University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

Homer. [1]

`There!' said Du Coudray, stooping as he entered
our log hut, `there, monsieur! ce sont charmants,
les fleurets, voila!' laying two pair of glittering foils
upon the table—`ce sont excellents!'

Archibald took up one; and, putting his finger upon
the button, asked, why he brought two pair?

`O, mon dieu? peutêtre, il vous faut plus que deux.'

`Very well—come monsieur, lead on; come brother
—come Arthur; all ready, monsieur.'

`Oui, tout, il est pari,' said the Frenchman, leading
us to the northern breastwork, and parapet. `Stirling!'
cried he, facing the sentinel—who stopped,
brought his fire-lock, smartly, to a present, and then
continued his walk.

We soon came to a place that had evidently been
prepared for the occasion; the snow was levelled, and
covered with saw dust, all about—and, in the centre,

trodden as smooth and level, as the platform, over which
we had passed; Clinton's friends were already on the
ground, with countenances that looked very little like
play.

`I don't much like that man,' said Arthur; `look
to your arms.'

I turned in the direction of his eyes, and saw a thin
spare man, with very black eyes, scowling at us; his
cocked hat pushed on one side, as if in defiance, so as
to reveal two very deep scars upon his forehead; and
his hand resting upon the hilt of a horseman's sword,
almost as tall as Archibald.

Monsieur Du Coudray seemed, by a sort of tacit acquiescence,
or rather invitation, to be invested with the
rank of marshal for the occasion; and, no light
honour did he appear to esteem it; for he gave his orders
with the peremptory air of a field marshal; arranged
the masks, crossed the foils, and posted the
spectators, like one, experienced in all matters of ceremony.

Clinton's eyes were insufferably haughty; and I
could not, for my soul, dispossess myself of a belief,
that he had come prepared for something serious; yet
there was a bitter pleasantry in some of his jibes, and
a sarcastick, keen irony of tone, that betokened the
most perfect self-possesion, all the while: but harken
to the sequel.

Archibald took his position; both had taken off their
boots and coats, and were standing in their slippers;
when Clinton, casting his eyes on the tall, black eyed
man, of whom I had just spoken, seemed to request his
interference.

He stepped forward, insolently enough, in front of
Archibald; and, with a sneer, which caused Archibald's
forehead to contract, and his lip to writhe; asked him
if he had any disposition to take the `mure' first.

Du Coudray smiled, while his dark eyes flashed fire
at the interference; and he remarked, with a shrug,
that, in France, that was the last ceremony: `apres
qu'on a tiré—absolument la dernier.'

The stranger seemed exceedingly disposed to quarrel;
and I was just on the point of tapping him on the
shoulder, when Arthur walked up to him, and looking
him full in the face, begged to know, what business he
had to interfere.

The other stepped back, and struck the hilt of his
sabre.

Arthur smiled, folded his arms, and measured him
from head to foot. `Sir,' said he, `I see that you are
disposed to quarrel. There shall be no quarrelling
here, till that affair is settled; after that, if you are
troublesome—aye, or any of you, I shall take you in
hand.'

The other coolly unsheathed his hanger, and made a
motion for Arthur to follow him.

But ere the motion was complete, Archibald, Du
Coudray, myself, Clinton, and two others, stood, sword
in hand, and almost foot to foot.

`Stop,' said Archibald, `stop! if you have a notion
of fighting, we are ready to indulge you. If broad-sword,
let us mount our horses, and do the thing handsomely;
if small sword, one at a time will be the pleasantest;
and I—I will fight the whole of you, one after
the other, with pleasure.'

Clinton interfered, however, at once—resolutely, and,
with an air of command that soon brought these mettlesome
gentry to their senses; and the foils were soon after
resumed—the salute gone through with, and they
began to play.

Not a breath could be heard; the Frenchman stood,
like some one contemplating a game for his own life—
his eager eyes streaming with fire.

`Ah, a hit!' said the tall stranger. Du Coudray
shrugged his shoulders—`oui, touche!'

`Another, another!' said the stranger; `no! said
Archibald, calmly, `no, the first was a fair hit; the
second, only a touch in the sword arm—and the third,
no hit at all, though a very hazardous experiment.'

`How hazardous?' said Clinton, sharply; `so hazardous,'
answered Archibald, in a low, deliberate

voice, `that I could parry and hit you, every time, that
you should do it.'

`Damn — a —' said Clinton, getting warm, yet
ashamed to own it; `let us try again.'

`No, pardon me—that would not be a fair game for
you; but I give you leave to do it, whenever you
please, without notice.'

They began to play again.

`There! that I suppose was no hit?' said Clinton,
peevishly.

`It certainly was not,' said Archibald. `Black the
foils,' said Clinton, flinging his, to one of the officers,
with an angry expression of contempt.

I looked at Archibald; his attitude was singularly
composed and graceful—the muscles of his arm, the
sleeve of which, was rolled up, showing spiritedly, as
he continued pressing upon his foil: I never saw such
an arm, it was a limb of knotted serpents.

But Du Coudray could not restrain his impatience—
he looked vexed, mortified, beyond all expression.

The foils were blacked; and, I observed that the feet
of Clinton and Archibald, as they came upon guard,
sounded with a more than common emphasis; their
eyes, too, were fiercer, than when they began.

Clinton pressed him hotly, and the play was beautiful,
for more than a minute; when suddenly, Clinton's
foil flew out of his hand, and Archibald, was bent, nearly
double, against his breast.

`Foul play!' said the stranger, interfering.

`No, Sir,' said Du Coudray, fronting him, fiercely;
`no foul play—pardon! he may disarm, and strike too
—pardon, monsieur.'

Clinton was red with shame and vexation; but Archibald
remarked, with a tone of much kindness, that he
did not intend to disarm him.

`To be sure,' said Clinton, laughing, but very bitterly;
`no man that breathes, could disarm me. You
smile Sir—what do you mean by it?'

`Do you insist on knowing?'

`Yes, Sir.'

`Why, Sir, I can disarm you as fast as you can pick
up your foil, if you will only lunge at me—unless you
have a bridle in your glove.'

(This was said with marked emphasis;—and Clinton
turned pale, but did not reply.)

`Or wrap a pocket hankerchief about the guard'—
Du Coudray came to me—rubbing his hands; and
telling me, as well as he could, that now, he understood
it all; that Clinton could not have held his sword a
moment, unless he had a bridle in his palm, and that
now we should see some sport.'

Another round followed, with great spirit, and
Archibald was hit—acknowledged it, by putting his hand
upon his left side; but, before I could wink, he had returned
it. And so it continued for several minutes,
until the sweat streamed from both their faces—Archibald
uniformly returning the hit, instantly, after
receiving it, while Du Coudray could not stand still,
for his life.

`Two and two,' said Du Coudray.

`No.' said the stranger—`three to two.'

Archibald smiled; stepped back, and as Clinton
followed, lunged and hit him.

Du Coudray clapped his hands—`tree to tree, now
sair! I suppose?' said he.

I wondered at Archibald's coolness and self possession:
It seemed impossible that he could look so, unless
sure of his superiority, and yet—where was it?

`You smile,' said Clinton—`my attitude does'nt
please you?'

`No,' Archibald replied. `You are a little careless.
You don't come upon guard, after lunging.'

`And what else?' said Clinton, with a sneer.

`Several things Sir—' said Archibald, beginning to
pull off his gloves, and look about for his coat.

`Stop Sir,' said the imperious Colonel—`stop! I
have not done with you yet. I cannot let you escape
thus.'

`La plus belle!' said Du Coudray, handing Archibald
the foil.

`Colonel Clinton—' said Archibald. `You are
mistaken. You cannot beat me. I am more than a
match for you.'

The Colonel stamped with vexation and yet, there was,
at the same time, a pleasant expression in his countenance,
as he turned toward the tall man, and wiped
the dust from his foil.

`But you were pleased to tell me'—said Clinton—
ironically—`of some faults that I had fallen into---I
should be proud of any further information, from a
master.'

Archibald, with the most innocent face in the world,
just as if he took it all in downright earnest---replied---
`Colonel Clinton has been out of play too long. You
hold your arm too high. I could give you the quatre
bas whenever I pleased. When you coupiz too, quatre
and tierce, you are too low; you never press on my
sword first---and do it so widely, that I should be sure
to hit you, if I lunged straight forward. You hold your
hand too low for the circle---and double,--and you degage
like a school boy.'

`Hell and the devil!' cried Clinton---`what do you
take me for?'

`A fifth rate player,' said Archihald, patiently.---
Clinton struck at him---and, as Archibald caught the
blow---came upon guard, and then lunged furiously,
several times.

`The button is off!' cried Arthur---`stop! stop.'
`The button is off!'

`Never mind,' said Archibald—disarming Clinton
again, while Du Coudray picked up the foil.

`It is broken,' said Arthur.

`Never mind; it is all the same to me,' said Archibald,
in a tone of stinging sarcasm—`and if I mistake not,
much the same to Colonel Clinton.'

Clinton could bear it no longer—he foamed at the
mouth—his forehead turned red as blood, and he was
hoarse with passion.

`You think that you can hit me?' said he—fiercely.

`Yos—a hundred times running—' was the reply.

`Break the button off your foil, if you dare, then.'

`Are you serious?'

`Perfectly,' said Clinton, aiming a blow at him, (not
with the point) that Archibald caught, like lightning.

`With all my heart then—' said he, stepping back—
`brother, stand back—Arthur stand back—Du Coudray
take your stand with them—hand to hilt; let no
man interfere; for, by the living God! (snapping off
the button, as he spoke)—I'll not spare my own brother,
if he cross me now. You know how I have forborne,
till human patience could forbear no longer.'

We ranged ourselves immediately, with flashing
eyes, opposite the three strangers; Arthur, I observed,
as he drew his sword, planting himself, face to face,
with the black-eyed one—I expected to see blood
spilt—other blood than Archibald's—a single word
would have sent us to the encounter.

Clinton and Archibald stood eyeing each other, and
feeling their points.

The stranger took out a couple of files from his pocket,
and offered to sharpen them.

Du Coudray glanced at my brother, significantly,
who immediately threw his foil to the wretch, for the
purpose—and observed, taking up the buttons, and
seeing, how near to the point they had been broken
off—`that there had been some delicate management
there—I observed a little of it—did you file them Du
Coudray?'

`No,' he replied—taking one of them. On examining,
we found that the point had been filed down, so
that they could not but break. He looked about us for
explanation; but my brother smiled darkly, and bade
him beware, hereafter, how he lent his foils. The truth
now broke upon us. It was a preconcerted plan. The
gallant Frenchman had been made the instrument
of a deadly preparation;----the foils had been borrowed
by some of Clinton's friends, and filed, so that a duel
might be fought, in the heat of fencing, under pretence
of accident. The whole mystery was now explained—

and when the mortal combatants came upon guard, for
the last time, I felt my blood run cold.

They crossed their swords—and then, as if each had
a word or two to say in kindness, to the other, the
memory of past times—the same love—the same battles—the—before
they drove at each others hearts—
they both spoke.

`Archibald!'

`Clinton!'

`I owe you no hatred,' said Clinton—`but it is too
late. Are you prepared?'

`Fully—but stop a moment. If you play as badly
now, as you did before we broke the buttons off---I
foresee that it will be fatal to you. I do not want to
run you through---but I shall do it. Nay, do not be
impatient---suppose you wrap a handkerchief round
your guard.'

Clinton's nostrils dilated with scorn.

`Come on!' said he, `come on!' advancing with an
incessant motion. Away went his sword---but as
Archibald did not follow him up, he recovered it again,
and came upon guard, in a masterly style—so masterly,
that Archibald's eyes sparkled with pleasure. They
renewed the combat, and Clinton's sword entered Archibald's
neck, when, it appeared to me that, if he had
straightened his arm, he would have run Clinton
through the body.

`That was awkwardly done,' said Archibald, dropping
the point, and stepping back----after Clinton
withdrew his; and the blood spouted out, as if an artery
had been wounded. `You were entirely at my mercy---
I---you had better stop.'

Whether it was the sight of his own blood, or the
sense of his danger that did it, I know not, but his
voice and look were terrible, as he uttered the words, in
a low murmuring voice---`you had better stop.'

`Stop,' cried Clinton---with a scornful bitterness---
as if Archibald had been crying for mercy. `Mistaken
man.' He pressed upon him again, but Archibald
continued for several minutes, as it appeared to me, to

parry his thrusts with consummate dexterity---returning
none---and not even making a repose, in which Du
Coudray had often said that he was unrivalled for his
quickness and brilliancy---until both dropped their foils
again—and stood panting, as if their veins would burst,
the sweat running from their foreheads, and their hair
wringing wet, though it was an exceedingly cold day.

`Now then!' said Clinton---approaching Archibald
again, with a mortal paleness about the lips---`now
then for the last round?'

`The last!' said Archibald, retreating---with a fixed
eye---while Du Coudray could not forbear watching
every movement of his arm---Clinton rushed upon him,
and played his weapon with an incessant flash---and
then there was a word or two passed between them---a
pause---and the name of Lucia Arnauld was pronounced
by Clinton, I believe, with some other word, I know
not what---but Archibald leaped from the ground, as if
wounded---saying, in a voice, that went through and
through me.

`Your blood be upon your own head!'

It was but a word and a blow---a death blow---for
Archibald sprang from the ground---their blades flashed
fire, and rung---the guards struck---Clinton's flew
twenty feet high in the air—breaking into several pieces,
and Archibald's hilt sounded upon his breast. Clinton
threw up his arms, the sword snapped in his body, and
he fell dead upon the spot.

For a moment, there was a silence like that of the
grave. Not a motion nor a breath was heard. We
stood appalled and thunder-struck, at the suddenness of
the catastrophe—but, the next moment, a loud, deep sob
came from the body—it shuddered—rolled over, with
its mouth full of blood and saw dust—the face upward—
and never stirred again.

Archibald stood over it—as if struck blind—the
broken foil in his hand, bright as silver, though it had
just been withdrawn from the vitals of a human being
—then—looking about upon us—like a murderer—

he stood, as if---as if frightened at the sound of his
own tread in the snow---afraid to trust his own voice
—glanced at the broken weapon—which dropped
from his hand—as if it were death-struck—covered his
face, and walked out into the open air—followed by
Du Coudray, Arthur and myself.

We had not gone twenty yards, when we heard the
word of command, and, on looking up, found ourselves
surrounded by a file of men.

`Stand,' said the corporal of the guard. All obeyed
but Archibald.

`Your swords!' said he, advancing. Each of us
obeyed, without a moments hesitation.

But Archibald either did not understand him—or
disdained to reply, for he passed on.

`Make ready! present!' said the corporal. But
Archibald never turned his head—and but for Du Coudray,
who stepped before the men, with violent
gesticulation, we should have had bloody work of it yet;
—for they were on the very point of throwing their
bullets into Archibald—and Arthur was ready to second
me in any retaliation, however desperate.

But the corporal had compassion on him, and went
up to him politely, and begged his sword.

`My sword!' said Archibald, staring at him—`are
you mad?'

`You are under arrest,' said the corporal. `All the
gentlemen have given up their swords—and you must
give up yours.'

`Must I!' said Archibald, drawing it from the scabbard.
`By God! I'll cleave the first man to the
navel that puts himself in my way. Who sent you?'

`The Commander in Chief,' said the corporal,
stepping adroitly beyond his reach, and beckoning to
the guards.

`Lead me to him,' said Archibald—`and mark
me—at your peril give sign or signal to the rascals
there. Do it! and I'll make you a head shorter—whatever
become of me—before mortal man can help
you.'

The corporal led on—with a martial step, and we
followed—till we were in sight of Washington's quarters,
when the corporal signified that my only brother
and I were to enter, for the present.