THE DUEL IN THE MOONLIGHT.
The plantation of Silas Craig, at Iberville, was situated, as we
have already said, upon the borders of a wood; a luxuriant forest,
stretching for miles upon the banks of the Mississippi, varied every
here and there by undulating dells and pools of water, lying hidden
beneath the shadows of giant trees, whose branches had waved for
centuries above a solitude, broken only by the fleet foot of the Indian.
It was in this forest that the unhappy and martyred quadroon Francilia
lay in her quiet grave--a grassy mound, marked only by the rude wooden
cross erected at its head by the faithful mulatto, Toby.
Here, at least, the lovely child of an accursed and trampled race was
free. Here no master dared molest her tranquil slumber. Death sets the
slave and the prisoner alike at liberty.
The red sun sank in crimson splendor beneath the purple waters of the
mighty river; upon every forest tree gleamed golden reflections of the
dying light; upon the bosom of each quiet pool the last sunbeams faded
and flickered in the shadowy twilight, while, calmly beautiful, the
moon arose in her tranquil glory, bathing forest and river in a flood
of silvery radiance.
The last glimmer of crimson light was slowly fading as two men advanced
through one of the pathways of the wood--a pathway so overarched by the
rich spreading branches of the trees that it seemed one verdant arcade.
Each of these men carried a carbine upon his shoulder, and a powder
flask slung at his side.
The first was William Bowen, the second, who closely followed his
companion, was Augustus Horton. They emerged from the arcade into an
open piece of turf, around which the trunks of the giant trees formed a
species of a wall.
"Where, in the name of all that's diabolical, are you leading me,
Bill?" said Augustus, looking about him.
"I guess you don't know your way in this here wood by moonlight, Mr.
Horton," answered Bill Bowen, laughing; "but we're all right for all
that. That is the spot where we appointed to meet that young Englishman
and your precious cousin, Mr. Mortimer Percy, who ought to be ashamed
of himself for taking a Britisher's part against his own countryman,
and against his own flesh and blood, too, as far as that goes."
"Curse him!" muttered Augustus between his teeth.
"Curse him, and welcome, sir, for my part--but this is where we
promised to meet him and his friend. We're close against Craig's
plantation. You could see the nigger huts through the trees if the
leaves were not so tarnation thick."
"Hark!" said the young planter; "what's that?"
The rustling of the leaves announced the arrival of the two men for
whom they waited. They approached by the same pathway as that by which
Augustus and Bill had come.
"What's that?" echoed Bowen; "why, it's your cousin and his friend, I
guess; so keep your powder dry."
Mortimer Percy and Gilbert Margrave drew near them as William Bowen
spoke. The four men bowed stiffly to each other.
"I fear that we have kept you waiting," said Mortimer. "We lost our way
in the dusk, and have wasted ten minutes in finding it."
"Bowen and I have only just arrived," answered Augustus. "Have you
brought your own weapons?"
"We couldn't get a pair of dueling pistols in the neighborhood,"
replied Percy; "but I have brought a case of revolvers."
"Revolvers be hanged!" cried Bowen, advancing between Augustus Horton
and his cousin. "I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen; the best thing
that you can do is to fight with these here carbines--neither of which
has ever missed fire since they came out of the gun-maker's hands.
See yonder!" he added, pointing to a circular dell, shut in by the
trees which sheltered it, and light as day in the broad moonbeams;
"see there, gentlemen, yonder bit of ground ain't above a hundred feet
broad, take it which way you will, so my advice is this, take up your
stand on each side of the circle, and at a given signal advance upon
each other. That'll give your duel the additional charm of the chase.
What say you?"
"You forget," said Mr. Mortimer; "Mr. Margrave does not know the
ground."
"Then we are perfectly equal upon that point," replied Augustus Horton;
"for Bowen will tell you that I never set foot here until to-night."
"Come, gentlemen," cried Bill, impatiently, "is it agreed?"
"It is!" answered Gilbert Margrave and Mortimer Percy.
"Then choose your weapon," said Bowen, handing Mortimer the two
carbines.
The young man carefully measured the instruments of death, and returned
one to his cousin's second.
"Are they loaded?" he asked.
"No," answered Bowen, handing him powder and ball. "Will you remain on
this side of the ground?"
"Yes."
"Good! then it is for you to cross over to the other side of yonder
dell, I guess. Mr. Horton, come!"
"But the signal?" exclaimed Mortimer.
"Shall be a shout from me," answered Bowen; "we'll give you ten minutes
to load your weapon and bid your friend good-by, for if Mr. Horton's
anything as good a shot as I take him for, there ain't much chance of
your seeing the Britisher again!"
The two men disappeared amongst the foliage, and the friends were alone.
"Miss Leslie knows nothing of this duel, I suppose?" said Mortimer,
busy loading the carbine.
"Nothing!" answered Gilbert. "Poor girl, I allowed her to believe that,
for her sake, I had renounced all thought of vengeance upon the man who
had insulted her!"
"Perhaps that's the wisest thing you could have done; for however this
affair may terminate, I fear it will be a troublesome business for you.
Men's minds are strangely excited just now; the Southern blood is up,
and should you escape safe and sound from this duel, I doubt but you
will have to secure the protection of the British consul to save you
from the fury of the populace. Once sheltered by the dreaded flag of
old England, neither North nor South dare touch a hair of your head;
for if they should assail you, it would be the kindling of such a storm
as would blot the stars and stripes of America from the universe."
"When a man sees a woman he loves insulted by a coward, he does not
stop to reason," answered Gilbert; "the only thing that distresses me
in this matter, is the thought that, instead of protecting my adored
Cora, I have only brought upon her new dangers. You are the only man in
America whom I call my friend. You have already given me such powerful
proofs of your friendship, that I think I may venture to demand of you
one last service."
"Speak, Gilbert, speak. We have indeed been fast and faithful friends;
to-night, above all other nights, I can refuse you nothing."
"Listen, then. My first care on leaving the Selma, was to engage a
boat, which is to carry us back to Lake Pontchartrain this very night.
Promise me, that if I fall, you will yourself protect Cora, and restore
her to her father's arms?"
"I promise," answered Mortimer, fervently.
"Thanks, thanks!"
The two men shook hands, both too much affected for many words.
"But tell me, Gilbert," said Mortimer Percy, after a pause, "what was
Miss Leslie's motive for coming to Iberville?"
"Her mother died here. She comes to pay her first visit to the lonely
grave of Francilia, the quadroon."
"Ah! I understand. Poor girl, poor girl!"
"I left her with the mulatto, Toby, who was to conduct her to the spot.
At ten o'clock she will return to the landing-place on the river, where
the boat will wait for us."
"Enough," said Mortimer, in a voice broken by emotion, "whatever
happens I will be there to protect her."
At this moment a loud shout resounded through the stillness of the
forest scene.
It was the signal.
"Take your weapon, Gilbert," said Mortimer, placing the carbine in
Margrave's hand. "Augustus Horton is my cousin--you are my friend. I
dare not pray for the safety of either, at the cost of the other's
death. The moonlit heavens are shining down upon us, and the eye of
Providence watches the struggle. Farewell!"
They clasped each other's hands once more in silence. Then Gilbert
Margrave dashed forward through the brushwood, and disappeared in the
dell below.
Mortimer Percy paced up and down the dewy turf, listening for the
report of their guns.
"What is this?" he exclaimed as he laid his hand upon his beating
heart. "For which of these two men do I tremble? This, then, is
America, of whose freedom her citizens so proudly boast! Here are two
men met together to shed each other's blood, because one of them has
dared to uphold the cause of a daughter of the despised race. Hark!"
It was for the report of the fire-arms that he listened, but the sound
which met his ear was of altogether a different nature. It was the
evening chorus of the negroes, floating upon the tranquil air. A sweet
harmonious strain of melody, which breathed of peace and repose:
"Day is dying, day is gone,
Weary niggers, rest;
Work all day, and toil and moan,
Quiet night is best!"
"Poor fellows," said Mortimer, "they are Craig's negroes, returning to
their cabins after the day's labor. They sing, poor simple creatures.
The overseer's lash cannot destroy the quiet content of their honest
hearts. How easily might a good master make them happy."
Again the voices rise upon the balmy air:
"Far from home, and child, and wife,
Weary niggers, weep,
Day goes by in toil and strife,
Night brings peace and sleep."
The voices slowly died away in the distance, echoing mournfully through
the woodland glades, as the negroes passed out of hearing.
Mortimer Percy still listened--eagerly, breathlessly--for that other
awful sound which would announce the commencement of the combat.
"Nothing yet!" he exclaimed; "If I turn the corner of yon group of
trees I run the chance of being struck by a random bullet; but come the
worse, I must risk it; I can endure this suspense no longer."
He sprang through the forest growth in the same direction as that taken
by Gilbert Margrave.
He had not disappeared above three minutes when from the opposite side
of the wood two figures slowly approached, casting long shadows on the
moonlit grass.
The first was a man, the second a woman. It was the mulatto slave,
Toby, who came hither to lead the Octoroon to her mother's grave.
"That song which you heard just now, Miss Cora, has been sung many a
night above your cradle to lull you to sleep."
"My mother sang it?" exclaimed Cora.
"She did, she did! The sound of that song, my lady, will bring tears to
Toby's eyes until the hour when they close in death."
"Faithful friend!"
"You are sad, dear mistress, you are uneasy?" said the mulatto. The
intense watchfulness of the slave's affection enabled him to detect
every varying shade in Cora's manner. He saw that her mind was
disturbed by some anxiety.
"I am anxious about Mr. Margrave, Toby," she replied; "he promised to
rejoin us ere this."
"The English gentleman may have had some difficulty in engaging a boat,
dear mistress. You have seen the poor cabin in which your mother passed
the two last months of her life. It is near this spot she reposes."
The slave looked about him in the moonlight and presently paused at
the foot of an enormous oak. Pushing aside the wild overgrowth which
obscured it, he revealed a rough-hewn wood cross surmounting a humble
mound of earth, which had been neatly turfed by the same faithful hand
that had erected this simple monument.
Upon the cross this inscription had been carved in letters cut deep
into the wood:
"FRANCILIA. July 7th, 1845."
Below this name and date were three words. Those words were:
"BLOOD FOR BLOOD."
"See, Miss Cora," said the mulatto, "this is a lonely spot, though so
near to the plantation. Few ever come here, for yonder dell is said to
be haunted by the spirit of an Indian who was cruelly murdered there
a hundred years ago. No hand has disturbed this cross. It may be that
no human eye has ever seen the inscription, but the all-seeing eye of
Providence has looked upon these words for fifteen weary years."
"Oh, spirit of my murdered mother!" exclaimed the young girl, lifting
her clasped hands toward the effulgent sky. "Spirit of the unhappy
and injured one, look down upon your daughter! May heaven forgive the
sins of him who caused thy unhappy fate. May heaven pity and pardon my
wretched father. I cannot curse him. Here on the grave of his victim,
on the grave of a victim of a wicked and cruel prejudice, I pity and
forgive him, for he needs all pity, since he has sinned."
At this moment the report of a gun sounded in the dell near at hand.
Cora rose suddenly from her knees, pale and terrified. "Toby," she
cried, "Toby, did you hear?"
Before the mulatto could reply, Mortimer Percy sprang through the
parted branches that bordered the dell, and rushed toward where they
stood. He recoiled upon seeing Cora.
"You here, Miss Leslie!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, yes. Tell me what was that report?"
"That! Some--some hunter, no doubt."
He had scarcely spoken when a second gun was fired.
"No, no, Mr. Percy!" cried Cora, wildly, "it is no hunter's carbine. A
woman's unfailing instinct tells me of danger to him I love. Gilbert
Margrave has been fighting a duel with your cousin."
Augustus Horton appeared as she spoke, walking backward and gazing
intently into the dell.
"I must have surely hit him," he muttered.
"See, see!" cried Cora, "His antagonist is safe. It is he who has
fallen. Run, Toby, run to succor him."
Half fainting with terror and anguish, she would have fallen to the
ground had not Mortimer's extended arm caught her in time. He carried
her prostrate form to a rocky seat close at hand, on which she rested
with her head still lying on his shoulder.
Augustus Horton advanced toward them, and recognized the Octoroon in
the moonlight.
"She here!" he cried. "Cora!"
The passionate love of his guilty heart returned as he gazed upon the
unconscious girl, and a thrill of jealousy vibrated through the dark
recesses of his soul, as he beheld the lovely head of the Octoroon
resting upon Mortimer's shoulder.
"I am not surprised, Percy, at your sympathy for Gerald Leslie's
daughter," he said, with a sneer; "she is, of course, one of your
friends, for she dared to turn me out of her house, dismissing me from
her presence as if she had been a queen."
"You!" exclaimed Percy.
"Yes," replied his cousin, "because I had the impertinence to pay her a
few idle compliments."
"Augustus Horton," said Mortimer, gravely, "you remember a clause in
our contract of partnership, which provides for the agreement being
canceled at pleasure, by either of the two partners?"
"I do."
"Then I am the first to cancel that bond. From this night I cease to be
your partner."
"So be it!" replied Augustus. "It is not for me to object to such
a proposal, but have a care, Mortimer, and remember that by such a
proceeding you lose half your estate."
"I shall have enough left to enable me to live far from a country which
I henceforth renounce. As to your sister, you can tell her that I
restore her her liberty."
"That is needless," answered Augustus, haughtily, "for she herself has
declared her intention of breaking with you for ever."
"How?"
"She has presumed to fall in love with Mr. Gilbert Margrave, the
gentleman who prefers an Octoroon to the heiress of one of the proudest
families in Louisiana."
"It was jealousy, then, that prompted her denunciation of Cora Leslie,"
said Mortimer.
"It was."
"So much the better for her. That, at least, is some excuse for her
conduct. Hush! Here they come."
Bill Bowen and the mulatto appeared, as Percy spoke, carrying between
them the prostrate form of Gilbert Margrave. The young man was quite
unconscious, the breast of his shirt dyed crimson by the blood which
welled from his wound. Toby and Bowen placed him upon the rocky seat
which had been occupied by Cora.
"The ball has struck him in the side," said Bowen. "I guess it's about
all over with the Britisher."
At the sound of these words of evil import, Cora Leslie opened her
eyes, and, beholding the bleeding and prostrate form of her lover,
flung herself on her knees at his feet.
"Gilbert, Gilbert!" she cried; "Dead; and I am the cause of this." The
mulatto placed his hand upon the breast of the wounded man.
"The heart beats, though faintly," he said; "dear mistress, he will be
saved."
"Will you allow him to be carried to your father's villa, Miss Leslie?"
said Mortimer; "I will accompany him thither."
"Ah, Mr. Percy," exclaimed Cora, "you are all goodness."
"A hundred dollars for your trouble, Bowen, if you'll assist us in
carrying this poor fellow to the boat," said Mortimer.
"A hundred dollars--I'm your man!" replied the American. "You'll excuse
me, Mr. Horton, business is business, you know," he added, to Augustus.
Mortimer Percy and the mulatto gathered together several strong
branches from the fallen wood lying beneath the trees, and twisted them
into a rude litter on which they laid the unconscious Englishman.
One end of this litter was carried by Toby, and the other by William
Bowen, Cora and Mortimer walking by the side of the wounded man.
In this order they started for the landing-place, where Gilbert's boat
was to await them.
Augustus Horton stood for some moments watching their receding figures
in the moonlight.
"My curses on them," he muttered; "I thought tonight's business would
have settled for my proud Cora's English lover, and I have but favored
my rival's chance by what I have done. If this Gilbert Margrave should
recover, of course he will be all love and gratitude for his beautiful
nurse, who will watch and tend him in his hour of danger. But, no
matter, Craig and I have a powerful hold on Gerald Leslie, and his
daughter's love shall be the price of his safety. She would not like
to see her father penniless. Or, if to the last she refuses to hear
reason, the public auction will soon settle her scruples. If I cannot
win her as my mistress, I can, at least, buy her as--my slave!"