CHAPTER XV.
A DUEL IN THE DARK.
VICTOR’S horse was in a decidedly jaded condition when he reached the hotel at Ajaccio. The young Lieutenant at once sought an interview with the Admiral and his daughter, and conveyed to them, in language as nearly approaching that used by Pascal Batistelli as he could remember, the latter’s courteous invitation for them to become his guests at Batistelli Castle.
“You call it a castle,” said Miss Helen. “Does it resemble those of mediæval times, with the moat about it, and a drawbridge and portcullis? How decidedly romantic that will be. I shall have to send an account of it to one of the London papers.”
“To speak honestly, Miss Enright,” said Victor, “I am little acquainted with the construction of mediæval castles. I have learned more from your short description than I ever knew before.”
“I shall be pleased to enlighten you further,” said Miss Enright. “The moat was a deep ditch filled with water which surrounded the castle and rendered it inaccessible. The drawbridge was what its name indicates, and was let down across the moat in order that those who lived in the castle could reach the mainland, or return.”
“Ah! I see,” said Victor, “without wetting their feet.”
“Your remark, Lieutenant Duquesne,” said Miss Enright, with a frown which added to the classic severity of her features, “is entirely irrelevant. Do you wish me to proceed, or shall we stop at the drawbridge?”
“By no means, Miss Enright. Do not leave us upon the drawbridge or we may fall into the hands of the enemy, and I do not care to become a prisoner.”
“They did not take prisoners in those days,” said Miss Enright. “Dead enemies cost nothing for the keeping. Besides, what they had on them became lawful booty. They had not learned in those days our expensive manner of carrying on warfare.”
“Then so much the more reason,” said Victor, “why you should point out some means of escape from that drawbridge.”
“Then,” said Miss Enright, “come within the castle and we will let the portcullis fall. Allow me to explain that the portcullis was a heavy wooden gate or door, made of double timbers securely bolted together. It was impervious to culverins, and it took a ponderous stone from a catapult to shatter it.”
“Thank you, Miss Enright,” said Victor. “Now that we are within the castle, with the drawbridge up and the portcullis down, I beg you to let them remain where they are.”
“Your experiences this morning, Lieutenant Duquesne, have made you flippant, and you know I have told you many times that I cannot endure useless levity in a man—especially a young one. So with your kind permission, and that of my honoured father, I will retire to my own room.”
“Yes, go, Helen,” said the Admiral, “and I will give him a good talking to when you are gone. I am half inclined to cashier him and dismiss him from the service.”
“Oh, do not do that,” said Miss Enright, her features relaxing into a smile in spite of her attempts to retain her stern composure. “You know the Lieutenant and I are sworn enemies and have been since we left Malta, where we disagreed as to the sentiments which inspired the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. Besides, his crime is one that calls for education rather than condign punishment.”
After throwing this Parthian arrow, she left the room.
“Why do you like to plague Helen so?” asked the Admiral.
“I don’t enjoy the plaguing part, but my jibes always stir her up, and I cannot but admire the manner in which she conducts both attack and defence.”
“I have given her all the education she asked for,” said the Admiral, “but I sometimes wonder what would become of the world if all the women in it knew as much as Helen does.”
“I don’t think that day will ever come,” said Victor. “If it does, women will become the teachers and men the students.”
“But will they ever learn to command a frigate?” asked the Admiral.
“If women ever rule the world,” replied Victor, “there will be no need of either frigates, or armies, or wars. All vexed questions will be settled by diplomacy, and no male diplomat can hope to compete successfully with a woman in that line of business.”
“What kind of a place is it that Batistelli lives in?” asked the Admiral.
“Oh,” said Victor, “it is a big stone house with a large tower at each end. The grounds are beautiful, but the interior of the house looks cheerless from our English point of view. It lacks that cosey, comfortable air which English homes have. But Monsieur Batistelli was very polite, and evinced a most hospitable disposition. I have no doubt that Miss Enright and yourself will greatly enjoy a week’s sojourn there.”
“I hope so,” said the Admiral. “We will go to-morrow. I am greatly obliged to you, Lieutenant, and you may have your freedom until our return.”
Victor knew that, so far as the Admiral was concerned, the interview was at an end.
“My dear Admiral,” said he, “may I trespass on your time for a few minutes?”
“Why, certainly,” was the reply. “I have nothing to do until dinner time, and there is a spare half hour.”
“It will not take that length of time,” said Victor. “Monsieur Batistelli extended a very polite invitation to me to become his guest, also, but I cannot accept—so do not speak of it to your daughter.”
“And why not?” cried the Admiral. “Helen and I would be delighted to have you with us. I know you two quarrel, but I think you both enjoy it. I always thought that when I am not around you make up, but, as soon as I appear upon the scene, you feel obliged to begin your warfare again.”
“You are not far from the truth, my dear Admiral,” said Victor. “I should be happy to form one of your party were it not for a little affair, in which I became involved this morning, that must claim preference.”
“An affair?” cried the Admiral; “not a love affair, I hope!”
“Oh, no!” said Victor, “something much more serious—an affair of honour!”
He then told the Admiral of his meeting with Vivienne Batistelli and his subsequent encounter with Count Mont d’Oro.
“These Corsicans are a hot-blooded race, and he will surely send me a challenge. I shall be obliged to meet him or he will hold me up as a coward. I must secure some one to serve as second. Have I your permission, Admiral, to ask one of my brother officers to act in that capacity?”
The Admiral leaned back in his chair and seemed to be considering the question from several points of view.
“I should say nothing about it on board ship,” he began. “Perhaps, after all, you will not hear from him. If the matter becomes known to any one on the vessel, all will know it; some will write home to England about it, and it may reach the Admiralty. You do not wish that to occur, for it would certainly retard your promotion. If the worst comes to the worst and the fellow challenges you, I will act for you and no one on the vessel will be the wiser.”
At dinner both the Admiral and Victor were disposed to be contemplative, each thinking of the prospective duel and its possible results. Victor was also greatly disturbed at not seeing or hearing from Jack. He had made diligent inquiries, but without success. He therefore contented himself with the thought that Jack was pursuing his quest of Cromillian, or Bertha, or both.
After a long silence, Helen, who knew nothing of the impending conflict, started a little battle on her own account by referring again to mediæval customs.
“I yearn,” said she, “for a return to the days of chivalry, when brave knights fought for their lady-loves. To me, there can be no sight more inspiring than two brave men contending for the favour of some fair maiden worthy of their love.”
“Perhaps the days of chivalry may return once more,” said Victor.
“Nonsense!” cried Helen. “In these days, there are few men brave enough to face each other in mortal combat. They are content to fire at each other with an intervening distance of half a mile or more. Why don’t they do as did Julius Cæsar and his Roman warriors—advance with drawn swords and fall boldly upon their enemies? It was daring, and muscle, and swordsmanship that won battles in those days.”
“And now it is markmanship,” said Victor. “You know the old saying, Miss Enright, that times change and we change with them. If we were Roman warriors, and time could be pushed back nearly eighteen hundred years, your sanguinary wishes might be gratified; but, as things look now, the range of arms will increase, and armies and vessels will stay farther apart than ever during the progress of a battle.”
“One reason why I have wished to come to Corsica,” said Helen, “is to learn about the vendetta. The spirit of the old knights must survive in this island.”
“Not at all!” cried the Admiral, taking part for the first time in the discussion. “The miserable rascals dare not meet each other in a fair fight, but lie in ambush and brutally assassinate their enemies. I am surprised, Helen, that you should entertain such sentiments.”
“You do not understand me, father,” said Helen. “What I wish to see is individual bravery rather than collective heroism. I do not wish to applaud a whole regiment or the entire crew of a frigate, but the one man who, by his valiant prowess, has shown himself worthy of renown.”
The dinner was over and the discussion also came to an end. Victor lighted a cigar and went out upon the veranda to think over the matter which was uppermost in his mind. Being very far-sighted, he espied, a long distance off, an old building which had a deserted, tumble-down appearance. He left the veranda and walked towards it, finding it much farther away than he had anticipated.
He opened the door and entered. It was empty. It was, in reality, a large shed which probably had been used as a storehouse. He closed the door and found himself in utter darkness. Although the building was old, it was surely well constructed, for there was not a seam or break in it through which the light of the sun could enter. He threw the door open and carefully surveyed the interior once more. Across each corner of the structure, some six feet from the ground, four heavy joists were placed, but for what purpose Victor could not divine. As he stood there, a strange thought came into his mind, and he smiled to himself with inward satisfaction.
On his way back to the hotel, he passed a cottage, in front of which, seated at a grindstone, a man, evidently a woodsman, was sharpening a number of axes. Victor stopped and regarded him. Then, he smiled again. What he saw evidently pleased him and there must have been some connection between the smile in the old shed and that which showed upon his face as he stood regarding the woodsman and the implements of his trade.
“My good friend,” said Victor, “will you sell me a couple of those axes—the sharpened ones, I mean?”
“You can buy plenty of them in the town,” the man replied.
“How much would two cost me?” asked Victor.
The man named the price.
“I will give you twice as much for two of yours,” said Victor, and the bargain was soon concluded.
The man found a piece of old cloth in which Victor could wrap up his purchases, and he succeeded in reaching his room without his burden meeting the eye of the inquisitive. Then he sought the Admiral and had a short talk with him.
“Why, bless my soul!” cried Sir Gilbert, “I never heard of such a thing before. It is a most re-mark-a-ble idea. I suppose what Helen said at dinner put you up to it. What fools women can make of men, to be sure. Of course, I mean nothing personal by that, my dear Lieutenant, but I have read history, or rather Helen has read it to me, and it seems to me as though most of the silly things that men have done have been prompted by a desire to please some woman.”
Victor was right when he expressed the opinion that Count Mont d’Oro would challenge him. The next morning the card of M. François Villefort was sent up to his room, and, when the young man had exchanged the customary courtesies with Lieutenant Duquesne, he stated that the object of his visit was to present a message from his lifelong friend, Count Napier Mont d’Oro. Victor bowed, said that he had anticipated receiving such a civility from the Count, and asked him to accompany him to the room of his friend, Admiral Enright, who had consented to act as his second.
When M. Villefort and Admiral Enright were alone, the Admiral began the conversation.
“In my country,” said he, “the first duty of a gentleman called upon to act in the capacity which we have assumed is to arrange, if possible, an honourable compromise.”
“In Corsica,” replied M. Villefort, “that matter is never considered. In fact, as you probably well know, Corsicans never fight duels in Corsica, but Count Mont d’Oro has lived for some time in Paris and, assuming that Lieutenant Duquesne is conversant with the French code duello, the Count has the courtesy to follow the French custom.”
“Well,” said the Admiral, “then we will consider that part of the subject closed. My friend, Lieutenant Duquesne, being the challenged party, has the choice of time, place, and weapons. I conferred with him upon the subject previous to your expected arrival, and there will, consequently, be no delay in arranging the preliminaries.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said M. Villefort, “for my friend, Count Mont d’Oro, is anxious that the insult given to him should be avenged as soon as possible.”
“On our part,” said the Admiral, “we shall be delighted to accommodate you. The time fixed upon is midnight, to-morrow night; the place, a vacant shed which is in plain sight from the veranda of the hotel, about three-quarters of a mile distant; the weapons, woodsmen’s axes, sharpened by a Corsican; the contest to last five minutes, and in total darkness. At the end of that time, you and I are to enter the building with lights and see what remains of our friends.”
“Allow me to say that I consider such levity unbecoming a gentleman. If your principal has given you instructions suited to an affair of honour, I am here to receive them.”
“Exactly! I don’t know what your customs are here, but in England we do not repeat our conditions more than once.”
The Corsican was evidently impressed by the bluntness and directness of the Englishman’s speech.
“Pardon me,” said he, “but I did not understand what weapons had been selected by the challenged party.”
“I thought I described them sufficiently,” said the Admiral. “I said axes,—ordinary common woodsmen’s axes—the sharper the better.”
“And the place?” queried M. Villefort.
“If you will step to the window,” said the Admiral, “I will show you. Do you see that old shed on the lefthand side of the road? That is the place selected by Lieutenant Duquesne. Time, midnight to-morrow night, the room to be in utter darkness, and the fight to last five minutes. Do I make myself understood?”
“Perfectly, monsieur,” responded M. Villefort, “but I doubt very much if the Count will condescend to accept such ridiculous terms. Did you say that the room was to be dark?”
“Yes,” replied the Admiral; “the Lieutenant says the windows are boarded up tightly and not a ray of light enters even in the daytime. I confess that they are the most re-mark-a-ble instructions I ever received. They quite stagger me, they do, indeed. But my principal says he will not change them.”
“I will report the result of my mission to Count Mont d’Oro. If he refuses to accept the terms——”
The Admiral broke in: “Why, then we will let the matter drop just where it is; but Lieutenant Duquesne and myself will probably form an opinion as to the bravery of this member of the Corsican nobility, and we may express it to others. You might repeat to the Count what I have just said.”
Miss Helen Enright was both astute and acute. Her father knew that, if he left the hotel late in the evening and did not return until after midnight, he would be obliged to make some sort of an explanation to his daughter.
“Better tell a white lie than a black one,” said he to Victor. So it was arranged that they should pay a visit to the Osprey in the afternoon, giving Helen to understand that they might not return to the hotel until the next morning.
The night chosen was a stormy one. Heavy black clouds shut out the light of both moon and stars, and from them the rain descended. About eleven o’clock, the Lieutenant and the Admiral left the Osprey, preceded by a sailor carrying a ship’s lantern to light the way. When they had covered about half the distance between the vessel and the hotel, the Admiral, turning to the sailor, said:
“Give me the lantern, Markland. I will carry it the rest of the way. You can find your way back to the quay in the dark?”
“Aye, aye, sir!” was the response. “I have been in darker places than this and came out all right.”
The Admiral screened the lantern and waited at the corner of the road for Victor, who went to his room to obtain the axes. They then proceeded on their way towards the deserted building, the rain coming down in the proverbial torrents.
“I shall be much cut up,” said Victor, “if this wetting gives you a cold and an attack of rheumatism.”
“If you don’t get cut up,” said the Admiral, “I will try to bear the rheumatism with patience.”
“Thank you,” said Victor; “you have always been a kind and good friend to me. My course in this matter, no doubt, seems inexplicable to you, but I have a reason for it which, some day, I will explain.”
“My curiosity can wait,” said the Admiral, “but I cannot promise as much if Helen gets wind of the affair.”
They were the first to reach the building. They both entered and examined it thoroughly. The Admiral screened the lantern and looked about him. “It’s as dark as a pocket,” said he. Victor caught one of the crossbeams with both hands and drew himself up until his chin was even with it. Then he allowed himself to descend without attracting the attention of the Admiral. They went outside and, standing beneath the wide-spreading branches of a great tree, awaited the arrival of the other party.
About ten minutes before midnight, the sound of horses’ hoofs and carriage wheels were heard, and, a few minutes later, Count Mont d’Oro and M. Villefort approached the building. As they did so, the Admiral turned the full glare of the lantern in their faces.
The usual courtesies were exchanged and the four men stood expectantly, the Admiral holding his watch so that the light from the lantern could fall upon it. Suddenly, he looked up and said:
“It is twelve o’clock, gentlemen.”
The party entered the building, the Admiral holding up the lantern so that the interior could be examined by the Count and his second. Next, he took the axes from the cloth in which they had been wrapped and passed them to M. Villefort.
“Take your choice,” said he. “As near as I can judge, they are of the same weight and equally sharp.”
M. Villefort selected one which he passed to Count Mont d’Oro, while the Admiral handed the other to Victor. The contestants were then placed in opposite corners of the room, facing each other.
“Are you ready?” asked the Admiral.
The duellists signified that they were.
“Monsieur Villefort and I will now leave you,” said the Admiral. “As soon as we close the door, you are at liberty to change your positions, but you must not attack each other until you hear us cry Time! Five minutes thereafter, we shall open the door, and the contest must stop as soon as you see the light.”
In about a minute, the Admiral and M. Villefort cried in unison:
“TIME!”
Count Mont d’Oro scuffled his feet upon the floor to give his opponent the idea that he had changed his position. Victor stood his axe up in the corner, reached the beam above him with both hands, drew himself up slowly, and assumed a sitting posture upon it. The Count struck out vigorously in front and to the right and left. He then took a circuit around the room, striking out in front, and then whirling about, he made vicious slashes at his unseen enemy. He next swung the axe about in a circle, but it met with no resistance.
Victor sneezed loudly. This so startled the Count, for the sound seemed very close to him, that he started back, coming in violent contact with the side of the building, bruising himself quite severely. He then advanced cautiously on tiptoe across the room. As he neared the corner where Victor was, the latter took his hat from his head and threw it down, necessarily at random. It chanced to strike the Count full in the face. He started back, a cry of affright escaping from him involuntarily. The Fates were against him. There was just one rotten plank in the floor of the building, and upon that the Count stepped. It broke beneath his weight. Finding himself falling, and realising that his foot was caught in some way, he gave a violent pull and succeeded in wrenching his ankle so badly that when he tried to stand up he was forced to succumb to the intense pain, and fell prone upon the floor.
Realising that his opponent had met with some misadventure, Victor dropped from his perch, and, grasping his axe, stood upon the defensive. At that moment, the door was pushed open and the bright light of the lantern thrown upon the scene.
M. Villefort espied the form of the Count upon the floor and, rushing to him, gave him a sup of brandy from a flask which he had thoughtfully brought with him. The Admiral paid no attention to the Count, but sought the corner where Victor stood.
“Bless my soul!” cried the Admiral. “Are you a whole man?”
“I believe so, but somewhat played out,” said Victor, and he leaned heavily upon the axe handle.
“But are you sure that you have all your limbs about you?”
“I think so. Two legs and two arms are the usual complement, I believe.”
“No gashes in your head or back?”
“No, I think not. Oh, there is my hat!” and he stepped forward and picked it up.
“Well,” cried the Admiral, “it is really the most re-mark-a-ble preservation from death I ever heard of in all my life.”
“I must trouble you, Admiral Enright,” said M. Villefort, “to assist me in getting Count Mont d’Oro to his carriage. For reasons which you can understand, I do not wish to call the coachman, who is unaware of the nature of our visit here at this unseemly hour.”
“Certainly,” said the Admiral, “in the hour of defeat, the unfortunate can always count upon my sympathy and assistance.”
Supported by the two men, the Count limped slowly towards the door, evidently suffering greatly. Before he reached it, Victor stepped forward:
“Do you acknowledge satisfaction, Count Mont d’Oro?”
The Count’s face was contorted with pain and, for a moment, he did not reply. Then, he almost hissed out the words:
“From an English point of view—yes—but not from a Corsican. We shall meet again!”
When the Admiral returned, he took up the lantern.
“Are you going to take the axes?” he asked.
“No,” said Victor, “we will leave those for the rent of the building.”
That night, in the solitude of his own room, he took from its hiding-place the white rose with the blood-stained petals. Her rose and his blood!
“Sweet emblem of peace and love, thou art my talisman against evil, and, for her dear sake, these hands shall never be stained by the blood of one whom she loves. I swear it!”