He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer
The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs
His outsides; to wear them, like his raiment, carelessly,
And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart,
To bring it into danger.
SHAKESPEARE.
The colonel, in the meantime, had returned to the house where he was
residing, when he was immediately accosted by Captain Carrington, and
the other gentlemen who had been let into the secret of the plot.
During his walk home the colonel had been ruminating on his dismissal,
and had not quite made up his mind whether he ought or ought not to
resent the conduct of Mr Sullivan. Naturally more inclined for peace
than war, by the time that he arrived home he had resolved to pocket the
affront, when Captain Carrington called him on one side, and obtained
from him a recapitulation of what had passed; which probably never would
have been given if the colonel had not considered the communication as
confidential. This, however, did not suit the intentions of Captain
Carrington, who felt inclined for more mischief; and when the colonel
had concluded his narrative, he replied, "Upon my word, colonel, as you
observe, this conduct on the part of Mr Sullivan, is not exactly what
can be permitted by us military men. I hardly know bow to advise;
indeed I would not take the responsibility; however, I will consult with
Mr S--- and Mr G---, and if you will leave your honour in our hands,
depend upon it we will do you strict justice:" and Captain Carrington
quitted the colonel, who would have expostulated, and, walking up to the
other gentlemen, entered into a recapitulation of the circumstances. A
wink of his eye, as his back was turned to the colonel, fully expressed
to the others the tenor of the advice which they were to offer.
"Well, gentlemen, what is your opinion?" said the captain, as he
concluded his narrative.
"I think," replied Mr S---, with a serious face, "there can be but
one--our gallant friend has been most grossly insulted. I think,"
continued he, addressing the colonel, who had quitted the sofa, in his
anxiety to know the issue of their debate, "that I should most decidedly
ask him what he meant."
"Or rather demand an apology," observed Mr G---.
"Which Mr Sullivan as a man of honour is bound to offer, and the
colonel as a gentleman and an officer has a right to insist upon. Do
you not think so, Captain Carrington?" said Mr S---.
"Why, I always have been more inclined to be a peacemaker than
otherwise, if I can," replied Captain Carrington. "If our gallant
friend the colonel is not sure that Mr Sullivan did use the words, `I
won't trouble you to call again,'--are you positive as to the exact
words, colonel?"
"Why, to the best of my recollection," replied the colonel, "I rather
think those were the words.--I may be mistaken:--it was certainly--most
certainly--something to that effect."
"Were they, `requesting you to call again?'" said Captain Carrington.
"No, no,--that they certainly were not."
"Well, they could be but one or the other.--Then, gentlemen, the case is
clear--the words were uttered," said Mr S---, "Now, Captain Carrington,
what would you advise?"
"I really am vexed to say, that I do not see how our friend, Colonel
Ellice, can do otherwise than demand an apology, or a meeting."
"Could not I treat him with contempt, Captain Carrington?" demanded the
colonel.
"Why, not exactly," replied Mr S---. "Sullivan is of good family; the
Sullivans of Bally cum Poop. He was some time in the 48th regiment, and
was obliged to retire from it for challenging his colonel."
"Well, gentlemen," replied the colonel, "I suppose I must leave my
honour in your hands, although it does appear to me that our time is
very short for such arrangements. We sail early to-morrow morning;
Captain Carrington; at daylight, I think you said, and it will be too
late to-night."
"My dear colonel, I will risk a rebuke from the Admiralty," replied the
captain, "rather than not allow you to heal your wounded honour. I will
stay till the day after to-morrow, should it be requisite for the
arrangement of this business."
"Thank you: many thanks," replied the colonel, with an expression of
disappointment. "Then I had better prepare the letter?"
"Carta por senhor commandante," interrupted a Portuguese, presenting a
letter to the colonel; "O senhor embaixo; queir risposta."
The colonel opened the letter, which contained Mr Sullivan's
challenge,--pistols--to-morrow morn, at daylight--one mile on the road
to Machico.
The colonel's countenance changed two or three shades less yellow as he
read the contents: recovering himself with a giggle, he handed the
letter to Captain Carrington. "You see, captain, the gentleman has
saved me the trouble--He, he, he! these little affairs are common to
gentlemen of our profession--He, he! and since the gentleman wishes it,
why, I presume--He, he! that we must not disappoint him."
"Since you are both of one mind, I think there will be some business
done," observed Mr S---. "I perceive that he is in earnest by the
place named for the meeting. We generally settle our affairs of honour
in the Loo-fields; but I suppose he is afraid of interruption.--They
want an answer, colonel."
"Oh! he shall have one," replied the colonel, tittering with excitement;
"he shall have one. What hour does he say?"
"Oh! we will arrange all that. Come, colonel," said Captain Carrington,
taking him familiarly by the arm, and leading him away.
The answer was despatched, and they sat down to dinner. Many were the
friendly and encouraging glasses of wine drank with the colonel, who
recovered his confidence, and was then most assiduous in his attentions
to the ladies to prove his perfect indifference. He retired at an early
hour nevertheless.
In the mean time Mr Sullivan had received the answer, and had retired
to his counting-house, to arrange his affairs in case of accident. He
had not seen his wife since the fracas. And now we will leave them both
for awhile, and make a few remarks upon duelling.
Most people lament, many abuse the custom as barbarous; but barbarous it
is not, or it would not be necessary in a state of high civilisation.
It is true that by the practice we offend laws human and divine; but at
the same time, it must be acknowledged, that neither law nor religion
can keep society in such good order, or so restrain crime. The man who
would defy the penalty of the law, and the commandments of his God
against seduction, will, however pause in his career when he finds that
there are brothers to avenge an injured sister. And why so?--because in
this world we live as it were in a tavern, careless of what the bill is
which we run up, but dreading the day of reckoning, which the pistol of
our adversary may bring at once. Thus duelling may be considered as a
necessary evil, arising out of our wickedness; a crime in itself rare in
occurrence, but which prevents others of equal magnitude from occurring
every day; and until the world is reformed, nothing can prevent it. Men
will ever be governed by the estimation of the world: and until the
whole world decide against duelling--until it has become the usage to
offer the other cheek upon the first having been smitten, then, and not
till then, will the practice be discontinued. When a man refuses to
fight a duel, he is stigmatised as a coward, his company is shunned;
and, unless he is a wretch without feeling, his life becomes a burden.
Men have refused from purely conscientious motives, and have
subsequently found themselves so miserable from the neglect and
contumely of the world, that they have _backslided_, and have fought to
recover their place in society. There have been some few, very few,
who, having refused from conscientious motives, have adhered to these
resolutions, because they feared God and not man. There was more
courage in their refusal than if they had run the gauntlet of a hundred
duels; a moral courage, which is most rare, preferring the contempt of
man to the wrath of God. It is, however, the most trying situation on
this side of the grave. To refuse to fight a duel, is in fact to obey
the stern injunction, "leave all, and follow me."
For my part, I never have and never will fight a duel, if I can help it.
I have a double motive for my refusal; in the first place, I am afraid
to offend the Deity; and in the next, I am afraid of being shot. I have
therefore made up my mind never to meet a man except upon what I
consider fair terms; for when a man stakes his life, the gambling
becomes rather serious, and an equal value should be laid down by each
party. If, then, a man is not so big--not of equal consequence in the
consideration of his fellow mites--not married, with five small
children, as I am--not having so much to lose--why it is clear that I
risk more than he does; the stake is not equal, and I therefore shall
not meet him. If, on the contrary, he presents a broader target,--if he
is my superior in rank, more patriarchal at home, or has so many
hundreds per annum more, why then the disadvantages will be on his side;
and I trust I am too much of a gentleman, even if he offers to waive all
these considerations, to permit him to fight. It would be _swindling_
the man out of his life.
The best advice I can offer to my friends under these unpleasant
circumstances is, first to try if they cannot persuade their adversaries
to make an apology: and if he will not, why then let them make one
themselves; for although the making an apology creates a very uneasy
sensation, and goes very much _against_ the stomach, yet, depend upon
it, a well-directed bullet creates a much more uneasy feeling, and, what
is worse, goes _directly into it_.
We left Mrs Sullivan sobbing in her anger, when her husband bounded out
of the room in his heroics. At the time that he made the threat she was
in no humour to regard it; but as her anger gradually subsided, so did
her alarm increase. Notwithstanding that she was a coquette, she was as
warmly attached to her husband as he was to her; if she trifled, it was
only for her amusement, and to attract that meed of admiration to which
she had been accustomed previous to her marriage, and which no woman can
renounce on her first entry into that state. Men cannot easily pardon
jealousy in their wives; but women are more lenient towards their
husbands. Love, hand-in-hand with confidence, is the more endearing;
yet, when confidence happens to be out of the way, Love will sometimes
associate with Jealousy; still, as this disagreeable companion proves
that Love is present, and as his presence is what a woman and all a
woman asks, she suffers Jealousy, nay, sometimes even becomes partial to
him for the sake of Love.
Now that Mrs Sullivan had been most unjustly accused, the reader must
know, and moreover, that she had great reason to feel irritated. When
her tears had subsided, for some time she continued in her chair,
awaiting with predetermined dignity the appearance and apology of Mr
Sullivan. After some time had elapsed, she wondered why he did not
come. Dinner was announced, and she certainly expected to meet him
then, and she waited for some minutes to see if he would not take this
opportunity of coming up to her;--but no. She then presumed that he was
still in the sulks, and had sat down to table without her, and
therefore, as he would not come--why, she went; but he was not at the
table. Every minute she expected him:--Had he been told?--Where was
he?--He was in the counting-house, was the reply. Mrs Sullivan
swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then returned up stairs. Tea was made--
announced to Mr Sullivan, yet he came not. It remained on the table;
the cup poured out for him was cold. The urn had been sent down, with
strict injunctions to keep the water boiling, and all was cleared away.
Mrs Sullivan fidgeted and ruminated, and became uneasy. He never had
been at variance for so many hours since their marriage, and all for
nothing! At last the clock struck ten, and she rang the bell.--"Where
was Mr Sullivan?"--"In the counting-house."--"Tell him that I wish to
speak with him." Mr Sullivan had not answered him, and the door was
locked inside. This intelligence created a little irritation, and
checked the tide of affection. "Before all the servants--so
inconsiderate--it was quite insulting!" With a heavy heart, Mrs
Sullivan lighted the chamber candle, and went up stairs to bed. Once
she turned down the stairs two or three steps, intending to go to the
counting-house door; but her pride restrained her, and she re-ascended.
In an hour Mrs Sullivan was in bed, expecting her husband every minute,
listening at the slightest sound for his footstep; but two o'clock came
and he was still away. She could bear up against her suspense and
agitation no longer; she rose, threw on her _robe de nuit_, and
descended the stairs. All the family had long retired, and every thing
was still: her light foot made no noise as she tripped along. As she
neared the door, she perceived the light gleaming through the key-hole.
Whether to peep or to speak first--he might be fast asleep. Curiosity
prevailed--she looked through the key-hole, and perceived her husband
very busy writing. After he had finished his letter he threw down the
pen, pressed his forehead with both hands, and groaned deeply. Mrs
Sullivan could refrain no longer. "William! William!" cried she, in a
soft imploring voice: but she was not answered. Again and again did she
repeat his name, until an answer, evidently wrung from him by
impatience, was returned--"It is too late now."
"Too late, dear William! Yes, it is very late, it's almost three
o'clock. Let me in William,--pray do!"
"Leave me alone: it's the last favour I probably shall ever request of
you."
"The last favour! Oh, William! you frighten me so:--dear William--do--
do let me in. I'm so cold, I shall die:--only for one moment, and I'll
bless you. Pray do, William!"
It was not until after repeated and repeated entreaties of this kind,
that Mr Sullivan, worn out by importunity, at last opened the door.
"Mary, I am very busy; I have opened the door to tell you so, and to
request that you will not interrupt me. Now oblige me by going to bed."
But getting in was every thing; and a young and pretty wife, in
dishabille and in tears, imploring, entreating, conjuring, promising,
coaxing, and fondling, is not quite so easy to be detached when once she
has gained access. In less than half an hour Mr Sullivan was obliged
to confess that her conduct had been the occasion of a meeting being
agreed for upon that morning, and that he was arranging his affairs in
case of a melancholy termination.
"You now, Mary, must see the consequences of your conduct. By your
imprudence, your husband's life is risked, probably sacrificed; but this
is no time to be at variance. I forgive you, Mary,--from my soul, I do,
as I hope for pardon myself."
Mrs Sullivan burst into a paroxysm of tears; and it was some time
before she could answer. "William," cried she energetically, "as you
well say, this is no time to be at variance, neither is it a time for
falsehood. What I stated to you this morning was true:--if not, may I
never hope for pardon! and may Heaven never be opened to me! You have
been deceived, grossly deceived; for what purpose, I know not; but so it
is. Do not therefore be rash. Send for all who were present, and
examine them; and if I have told you a falsehood, put me away from you,
to the shame and seclusion I shall so well deserve."
"It is too late, Mary; I have challenged him, and he has accepted it. I
fain would believe you; but he told me so himself."
"Then he told a lie! a base cowardly lie! which sinks him beneath the
notice of a gentleman. Let me go with you and confront him. Only let
him dare to say it to my face: 'tis all I ask, William, that I may clear
my fame with you. Come to bed--nay, nay, don't refuse me;" and poor
Mrs Sullivan again burst into tears.
We must leave the couple to pass the remaining hours in misery, which,
however, reclaimed them both from faults. Mrs Sullivan never coquetted
more, and her husband was, after this, never jealous but on trifles.
The colonel was just as busy on his side, in preparing for the chances
of the morrow: these chances however were never tried; for Captain
Carrington and his confederates had made their arrangements. Mr
Sullivan was already dressed, his wife clinging to him in frantic
despair, when a letter was left at his door, the purport of which was
that Colonel Ellice had discovered that his companions had been joking
with him, when they had asserted that during his state of inebriety, he
had offered any rudeness to Mrs Sullivan. As therefore no offence had
been committed, Colonel Ellice took it for granted that Mr Sullivan
would be satisfied with the explanation.
Mrs Sullivan, who devoured the writing over her husband's shoulder,
sunk down on her knees in gratitude, and was raised to her husband's
arms, who, as he embraced her, acknowledged his injustice.
The same party who wrote this epistle also framed another in imitation
of Mr Sullivan's hand-writing, in which Mr Sullivan acquainted the
Colonel, that having been informed by a mutual friend that he had been
in error relative to Colonel Ellice's behaviour of the night before, he
begged to withdraw the challenge, and apologise for having suspected the
colonel of incivility, etcetera. That having been informed that Colonel
Ellice embarked at an early hour, he regretted that he would not be able
to pay his respects to him, and assure him, etcetera.
The receipt of this letter, just as the colonel had finished a cup of
coffee, preparatory to starting, made him, as a single man, quite as
happy as the married couple; he hastened to put the letter into the
hands of Captain Carrington, little thinking that he was handing it over
to the writer.
"You observe, Captain Carrington, he won't come to the scratch. Perhaps
as well for him that he does not," said the colonel, chuckling in his
glee.
The breakfast was early; the colonel talked big, and explained the whole
affair to the ladies, quite unconscious that every one in the company
knew that the hoax had been played upon him. Before noon, every one had
re-embarked on board of their respective ships, and their lofty sails
were expanded to a light and favouring breeze.