As Overton had said, the meeting was delayed exactly twenty-four hours.
My courage always has an odd way of disappearing when I am expecting to
use it, although I must say, when I have had actual occasion for it,
I have always found it easily at hand. I can not deny that I was very
much frightened for Giles on the morning of the meeting, and, to add to
my misery, I heard that Overton was considered one of the best shots in
England.
The dreary breakfast gulped down; the post-chaise rattling up to
the door--I had hoped until the last moment that it would not come;
the bumping along the road in the cool, bright summer morning; the
gruesome, long, narrow box that lay on the front seat of the chaise;
the packet of letters which Giles had given me and which seemed to
weigh a hundred tons in my pocket,--all these were so many horrors to
haunt the memory for ever. But I must say that, apparently, the misery
was all mine; for I never saw Giles Vernon show so much as by the
flicker of an eyelash that he was disturbed in any way.
About half-way from the meeting-ground we left the highway and turned
into a by-road; and scarcely had we gone half a mile when we almost
drove into a broken-down chaise, and standing on the roadside among the
furze bushes were the coachman, the surgeon,--a most bloody-minded man
I always believed him,--Mr. Buxton, and Overton.
Our chaise stopped, and Giles, putting his head out of the window, said
pleasantly, “Good morning, gentlemen; you have had an accident, I see.”
“A bad one,” replied Mr. Buxton, who saw that their chaise was beyond
help, and who, as he said afterward, was playing for a place in our
chaise, not liking to walk the rest of the distance.
Giles jumped out and so did I, and the most courteous greetings were
exchanged.
The two drivers, as experts, examined the broken chaise, and agreed
there was no patching it up for service; one wheel was splintered.
Mr. Buxton looked at Giles meaningly, and then at me, and Giles
whispered to me,--
“Offer to take ’em up. By Jupiter, they shall see we are no shirkers.”
Which I did, and, to my amazement, in a few moments we were all
lumbering along the road; Overton and Mr. Buxton on the back seat,
and Giles and I with our backs to the horses, while the surgeon was
alongside the coachman on the box.
Nothing could exceed the politeness between the two principals, about
the seats as about everything else. Overton was with difficulty
persuaded to take the back seat. Mr. Buxton seated himself there
without any introduction. (I hope it will never again be my fortune to
negotiate so delicate an affair as a meeting between gentlemen, with
one so much my superior in rank as Mr. Buxton.)
“May I ask, Mr. Overton, if you prefer the window down or up?” asked
Giles, with great deference.
“Either, dear sir,” responded Overton. “I believe it was up when you
kindly invited us to enter.”
“True; but you may be sensitive to the air, and may catch cold.”
At which Mr. Buxton grinned in a heartless manner. The window remained
up.
We were much crowded with the two pistol-cases and the surgeon’s box of
instruments, which to me appeared more appalling than the pistols.
At last we reached the spot,--a small, flat place under a
sweetly-blooming hawthorn hedge, with some verdant oaks at either end.
Giles and Overton were so scrupulous about taking precedence of each
other in getting out of the chaise, that I had strong hopes the day
would pass before they came to a decision; but Mr. Buxton finally got
out himself and pulled his man after him, and then we were soon marking
off the ground, and I was feeling that mortal sickness which had
attacked me the first time I was under fire in the _Ajax_.
Overton won the toss for position, and at that I could have lain down
and wept.
Our men were placed twenty paces apart, with their backs to each
other. At the word “one,” they were to turn, advance and fire between
the words “two” and “three.” This seemed to me the most murderous
arrangement I had ever heard of.
The stories I had so lately heard about Overton’s proficiency with the
pistol made me think, even if he did not kill Giles intentionally,
he would attempt some expert trick with the pistol, which would do
the business equally well. I knew Giles to be a very poor shot, and
concluded that he, through awkwardness, would probably put an end to
Overton, and I regarded them both as doomed men.
I shall never forget my feelings as we were placing our men, or after
Mr. Buxton and I had retired to a place under the hedge. Just as we
had selected our places, Giles, looking over his shoulder, said in his
usual cool, soft voice,--
“Don’t you think, gentlemen, you had better move two or three furlongs
off? Mr. Overton may grow excited and fire wild.”
I thought this a most dangerous as well as foolish speech, and
calculated to irritate Overton; and for the first time I saw a gleam
of anger in his eye, which had hitherto been mild, and even sad. For
I believed then, and knew afterward, that his mind was far from easy
on the subject of dueling. I wish to say here that I also believe, had
he been fully convinced that dueling was wrong, he would have declined
to fight, no matter what the consequences had been; for I never knew a
man with more moral courage. But at the time, although his views were
changing on the subject, they were not wholly changed.
Mr. Buxton, without noticing Giles’ speech, coughed once or twice, and
then waited two or three minutes before giving the word.
The summer sun shone brilliantly, turning the distant river to a silver
ribbon. A thrush rioted musically in the hawthorn hedge. All things
spoke of life and hope, but to my sinking heart insensate Nature only
mocked us. I heard, as in a dream, the words “One, two, three” slowly
uttered by Mr. Buxton, and saw, still as in a dream, both men turn and
raise their pistols.
Overton’s was discharged first; then, as he stood like a man in marble
waiting for his adversary’s fire, Giles raised his pistol and, taking
deliberate aim at the bird still singing in the hedge, brought it
down. It was a mere lucky shot, but Overton took off his hat and bowed
to the ground, and Giles responded by taking off his hat and showing a
hole through the brim.
[Illustration: Overton took off his hat and bowed. _Page 113_]
“You see, Mr. Glyn,” said Overton, “I have done according to my
promise. It was not my intention to kill Mr. Vernon, but only to
frighten him,”--which speech Mr. Buxton and I considered as a set-off
to Giles’ speech just before shots were exchanged.
The two principals remained where they were, while Mr. Buxton and I
retired behind the hedge to confer--or rather for Mr. Buxton to say to
me,--
“Another shot would be damned nonsense. My man is satisfied, or shall
be, else I am a Dutch trooper. Certainly you have nothing to complain
of.”
I was only too happy to accept this solution, but more out of objection
to being browbeaten by Mr. Buxton than anything else, I said,--
“We shall require an explanation of your principal’s observation just
now, sir.”
“Shall you?” angrily asked Mr. Buxton, exactly in the tone he used
when the carpenter’s mate complained that the jack-o’-the-dust had
cribbed his best saw. “Then I shall call your man to account in regard
to his late observation, and we can keep them popping away at each
other all day. But this is no slaughter-pen, Mr. Glyn, nor am I the
ship’s butcher, and I shall take my man back to town and give him a
glass of spirits and some breakfast, and I advise you to do the same.
You are very young, Mr. Glyn, and you still need to know a thing or
two.” Then, advancing from behind the hedge, he said in the dulcet tone
he used when the admiral asked him to have wine,--
“Gentlemen, Mr. Glyn and myself, after conferring, have agreed that the
honor of our principals is fully established, and that the controversy
is completely at an end. Allow me to congratulate you both,”--and there
was a general hand-shaking all around. I noticed that the coachman, who
was attentively watching the performance, looked slightly disappointed
at the turn of affairs.
Straightway, we all climbed into the chaise, and I think I shall be
believed when I say that our return to town was more cheerful than our
departure had been.
We all agreed to dine together at Mivart’s the next night, and I saw no
reason to believe that there was any remnant of ill feeling between the
two late combatants.
I returned to Berkeley Square that afternoon, with much uneasiness
concerning my meeting and future intercourse with Lady Arabella; for I
had not seen her since the occurrence in Sir Peter’s study. Although
my affection for her was for ever killed by that box on the ear she
gave me, yet no man can see a woman shamed before him without pain, and
the anticipation of Lady Arabella’s feelings when she saw me troubled
me. But this was what actually happened when we met. Lady Arabella
was sitting in the Chinese drawing-room, her lap-dog in her arms,
surrounded by half a dozen fops. Lady Hawkshaw had left the room for
a moment, and Arabella had taken the opportunity of showing her trick
of holding out her dog’s paws and kissing his nose, which she called
measuring love-ribbon. This performance never failed to throw gentlemen
into ecstasies. Daphne sat near, with her work in her lap and a book
on the table by her, smiling rather disdainfully. I do not think the
cousins loved each other.
On my appearance in the drawing-room, I scarcely dared look toward Lady
Arabella; but she called out familiarly,--
“Come here, Dicky!” (her habit of calling me Dicky annoyed me very
much), “and let me show you how I kiss Fido’s nose; and if you are
a good boy, and will tell me all about the meeting this morning,
perhaps I may hold your paws out and kiss your nose,”--at which all
the gentlemen present laughed loudly. I never was so embarrassed in my
life, and my chagrin was increased when, suddenly dropping the dog,
she rushed at me, seized my hands, and, holding them off at full arm’s
length, imprinted a sounding smack upon my nose, and laughingly cried
out, “One yard!” ( Smack on my nose again.) “Two yards!” (Smack.)
“Three yards!” (Smack.)
At this juncture I recovered my presence of mind enough to seize her
around the waist, and return her smacks with interest full in the
mouth. And at this stage of the proceedings Lady Hawkshaw appeared
upon the scene.
In an instant an awful hush fell upon us. For my part I felt my knees
sinking under me, and I had that feeling of mortal sickness which I had
felt in my first sea-fight, and at the instant I thought my friend’s
life in jeopardy. Lady Arabella stood up, for once, confused. The
gentlemen all retired gracefully to the wall, in order not to interrupt
the proceedings, and Daphne fixed her eyes upon me, sparkling with
indignation.
Lady Hawkshaw’s voice, when she spoke, seemed to come from the tombs of
the Pharaohs.
“What is this _countrytom_ I see?” she asked. And nobody answered a
word.
Jeames, the tall footman, stood behind her; and to him she turned,
saying in a tone like thunder,--
“Jeames, go and tell Sir Peter Hawkshaw that I desire his presence
immediately upon a matter of the greatest importance.”
The footman literally ran down stairs, and presently Sir Peter came
puffing up from the lower regions. Lady Arabella had recovered herself
then enough to hum a little tune and to pat the floor with her satin
slipper.
Sir Peter walked in, surveyed us all, and turned pale. I verily believe
he thought Arabella had been caught cheating at cards.
“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw, in the same awful voice, “I
unexpectedly entered this room a few moments ago, and the sight that
met my eyes was Arabella struggling in the arms of this young ruffian,
Richard Glyn, who was kissing her with the greatest fury imaginable.”