It was hardly daylight when my little black attendant brought a glass
of mint-julep to my bed-side, and told me it was time to rise; and I
had hardly refused the beverage, which I did not choose to take that
morning, of all others, when Zed hobbled in with his white wool, and
his face as polished as an ebony cabinet, all glowing with excitement.
I understood quite well that he knew all about the business in hand,
and he seemed to look upon himself as a sort of squire to a knight
arming for the tilt-yard, eager and anxious for his master to do great
deeds, and never for a moment doubting his success.
The morning was a dull and cheerless one, though it was warm enough.
The sky was covered; and a thin, white mist hung over the ground, not
sufficient to hide objects, even at two or three hundred yards'
distance, but sufficient to render them somewhat hazy and indistinct.
In fact, it was a morning quite in harmony with the business I was
about.
However, I was soon dressed and in the drawing-room, where I found
Billy Byles already up and waiting for me.
"I hope you have taken your mint-julep," he said; "it will steady your
hand."
"Thank you," I answered; "my hand is quite steady enough, and I don't
think brandy would make it any firmer."
"Well, come and take some breakfast, at all events," said my host;
"never fight upon an empty stomach."
"I have been obliged to do so before now," I answered; "but I will
take some breakfast if we have time; for, to say truth, I am very
hungry."
"Oh, plenty of time, plenty of time," answered Mr. Byles. "I always
like to be on the ground first, so I took care you should be called
early enough. Wheatley will be here in a minute. I woke him myself,
and the lazy dog said the great bore of fighting duels was the getting
up in the mornings."
We had not been five minutes at table when Mr. Wheatley appeared, just
as gay and unconcerned as ever; and although I could not help feeling
an impression of some heavy thing impending, I joined in the
conversation as cheerfully as I could, feeling that it was of no use
to think of what was coming, when it could not be avoided. It had been
agreed that we should proceed to the ground in Mr. Wheatley's
double-seated carriage; and about twenty minutes after we sat down to
breakfast, it was announced that the vehicle was at the door.
When I went out I found three or four negroes, beside Zed, surrounding
the carriage. Mr. Wheatley and I took our seats in front: Billy Byles
sprang into the hinder division: Zed scrambled in beside him, with the
pistol-case under his arm, and away we went towards the place of
encounter. The moment we started I could see two or three of the negro
boys take to their heels and run on towards the woods as fast as their
legs could carry them; and I could not but think of the speech of the
poor old Scotch nobleman when going to be beheaded: "You need not run
so fast, boys: there will be no fun till I come."
Billy Byles acted as pilot, directing Mr. Wheatley how he was to
drive; and I must say a rougher ride I never took in my life; for we
went over fields without the slightest pretension to a road; fences we
pulled down unceremoniously to let us pass; and I certainly did think
more than once that the whole business would end in our getting our
necks broken. I was afraid, too, that various evolutions and
man[oe]uvres which we had to perform would make us late; and more than
once I took out my watch to see how the time went.
"Plenty of time, plenty of time," said Billy Byles. "You see that wood
there; well, that's the Hunter-wood, and we just cross the narrow part
by the path into the savannah, and there we are."
The wood was soon reached, and out we all got, for the carriage could
go no further.
"Here, give me the pistols," said Mr. Byles; "you stay here by the
horses: we shall be back in half an hour." And leading the way by a
very narrow path, he speedily brought us to that long strip of open
ground which I have before described, and which I had passed in
pleasant talk with Bessy Davenport. We now struck it considerably
higher up, however, and at no great distance from the high road to
Jerusalem. But it had a much more melancholy aspect now than when I
first saw it. The mist which I have mentioned rested more heavily in
that narrow avenue; and the trees cut off all the rays of the sun, who
was struggling, as he rose, to disperse the gray clouds that covered
the sky. All was sombre and cheerless-looking, and Billy Byles laid
down the pistol-case under a live oak-tree, and rubbed his hands as if
it had been winter.
I gazed up and down the long open strip, to see if my antagonist was
apparent, and Mr. Byles exclaimed, in a congratulatory tone, "First on
the field, you see, Sir Richard! but we have five minutes yet to
spare. I won't open the case till they come, for this unpleasant mist
may damp the tools."
"Rather bat-fowling work," said Mr. Wheatley. "Lucky you chose
pistols, for I don't think one could see at rifle-range."
Before the five minutes were over, a gig, with two men on horseback,
appeared towards the high-road end of the savannah, halted there, and
having tied the horses to the trees, came forward on foot towards the
place where we were standing. Before they came quite close, they
paused again; and a somewhat sharp discussion seemed to go on between
Mr. Robert Thornton, whom I could now distinguish, and one of his
companions, for their gestures were exceedingly animated.
They then approached, and Mr. Thornton saluted me by touching his hat,
to which I returned a silent bow.
"Well, Sir Richard," he said, "for my own part, I don't see why you
should not apologize even now, if you like it."
"I have no apology to make," I replied; "and, moreover, we came here,
I think, to act, and not to talk."
As I said this, I turned away and took a step or two up and down the
meadow, leaving the gentlemen who had accompanied me and Mr. Thornton
to make their arrangements as usual. They were all pretty well skilled
and experienced in the business, I imagine; for the pistols were
loaded and the ground measured out very rapidly. I was not sorry for
this, as I had nothing to amuse myself with but watching some
half-dozen black faces, peeping out from behind the trees at the end
of the wood.
"Now, Sir Richard," said Mr. Byles, stepping up to me with a pistol in
his hand, "you will have the goodness to stand here, where I have put
down my glove. The words are, 'One, two, three, fire!' but you can
fire any time after the word 'Three.'"
"Mind, you keep your arm to your side, and cover your angles," said
Mr. Wheatley.
"I will take care," I answered, with a smile; "I am not quite
inexperienced in such affairs."
"I suppose not, from the way you take it," he replied.
And when they had placed me in a proper position, my two friends
withdrew.
I could see that my adversary, Mr. Robert Thornton, marched up to his
ground with every appearance of boldness. I had been rather inclined,
by his preceding conduct, to think that he was somewhat nervous; but
no symptom of timidity was now apparent, except indeed a slight touch
of swagger in his walk and manner.
As he stood before me, I measured him deliberately with my eyes, and
thought I had him very sure. He stood on a somewhat angular position,
which I was sorry for, as I did not wish to injure him severely, or
run the risk of killing him; though I certainly did intend to wound
him so as to prevent him doing any more mischief for the present.
There seemed to be some little talk between himself, his second, and
another friend--about what I know not; and then the two gentlemen left
him, and a moment after the words were given by Mr. Wheatley.
A slight degree of hesitation, remorse, or what you will, made me
reserve my shot till the word "Fire!" had been pronounced. My
antagonist fired at the word "Three," but his ball went quite wild. I
then raised my hand and fired, being perfectly certain of hitting him,
I thought somewhere about the elbow. I fancied, too, that I saw him
stagger a little, but he did not fall; and he exclaimed, loudly,--
"Give me another pistol!"
Billy Byles and Mr. Wheatley both ran up to me with a fresh weapon,
and while the former put it in my hands, the latter whispered,--
"Mind what you are about. He will aim better this time; you have
grazed him, and his blood is up. Don't try to spare him, or you'll get
killed yourself."
It all passed in a moment, and they were gone back to their places
before I well knew what had occurred. I continued, however, to eye my
antagonist deliberately while the words were spoken, and I could see
that he was scanning me in the same manner. This time we both fired
together at the word "Three;" and, almost before I heard the report, I
felt a smart blow upon the arm, which made me recoil a little with a
sensation as if a piece of hot iron had been run into the flesh; but
Robert Thornton fell back at once, amidst the long grass, and I lost
sight of him.
My two friends were up with me in a moment.
"You are wounded! you are wounded!" said Billy Byles, with friendly
anxiety. "I saw you stagger; you must be wounded."
"But slightly," I replied; "take the pistol, and just get my
handkerchief out of the pocket."
I had learned a little of surgery in India, and saw, by the jerking of
the stream of blood which was flowing from my arm, that some artery
was cut. I therefore made my two friends fold the handkerchief and tie
it tightly some way above the wound, by which means the bleeding was
soon reduced in quantity, though it continued to ooze a little, though
not sufficient to do any harm.
I then turned my eyes to the spot where my opponent had stood. Three
persons had now gathered round him, one of whom had raised Thornton's
head and shoulders on his knee.
"You have done for him!" said Billy Byles; "he seems as dead as a
mackerel."
"I hope not," I replied. "I did not intend it; but he stood awkwardly,
and it was impossible to be sure of one's shot. I do hope he is not
killed."
"Pooh, nonsense!" ejaculated Mr. Wheatley. "What did he come here for,
but to kill you, or be killed himself? We had better make the best of
our way to my buggy, and get home as soon as possible, for I suspect
the ball is still in your arm, and we must send for the surgeon."
"I will see how he is, first," I answered; and walked quietly up to
the spot where my antagonist lay.
His friends were perfectly gentlemanly and polite; and the two who
were standing up bowed civilly as I approached.
"I am afraid he is gone, Sir Richard," said one of them.
"I hope not," I replied, with a sensation I cannot describe. "I can
assure you I did not intend it; I only sought to wound him."
"You did that at the first fire," answered the other. "See here--your
second shot has gone through his chest."
I now perceived that the blood was streaming from one wound in the
fleshy part of the back, just below the shoulder-blade, and behind the
right arm. This seemed of no great consequence; for it was clear it
had not penetrated the chest; but there was another wound much more
formidable in appearance, where the ball had entered the side, just in
front of the arm, and had issued out at the other side a little
further forward. That it had touched the lungs I could not doubt; but
though I do not know much of anatomy, I felt sure that the heart must
have escaped, notwithstanding the death-like paleness of his face, and
the state of complete insensibility in which he lay. I knelt down, and
put my fingers on his wrist; the pulse was very feeble, but still
beating free, and I said,--
"Gentlemen, he is not dead, and I should hope will soon recover. If
you would take my advice, you would try and restrain the bleeding as
much as possible. Get him to the nearest house, and send for a surgeon
immediately. The shaking of a carriage may produce great hemorrhage;
but there are a number of negroes about who can carry him more
easily."
"Hi, boys!" cried Billy Byles; "come here, come here!"
And immediately at least a dozen black men and lads ran out from the
woods towards the scene of action.
"You had better get home yourself, sir," said the gentleman who had
before spoken to me; "for I see you also are wounded, and the blood is
running off the tips of your fingers. One thing I will say, Sir
Richard; a fairer fight I never beheld. You have behaved quite like a
gentleman, and a man of honour, and a d----d good shot too."
Seeing that I could be of no further service, I bowed and retired from
the ground. As we walked along through the little path in the wood, it
became a question where I was to go. Mr. Byles wanted me to return
with him to his house; but Mr. Wheatley, more prudently, urged that I
should go back at once to Mr. Stringer's. "It is nearer by a mile," he
said; "and, besides, he will have plenty of women there to take care
of him. He-nurses are always bad ones, my friend; and, moreover, there
may be certain persons who may tease their little hearts to death, to
know how he is going on, who would not venture to come to the house of
a gay bachelor to see him."
This latter argument was very conclusive in my own mind; but I made
light of the wound, saying, "Oh, this is a mere nothing. I shall be
well in a few days." Although, to say sooth, I felt very unpleasantly
faint.
We soon reached the carriage, which we found tied to a tree; for Zed,
it appears, would not be debarred the pleasure of sharing in the day's
sport. He came hobbling after us, the next instant, however; untied
the horses, placed the pistol-case under the seat, and after fumbling
for a minute in a corner, produced an old champagne-bottle, which he
held out to me, saying,--
"Here, master, take a drop o' dis--good old rye; you look mighty
white, and bleeding like piggie. My ole massa never go out to fight
without taking some rye wid him in case of de worse."
I took some of the whisky, which, to say the truth, was not altogether
unnecessary, for I had lost a good deal of blood. Then, requesting my
two companions to tie the handkerchief still tighter, I got into the
carriage, and we drove off towards Mr. Stringer's.