As Overton had said, the meeting was delayed exactly twenty-four hours.
My courage always has an odd way of disappearing when I am expecting to use it, although I must say, when I have had actual occasion for it, I have always found it easily at hand. I can not deny that I was very much frightened for Giles on the morning of the meeting, and, to add to my misery, I heard that Overton was considered one of the best shots in England.
The dreary breakfast gulped down; the post-chaise rattling up to the door—I had hoped until the last moment that it would not come; the bumping along the road in the cool, bright summer morning; the gruesome, long, narrow box that lay on the front seat of the chaise; the packet of letters which Giles had given me and which seemed to weigh a hundred tons in my pocket,—all these were so many horrors to haunt the memory for ever. But I must say that, apparently, the misery was all mine; for I never saw Giles Vernon show so much as by the flicker of an eyelash that he was disturbed in any way.
About half-way from the meeting-ground we left the highway and turned into a by-road; and scarcely had we gone half a mile when we almost drove into a broken-down chaise, and standing on the roadside among the furze bushes were the coachman, the surgeon,—a most bloody-minded man I always believed him,—Mr. Buxton, and Overton.
Our chaise stopped, and Giles, putting his head out of the window, said pleasantly, “Good morning, gentlemen; you have had an accident, I see.”
“A bad one,” replied Mr. Buxton, who saw that their chaise was beyond help, and who, as he said afterward, was playing for a place in our chaise, not liking to walk the rest of the distance.
Giles jumped out and so did I, and the most courteous greetings were exchanged.
The two drivers, as experts, examined the broken chaise, and agreed there was no patching it up for service; one wheel was splintered.
Mr. Buxton looked at Giles meaningly, and then at me, and Giles whispered to me,—
“Offer to take ’em up. By Jupiter, they shall see we are no shirkers.”
Which I did, and, to my amazement, in a few moments we were all lumbering along the road; Overton and Mr. Buxton on the back seat, and Giles and I with our backs to the horses, while the surgeon was alongside the coachman on the box.
Nothing could exceed the politeness between the two principals, about the seats as about everything else. Overton was with difficulty persuaded to take the back seat. Mr. Buxton seated himself there without any introduction. (I hope it will never again be my fortune to negotiate so delicate an affair as a meeting between gentlemen, with one so much my superior in rank as Mr. Buxton.)
“May I ask, Mr. Overton, if you prefer the window down or up?” asked Giles, with great deference.
“Either, dear sir,” responded Overton. “I believe it was up when you kindly invited us to enter.”
“True; but you may be sensitive to the air, and may catch cold.”
At which Mr. Buxton grinned in a heartless manner. The window remained up.
We were much crowded with the two pistol-cases and the surgeon’s box of instruments, which to me appeared more appalling than the pistols.
At last we reached the spot,—a small, flat place under a sweetly-blooming hawthorn hedge, with some verdant oaks at either end.
Giles and Overton were so scrupulous about taking precedence of each other in getting out of the chaise, that I had strong hopes the day would pass before they came to a decision; but Mr. Buxton finally got out himself and pulled his man after him, and then we were soon marking off the ground, and I was feeling that mortal sickness which had attacked me the first time I was under fire in the Ajax.
Overton won the toss for position, and at that I could have lain down and wept.
Our men were placed twenty paces apart, with their backs to each other. At the word “one,” they were to turn, advance and fire between the words “two” and “three.” This seemed to me the most murderous arrangement I had ever heard of.
The stories I had so lately heard about Overton’s proficiency with the pistol made me think, even if he did not kill Giles intentionally, he would attempt some expert trick with the pistol, which would do the business equally well. I knew Giles to be a very poor shot, and concluded that he, through awkwardness, would probably put an end to Overton, and I regarded them both as doomed men.
I shall never forget my feelings as we were placing our men, or after Mr. Buxton and I had retired to a place under the hedge. Just as we had selected our places, Giles, looking over his shoulder, said in his usual cool, soft voice,—
“Don’t you think, gentlemen, you had better move two or three furlongs off? Mr. Overton may grow excited and fire wild.”
I thought this a most dangerous as well as foolish speech, and calculated to irritate Overton; and for the first time I saw a gleam of anger in his eye, which had hitherto been mild, and even sad. For I believed then, and knew afterward, that his mind was far from easy on the subject of dueling. I wish to say here that I also believe, had he been fully convinced that dueling was wrong, he would have declined to fight, no matter what the consequences had been; for I never knew a man with more moral courage. But at the time, although his views were changing on the subject, they were not wholly changed.
Mr. Buxton, without noticing Giles’ speech, coughed once or twice, and then waited two or three minutes before giving the word.
The summer sun shone brilliantly, turning the distant river to a silver ribbon. A thrush rioted musically in the hawthorn hedge. All things spoke of life and hope, but to my sinking heart insensate Nature only mocked us. I heard, as in a dream, the words “One, two, three” slowly uttered by Mr. Buxton, and saw, still as in a dream, both men turn and raise their pistols.
Overton’s was discharged first; then, as he stood like a man in marble waiting for his adversary’s fire, Giles raised his pistol and, taking deliberate aim at the bird still singing in the hedge, brought it down. It was a mere lucky shot, but Overton took off his hat and bowed to the ground, and Giles responded by taking off his hat and showing a hole through the brim.
Overton took off his hat and bowed.
“You see, Mr. Glyn,” said Overton, “I have done according to my promise. It was not my intention to kill Mr. Vernon, but only to frighten him,”—which speech Mr. Buxton and I considered as a set-off to Giles’ speech just before shots were exchanged.
The two principals remained where they were, while Mr. Buxton and I retired behind the hedge to confer—or rather for Mr. Buxton to say to me,—
“Another shot would be damned nonsense. My man is satisfied, or shall be, else I am a Dutch trooper. Certainly you have nothing to complain of.”
I was only too happy to accept this solution, but more out of objection to being browbeaten by Mr. Buxton than anything else, I said,—
“We shall require an explanation of your principal’s observation just now, sir.”
“Shall you?” angrily asked Mr. Buxton, exactly in the tone he used when the carpenter’s mate complained that the jack-o’-the-dust had cribbed his best saw. “Then I shall call your man to account in regard to his late observation, and we can keep them popping away at each other all day. But this is no slaughter-pen, Mr. Glyn, nor am I the ship’s butcher, and I shall take my man back to town and give him a glass of spirits and some breakfast, and I advise you to do the same. You are very young, Mr. Glyn, and you still need to know a thing or two.” Then, advancing from behind the hedge, he said in the dulcet tone he used when the admiral asked him to have wine,—
“Gentlemen, Mr. Glyn and myself, after conferring, have agreed that the honor of our principals is fully established, and that the controversy is completely at an end. Allow me to congratulate you both,”—and there was a general hand-shaking all around. I noticed that the coachman, who was attentively watching the performance, looked slightly disappointed at the turn of affairs.
Straightway, we all climbed into the chaise, and I think I shall be believed when I say that our return to town was more cheerful than our departure had been.
We all agreed to dine together at Mivart’s the next night, and I saw no reason to believe that there was any remnant of ill feeling between the two late combatants.
I returned to Berkeley Square that afternoon, with much uneasiness concerning my meeting and future intercourse with Lady Arabella; for I had not seen her since the occurrence in Sir Peter’s study. Although my affection for her was for ever killed by that box on the ear she gave me, yet no man can see a woman shamed before him without pain, and the anticipation of Lady Arabella’s feelings when she saw me troubled me. But this was what actually happened when we met. Lady Arabella was sitting in the Chinese drawing-room, her lap-dog in her arms, surrounded by half a dozen fops. Lady Hawkshaw had left the room for a moment, and Arabella had taken the opportunity of showing her trick of holding out her dog’s paws and kissing his nose, which she called measuring love-ribbon. This performance never failed to throw gentlemen into ecstasies. Daphne sat near, with her work in her lap and a book on the table by her, smiling rather disdainfully. I do not think the cousins loved each other.
On my appearance in the drawing-room, I scarcely dared look toward Lady Arabella; but she called out familiarly,—
“Come here, Dicky!” (her habit of calling me Dicky annoyed me very much), “and let me show you how I kiss Fido’s nose; and if you are a good boy, and will tell me all about the meeting this morning, perhaps I may hold your paws out and kiss your nose,”—at which all the gentlemen present laughed loudly. I never was so embarrassed in my life, and my chagrin was increased when, suddenly dropping the dog, she rushed at me, seized my hands, and, holding them off at full arm’s length, imprinted a sounding smack upon my nose, and laughingly cried out, “One yard!” ( Smack on my nose again.) “Two yards!” (Smack.) “Three yards!” (Smack.)
At this juncture I recovered my presence of mind enough to seize her around the waist, and return her smacks with interest full in the mouth. And at this stage of the proceedings Lady Hawkshaw appeared upon the scene.
In an instant an awful hush fell upon us. For my part I felt my knees sinking under me, and I had that feeling of mortal sickness which I had felt in my first sea-fight, and at the instant I thought my friend’s life in jeopardy. Lady Arabella stood up, for once, confused. The gentlemen all retired gracefully to the wall, in order not to interrupt the proceedings, and Daphne fixed her eyes upon me, sparkling with indignation.
Lady Hawkshaw’s voice, when she spoke, seemed to come from the tombs of the Pharaohs.
“What is this countrytom I see?” she asked. And nobody answered a word.
Jeames, the tall footman, stood behind her; and to him she turned, saying in a tone like thunder,—
“Jeames, go and tell Sir Peter Hawkshaw that I desire his presence immediately upon a matter of the greatest importance.”
The footman literally ran down stairs, and presently Sir Peter came puffing up from the lower regions. Lady Arabella had recovered herself then enough to hum a little tune and to pat the floor with her satin slipper.
Sir Peter walked in, surveyed us all, and turned pale. I verily believe he thought Arabella had been caught cheating at cards.
“Sir Peter,” said Lady Hawkshaw, in the same awful voice, “I unexpectedly entered this room a few moments ago, and the sight that met my eyes was Arabella struggling in the arms of this young ruffian, Richard Glyn, who was kissing her with the greatest fury imaginable.”
Sir Peter looked at me very hard, and after a moment said,—
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, young gentleman?”
“Sir,” I replied, trying to assume a firm tone, “I will only say that Lady Arabella, meaning to treat me like her lap-dog, kissed me on the nose, as she does that beast of hers; and as an officer and a gentleman, I felt called upon to pay her back; and for every smack she gave me on my nose, I gave her two back in the mouth, to show her that an officer in his Majesty’s sea-service is a man, and not a lap-dog.”
“Do you hear that, Sir Peter?” asked Lady Hawkshaw, with terrible earnestness. “He does not deny his guilt. What think you of his conduct?”
“Think, ma’am!” shouted Sir Peter, “I think if he had done anything else, it would have been clean against the articles of war, and I myself would have seen that he was kicked out of his Majesty’s service. I shall send for my solicitor, to-morrow morning, to put a codicil to my will, giving Richard Glyn a thousand pounds at my decease.”
At this the gentlemen roared, and Lady Arabella, seizing the lap-dog, hid her face in his long hair, while even Daphne smiled and blushed. As for Lady Hawkshaw, for once she was disconcerted and walked out, glaring over her shoulder at Sir Peter.
There was much laughter, Sir Peter joining in; but after a while the gentlemen left, and Sir Peter went out, and Daphne, who I saw was disgusted with my conduct, walked haughtily away, in spite of Lady Arabella’s playful protests that she was afraid to remain alone in the room with me.
One thing had puzzled me extremely, and that was her calmness, and even gaiety, when she had no means of knowing how Overton had come off in the meeting, and I said to her,—
“How did you know, or do you know, whether Philip Overton and Giles Vernon are alive at this moment?”
“By your face, Dicky,” she answered, trying to give me a fillip on the nose, which I successfully resisted. “I was in agony until I saw your face. Then I gave one great breath of joy and relief, and my play with my lap-dog, which had been torture to me, became delight. But tell me the particulars.”
“No, Madam,” said I; “I tell you nothing.”
This angered her, and she said, after a moment,—
“I presume you will take an early opportunity of telling Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw that I saw Philip Overton alone in this house, at five o’clock yesterday morning?”
“I am quite unaware, Madam,” replied I, stung by this, “of anything in my character or conduct which could induce you to think such a thing of me.”
“You made me no promise not to tell,” she said.
“Certainly not. But some things are considered universally binding among gentlemen, and one is to tell nothing to the disadvantage of a woman. I neither made, nor will make, a promise about that affair; but if it is ever known, it will be you or Overton who tells it, not I.”
And I walked out of the room.
I speedily found, after that, my life in Berkeley Square uncomfortable. I felt constrained before Lady Arabella, and, what seemed strange to me, little Daphne, who had hitherto treated me with greatest kindness, seemed to take a spite at me, and her gibes and cuts were hard to bear. Neither Sir Peter nor Lady Hawkshaw noted these things, but they were strong enough to impel me to ask Sir Peter to look out for a ship for me at the Admiralty.
I saw Giles Vernon every day, and he continued to come, with unabated assurance, to Berkeley Square. We were not anxious that the fact of the duel should leak out, and Overton was especially desirous to keep it quiet. Of course, he came no more to Berkeley Square, and withdrew more and more from his former associates. He began to consort much with persons of the John Wesley persuasion, spending much of his time, when not on duty, at Oxford, where the Wesleyans were numerous at the time. I noticed that Lady Arabella treated Giles, and me, also, with more civility than she had hitherto shown. I could not think it sincere, but attributed it to a natural desire to conciliate those who knew so much to her disadvantage. But that she made no effort to overcome her infatuation for Overton, I very soon had proof. Sir Thomas Vernon, soon after this, had the assurance to present himself in Berkeley Square, and rare sport it was. Lady Hawkshaw, Lady Arabella, Daphne, myself, and one or two other persons were in the Chinese drawing-room when he was ushered in.
Lady Hawkshaw and Sir Thomas were old acquaintances, and had been at feud for more than thirty years, neither side asking or giving quarter. Sir Thomas had a shrewd wit of his own, and was more nearly a match for Lady Hawkshaw than any one I had yet seen. He opened the ball by remarking on Lady Hawkshaw’s improved appearance, partly due, he thought, to her triumph in getting the K. C. B. for Sir Peter. This nettled Lady Hawkshaw extremely, and she retaliated by telling Sir Thomas that he looked younger than he did when she first knew him, thirty years ago. As Sir Thomas hated any allusion to his age, this shot told.
“And allow me to congratulate you, Sir Thomas,” added Lady Hawkshaw, “upon your very promising cousin, Mr. Giles Vernon. Sir Peter has the highest opinion of him, and he has won the favor of the bong-tong to an extraordinary degree.”
“He may have won the favor of the bong-tong,” replied Sir Thomas, impudently mimicking Lady Hawkshaw’s French, “but he has not yet succeeded in winning my favor.”
“That’s a pity,” said Lady Hawkshaw; “but it doesn’t signify, I dare say. It will not keep you alive a day longer. And there is your other cousin—Captain Overton of the Guards. He is what so few of our young men are, pious and God-fearing.”
“And a sniveling, John Wesley Methodist besides,” snarled Sir Thomas, much exasperated.
“Bless me, Sir Thomas,” cried Lady Hawkshaw, “don’t be so hard on those worthy people, the Methodists.”
I own this surprised me, for if there was anything on earth upon which Lady Hawkshaw was uncompromising, it was Church and State; and, excellent woman though she was, I believe she would have been rather glad to make one big bonfire of all the dissenters in England.
Sir Thomas was far from insensible to Lady Arabella’s charms, and, after a further exchange of hostilities with Lady Hawkshaw, turned to Arabella. She smiled upon him, and seemed anxious to conciliate him; and in a little while I caught enough of their conversation to know that she was telling him of the meeting between Giles and Overton, and representing that it had been forced upon Overton by the insults of Giles Vernon. Sir Thomas’ response to her tale was that he did not give a damn for either of them, and if both had bit the dust he should not have been sorry.
When Sir Thomas left, Lady Hawkshaw called the tall footman.
“Jeames,” she said, “when that—person calls again, the ladies are not at home. Do you understand?”
Jeames understood perfectly, in spite of Lady Arabella’s scowls.
It is not to be supposed that a young man of Giles Vernon’s spirit had not been able to go through with his prize-money and run pretty considerably in debt in five or six weeks in London, and one morning, some days after this, when I went to see Giles at his lodgings, I found the bailiffs in possession. Giles, however, was as merry as a grig, because that very morning he had got an appointment to the Belvidera frigate.
It was not much after having served in the Ajax, but it meant leaving that uncertain and trying element, dry land, for another element on which Giles was much more at home, to wit, the blue sea. So he sent out for a pot of porter, and he and I, together with the bailiffs, drank to the Belvidera; and I swore, then and there, that go with him I would. For, in the excess of my affection for Giles, I would have taken almost any service to be with him. The frigates, too, were more in the way of activity, as the enemy was wary of meeting our ships of the line, but the frigates could go hunting after him. So, when I returned to Berkeley Square that day, I begged Sir Peter to get me a berth in the Belvidera. He was pleased with my spirit, and the very next day he went to the Admiralty for me. The complement was full, but, luckily for me, one of the juniors got a billet more to his liking, and Sir Peter, being on the spot, got me the vacancy, and I was ordered to report at once at Plymouth.
It took me but a day or two to get my outfit and make ready to start. Lady Hawkshaw showed me great kindness then, and actually allowed me to have a considerable sum of my own money. Lady Arabella treated me with her usual indifference, and, on the day I was to go, bade me a careless adieu.
When the post-chaise was at the door and I went to the Chinese drawing-room to tell Lady Hawkshaw and Sir Peter good-by, Daphne was there with them, and she looked as if she had been weeping. Sir Peter gave me a letter to my new captain, Vere, and some words of encouragement. Lady Hawkshaw delivered a homily to me on my duty, which I received out of respect for her real excellence of heart, and thanked her in a manner which made Sir Peter my friend for life. Daphne said not a word when I took her hand, but handing me a little parcel ran out of the room. I afterward found it to be a little housewife made by her own hands.
I went down to the chaise, puzzled at her conduct, but, looking up for the last time to the windows, I saw her peering from behind a curtain. I raised the parcel to my lips, and, as she saw it, a smile broke over her face. My last glimpse of her was like an April day,—she was all smiles and tears,—and it was destined to remain in my memory.
Giles Vernon was waiting for me at the corner of the street. We were to make the journey to Plymouth together.
“Well,” he cried, when we found ourselves rolling along to meet the coach, “I have had my cake and eaten it.”
“How I envy you!” I said bitterly. “I have not had my cake. Every shilling of my prize-money is in bank, except about two hundred pounds.”
“Poor chap!” answered Giles feelingly. “How much more of life have I seen in London than you! I have seen everything, including that queen of hearts, Lady Arabella Stormont. She has treated me cruelly, the jade! But I will bring her to my hand at last, that I swear to you.”
I longed that he might know of that episode with Overton in Sir Peter Hawkshaw’s cubby-hole at five o’clock in the morning.
We had a pleasant journey to Plymouth, and were troubled with few regrets at leaving London. We expected, in the foolishness of youth, to capture many more such prizes as the Indomptable and Xantippe. The Belvidera was nearly ready, and in a few weeks we sailed on our second cruise. I shall not give the particulars of that cruise. It was such an one as all the officers of his Majesty’s service were engaged in, during those eventful years. We were constantly at sea; we kept a tireless lookout for our enemies, and hunted and pursued them into their own harbors. We never slept for more than four hours at a time, in all our cruising. We lived on beef and biscuit for months at a time; sometimes we had scurvy in the ship, and sometimes we did not. We struggled with mighty gales, that blew us hundreds and even thousands of miles out of our course; and we sweltered in calms that tried men’s souls. In all that time, we watched night and day for the enemy, and, when found, chased him, and never failed to get alongside when it was possible; and we fought him with the greatest good-will. We had good and ill fortune with the ship, but her colors were never lowered. And it was five years before we set foot in London town again.
Only a year of that time was Giles Vernon with me. He then got promotion which took him out of the ship. I had the extreme good fortune to be with Nelson at the Nile. On that great day, as sailing-master of the Belvidera, I took the frigate around the head of Admiral Villeneuve’s line,—she was the leading ship,—and placed her where she was enabled to fire the first raking broadside of the battle. I got a wound in the forehead which left a scar that remains to this day; but I also received the personal thanks of my Lord Nelson, which I shall ever esteem as the greatest honor of my life. I had heard nothing of Giles for nearly a year, when, among Admiral Villeneuve’s officers, I found one, a young lieutenant like myself, who told me that Giles had been captured, while on a boat expedition, and was then in prison at Dunkerque.
I wrote him a dozen letters at least, by officers who were paroled; and when the ship was paid off, the following spring, I lost no time in getting to London, and using what little power I had in trying to have him exchanged. Sir Peter was in great favor at the Admiralty. As soon as I reached London, I went immediately to call in Berkeley Square. My Lady Hawkshaw was at home, and received me in great state, black feathers and all; and with her sat Daphne Carmichael.
I believe Lady Hawkshaw was really glad to see me; but Daphne, after speaking to me, remained with her eyes fixed on her embroidery, I noted, however, that she was a very charming girl, and her eyes, under her long, dark lashes, were full of fire and sweetness. But she had not, and never could have, the glorious beauty of Lady Arabella Stormont. Lady Hawkshaw demanded of me a particular account of my whole cruise, and everything that had happened at the battle of the Nile. This I gave, to the best of my ability. She then invited, or, rather, commanded me to take up my quarters in Berkeley Square, and told me that I had three thousand and ten pounds, nineteen shillings and seven-pence to my credit in bank.
After this, she was called upon to leave the room for a moment, and I civilly inquired of Daphne how Lady Arabella was.
“She is well,” responded Daphne, rather tartly, I thought; “and as devoted to Captain Overton as ever. You know Arabella ever liked him rather more than he liked her.” At which ungenerous speech, I said one word, “Fie!” and Daphne, coloring to the roots of her hair, yet attempted to defend herself.
“I only tell you what all the world says, and so say my uncle and aunt. Arabella could have married a dozen times,—she is all of twenty-one, you know,—and married very splendidly, but she will not. Sir Peter rages, and swears that he will marry her off in spite of herself; but Arabella is her own mistress now, and laughs at Sir Peter.”
“And does she still play cards?”
Daphne raised her eyes. It seemed to give that otherwise sweet girl positive pleasure to call over Lady Arabella’s faults.
“Yes,” she said. “Loo, lansquenet—anything by which money can be lost or won. Three times a week she goes to the Duchess of Auchester’s, where play is high. We go there to-night; but I do not play.”
I had not thought there was so much malice in Daphne, until that conversation.
I left my adieux for Lady Hawkshaw, and repaired to the Admiralty, where Sir Peter happened to be, that day. I explained that I should have come to him at once, but for my inordinate wish to see Lady Hawkshaw; and that I found her looking at least twenty years younger since we met last. At which Sir Peter beamed on me with delight, and, I believe, mentally determined to give me a thousand pounds additional, in his will.
I then stated my real business, which was to get Giles Vernon exchanged; and Sir Peter, without a moment’s hesitation, agreed to do all he could for me; and then, as usual, directed me to have my portmanteau sent to Berkeley Square, as Lady Hawkshaw had done. Before I left the Admiralty, machinery had been put in motion to secure Giles Vernon’s exchange. I returned to Berkeley Square, and again took up my abode there.
