6 A Passage at Arms

My business at the camp was to report to our colonel and wait orders. I suspected that I would be required to remain there henceforth, which, indeed, was only fit, as everything indicated an early movement of the army toward the frontier. My expectations were fulfilled, as I was ordered to be at headquarters on the following morning and to remain there henceforth. But for the remainder of that day I was at liberty to do as I chose. I felt a secret sorrow that my leave of absence had not been abridged at once. In that case the duel could not be fought. Fear did not enter into this feeling, I can truthfully say. I believe it was my better impulses, the conviction of the folly of such things, that condemned the affair in my mind.

I strolled about the camp, noting the evidences of haste and preparation. The men, English and Americans alike, seemed to be very cheerful. None had chafed at the delay and waste of time more than they, and plainly they were full of eagerness to be on the march. The comparison in the appearance of the men interested me much, and caused me to reflect how widely extended were the dominions of his Majesty, and what resources he could summon for war. There were the English, fat, stocky, and red-faced, and with a fine girth of shoulder and chest. Sluggish in temperament, but very steady and enduring, I knew, because I had read history. Then there were our own Americans, taller and thinner and leaner than the English, but tougher and more wiry. At least, I believed them to be better fitted by training and experience for war in the deep woods and dense thickets, which was about the only kind of war that our continent yet knew. In truth, I felt a deal of pride in the appearance of our colonial troops. There was very little sheen of brilliant uniform and flash of gold epaulet about them, for, barring the Royal Americans, they were very plainly attired, but their steady eyes and sunbrowned faces showed that they were the right men for forest work. I was well aware that our allies held us rather cheaply, as it is the custom of the people of old countries to look upon the people of new countries, and I could not repress a desire that our men might have a good opportunity to show their skill and courage. I hope there was nothing wrong in the feeling. At least, it might check the growing antipathy of the English and Americans toward each other which this attitude had caused.

On the outer edge of the encampment I found the Highland regiment to which my new friend Major McLean belonged. They were but lately arrived, and hitherto I had not had an opportunity of observing them closely. I found them to be well worthy of examination, for they were a right wild and fierce-looking lot, and they made a great display of knives and of large swords, each of which had at the hilt some queer-looking basketwork, evidently designed as a protection for the hand. They were packing their baggage and cleaning their muskets, and a tremendous swearing in a strange, guttural tongue was going on, I knew it must be swearing, though I understood it not, for the sounds had all the flavor of oaths. Still, there was no fighting, though I inferred from their appearance that Major McLean’s words about their belligerent character were no exaggeration of the truth.

I was somewhat shocked at the garb of these Highlanders, or rather at the lack of it. We were not accustomed in the colonies to the sight of men going around on bare legs in broad daylight. Only a day or two later one of these Highlanders, coming down to the city on some errand for his colonel, was arrested by a constable on Nassau Street for indecent exposure of his person. There was a great fuss about it, and the civil authorities and the military were arrayed very fiercely against each other. The colonel was in a fearful temper. Such an act as the arrest of his man was an unpardonable outrage, he said. It was an insult to all Scotchmen, and also to his Majesty, the King, who had been known to don the Highland costume on certain notable occasions. But the aldermen of the city, most of whom had Dutch blood in their veins, were of a high obstinacy, and were not disposed to yield. They retained the prisoner in custody, and asserted that no man should be seen on the streets of New York unless his body was properly clothed. Any exception was injurious to the public good, and likely to corrupt the morals of a young and growing province. The Governor himself was compelled to be a peacemaker, and through his intervention the unfortunate Highlander was released from the prison and sent back to his scantily attired comrades at the camp. But the general opinion of our people upheld the aldermen in their course.

While the Highlanders were very peaceful when I came up, I soon had evidence of the natural heat of their temper. Two of the men got into a quarrel over a tent pole, which it seemed each claimed. In a flash they had their dirks out, and I have no doubt much thick Scotch blood would have been shed had not Major McLean rushed up and, with many violent words, forced them to return their dirks to their sheaths and go about their business. A moment or two later they were working together in as friendly a spirit as if they had been born twin brothers.

It was while I was looking at these men that Graham came up. I was disposed to be reserved with the man, as I believed he had been the chief cause of the quarrel the night before. But he appeared to be greatly improved by the daylight and the absence of drink, and refused to be unfriendly.

“Delighted to see you. Lieutenant Charteris,” he said in a gay tone, “and doubly delighted to see you here. The contemplation of arms and armies is an eminently fit occupation for a man who is so soon to test the edge of his own sword.”

“Perhaps it would be better for both of us to save our swords for our real enemies,” I could not refrain from saying.

“I would expect such a remark from a civilian, and not from you. Lieutenant Charteris,” he returned in the same gay tone. “A soldier should always be happy when the chance comes to use his weapons, if not on the enemy, then in a friendly and gentlemanly passage at arms with his comrades.”

“And I would expect such sentiments,” I replied, “from a Frenchman, and not from a Scotchman, for I have been told always that the Scotch are a cold race, and have a very practical mind.”

“Your supposition is true, if we accept it as a generality,” he said; “but there are exceptions, and I am one of them. Perhaps you may ascribe it to my French education, for I passed four years in Paris, learning swordsmanship, the flavor of good wine, and other accomplishments which perhaps I had better not recount. Consequently, I have acquired to some extent the Gallic mode of looking at matters, and accept the duel as the arbitrament of gentlemen and one of the flowers of a polished civilization. I shall always reverence the memory of my fencing master, Adolphe la Bordais, a gentleman and a true artist in his profession. Of a family of some blood and no means, he taught swordsmanship for his bread and wine, and that he remained the gentleman he proved by often meeting other gentlemen on the field of honor. It was in one of these encounters that he fell. I was present and saw it all. He made a false stroke, something that he had never done before, and for which I can not account to this day, and his antagonist profited by it to run him through the chest. The poor fellow in his dying agony said, ‘I deserved it; only death could punish such an error’; and, turning to his antagonist, added, ‘Had you not profited by my bad play, I should have held that I was forever disgraced. by meeting you.’ Then he died very gracefully and contentedly. He was an honorable gentleman, and an illustrious example of devotion to one’s art.”

He talked on in this lively fashion, and in spite of myself I found him to be mightily entertaining, though I thought him to be something of a coxcomb and rattlepate. He was near the middle of one of his tales of Paris when we came almost face to face with Mr. Arthur and his daughter and a company of young officers, among whom was Spencer. Mr. Arthur was in affable mood, though he did not discard his usual pomposity. Long custom had made that an inseparable part of the man.

Graham saluted them with the grace and ease that acquaintance with fashionable life gives, and I bowed very low also. Spencer spoke to us as courteously as if he and I had no thought of shedding each other’s blood. Mr. Arthur inclined his head slightly to me, and considerably lower to Graham. But I did not mind the slight. Marion asked me presently if I did not think Mlle. de St. Maur had looked very handsome at the ball. I said I thought so, and I said it with emphasis. Whereupon she smiled that peculiar smile which caused me to flush a little as before. Then she undertook to plague me, but did not succeed, though she caused Mr. Arthur, who thought the conversation was of a different kind, to bestow a frown upon us. In a few minutes they passed on, and Graham, too, left me.

My last sight of Marion was when she and her father stepped into their carriage to return to the city. Spencer and all the other gay crowd were there to bid them good day, while I lingered in the distance, thinking about my duel.

Presently the daylight began to fade. The sun, tinging the earth with fire as he slid down the curves of the sky, went out of sight beyond the hills. The dusk followed the sunken sun, and I saw the newly lighted lamps of the city gleaming like an army of torches. The far hills of Staten Island crumbled away before the encroaching darkness, and night fell. In time the moon came out, and the light, as had been foretold, was sufficient for the duel.

I was at the appointed spot, back of old Peter Stuyvesant’s pear tree, a few minutes before the time, and was the first to arrive. Culverhouse came next.

“First on the ground, eh, Charteris?” he said cheerfully. “That speaks well. How are you feeling?”

He came close and scanned me critically. Then he put his hand upon my pulse.

“Very good!” he said approvingly. “Very good, indeed, for a beginner at this business. Your wrist is steady enough to handle a sword, and your eye does not show excitement Do not misunderstand me, Charteris. I have never doubted your courage, but an amateur is likely to become nervous.”

He carried two swords in their scabbards under his arm, and was preparing to show them to me when Spencer and Graham, accompanied by a third man, who was the surgeon, arrived. We saluted as politely as if we had met at a ball, and Graham, looking around, said the place was very suitable for the sport in which we were about to indulge.

It was a quiet little glade, beyond the hum of the camp, and hemmed in by high trees, though there was no obstruction overhead, and the moon shone down upon us very brightly.

Culverhouse and Graham drew to one side to examine the weapons. Spencer and I stood, stiffly erect, near each other. Neither spoke; nor did the surgeon, a placid, middle-aged man, who leaned calmly against a tree, and placed the little case that contained the tools of his trade at his feet.

Culverhouse and Graham seemed to be in no haste about their task. They drew out the swords—or rapiers perhaps it would be better to call them, for they were slender, Spanish-looking weapons—and examined them with great care. The bright blades upon which the moonbeams fell glinted like silver. They measured the rapiers carefully, and saw that they were precisely the same in length and breadth. They bent the blades over their arms, and then released them, the tempered metal straightening itself out again with a sharp tang.

“They are all right,” I heard Graham say. “True metal both of them, and as pretty weapons as I have seen in many a day. It would be a pleasure to use one of them myself.”

They turned toward us, and Culverhouse exclaimed:

“Hullo! who is this?”

I looked around, for I had heard no footstep, but not ten feet from me a long, slender figure was leaning against a tree, and a pair of owllike and inexpressive eyes set in an ugly countenance were regarding us. I recognized the boy Zebedee Crane at once.

“And where might you have come from?” exclaimed Graham, annoyed at the interruption.

“I might have dropped from the skies, an’ ag’in I might have popped up from the ground,” said the boy drawlingly, “but I didn’t do neither, mister.”

“This is an attair of gentlemen,” said Graham.

“Then I guess you need me, mister,” replied the boy.

I was forced to laugh, and Spencer remarked, “He had you there, Graham.”

“What do you want?” asked Culverhouse.

The boy sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and said in his unchanging drawl:

“I thought I’d come an’ see if you fellows fight each other any better’n you fight the French.”

“You are impertinent, sir,” said Spencer. “Now be off with you! This is no business of yours.”

“I think I’ll stay,” said the boy. “It was a lot of trouble to come here to see you men chop each other up, an’ I guess I won’t go away now. ’Twould be too pretty a sight to miss.”

“I’ll try the flat of a sword on him,” said Graham, flaring up. He drew his weapon and advanced threateningly toward the boy.

For the first time Zebedee’s face expressed something besides stolid indifference. The upper and the lower jaws swung apart and his mouth stretched almost from ear to ear in a grin as wide as the Hudson River.

“Waal, I guess not,” he said, lengthening his drawl. “That’s a pretty long blade you’ve got in your hand, mister, but it’s not worth shucks when it’s got to walk up and face this.”

He reached down and drew from his flapping trowsers’ leg an enormous horse pistol, which he cocked with a sound like the grating of a huge chain dragged over stones. Then he leveled it squarely at Graham.

“Good God, man,” exclaimed Graham, “don’t shoot! What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s time for you to stop and put your sword back in its place,” said Zebedee, from whose face the grin had disappeared like a chasm closing after being opened momentarily by an earthquake’s shock, “because there’s pretty nigh a handful of slugs in this pistol of mine, an’ if it goes off you’ll be scattered all through the woods. Look out! That right forefinger of mine is mighty set in its ways, an’ I can’t hold it back sometimes.”

“Good heavens, man, I’ll stop!” exclaimed Graham, who saw that he was in real danger.

He returned his sword to his scabbard and stepped back.

“That’s right,” said Zebedee complacently. “A sojer ought to keep cool.”

“Put up your pistol,” said Culverhouse. “Nobody is going to assail you.”

“I guess not,” returned the boy. “But while I’ve got it out I guess I’ll keep it out. I’ll see that the two officers fight fair. I’ll act as a sort of judge.”

His manner indicated that he had made up his mind, and would not alter it. He rested his pistol upon his knee, but kept his finger upon the trigger, seeming to indicate that the coming duel was to be under his supervision, and that if either of us violated the rules in any particular the offender would receive the contents of his horse pistol.

Culverhouse looked inquiringly at Graham.

“We can not permit anything of this kind,” said Graham. “Such a gawk should not be allowed to interfere in an affair of honor among gentlemen.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about me,” said Zebedee. “I won’t put in if the fellows fight fair. Now go on. I’m waitin’.”

He looked so formidable with his pistol that our seconds, who had swords only, showed a prudent hesitation.

“Suppose we go on with our arrangements,” said Culverhouse. “The gentleman was not invited to attend, but our principals can fight just as well, despite his presence.”

After some demur Graham agreed, though he protested that it was very irregular. Then Spencer and I stepped aside and removed our coats.

“Be very careful,” said Culverhouse to me, “and do not become excited. Watch your opponent’s eye. I suspect that he has had more experience with the sword than you, so pay the utmost attention to your guard. Let him make the assault, and when the time comes for you to attack in return let it be the straight, single thrust. But do not lunge too much.”

In the course of a winter that I had spent in Albany I had taken some lessons from a traveling French fencing master, whose beautiful sword play had excited much admiration, and I believed that I had been a rather apt pupil. Nevertheless, I thanked him for his advice, which I knew was given with the best intentions.

Then Spencer and I took our positions, facing each other in the center of the glade. The surgeon opened his leather case, and Culverhouse and Graham stood by to watch our play with the weapons. I still felt a very strong disinclination either to kill or to be killed, but my nerves were steady, and I looked straight into Spencer’s eye. Our seconds handed us the rapiers. We bowed to each other, Culverhouse gave the signal, and we stood ready for thrust or parry.

Spencer feinted with his weapon, and then, recovering, made a quick thrust. More by luck than skill I caught his blade on mine and warded off the blow.

“Englishman knows more about the business, but American has the stronger wrist,” I heard Zebedee say.

Then for nearly a minute we stood facing each other, holding our weapons ready, but scarcely moving them. My muscles were strained and my breath was short, but my antagonist was in the same condition. I remembered Culverhouse’s advice to stand on the defensive. So I stiffened my wrist and stared into Spencer’s eye. Presently he tried the lunge a second time. Again I parried with success, and was quick enough with the return blow to give him a fillip across the hand, which cut the skin and drew a slender red thread of blood. Spencer gritted his teeth and said something under his breath. For the first time an angry look came over his face.

“First blood for the American,” said Zebedee. “I wouldn’t have thought it.”

The cut, mere scratch though it was, seemed to arouse Spencer’s temper, and he assailed me vigorously, thrusting with a rapidity that compelled me to keep an exceedingly wary eye and ready hand.

Presently Spencer made a rapid thrust at my chest. I parried it, but he came back so quickly with a nasty jab that the point of the blade caught me across the arm and, ripping through my shirt sleeve, made a long gash that bled freely.

“That was a good one,” said Zebedee. “’Twas quickness that done it.”

The flowing of the blood and the stinging sensation in my arm angered me, but fortunately I was able to control my temper and to remember that caution was my best policy. The cut was not deep enough to weaken me.

We fenced slowly and cautiously for a minute or two. I thought by the look in Spencer’s eye that he was going to make another vicious attack, and was not deceived, for he tried again precisely the same movement that had been so successful before. But I was watching for this blow, and when his blade flashed I leaped aside and with an upward thrust caught him across the arm. As the blood flowed down from his arm he stabbed angrily at me. But my blade caught his, and then with a quick but powerful twist which the French fencing master had taught me I sent his sword flying into the air. It fell to the ground and clanged as it struck a stone.

Disarmed as he was, Spencer showed no lack of courage. He faced me steadily, the blood from his wounded arm dripping upon the ground.

“I have had enough,” I exclaimed, throwing my sword across his.

“Enough, indeed! It’s too much for both of you!” exclaimed a loud voice, as Major McLean, followed by a file of soldiers, pushed into the glade. “This is a pretty state of affairs when two of the King’s officers are slicing up each other with the swords that should be reserved for the French.”

The major’s face was very red, and his eyes showed much anger.

“Major McLean,” said Graham, who evidently knew him well, “I was not aware that a Highlander, an officer of the Black Watch, had any conscientious scruples against fighting.”

“Nor has he,” returned the major, “when the fighting is done at the proper time and against the proper persons. And you, sir,” he said, turning to me, “I thought you were too sedate a man to be engaged in such nonsense and wickedness as this!”

“I could not honorably avoid it,” I said deprecatingly.

“It is always honorable to avoid folly,” he said severely.

Spencer undertook to utter some excuse, but the wrathful old man abruptly bade him to be silent He ordered all four of us to deliver up our swords, and when we had done so he notified us that we were under arrest. I looked around for Zebedee, but he was gone like a ghost.

Then, surrounded by the soldiers, the major marched duelists and seconds off to the camp.

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