University of Virginia Library

52. CHAPTER LII.
THE COMBAT: RED AND WHITE ROSES.

The two carriages arrived almost at the same moment,
and the hostile parties, as they issued forth, made each other
a low bow.

Lindon was superbly dressed, but Captain Foy wore his
customary suit of black, fitting closely to his slender and
nervous figure.

Around his waist was buckled a plain sword, with yellow
leather accoutrements, the whole very much worn.

Captain Waters had no sooner accomplished his bow,
than, assuming a most engaging smile, he pointed to the
weapon of the secretary, and said,

“Do n't I recognize an old friend there, comrade? It
seems to me that sword is not new to me, and I even think
it once ran into my body, did it not?”

Captain Foy made a modest gesture, and said,

“Let us forget our youthful contentions, Captain Waters;
they are of no importance now.”

“But really, I'm curious,” said the captain; “did you
not wear that sword—”

“At Reinfels? Yes, sir. 'T is an old companion, with
whom I'm loth to part. Shall we now proceed to make
our arrangements?”

“With pleasure; here are the swords.”

The bundle was unwrapped, and the weapons were measured.

“Exact to an inch, these two,” said Captain Waters, “and
you may take either.”

“Thanks, captain, I accept this.”

And Foy took one of the swords, and critically examined
its point.

He then made it whistle to and fro in his vigorous and
nervous grasp, listening if the blade clicked in the hilt.

The examination seemed to satisfy him perfectly, and
making his opponent another bow, he said,

“I find this weapon perfect, Captain Waters, and we may
now proceed to business, as the position of these gentlemen
is already determined upon, north and south with the sun.”

“Yes, my dear comrade; you really fill me with admiration,
and make me remember old times. Could n't we have
a little bout now, after this event is through; a mere friendly
pass or two?”

“I would rather not, captain; you might wound me, and
I can not afford to lose my time now, having much to attend
to.”

“You retain your post of secretary?”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain sighed.

“My dear Foy,” he said, “I'll give you five hundred
pounds if you'll resign.”

“I regret to say that 't is impossible for me to accept
your offer, Captain Waters. Shall we proceed?”

“Of course, of course!”

And the captain examined St. John's sword as carefully
as his opponent had tested Lindon's.

He then raised his head, and making a motion with his
hand,

“Foy,” he said, “a moment yet before we commence.”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Is your secretaryship the obstacle in the way of that
friendly little affair I proposed?”

“Yes sir.”

“I offered you five hundred pounds to resign, did I not?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“And you refused?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You still refuse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I offer you a thousand!”

“Captain Waters,” said the secretary, smiling grimly,
“if you proceed any further you will make me laugh, and
as laughter, upon an occasion like the present, is not becoming,
I must beg you to desist. I regret extremely that 't is
not in my power to resign my commission in his Excellency's
service at the present time. If, however, that event
occurs, I shall most assuredly inform you, and willingly
permit you to take advantage of it in the way you propose.”

Captain Foy bowed as he spoke, and indicated that he
was ready.

Waters shook his head.

“My dear comrade,” he said, sighing, “that was always
your way. You talk so eloquently, and turn your periods
with such melodious art, that a poor camp devil like myself,
morbleu, can't answer you, and's obliged to yield. I will,
therefore, say no more, except that I most thankfully accept
your offer, and will, on the proper occasion, gladly avail
myself of it.”

And turning to hand Mr. St. John his sword, Captain
Waters muttered to himself,

“Ah, rascal! ah, rascally second of a rascally principal,
if faces do n't deceive me! I'll yet split your forked tongue

still wider, and pull your fangs, and stop you forefinger and
thumb from writing instructions for Conolly!”

“What did you say, my dear captain?” asked Foy.

“I observed, my dear friend, that it was a charming
morning, and that I was filled with happiness at meeting
again, on this congenial occasion, with a comrade for whom
I have so great an affection as yourself. I foresee, if we
ever kill each other 't will be from a pure love of art, not
from bad blood, and so, if you choose, we'll proceed.”

With these words, accompanied by the most agreeable
smiles, Captain Waters went to the side of his friend, who
was calmly looking forth upon the beautiful river, and signified
to him that every preliminary of the combat was now
arranged.

The young man coolly took his weapon, and leaned the
point upon his boot.

“All's ready, my dear St. John,” the captain said, “and I
have only to add a word. Lindon is as fresh as a lark; he's
taken perfect care of himself, and, therefore, I advise you
not to stand on the defensive with a view to weary him.
Better lunge from the first, and I think, from the way he
carries his elbow, your best lunge will be in carte.”

“Thanks, captain,” said St. John; “I shall simply endeavor
to protect myself, having not the least desire to shed
this gentleman's blood. If that is necessary, however, I
shall not hesitate, having been forced into the whole affair,
and being quite at my ease.”

The captain's countenance filled with pleasure.

“My dear St. John,” he said, “you will kill him! I
know you will! I compliment you!”

“Why, captain?”

“You are cool as ice, and now let us get to business.”

Captain Foy signified at the same moment that Mr.
Lindon was ready, and the opponents confronted each
other.

“Gentlemen,” said Captain Waters, “we now permit you
to proceed, unless the party from whom the insult, on this

occasion, has issued, shall make full and ample apology for
the same, retracting the said insult, and entreating pardon
of his opponent.”

Lindon made a haughty movement, but Captain Foy
answered for him.

“It is with great regret that we must decline such apology,”
said the secretary; “unfortunately there is no possibility
of any such thing.”

“You persist?” said Captain Waters.

“We have the honor,” said Captain Foy.

“Well then the affair will, of course, proceed. There is
absolutely no alternative. This affair, gentlemen, as I need
scarcely say, has arisen from a difference of opinion upon the
quality of the Canary supplied to the late assembly, Mr. St.
John having declared the said Canary wretched, and unworthy
to be drunk by a gentleman, Mr. Lindon having
taken the opposite view, and offered Mr. St. John a glass,
which that gentleman declined. I confess I see no means of
bringing about a community of sentiment but the sword, and
so, Captain Foy, we are ready!”

“And we, sir—proceed, gentlemen!”

The two men raised their swords quickly, and the weapons
crossed.

The seconds retired ten paces and looked on.

Lindon was perfectly fresh, and, as his sword touched his
opponent's, his eyes flashed with gratified hatred.

St. John was perfectly calm and cool.

Lindon advanced furiously and made a mortal thrust at
his opponent, which was parried perfectly.

The next moment they closed in a violent, deadly, breast-to-breast
struggle, the swords glittering in what seemed inextricable
confusion, but really the perfection of skill and
method.

Both the seconds advanced at once, crying “Gentlemen!
gentlemen!”

The combatants stopped and drew back — Lindon pale
with rage, St. John growing gradually hot.

“Gentlemen!” said Captain Waters, with affecting earnestness,
“you really move me to the heart, and wound my
sense of propriety cruelly, in which I am sure I also utter
the sentiments of my friend, Captain Foy! In Heaven's
name do n't make a dagger fight of an honorable encounter
with swords before seconds! Let us commence again, gentlemen,
and spare our feelings, I beseech you.”

The captain was evidently greatly affected as he spoke,
and Foy said,

“I beg, gentlemen, that you will observe the suggestion
of Captain Waters. It is not less just than feelingly
expressed.”

The two men, whose blood was completely aroused, waited
with impatience for the signal to proceed.

The word was given, and they threw themselves upon
each other with the ferocity of tigers.

Lindon made his former lunge with a fury which indicated
the height of his rage. St. John again parried it perfectly.

For ten minutes then they fought, not like two civilized
men opposed to each other, but like blood-thirsty gladiators
on the arena, in a mortal combat.

The two men were as nearly matched as possible, and the
incessant clash of the weapons, from which darted flashes
like lightning, proved the immense skill and strength of the
enemies.

Suddenly St. John struck his foot against a stone, and
thrown off his guard for an instant, could not parry the furious
lunge of his opponent.

The point of Lindon's sword appeared streaming with
blood behind the young man's back, and at the same instant
his own weapon was buried in his enemy's shoulder.

Lindon's weapon broke at the hilt, and the two combattants
fell, dragging each other to the ground.

The seconds ran and pulled them asunder, and raised them
to their feet.

Leaning on the shoulders of Captain Waters and Captain

Foy, the two men gazed at each other with flashing eyes and
crimson cheeks, breathing heavily, and clutching at their
weapons.

“Your sword! Give me your sword, Captain Foy,” cried
Lindon, faintly, “I'll finish him!”

Foy's hand moved to his weapon.

“Captain Foy,” said Waters, “if you hand that weapon
to your principal I'll run you through the body, and him
too, upon my honor!”

“Let him have it!” said St. John, hoarsely, his breast
streaming with blood. “Your sword, sir!”

“He shall not!” cried Captain Waters, “ 't is three inches
longer than yours.”

Foy moved to draw the weapon.

“Well comrade!” said Waters, “if that's the use you're
going to make of it, nothing could delight me more! I
have been pleading for the favor. Captain Foy, I have the
honor to salute you and to place myself entirely at your
orders!”

With these cold words, Captain Waters drew his sword
and confronted his opponent.

Foy's hand left the hilt of the weapon, and a keen flash
of his proud eye showed how reluctantly he yielded.

“No sir,” he said, coldly, “there shall be no need of the
encounter you propose. I recognize the propriety of your
objection to the further progress of this affair, and I agree
with you that it is, for the present, at an end.”

As he spoke, Captain Foy turned to Lindon, who was
deadly pale, and staunched the deep wound in his shoulder
with his white handkerchief, which he bound round it.

He then assisted Lindon, who could scarcely stand alone,
to his carriage, and turning to bow to Captain Waters, ordered
the driver to drive to Williamsburg.

Captain Waters then gave his whole attention to St.
John.

The young man had stretched out his hand and plucked
a little white rose from a sweet briar, rustling in the river

breeze—just such an one as Bonnybel had pulled to pieces
on that morning—and looking now at the flower, he seemed
to think of the girl.

“What are you doing there, comrade?” said the soldier,
“what is that?”

“Only a flower, captain,” he said faintly.

“A flower!”

“Yes, a rose, and here is another—a red one.”

With which St. John endeavored to point to the circular
blood-stain, gradually extending upon his white linen bosom.

As he spoke, the captain felt the young man's form weigh
heavily upon his arm; and the head fell like a wounded
bird's.

He had fainted.

Captain Waters was one of those men who act promptly.
He took the young man in his arms, and carrying him
like a child, to the edge of the stream, deluged his forehead
with the cool water.

He then laid the pale form upon the green sward, and
tearing violently away the frill at his own breast, proceeded
to bare the bosom of the wounded man, and probe the
wound.

Lindon's sword had struck upon a letter, written on thick
Bath post, and thus diverted from its point blank direction
toward the heart, had traversed the flesh and muscles completely
through to the back.

The wound was more painful than dangerous, except from
the profuse flow of blood.

Captain Waters bound it up with the rapidity and skill
of an experienced hand, and St. John opened his eyes.

“How do you feel now, comrade?” said the soldier, kneeling,
and holding up the young man's head.

“A little faint,” was the reply. “Where am I, captain?”

“You are on the grass, companion, with a bad fleshwound,
which talking makes worse; and the motion of the

carriage will be worse still for it, morbleu! Miserable day
that it is!”

And the soldier groaned.

The young man pointed with his finger to the stream.

The captain looked, and saw a sail-boat passing.

“I will—go—to Flower of Hundreds—captain,” said St.
John, faintly.

The soldier gently deposited his burden upon the sward
again, and hastening to the point of the island running out
into the stream, hailed the boatman.

In fifteen minutes the young man was being borne in the
little bark toward Flower of Hnndreds, his head supported
upon the breast of Captain Waters.

He still held the small, white flower in his hand, and Bonnybel's
letter had not left his breast.