University of Virginia Library

40. CHAPTER XL
ON THE GROUND.

The fox-hunter displayed the most unaffected astonishment at
the Captain's communication, and would at once have revealed
the trick he had played; but a sight of the letter stopped
him.

After reading it over twice, he shook his head mournfully,
and said it was a most unhappy affair—but really, he did
not see any other mode of settling it. Then he hastily left
the room, and a roar of laughter succeeded; immediately after
which Mr. Hamilton's voice was heard reprimanding the
servant, who had no doubt uttered this disrespectful sound
—in a tone of dignified astonishment.

Soon afterwards, dinner was announced, and Hamilton
advised his friend not to drink much, as it would unsteady
his hand in the coming encounter.

“I will not conceal from you, Captain,” he said, “that I
think it will be a mortal duel. Effingham is a bitterly passionate
man, and hates you profoundly. Come now, my dear
fellow, set down that glass of claret.”

The Captain drank it off.

“Basta! I've tried all sorts of fighting,” he said, “and
there's some reason in what you say. But a glass of claret?
Morbleu! I believe you are laughing.”

“I would not be guilty of laughing, at such a crisis,” said
Hamilton, “when one, or perhaps two, of my friends are
about to fall.”

“Well, well,” said the Captain, “we shall see.”

And he remained quite composed until the hour of half-past
four had arrived. Having the duel thus forced on him,
the worthy fellow's mind was quite at ease.

Hamilton had the horses brought, and the two men
mounted.

“Banks' Cross-roads is a good place for a duel,” said
Hamilton, sighing.

“Ah?” said the Captain, twirling his moustache.

“Yes, my dear fellow—yes,” replied Hamilton, “it is a
most eligible position to fall upon—gracefully, you know.”

“I hope to stand up,” said the Captain.

“Well well, it is possible you may not be killed,” continued
his companion, with great commiseration in his voice.
“Effingham is probably out of practice, and you stand some
chance.”

“Some chance? I?” said the Captain, “why, Hamilton,
just as sure as you sit in that saddle, I shall kill or disarm
him. Basta! he has forced it on me.”

“I am glad you are so confident,” said Hamilton, “but I
think it my duty to say that Effingham was considered one
of the best swordsmen in London.”

“Was he?”

“Yes.”

“I'm glad;” replied the Captain, “all the more satisfactory.
Let us get on, comrade!”

And putting spurs to his horse, the Captain galloped onward
followed by Hamilton, who looked at him—when their
eyes met—with pitying regard.

They reached the cross-roads just as the Captain's repeater
indicated the hour of five.

Mr. William Effingham, with his friend Thomas Alston,
Esq., was standing on a grassy hillock at the point where the
ways meet.

“Well, my little man,” said the Captain, goodnaturedly,
“did your brother send you to announce his coming?”

“Did you address me, sir?” asked Mr. William Effingham,
arranging his diminutive frill.

“Morbleu!—I certainly did, petit monsieur.”

“Be good enough to allow our respective seconds to arrange
the preliminaries of the combat,” observed Mr. Effingham,
with an important air.

“Our seconds!—the combat!—the preliminaries!” cried
the Captain. “Where is Mr. Effingham?”

“I am he, sir.”

“You!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You wrote me that answer?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain laid back on his horse and shook with
laughter. Hamilton echoed it. Master Will looked hostile
and indignant.

“You received my letter!” cried the Captain.

“I did, sir.”

“You answered it?”

“I have replied to that question already, sir!”

“Why, it was directed to your brother, monsieur.”

“It was directed to `Mr. Effingham,' and that is my
name, sir.”

“Lanky gave it to you, then?” said the Captain, rolling
about with laughter.

“He sent it in by a servant, sir, and I returned my reply
through the same channel.”

The Captain remained silent for a moment, then bursting
into a roar of laughter, louder than any previous roar,
cried:

“Well! mine has been a wild life, full of odd adventures,
but it was left for this day to bring the most splendid
comedy to light I ever acted in! Basta! Did any one
ever—”

“Never!” cried Hamilton.

“And you were ready to fight me with that huge sword!”
cried the Captain to Mr. William Effingham, who indeed had
buckled around his waist his brother's largest rapier.

“I was, sir,” he said.

“And on what quarrel?”

“We are rivals, sir,” said Will, “you confess it in your
letter.”

“Rivals!”

“Yes, sir.”

`How, in heaven's name?”

“I am not ignorant, sir,” replied Mr. William Effingham,
with lofty dignity, “of the advances you have made to
my cousin, Miss Catherine Effingham. I have not been
blind, sir, to the fact, either at the Hall on a former occasion,
when she rode behind you, or at Riverhead, the residence

of Mr. Lee, when you were pleased to compliment her
costume, nor last Saturday, sir, when she hastened to you as
you passed upon horseback, near our party, and gave her
hand to you. You seem to be about to deny this, sir: it is
useless: the death of one of us will end all. Mr. Alston
will arrange the terms of the combat with Mr. Hamilton.”

And Mr. William Effingham drew himself up and assumed
an air of noble dignity.

The Captain and his friend had nearly expired with
pent-up laughter during this discourse. But the soldier
suppressed his agitation: when his opponent had finished,
he replied with a low bow, and in a voice of respectful
solemnity:

“I beg to assure you, Mr. Effingham, that your suspicion
that I designed, or now design, paying my addresses
to your beautiful cousin, Miss Effingham, is wholly a mistake.
Much as I admire that fair and lovely lady, I should
never place myself in your way.”

“Hum!” said his enemy.

“I therefore repeat, and here declare in the presence of
yourself, of Mr. Hamilton, and of your friend, Mr. Alston,
to whom I beg leave to present the assurance of my highest
regard, and most distinguished consideration—I repeat, I
say, in the presence of all here assembled, that I renounce
all pretensions to the hand of Miss Effingham from this
time forth. If any paper is necessary to be signed, I will
sign it: I will, “parole d'honneur! morbleu!”

And Captain Ralph bowed again, stuffing his frill into
his mouth.

“That is perfectly satisfactory, Captain Waters, and I
offer you my friendship,” said Will, brightening up.

“I accept it with delight,” said the Captain: and bending
down, the mortal opponents shook hands.

“And now I think my hoax has proceeded far enough,”
said Hamilton, laughing.

“Your hoax?” said his friend.

“All I said the other day, returning from Riverhead,
was a pure invention,” said honest Jack, laughing triumphantly,
“and now, my dear Don Moustachio, it seems to me
that I have paid you for all your practical jokes upon myself,
at a blow.”

With which words honest Jack Hamilton laid back and
shook triumphantly.

For a moment the Captain looked indignant: then his
face brightened: then he burst into a loud laugh, and cried,
holding out his hand:

“Was ever such a villainous plot so perfectly successful!
Morbleu! Hamilton, I acknowledge you are my master!
Any feeling of spite, mon compagnon, is lost, parbleu! in
admiration of your strategy!”

The Captain stopped to return, with great respect, the
bows of Mr. Effingham and Mr. Alston, who, mounting their
horses, rode off with graceful dignity.

The Captain looked after them—waited until they had
disappeared, and then burst into a perfect roar of morbleus,
—laughter, and delighted appreciation of the whole joke.

“Tonnere! Hamilton, you are a great genius!” he
cried, “would any body have suspected from your face, on
that ride, that you were tricking me! Morbleu, mon ami!
I consider it equal to any thing in ancient or modern history.”

Mr. Hamilton assumed a modest and deprecatory expression.

“No—no,” he replied, mildly.

“There you are!” cried the Captain, “your face is like
a woman's, when she says, `I will consider your proposal, sir
—la.' Diable! let us start equal again: after this, war to
the death!”

And the Captain rode onward with his companion, toward
the Trap.

“To-morrow—well, we shall see!” he muttered, as he
rode home that evening, “the scaling ladders are ready!”