The two faced each other, and the next instant were _en rapport_;
talking the matter over as cool as cucumbers and sweet as sugar-plums.
From observation, I hazard this remark--that the politeness exhibited
between the seconds in a duel cannot be surpassed by that of the most
accomplished courtiers in the world.
The time occupied in the business was brief. Gallagher well knew the
routine, and I saw that the other was not entirely unacquainted with it.
In five minutes, everything was arranged--place, weapons, and distance.
I nodded; Gallagher made a sweeping salaam; the aide-de-camp bowed
stiffly and withdrew.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I shall not trouble you with my reflections previous to the duel, nor
yet with many details of the affair itself. Accounts of these deadly
encounters are common enough in books, and their sameness will serve as
my excuse for not describing one.
Ours differed only from the ordinary kind in the weapon used. We fought
with _rifles_, instead of swords or pistols. It was my choice--as the
challenged party, I had the right--but it was equally agreeable to my
adversary, who was as well skilled in the use of the rifle as I. I
chose this weapon because it was the _deadliest_.
The time arranged was an hour before sunset. I had urged this early
meeting in fear of interruption; the place, a spot of level ground near
the edge of the little pond where I had met Haj-Ewa; the distance, ten
paces.
We met--took our places, back to back--waited for the ominous signal,
"one, two, three,"--received it--faced rapidly round--and fired at each
other.
I heard the "hist" of the leaden pellet as it passed my ear, but felt no
stroke.
The smoke puffed upward. I saw my antagonist upon the ground: he was
not dead; he was writhing and groaning.
The seconds, and several spectators who were present, ran up to him, but
I kept my ground.
"Well, Gallagher?" I asked, as my friend came back to me.
"Winged, by japers! You've spoilt the use ov his dexter arm--bone broke
above the ilbow-joint."
"That all?"
"Arrah, sowl! aren't it enough? Hear how the hound whimpers!"
I felt as the tiger is said to feel after tasting blood, though I cannot
now account for my ferocity. The man had sought my life--I thirsted for
his. This combined with the other thought had nigh driven me mad.
I was not satisfied, and would make no apology; but my antagonist had
had enough; he was eager to be taken from the ground on any terms, and
thus the affair ended.
It was my first duel, but not my last.