nothing offensive either to me
or Oaklands, there the matter might rest. This for a long time he
positively refused to do; at length, finding he could get no one to
support him, he said that, as I had owned I was wrong in attempting to
prevent his expressing his opinion, he considered that, in all other
respects, I had behaved in a gentlemanly way; therefore, if he had said
anything which implied the contrary, he was willing to withdraw it. But,
in regard to Mr. Oaklands, he considered he had interfered in a very
uncalled-for manner; and he could only repeat, if that gentleman felt
himself aggrieved by anything he had said, the remedy was in his own
hands. As soon as he had spoken he withdrew.
The question was again debated, and at length they came to the
conclusion that what Wilford had said amounted to an ample apology as
far as I was concerned, which I was bound to accept; and that Oaklands,
having agreed to consider the quarrel mine, could not take any further
notice of it; therefore, the affair was at an end.
“Well,” said I, as he finished his recital, “I must ever feel grateful
to you both for the trouble you have taken on my account, and the kind
feeling you have shown towards me throughout. I will not pretend to
deny that I am very glad the matter has been amicably arranged, for,
circumstanced as I am, with everything depending upon my own exertions,
a duel would have been ruin to me; but I must say I think the whole
business thoroughly unsatisfactory, and it is only my conviction that a
duel would make matters worse, instead of mending them, which leads me
to agree to the arrangement. I sincerely hope Oaklands will not hear
what Wilford said about him, for he is fearfully irritated against him
already.”
“I'll tell you what it is,” interrupted Lawless; “it's my belief that
Wilford's behaviour to you to-night was only assumed for the sake of
provoking Oaklands. ~178~~Master Stephen hates him as he does the very
devil himself, and would like nothing better than to pick a quarrel with
him, have him out, and, putting a brace of slugs into him, leave him--”
“Quivering on a daisy,” said Archer, completing the sentence. “Really I
think,” he continued, “what Lawless says is very true; you see Oaklands'
careless, nonchalant manner, which is always exactly the same whether
he is talking to a beggar or a lord, gives continual offence to Wilford,
who has contrived somehow to exact a sort of deference and respect from
all the men with whom he associates till he actually seems to consider
it his right. Then, Wilford's overbearing manner irritates Oaklands; and
so, whenever they have met, the breach has gone on widening, till now
they positively hate one another.”
“How is it you are so intimate with him?” asked I; “for nobody seems
really to like him.”
“Well, hang me if I can tell,” replied Lawless; “but, you see he has
some good points about him, after all; for instance, I never saw him out
with the hounds yet that he didn't take a good place, aye, and keep it
too, however long the run and difficult the country. I killed the best
horse I had in my stables trying to follow him one day in Leicestershire
last season; my horse fell with me going over the last fence, and
never rose again. Wilford, and one of the whips, who was merely a
feather-weight, were the only men in at the death. I offered him three
hundred guineas for the horse he rode, but he only gave me one of his
pleasant looks, and said it wasn't for sale.”
“You've seen that jet-black mare he rides now, haven't you, Fairlegh?”
asked Archer.
“Yes; what a magnificent creature it is!” was my reply.
“Did you ever hear how he came by it?”
On my answering in the negative, Archer continued: “Well, I wonder at
that, for it was in everybody's mouth at one time: it's worth hearing,
if it were but to show the determined character of the man. The mare
belonged to Lord Foxington, Lord Sellborough's eldest son. I believe
he gave five hundred guineas for her. She was a splendid animal,
high-couraged, but temperate. In fact, when you were on her she hadn't a
fault, but in the stable she was a perfect devil; there was only one man
who dared go near her, and he had been with her from the time she was
a filly: so that, when Foxington bought the mare ~179~~he was forced to
hire the groom too. The most difficult thing of all was putting on the
bridle; it was generally half an hour's work before she would let even
this groom do it. After dinner one day Foxington began talking about
this animal, saying what a brute she was to handle, and adding what I
have just told you, as to the impossibility of putting on the bridle,
when Wilford, who was present, made some remark, which showed he did not
believe in the impossibility. Upon which Foxington inquired whether he
doubted the fact he had just heard? Wilford replied that he was sure his
lordship fully believed in the truth of what he had just stated; but,
for his own part, he had so often found impossibilities of this nature
yield to a little courage and determination, that he confessed he was
somewhat sceptical. Now, it so happened that Foxington, soon after he
bought the mare, had thought just as Wilford did, and determined that
he would put the bridle on. Accordingly he attempted it, and the matter
ended by his getting regularly driven out ol the stable by the animal,
with a tolerably severe bite in the fleshy part of his shoulder.
Wilford's remark, therefore, as may be imagined, rather nettled him; and
he inquired, somewhat tartly, whether Wilford believed he could put the
bridle on? and, if so, whether he were willing to try? Wilford replied,
in his usual cool tone, that he had an idea he could do so, but that
he had no particular inclination to try, as it would probably be
some trouble, and the weather was too hot to render active exertion
desirable. At this Foxington laughed derisively, saying that it sounded
very like a put-off. 'Not at all,' returned Wilford; 'and to show
you that I never say a thing without being ready to act up to it, I am
willing to stake five hundred guineas against the mare herself that I
go up to her and put the bridle on without any assistance, and without
a stick or anything whatsoever in my hands.' Foxington accepted the bet
gladly, reckoning himself safe to pocket the five hundred guineas.
The affair was to come off the next morning at Foxington's stables,
at eleven o'clock. His lordship had invited all the men who had been
present when the bet was made to come and witness the event, expecting
a complete triumph over Wilford. While they were standing about waiting
Foxington told them of his own attempt, and his conviction, from the
experience he had then gained, that the thing could not be done; and
the general opinion was that Wilford, under the influence of wine,
had foolishly boasted of a thing which he would ~180~~not be able to
accomplish, and was certain to lose his money. As the time drew near,
and he did not make his appearance, an idea began to gain ground that he
meant to shirk the affair altogether; and Foxington was becoming
exceedingly irate, when, just as the clock was on the stroke of eleven,
the sound of a horse's feet was heard, and Wilford cantered quietly up,
looking as if he felt no personal interest whatever in the event. On his
arrival they proceeded at once to the stable in which the mare stood.
She was kept in a loose box, with her clothes on, but her head entirely
free.
“I ought, by-the-by,” said Archer, interrupting himself, “to have told
you that I had the account from a man who was there at the time, and saw
the whole thing.
“Well, as soon as they went into the stable, the mare left off feeding,
and, turning round so as to face them, stood with her ears pricked up,
gazing wildly at them. Wilford just glanced at her, and then leisurely
divested himself of his coat, waistcoat, and neckcloth, turned up
the wristbands of his shirt, and, taking the bridle from the groom,
announced that he was ready. As soon as the door was open, Wilford fixed
his eyes sternly on the mare, and walked towards her. To the surprise
of every one the animal allowed him to approach quietly and pat her,
without showing any symptoms of vice. Men began to exchange inquiring
glances with each other, and those who had betted heavily against him
trembled for their money; but Foxington, who was better acquainted with
the animal, exclaimed, 'Wait a minute, he has not tried to touch her
head yet'. Wilford now moved his hand forward along the neck, patting
her, and speaking soothingly to her as he advanced; but, as he
approached the head, she became impatient and fidgety, and when he
attempted to take hold of the ear, in order to put on the bridle, she
flung up her head, reared, and ran back a few steps, where she stood,
shaking her mane and pawing the ground. After remaining in this position
a few seconds, she suddenly laid back her ears, and, showing the whites
of her eyes, ran at Wilford with her mouth wide open, and as soon as she
got within distance made a ferocious bite at him. By springing on one
side with great agility he just contrived to avoid it; then, dropping
the bridle, he threw himself into a sparring attitude (you know he's
a capital boxer), and, as the mare again ran at him, hit out, and,
striking her just on a particular spot by the ear, brought her down like
a bullock. As soon as she recovered her legs she renewed the attack, and
Wilford ~181~~received her as before, delivering his blow with the same
coolness and precision. When the animal rose the second time she seemed
partially stunned, and stood for a moment with her head hanging down and
her ears drooping; but on Wilford's making a step towards her she again
plunged forward, and attempted to seize him with her teeth. Once more
did Wilford evade her bite by springing on one side, and seizing his
opportunity succeeded in planting his hit, and, for the third time,
felled her to the ground. When she again rose, however, she showed no
disposition to renew the attack, but stood trembling violently, with the
perspiration running down her sides. She now allowed Wilford to approach
her, to stroke her head, pull her ears, and finally to put the bridle
on, and lead her out, completely conquered; and so my Lord Foxington
lost the best horse in his stables, and Wilford gained his bet, and
added to his character for invincibility, which, by the way, he cared
about much the most.”
“It was a bold deed,” returned I, as Archer concluded his story, “but
one does not like a man the better for having done it; there seems to me
a degree of wanton cruelty in punishing an animal so severely, unless he
had been actually forced to do it. Public executioners may be necessary
for the prevention of crime; but that is no reason why one need
volunteer as an amateur hangman.”
“Everybody thought it an uncommonly plucky thing at the time, and there
was an immense fuss made with him afterwards,” replied Archer.--“Why,
Lawless, are you asleep? rouse up, man--to bed--to bed. Good-night,
Fairlegh, you'll sleep all the better for knowing you are not to be shot
at cock-crow.”
So saying, he took Lawless by the arm and marched him off, though, it
must be confessed, his gait, as he descended the stairs, was somewhat
unsteady.~182~~