At the time of which I write duelling was not uncommon in the United
States army. In _war-time_, it is not uncommon yet, as I can testify
from late experience. It is contrary to the regulations of the American
service--as I believe it is of every other in the civilised world.
Notwithstanding, an infringement of the _code militaire_ in this regard,
is usually looked upon with leniency--more often "winked at" than
punished. This much I can affirm--that any officer in the American army
who has received the "lie direct," will find more honour in the breach
of this military rule than in its observance.
After all that has been said and written about duelling, the outcry
against it is a sad sham, at least in the United States of America--
nothing less than a piece of superb hypocrisy. Universal as has been
this condemnation, I should not like to take shelter under it. I well
know that it would not protect me from being called by that ugly
appellation, "poltroon." I have noticed over and over again, that the
newspapers loudest in their declamations against duelling, are the first
to fling "coward" in the teeth of him who refuses to fight.
It is even so. In America, moral courage, though much be-praised, does
not find ready credence. A refusal to meet the man who may challenge
you is not thus explained. It is called "backing out," "shewing the
white feather;" and he who does this, need look no more upon his
ladye-love; she would "flog him with her garters."
More than once have I heard this threat, spoken by pretty lips, and in
the centre of a brilliant circle. His moral courage must be great who
would provoke such chastisement. With such a sentiment over the land,
then, I had nailed Arens Ringgold for a meeting; and I joyed to think I
had done so without compromising my secret.
But ah! it was a painful provocation he had given me; and if he had been
the greatest coward in the world, he could not have been more wretched
than I, as I returned to my quarters.
My jovial companion could no longer cheer me, though it was not fear for
the coming fight that clouded my spirits. Far from it--far otherwise.
I scarcely thought of that. My thoughts were of Maumee--of what I had
just heard. She was false--false--betraying, herself betrayed--lost--
lost forever!
In truth was I wretched. One thing alone could have rendered me more
so--an obstacle to the anticipated meeting--anything to hinder my
revenge. On the duel now rested my hopes. It might enable me to
disembarrass my heart of the hot blood that was burning it. Not all--
unless he too stood before me--he, the seducer who had made this misery.
Would I could find pretext for challenging him. I should do so yet.
Why had I not? Why did I not strike him for that smile? I could have
fought them both at the same time, one after the other.
Thus I raved, with Gallagher by my side. My friend knew not all my
secret. He asked what I had got "aginst the aide-de-cong."
"Say the word, Geordie, boy, an' we'll make a four-handed game ov it.
Be Saint Pathrick! I'd like mightily to take the shine out of that
purty paycock!"
"No, Gallagher, no. It's not your affair; you could not give _me_
satisfaction for that. Let us wait till we know more. I cannot believe
it--I cannot believe it."
"Believe what?"
"Not now, my friend. When it is over I shall explain."
"All right, my boy! Charley Gallagher's not the man to disturb your
saycrets. Now let's look to the bull-dogs, an' make shure they're in
barking condition. I hope the scamps won't blab at head-quarters, an'
disappoint us after all."
It was my only fear. I knew that arrest was possible--probable--
certain, if my adversary wished it. Arrest would put an end to the
affair; and I should be left in a worse position than ever. Ringgold's
father was gone--I had ascertained this favourable circumstance; but no
matter. The commander-in-chief was the friend of the family--a word in
his ear would be sufficient. I feared that the aide-de-camp Scott,
instructed by Arens, might whisper that word.
"After all, he daren't," said Gallagher; "you driv the nail home, an'
clinched it. He daren't do the dhirty thing--not a bit of it; it might
get wind, an' thin he'd have the kettle to his tail; besides, _ma
bohill_, he wants to kill you anyhow; so he ought to be glad of the fine
handy chance you've given him. He's not a bad shot, they say. Never
fear, Geordie, boy! he won't back out this time; he must fight--he will
fight. Ha! I told you so. See, yonder comes Apollo Belvidare! Holy
Moses! how Phoebus shines!"
A knock--"Come in,"--the door was opened, and the aide-de-camp appeared
in full uniform.
"To arrest me," thought I, and my heart fell.
But no; the freshly written note spoke a different purpose, and I was
relieved. It was the challenge.
"Lieutenant Randolph, I believe," said the gentleman, advancing towards
me.