SATISFACTION.
SIR ABRAHAM TAMWORTH, G.C.B.--a fine old Admiral of the White, who
somewhat looked down upon the rank of General, H.E.I.C.S.--was
astonished, as well he might be, at Mr. Saunders, and his message: and,
of course, most gladly acquiesced in acting as poor Emily's protector.
Accordingly, however jealous Lady Tamworth and her daughters might
heretofore have felt of that bright beauty at the balls, they were now
all genuine sympathy, indignation, and affection. Emily, I need hardly
say, went straight up stairs to have her cry out.
"Whom are you writing to, George, in such a hurry?" asked the admiral,
of a fine moustachioed son, George St. Vincent Tamworth, of the Royal
Horse Guards, who had just got six months' leave of absence for the sake
of marriage with his cousin.
The gallant soldier tossed a billet to his father, who mounted his
spectacles, and quietly read it at the lamp.
"Captain Tamworth desires Mr. Julian Tracy's company to-morrow morning,
at seven o'clock, in the third meadow on the Oxton road. The captain
brings a friend with him; also pistols and a surgeon; and he desires Mr.
Tracy to do the like: Prospect House, Thursday evening."
"So, George, you consider him a gentleman, do you? I am afraid it's a
poor compliment to our fair young friend." And he quietly crumpled up
the challenge in his iron hand.
"Really, sir!--you surprise me;--pardon me, but I will send that note:
mustn't I chastise the fellow for this insufferable outrage?"
"No doubt, George, no doubt of it at all: when a lady is insulted, and a
man (not to say a queen's officer) stands by without taking notice of
it, he deserves whipping at the cart's-tail, and Coventry for life. I've
no patience, boy, with such mean meekness, as putting up with bullying
insolence when a woman's in the case. Let a man show moral courage, if
he can and will, in his own affront; I honour him who turns on his heel
from common personal insult, and only wish my own old blood was cool
enough to do so: but the mother, wife, and sister, ay, George, and the
poor defenceless one, be she lady, peasant, or menial, who comes to us
for safety in a woman's dress, we must take up their quarrel, or we are
not men!--"
"Don't interrupt him, George," uxoriously suggested Lady Tamworth,
"your father hasn't done talking yet." For George was getting terribly
impatient; he knew, from sad experience, how much the admiral was given
to prosing. However, the oration soon proceeded to our captain's entire
satisfaction, after his progenitor had paused awhile for breath's sake
in his eloquence.
"--Take up their quarrel, or we are not men. Nevertheless, boy, I cannot
see the need of pistols. The only conceivable case for violent redress,
is woman's wrong: and he who wrongs a woman, cannot be a gentleman;
therefore, ought not to be met on equal terms. For other causes of
duello, as hot-headed speeches, rudenesses, or slights, forgive, forbear
to fan the flame, and never be above apologizing: but in an outrage such
as this, let a fine-built fellow, such as you are, George (and the women
should show wisdom in their choice of champions), let a man, and a
queen's officer as you are, treat this brute, Julian Tracy, as a
martinet huntsman would a hound thrown out. As for me, boy, I'm going to
call on Mrs. Tracy at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning--and, without
presuming to advise a six foot two of a son, I think--I think, if I were
you, I would be dutiful enough to say--'Father, I will accompany
you--and take a horsewhip with me.'"
"Agreed, agreed, sir!" replied the well-pleased son, and her ladyship
too vouchsafed her approbation.
Emily had gone to bed long ago, or rather to her chamber; where the
three Misses Tamworth had been all kindness, curiosity, and consolation.
So, Sir Abraham and his lady, now the speech was finished, followed
their example of retirement: and the captain newly blood-knotted his
hunting-whip, _con amore_, not to say _con spirito_, overnight.
Nobody will wonder to hear, that when the gallant representatives of
army and navy called next morning at number seven, Mrs. Tracy and her
son were "not at home:" and of course it would be far too Julian-like a
proceeding, for true gentleman to think of forcing their company on the
probably ensconced in-dwellers. Accordingly, they marched away, without
having deigned to leave a card; the captain taking on himself the duty
of perambulating sentinel, while his father proceeded to the library as
usual. Judge of the glad surprise, when, within ten minutes, our
vindictive George perceived the admiral coming back again, full-sail,
with the mother and son in tow, creeping amicably enough up the terrace.
Sir Abraham had given her his arm, and precious Mr. Julian was a little
in the rear: for the old folks were talking confidentially.
George St. Vincent, placing his whip in the well-known position of
"Cane, a mystery," advanced to meet them; and, just after passing his
father, with whom he exchanged a very comfortable glance, discovered
that the heroic Julian, who had caught a glimpse of the ill-concealed
weapon, was slinking quickly round a corner to avoid him. It was
certainly undignified to run, but the gallant captain did run,
nevertheless and soon caught the coward by the collar.
Then, at arm's length, was the hunting-whip applied, full-swing; up the
terrace, and down the parade, and through High-street, and Smith-street,
and Oxton-road, and aristocratical Pacton-square, and the well-thronged
plebeian market-place; lash, lash, lash, in furious and fast succession
on the writhing roaring culprit; to the universal excoriation of Mr.
Julian Tracy, and the amazement of an admiring and soon-collected
crowd--the rank, beauty, and fashion--of Burleigh Singleton. Julian was
strong indeed, and a coal-heaver in build, but conscience had unnerved
him; and the coarse noisy bully always is a coward: therefore, it was a
pleasant thing to see how easy came the captain's work to him--he had
nothing to do but to lash, lash, lash, double-thonged, like a
slave-driver: and, except that he made the caitiff move along, to be a
spectacle to man and woman, up and down the town, he might as well, for
any difficulty in the deed, have been employed in scarifying a
gate-post.
At last, thoroughly exhausted with having inflicted as much punishment
as any three drummers at a soldier's whipping-match, and spying out his
"tiger" in the throng, our gallant Avenging Childe tossed the heavy whip
to the trim cockaded little man, that he might carry home that
instrument of vengeance, deliberately wiped his wet mustachios, and
giving Julian one last kick, let the fellow part in peace.