The next day, Monday, the 8th of April, the weather was very fine. I
found the Doctor on deck basking in the sun. He came up to me. “Ah
well!” said he, “our poor sufferer died in the night. The doctor never
gave him up—oh, those doctors! they never will give in. This is the
fourth man we have lost since we left Liverpool, the fourth gone towards
paying the ‘Great Eastern’s’ debt, and we are not at the end of our
voyage yet.”
“Poor fellow,” said I, “just as we are nearing port, and the American
coast almost in sight. What will become of his widow and little
children?”
“Would you have it otherwise, my dear sir. It is the law, the great law!
we must die! We must give way to others. It is my opinion we die simply
because we are occupying a place which by rights belongs to another. Now
can you tell me how many people will have died during my existence if I
live to be sixty?”
“I have no idea, Doctor.”
“The calculation is simple enough,” resumed Dean Pitferge. “If I live
sixty years, I shall have been in the world 21,900 days, or 525,600
hours, or 31,536,000 minutes, or lastly, 1,892,160,000 seconds, in round
numbers 2,000,000,000 seconds. Now in that time two thousand millions
individuals who were in the way of their successors will have died, and
when I have become inconvenient, I shall be put out of the way in the
same manner, so that the long and short of the matter is to put off
becoming inconvenient as long as possible.”
The Doctor continued for some time arguing on this subject, tending to
prove to me a very simple theory, the mortality of human creatures. I
did not think it worth while to discuss the point with him, so I let him
have his say. Whilst we paced backwards and forwards, the Doctor
talking, and I listening, I noticed that the carpenters on board were
busy repairing the battered stem. If Captain Anderson did not wish to
arrive in New York with damages, the carpenters would have to hurry over
their work, for the “Great Eastern” was rapidly speeding through the
tranquil waters; this I understood from the lively demeanour of the
young lovers, who no longer thought of counting the turns of the wheels.
The long pistons expanded, and the enormous cylinders heaving on their
axle-swings, looked like a great peal of bells clanging together at
random. The wheels made eleven revolutions a minute, and the steam-ship
went at the rate of thirteen miles an hour.
At noon the officers dispensed with making an observation; they knew
their situation by calculation, and land must be signalled before long.
While I was walking on deck after lunch, Captain Corsican came up. I
saw, from the thoughtful expression on his face, that he had something
to tell me.
“Fabian,” said he, “has received Drake’s seconds. I am to be his second,
and he begs me to ask you if you would kindly be present on the
occasion. He may rely on you?”
“Yes, Captain; so all hope of deferring or preventing this meeting has
vanished?”
“All hope.”
“But tell me, how did the quarrel arise?”
“A discussion about the play was a pretext for it, nothing else. The
fact is if Fabian was not aware who Harry Drake was, it is quite evident
he knew Fabian, and the name of Fabian is so odious to him that he would
gladly slay the man to whom it belongs.”
“Who are Drake’s seconds?” I asked.
“One of them is that actor—”
“Doctor T——?”
“Just so; the other is a Yankee I do not know.”
“When are you to expect them?”
“I am waiting for them here.”
And just as he spoke I saw the seconds coming towards us. Doctor T——
cleared his throat; he undoubtedly thought a great deal more of himself
as the representative of a rogue. His companion, another of Drake’s
associates, was one of those extraordinary merchants who has always for
sale anything you may ask him to buy.
Doctor T—— spoke first, after making a very emphatic bow, which Captain
Corsican hardly condescended to acknowledge.
“Gentlemen,” said Doctor T——, in a grave tone, “our friend Drake, a
gentleman whose merit and deportment cannot fail to be appreciated by
every one, has sent us to arrange a somewhat delicate affair with you;
that is to say, Captain Fabian Mac Elwin, to whom we first addressed
ourselves, referred us to you as his representative. I hope that we
shall be able to come to an understanding between ourselves worthy the
position of gentlemen touching the delicate object of our mission.”
We made no reply, but allowed the gentleman to become embarrassed with
his delicacy.
“Gentlemen,” continued he, “there is not the remotest doubt but that
Captain Mac Elwin is in the wrong. That gentleman has unreasonably, and
without the slightest pretext, questioned the honour of Harry Drake’s
proceedings in a matter of play, and without any provocation offered him
the greatest insult a gentleman could receive.”
These honeyed words made the Captain impatient, he bit his moustache,
and could refrain speaking no longer.
“Come to the point,” said he sharply to Doctor T——, whose speech he had
interrupted, “we don’t want so many words; the affair is simple enough;
Captain Mac Elwin raised his hand against Mr. Drake, your friend
accepted the blow, he assumes the part of the offended, and demands
satisfaction. He has the choice of arms. What next?”
“Does Captain Mac Elwin accept the challenge?” asked the Doctor, baffled
by Corsican’s tone.
“Decidedly.”
“Our friend, Harry Drake, has chosen swords.”
“Very well, and where is the engagement to take place? In New York?”
“No, here on board.”
“On board, be it so; at what time? To-morrow morning?”
“This evening at six o’clock, at the end of the upper deck, which will
be deserted at that time.”
“Very well.”
Thus saying, the Captain took my arm, and turned his back on Dr. T——.