A MEETING IN THE GOOD OLD STYLE.
Lord Spunyarn woke with a very bad headache indeed, the morning after
the ball at Papayani's. He hurried to commence his dressing, for his
valet on awakening him had presented a thin and varnished card, bearing
a portentous coronet and the name of the Comte de Kerguel. The man told
him that the visitor had come on business of the most urgent nature.
What his business was, Spunyarn was well aware. Knowing that, next to
getting married, a Frenchman looks upon the delivery of a hostile
message, as the most important, pleasant, and serious event of life;
Spunyarn wisely dressed himself with care and deliberation. When he
entered his sitting-room M. de Kerguel rose and profoundly saluted him.
"Milor Spunyarn. I have the honour of addressing him?"
"Yes, it's quite right, that's me Please be seated."
The Frenchman sat himself down bolt upright.
"I suppose, Lord Spunyarn, that my visit is not unexpected. I had the
honour to call upon your friend Monsieur Haggard, to demand satisfaction
from him on the part of my friend, Monsieur Barbiche. You, I believe,
were present at the whole affair. Monsieur Haggard has referred me to
you as his friend."
Spunyarn bowed, stretched out his long legs towards the fire, and
opening his cigarette case offered it to Monsieur de Kerguel.
"Won't you smoke?" he said.
A French gentleman in a new frock coat, on the most serious of all
missions, the bearer of a hostile message to a man he has never met in
his life before, is asked to smoke!
A crowd of strange thoughts passed through his mind. Are these
Englishmen cowards? He drew himself up more stiffly than before, as he
declined the offer.
"Have you breakfasted?" said his hospitable lordship, ignoring the
gesture.
"Lord Spunyarn," replied the Frenchman, "I come to you this morning
purely as the emissary of my insulted friend; not to accept of your
kindness, or to trespass on your hospitality."
"Oh, of course I understand that; but you see we English don't fight
duels as a rule. Of course I should be sorry to balk you, but can't it
be arranged?"
"Lord Spunyarn, you are aware that my friend was struck. In my country,
no gentleman receives a blow without avenging it. Least of all a
journalist or a diplomate. My friend Monsieur Barbiche was one, and is
the other. In speaking of arrangement, milor, I would suggest that we
are wasting time."
"But I don't quite see that," persisted Spunyarn, strong in his idea
that the man who fights a duel is a fool. "You see there was a lady in
the matter, and your friend insulted her. Why man, he actually touched
her, I saw him do it."
"Milor, ladies who go to masked balls are accustomed to such marks of
attention. What my friend did was but a condescension on his part. But
there was a blow struck, milor. Besides this, Monsieur Haggard has
referred me to his friend Lord Spunyarn, I suppose with a definite
purpose, and not with the intention of causing me to listen to, shall we
say homilies, from his lordship."
"The whole affair's a beastly nuisance. I don't understand these things,
but I will try to settle the matter."
"Milor, the matter admits of no settlement," said the Breton menacingly,
rising from his chair.
"I tell you plainly, Monsieur de Kerguel, it is very much against the
grain that I have anything to do with the matter. Unfortunately, as you
say, I was present, and I tell you that our friend Barbiche behaved like
a lunatic. Why he kicked _my_ hat off, and I don't want to call him
out."
Monsieur de Kerguel smiled. "If your lordship is in any way aggrieved by
my friend's conduct, you have your remedy."
"Oh, I could have had my remedy last night; if I had felt aggrieved, as
you call it, I should have done exactly what Haggard did--I should have
punched his head, you know."
"Milor, no man of whatever nationality, as you happily express it,
'punches the head' of a French gentleman with impunity, unless
peradventure," said de Kerguel with an insolent smile, "he is a coward
as well as a boxer."
"Do sit down," said Lord Spunyarn imperturbably. "He's no coward," and
taking from his pocket a note, he handed it to the Frenchman.
The letter was short but emphatic.
"DEAR SHIRTINGS,
"That ass Barbiche will send a friend to you asking for a meeting.
Agree to anything he wishes and oblige
"Yours,
"R. HAGGARD."
The Frenchman read the letter, reseated himself, and with a bow handed
back the note.
"I was precipitate, Milor. All this is very irregular; but we advance,
though slowly."
"Yes, I suppose we do, worse luck. I'll tell you what I'll do. Old
Pepper is stopping in this hotel; there seems to be nothing else for it,
I'll send for him," said his lordship with a sigh, and he rang the bell.
The waiter who answered it was directed to present his lordship's
compliments to General Pepper, and to request his immediate presence.
The Indian warrior had just breakfasted, and entered the room in a few
minutes. He was introduced to the Frenchman; a few words from Lord
Spunyarn sufficiently explained the matter.
"I understand then, Monsieur de Kerguel," said the general, "that we are
the challenged party. As such we are entitled to a choice of weapons?"
Monsieur de Kerguel bowed. "Assuredly, Monsieur le Général," he replied.
"You will excuse us then for an instant?" said he, as he motioned
Spunyarn to the window. "This is a beastly affair, your lordship. It
won't admit of arrangement. Do you know if the Frenchman is best at
swords or pistols?"
"Can't say, I'm sure," replied his lordship; "probably he's a dab at
both. I know he was a newspaper man. They all are fighting men."
"It's most unfortunate for our man; they'll have to fight. Is Haggard
any good at either?"
"I don't think he can shoot, at least not in a regulation affair. I know
he can use a revolver, and he is very good at single-stick."
"It's a heavy responsibility," replied the general seriously. "If it had
been arranged for this morning at dawn we might have had a chance with
the pistols, for perhaps the Frenchman's hand would have been unsteady.
I suppose it was a good knock-down blow?"
"A regular snorter!" said his lordship with enthusiasm.
"Most unfortunate. Well, we must try our luck with a regulation sabre;
they can't well refuse it; ours is the stronger and bigger man. I don't
think there's any room for doubt, eh? But it's a precious nuisance.
Man's got his wife here too. It's sure to be in the papers. Beastly
nuisance; we shall all have to clear out, for I suppose it won't be a
mere matter of scratches. It must come off at once too, or we shall be
suspected of shirking. I think that's the only course," said the general
as he pulled down his wristbands.
"I'm afraid so," said his lordship.
They rejoined the Frenchman.
"Monsieur de Kerguel," said the general, seating himself, "we have
elected to choose sabres, regulation sabres; you have no objection, I
suppose?"
"Sir, the weapon is unusual. As you are doubtless aware, between
civilians the small-sword, the rapier and the pistol are what are
usually employed. The sabre is unusual, and as a rule only employed in
settling the little differences of officers of cavalry."
"Monsieur de Kerguel, his lordship and I are here in the interests of
our friend Haggard. You are possibly unaware that among English
gentlemen the duel has ceased to be a means in these degenerate days of
settling disputes. Unfortunately our principal has directed us in
writing to agree to your wishes; and his lordship here has, somewhat
indiscreetly, I must remark, taken you into his confidence. As he has
done so, sir," said the general, "and bearing in mind that we are in a
foreign country, and that unfortunately a blow has been struck, we feel
ourselves reluctantly compelled to accept the proposed meeting. It is
therefore our duty, sir, to protect our principal, and we cannot consent
to abate one jot or tittle of our rights. Should you decline the weapon
proposed no meeting can evidently take place," here the general gave a
little sigh; "Lord Spunyarn is of the same opinion. It is then for you
to accept or refuse; in the latter case the matter must definitely end
here."
The Frenchman paused and thought.
"Unfortunately, gentlemen," he replied, "my principal has left me no
choice; he naturally declines any apology----"
"You will please to observe. Monsieur de Kerguel, that we have offered
none," interrupted the general; "in our humble opinion the original
insult, as well as the challenge, comes from you, and we cannot deviate
from our position. We decline to modify our terms in any way. And I
would respectfully suggest that this interview must definitely terminate
the matter one way or the other. I would remark," fiercely added the
general, "that neither we nor our principal are to be cajoled or
intimidated."
"It shall be as you say, general. Nothing remains then, I think, for us
but to name a time and place. The weapons, the most unusual weapons, we
are reluctantly compelled to accept under protest. Have you any
suggestion to offer, general?"
"None whatever, sir. One party shall provide a surgeon, the other a pair
of ordinary cavalry sabres. You as a resident in this infernal hole can
doubtless suggest a suitable spot for the meeting. Of course you will
be provided with a second friend. As to time, the sooner the better. We
then, if it suits you, will bring a pair of regulation sabres. You,
perhaps, will bring a doctor who will act for both men. Perhaps you will
also oblige us by naming the time and place of meeting."
"Gentlemen, the mill at St. Stefano is only four miles off; it is
secluded; we shall not be disturbed. You know the place? Five o'clock
will, I think, suit us all? Is it agreed?"
The general bowed.
"Gentlemen, I have the honour to salute you," said Monsieur de Kerguel
with a profound obeisance.
The general rang the bell, and Monsieur Barbiche's friend took his
leave.
"Thank God!" piously exclaimed the general. "I had him there; Haggard is
the bigger and more powerful man, of that there is no doubt. It shall
not be my fault if they don't settle their differences with the longest
and heaviest pair of regulation sabres to be had in Rome for love or
money. It's quite against the rule, you know, but you say our man is
good at single-stick, so he may have the luck to smash him or cut him
down before the Frenchman spits him, as he is bound to do if he gets the
chance. And I'll tell you what it is, my lord, I'll take a glass of
curaçao, for I'm dry with talking."
The curaçao was duly brought, and certainly the general deserved it. The
experienced warrior had perceived that De Kerguel was bent on mischief,
and by his own coyness he had succeeded in beguiling the Frenchman into
accepting a weapon of the use of which his principal was probably
totally ignorant. The men would then theoretically meet on an equality.
But a cavalry sabre is a big and comparatively awkward weapon, and
supposing that both were equally unskilled in its use, Haggard, as the
taller and stronger man, would certainly have the advantage. Besides
this the old general meant it, when he had stated his design to provide
a specially heavy pair of weapons.
In his great anxiety to secure a meeting at any price, De Kerguel had
been compelled to accept the general's ultimatum with regard to weapons,
"these or none;" but he knew that his principal thirsted for blood, so
he gave way, and it seemed to him at the time that the trifling matter
of providing the weapons was of little moment. But ere he reached his
friend's hotel he felt that he had been caught napping.
Barbiche was extended upon a couch. A huge piece of black court plaister
hid the wound on his swollen lip, a cup of _tisane_ stood upon the
table. He was dabbing his forehead with toilet vinegar. His head was
bound with a scarlet and yellow silk handkerchief which he wore after
the manner of a nightcap, as is the custom of his country. As his friend
entered he sprang to his feet.
"Have you arranged it, De Kerguel? Will he meet me, or are these
Englishmen brave only with their fists?"
"Do not excite yourself, Emile; you will have need of all your skill, of
all your courage."
"He will come, then, this protector of the _demi-monde_, this model
moral English husband. Say, is it sword or pistols, De Kerguel?"
"Ah! my poor Barbiche, I fear that I have, as our American friends say,
'given you away.'"
"You don't mean to say that the coward has apologized? This was no case
for an apology, De Kerguel, as you know."
"I wish it had been," said his friend; "unfortunately you are to fight."
Barbiche instantly threw himself into a Napoleonic attitude. Under such
circumstances a Frenchman always feels himself a hero, and invariably
unconsciously assumes the favourite pose of the Little Corporal.
"Yes, you are to fight, my poor friend, but with cavalry sabres."
Barbiche suddenly buried his face in his hands, and exclaimed in a
broken voice, "Oh, my mother!"
When a Frenchman is in a very deep hole indeed, he always apostrophizes
his mother; on ordinary occasions he thinks little enough about her.
"Kerguel," he cried at length, looking up reproachfully at his friend,
"you must have been mad. The sabre, as you know, is only used among
cavalry officers; the pistol or the small-sword are the arms of
gentlemen."
"And also of journalists, my friend. Of that the _rusé_ old general, our
man's friend, was unfortunately too well aware. You had tied me down too
tightly, my Barbiche; my instructions were to obtain a meeting at any
price. It was the choice of Hobson, that or none."
Barbiche placed his hand to his swollen lip.
"And you were right, my friend. Let us embrace."
They did so with effusion.
De Kerguel explained all the arrangements to his principal. Then they
drove to the nearest cavalry barrack, where they had acquaintances; and
that excellent fencer, Monsieur Barbiche, received an hour's lesson in
the use of the sabre from the _maître d'armes_. But he found the weapon
unwieldy, and he returned to his hotel a sadder man than he left it.
Old General Pepper ate his lunch with considerable relish. He was sick
and tired of Rome, its churches, its ruins, and its priests. He longed,
with an ardent longing, for that paradise of retired military men, "the
sweet shady side of Pall Mall;" he longed, too, for the whist tables at
the Pandemonium, and his so-called friends at that establishment. He
felt that if he only got safely across the frontier he would be one of
the lions of the season; for he was certain that the business he was
bent upon that afternoon would be no child's play. He himself was no
particular friend of Haggard's; but he was proud of having done his best
for his man. "After all," said he to himself, "it's six of one, and
half-a-dozen of the other. It's lucky for Haggard that Spunyarn sent for
me, or that cursed Frenchman would have had his life to a certainty, for
the friend meant fighting; I could see it in his eye."
Such thoughts as these passed through the worthy officer's mind as he
carefully packed his portmanteau. Then he paid his bill. "Now," he
soliloquized, "this is what I call being sacrificed. Of one of these
fellows I know absolutely nothing, and precious little of the other. But
in the cause of honour I shall probably have to run half across Europe,
and the worst of it is, at my own expense."
Then the general started out to secure the longest and heaviest pair of
cavalry sabres he could find in Rome.
Haggard was equally active. He informed his wife and her cousin that
they must leave Rome at once; the convenient excuse of an outbreak of
cholera in the city was a sufficiently valid one for the ladies. By two
o'clock Mrs. Haggard and Lucy, their maid Hephzibah, and Haggard's
useful and polyglot valet, a Swiss, named Capt, were _en route_ for
Geneva.
"Business, my dear, will detain me here till over to-morrow," said
Haggard, as he embraced his pretty wife upon the platform; "but, please
God, I shall see you then." Perhaps his voice faltered a little, as the
possibility flashed through his mind that perchance, in this world, he
might never gaze again into those loving, trustful eyes. One more kiss
at the carriage-window and the train started, for even Italian trains
must start at last. Haggard stood gazing after the disappearing
carriages. Then he lit a big cigar and went back to his hotel. Then, as
a good man of business, he made his will. It was short and to the
point. He left everything he had in the world to his dear wife, Georgina
Haggard. He rang for a couple of waiters, who duly witnessed it. And
then from his pocket-book he took a little packet of tissue-paper. In it
was a magnificent lock of hair. Alas, its colour was other than the deep
chestnut bronze of Georgie Haggard's. He twined it round his finger,
smoothing its glossy threads, and then he carefully dropped it into the
hottest part of the wood fire which smouldered on the hearth. It curled
and twisted in the embers as if it had been a living thing; a puff of
smoke, a pungent odour, and it was gone. Haggard flung himself upon the
sofa, and then he slept the dreamless sleep of a little child.
Punctually as the clock struck five, Monsieur Barbiche's faultless
brougham and high-stepping horse drew up at the old mill, the only
building which remained of the ancient village of St. Stefano. The
place was well chosen. There was not a soul about. Barbiche, his face
still very pale, dressed in spotless black, in his button-hole the red
ribbon, so dear to every Frenchman's heart, and accompanied by his
friend De Kerguel, stepped out. They were followed by a little dried-up
Italian army surgeon, who carried under his arm an ominous-looking black
case. They made for the miller's orchard at once.
They were not destined to be kept in suspense, for Haggard and his party
had preceded them. All three Englishmen, Haggard, the general and Lord
Spunyarn, were attired in ordinary walking dress; the general and
Spunyarn advanced to meet De Kerguel. Barbiche and the surgeon remained
a little apart.
"Gentlemen," said De Kerguel, as he courteously raised his hat, "we owe
you an apology."
General Pepper's ruddy face assumed a purple hue. "Did these fellows
mean to cry off after all?" But he was soon reassured.
"We have thought it better," said the Frenchman with a smile, "to avoid
mixing up any one else in this unfortunate affair. Hence, gentlemen, we
have dispensed with the usual second _témoin_. Dr. Battista, of the
Papal Zouaves, is present. We had better perhaps lose no time."
"Be good enough," said the general, "to look at these." And from under
his blue military cloak, which lay upon the ground, he drew a pair of
regulation sabres, perhaps a little exceeding the ordinary length. They
were heavy, murderous-looking weapons.
"I cannot object, gentlemen," said the Frenchman, as he carefully
measured them and weighed them in either hand. "But----" here he
eloquently shrugged his shoulders.
The expectant adversaries lost no time. They divested themselves of
their coats and vests, and, bare-headed, each advanced to receive his
weapon.
The general traced two lines on the dusty earth, about eight feet apart.
Barbiche and Haggard took their places. The old general stood between
them, but a little to one side; he held his stick, with the point raised
a little from the ground, ready to dash aside the blades the instant
that blood should be drawn.
"_En garde, messieurs_," exclaimed De Kerguel.
Both men put themselves at once on the defensive: their blades crossed,
but the attitudes were different and characteristic. Barbiche, drawing
himself up to his full height, raised his left arm while standing face
to face with his adversary, brought the point of his weapon close to his
finger tips in salute, and then fell at once into the regulation
position of the French fencing schools--the right foot well forward,
both knees considerably bent, the left arm high in air, the elbow at a
right angle. He kept his sword pointed at the eyes of his adversary;
but he never rested for an instant. He evidently meant business.
Haggard, on the contrary, assumed a totally different posture. His left
arm was behind his back, the hand clenched, the right leg perfectly
straight. He held the sabre lower, but the point was kept unwaveringly
at the chest of his enemy; his teeth were set. On his face was that
quasi-good-humoured smile, which is alike assumed by the British boxer
and the British ballet-girl when exhibiting their arts.
The Frenchman's blade scintillated in the setting sun around Haggard's
more stiffly held weapon. As it grated against it, first on one side
then on the other, Barbiche made pass after pass, feint after feint at
his impassive adversary. Suddenly he sprang forward with cat-like
agility, his left hand touching the ground, and he made a rapid pass
from below upwards at the Englishman; his point passed dangerously near
his ribs. It was the well-known extension _en seconde_; a favourite
trick among Parisian swordsmen of the Romantic school. The attempt
failed, and was followed by a rapid succession of miscellaneous thrusts
and passes in bewildering variety. The Frenchman never withdrew his
blade; but his very anxiety to make a hit was defeating itself. Such
tactics with the light rapier or small-sword are doubtless correct; but
Barbiche forgot the weight of his weapon, and the muscles of his arm
were already beginning to tire.
As that experienced swordsman, General Pepper, standing with stick
extended, viewed the fight, it seemed to him that Haggard, by remaining
purely on the defensive, ran a considerable risk, but that was Haggard's
business. Perhaps after all his principal meant to take a flesh wound,
and so end the matter. "But," thought the general to himself, "he'll
find out his mistake, if that dancing devil gets in one of his vicious
thrusts." Spunyarn looked on, and the perspiration streamed from his
face. De Kerguel was no less excited, but he preserved a calm exterior.
More than two minutes had now elapsed since the combat had first
commenced. These things take longer to tell than to do. Suddenly, in an
instant, Barbiche made a furious lunge at his opponent; the Englishman
parried it with ease, dropping his point lower than usual. As if blind
to the consequences, the Frenchman rushed forward with a short sharp
cry, his sword passed across Haggard's chest without touching him, but
poor Barbiche had literally impaled himself on his adversary's extended
weapon. His sabre dropped from his hand. He flung both his arms high in
air, giving one bitter shriek. His face assumed the expression of one
enduring intense torture, and then was calm again. The body, for he was
dead, _slipped off_ Haggard's sword in a heap at his feet. Haggard flung
his weapon to the ground, and all four men crowded round the corpse.
"He is stone dead," said the surgeon.
There was a solemn silence.
"Save yourselves, gentlemen," at length cried De Kerguel. "I will see to
my unfortunate friend. It was his own fault and _mine_," he said with a
sigh.
The Englishmen saluted. Haggard resumed his garments, and they hurried
from the field, unobserved and unmolested.
Next morning Rome rang with the affair; by noon all three Englishmen
were safely over the frontier.