THE LAST RESORT OF GENTLEMEN
I found the library deserted, and paced the floor for fully half an
hour before Caton appeared. Stung as I had been by Brennan's harsh,
uncalled-for words, I yet shrank from the thought that I must now meet
him in deadly combat. It was no fear of personal injury that troubled
me; indeed I do not recall giving this the slightest consideration,
for my mind was altogether concentrated upon what such a meeting must
necessarily mean to Edith Brennan, and how it would affect all our
future relationship. This was the thought that swayed and mastered me.
I had pledged myself to avoid him, and indeed had used every means
possible to that end. I was even willing to go forth stamped by his
denunciation rather than involve her in such controversy. But the effort
was fruitless, and I must now stand before him, or else forever forfeit
my manhood. Thus the die was already cast, yet in one point I
might still prove true to the spirit of my pledge, and retain her
approbation--I could permit my antagonist to leave the field unscathed.
One who does not realize my feelings toward this man, my fierce
resentment of every indignity he had heaped upon me, my intense rivalry,
and my burning desire to punish him for a hundred mental wounds, cannot
comprehend how difficult a battle I fought in those few moments in order
that I might conquer myself. The time was none too long, yet my mind
once thoroughly settled as to my duty to her, I became calm again, and
confident as to the outcome. When Caton entered, flushed and visibly
excited from what had evidently proven an acrimonious controversy, I
greeted him with a smile.
“You appear to have experienced difficulties in regard to details,” I
said curiously.
“There was much unnecessary talk,” he admitted, “but matters have been
at last arranged to the satisfaction of all concerned. You are to meet
at once, in the rear of the big tobacco shed, a spot entirely removed
from observation. I have been compelled to accept pistols as the
weapons, as we have nothing else here at all suitable for the
purpose--cavalry sabres being far too cumbersome. Lieutenant Starr
chances to possess two derringers exactly alike which we have mutually
agreed upon. I hope this is satisfactory to you, Wayne?”
“I am not precisely an expert, but that does not greatly matter. Who
acts for Brennan?”
“Captain Moorehouse, rather against his will, I think.”
“Very well, Caton; I am perfectly satisfied, and am, indeed, greatly
obliged to you; yet before we go out I desire to speak a word or two
with the utmost frankness.” I stood facing him, my hand resting lightly
upon the writing-table, my eyes reading his expressive face. “As my
second I wish you to comprehend fully my actions, and the motives that
inspire them. If they are in any way unsatisfactory to your mind, you
may feel at perfect liberty to withhold your services. I am now, and
always have been, opposed to duelling; I believe it wrong in principle,
and a travesty upon justice; but it is a custom of the South, a
requirement among officers of our army, and after what has just occurred
between Major Brennan and myself I cannot honorably refuse any longer to
go out. Major Brennan has deliberately placed me in a position where
I cannot avoid meeting him without losing all standing in my corps. I
sought to escape, but was prevented by accident; now I simply yield to
the inevitable. I feel confident you will not misconstrue these words;
you surely know me sufficiently well so as not to attribute them
to cowardice. I shall face him exactly in accordance with your
arrangements, asking nothing upon my part, yielding him every
satisfaction he can possibly desire--but I shall fire in the air.”
He stared at me incredulously, his face a perfect picture of amazement.
“But, Wayne,” he stammered, “are you aware that Major Brennan is an
expert with the pistol? that he holds the Sixth Corps trophy? Do you
realize that he goes out deliberately intending to kill you?”
“I was not posted as to the first fact you mention, but have never
entertained the slightest doubt as to the other. However, they do not in
the least affect my decision.”
“But, man, it will be murder! I should never forgive myself if I
sanctioned it.”
“That is exactly why I told you,” I said calmly; “and I am perfectly
willing to stand alone and absolve you from all responsibility. Yet I do
not desire you to suppose that I am at all quixotic in this--there is a
personal reason why I am perfectly willing to risk my life rather than
injure Major Brennan.”
His troubled eyes studied me intently, and then his face suddenly
brightened with a new thought. “Wayne,” he asked, placing his hand upon
my arm familiarly, “is it Mrs. Brennan?”
For an instant I hesitated, but his manly, honest countenance reassured
me. “Between us only, it is,” I answered gravely; “but not the slightest
blame attaches to her.”
“I do not wholly understand,” he said at last, “yet I do not doubt
you may be perfectly right in your decision.” He extended his hand
impulsively. “I know you to be a good soldier and a true gentleman; I
will stand with you, Wayne, but I pledge this--if he takes advantage
treacherously, and you fall (as God forbid!), I will face him myself;
and when I do, there shall be no firing in the air.”
I wrung his hand silently, and my heart went out in unspeakable
gratitude to this noble fellow, who, wearing the uniform of an enemy,
had constantly proven himself my sincere friend. “Your words strengthen
me greatly,” I managed to say at last. “Now let us go, and not keep the
others waiting.”
I do not remember that we spoke, save once, while we passed out through
the orchard into the field where the big tobacco shed stood. A group of
soldiers were digging a grave behind one of the negro cabins, but other
than these we saw no one. It was as we paused a moment to refasten the
gate that I finally broke the silence between us.
“In the inner pocket of my shirt,” I said, “you will find directions
which will enable you to communicate with my people.”
His eyes instantly filled with tears.
“Don't say that, Wayne,” he protested. “I will not believe it is
destined to end so.”
“I certainly trust it is not,” I answered, smiling at him, and deeply
touched by his show of genuine feeling, “but I have only you to rely
upon in this matter if by any chance it does.”
The deserted field we were compelled to cross had long been neglected,
and was now thickly overgrown with weeds. Not until we turned the corner
of the great ramshackle building, which in other and more prosperous
days had been dedicated to the curing of the leaf, did we perceive any
signs of the presence of our antagonists. They were standing upon the
farther side, directly opposite the door, and both bowed slightly as we
approached. The Captain came toward us slowly.
“It is to be greatly regretted, gentlemen,” he said, with ceremonious
politeness, “that we have no surgeon with us. However, neither
contestant has any advantage in this respect. Lieutenant Caton, may I
ask if the arrangements as already completed have proven satisfactory to
your principal?”
“Entirely so.”
“Then if you will kindly step this way a moment we will confer as to
certain details.”
Brennan was leaning in negligent attitude against the side of the
building, his eyes fastened upon the ground, the blue smoke of a cigar
curling lazily above his head. I glanced toward him, and then sought to
amuse myself watching the queer antics of a gray squirrel on the rail
fence beyond. I felt no desire for further thought, only an intense
anxiety for them to hurry the preliminaries, and have the affair settled
as speedily as possible. I was aroused by Moorehouse's rather nasal
voice.
“Gentlemen, will you please take your positions. Major Brennan, you will
stand three paces to the right of that sapling, facing directly south.
Captain Wayne, kindly walk straight west from the shed door until you
come opposite the Major's position.”
I noted Brennan throw away the stump of his cigar, and then I walked
slowly forward until I reached the point assigned me. My heart was
beating fast now, for I fully realized the probabilities of the next few
minutes, and felt little doubt that serious injury, if not death, was
to be my portion. Yet my trained nerves did not fail me, and outwardly I
appeared fully as cool and deliberate as my opponent. Years of constant
exposure to peril in every form had yielded me a grim philosophy of
fatalism that now stood me in most excellent stead. Indeed, I doubt
not, had I chosen to put it to the test, my hand would have proven the
steadier of the two, for Brennan's face was flushed, and he plainly
exhibited the intense animosity with which he confronted me.
How peculiarly the mind often operates in such moments of exciting
suspense! I recall remarking a very slight stoop in Brennan's shoulders
which I had never perceived before, I remember wondering where
Moorehouse had ever discovered a tailor to give so shocking a fit to his
coat, and finally I grew almost interested in two birds perched upon the
limb of a tree opposite where I stood. I even smiled to myself over a
jest one of the young officers had made an hour before. Yet with it all
I remained keenly observant, and fully aware of each movement made by
the others on the field. I saw Caton accept the derringer handed him and
test it carefully, the long, slim, blue barrel looking deadly enough as
he held it up between me and the sky. Then Moorehouse approached Brennan
with its fellow in his grasp, and the Lieutenant crossed over, and stood
beside me.
“Here is the gun, Wayne,” he said, “and I sincerely hope you have
changed your decision. There is no mercy in Brennan's eyes.”
“So I notice,” I answered, taking the derringer from him, and examining
it with some curiosity, “but I shall do as I said, nevertheless. It
is not any sentiment of mercy I feel which spares him, but a duty that
appeals to me even more strongly than hate.”
“By Heaven, I wish it were otherwise.”
I remained silent, for I could not say in my heart that I echoed his
wish, and I cared not to go down in another minute with a lie upon my
lips. The love of Edith Brennan, which I now felt assured was mine, was
sweeter far to me than life.
“Who gives the word?” I questioned.
“I do; are you ready?”
“Perfectly.”
I held out my hand, and his fingers closed upon it with warm, friendly
grip. The next moment Brennan and I stood, seemingly alone, facing
each other, as motionless as two statues. His coat was buttoned to the
throat, his cap-visor pulled low over his eyes, his pistol hand hanging
straight down at his side, his gaze never wavering from me. I knew
he was coolly, deliberately measuring the distance between us with
as deadly a purpose as any murderer. The almost painful stillness was
broken by Caton, and I marked the tremor in his voice.
“Are you both ready, gentlemen?”
“I am,” said Brennan.
“Ready,” I replied.
“The word will be one, two, three--fire; with a slight pause after the
three. A report from either pistol before the final word is spoken I
shall take personally. Be prepared now.”
There was a moment's pause; so still was it I heard the chirping of
birds overhead, and the flutter of a leaf as it fell swirling at my
feet. I saw Brennan as through a mist, and in its undulations there
seemed to be pictures of the face of his wife, as if her spirit hovered
there between us. To have shot then would have been like piercing her
before reaching him.
“Ready!” said the voice once more; and as I saw Brennan's arm slowly
rise, I lifted mine also, and covered him, noting, as I did so, almost
in wonder, with what steadiness of nerve and wrist I held the slender
gauge just beneath the visor of his cap. Deliberately, as though he
dreaded the necessity, Caton counted:
“One; two; three--_fire_!”
My pistol exploded, the charge striking the limb above him, and I
staggered backward, my hat torn from my head, a white line cut through
my hair, and a thin trickle of blood upon my temple. I saw Caton rushing
toward me, his face filled with anxiety, and then Brennan hurled his yet
smoking derringer into the dirt at his feet with an oath.
“Damn it, Moorehouse,” he roared, fairly beside himself, “the charge was
too heavy; it overshot.”
“Are you much hurt?” panted Caton.
“Merely pricked the skin.”
Then Brennan's angry voice rang out once more.
“I demand another shot,” he insisted loudly. “I demand it, I tell you,
Moorehouse. This settles nothing, and I will not be balked just because
you don't know enough to load a gun.”
Caton wheeled upon him, his blue eyes blazing dangerously.
“You demand a second shot?” he cried indignantly.
“Are you not aware, sir, that Captain Wayne fired in the air? It would
be murder.”
“Fired in the air!” he laughed, as if it was a most excellent joke. “Of
course he did, but it was because my ball disconcerted his aim. I fired
a second the first, but his derringer was covering me.”
Caton strode toward him, his face white with passion.
“Let him have it his way,” I called after him, for now my own blood was
up, “I shall not be guilty of such neglect again.”
He did not heed me, perhaps he did not hear.
“Major Brennan,” he said, facing him, his voice trembling with feeling,
“I tell you Captain Wayne purposely shot in the air. He informed me
before coming upon the field that he should do so. I positively refuse
to permit him to face your fire again.”
Brennan's face blazed; chagrin, anger, disappointment fairly infuriated
him, and he seemed to lose all self-control. “This is some cowardly
trick!” he roared, glaring about him as if seeking some one upon whom
he could vent his wrath. “Damn it, I believe my pistol was fixed to
overshoot in order to save that fellow. I never missed such a shot
before.”
Moorehouse broke in upon his raving, so astounded at these intemperate
words as to stutter in his speech.
“D-do you d-dare to in-insinuate, Major Brennan” he began, “that
I have--” he paused, his mouth wide open, staring toward the shed.
Involuntarily we glanced in that direction also, wondering what he saw.
There, in the open doorway, as in a frame, dressed almost entirely in
white, her graceful figure and fair young face clearly defined against
the dark background, stood Edith Brennan.