56. CHAPTER LVI.
HOW CAPTAIN WATERS PLUCKED ALL HIS GEESE.
It was on the afternoon of the next day that St. John,
while going along with his head bent down, struck suddenly
against an object approaching, as he was leaving, the
Raleigh tavern.
He raised his head and found that the object was Captain
Waters, who had been going along in the same thoughtful
way.
There was this difference, however, between the musings
of the friends; those of St. John were happy, while Captain
Ralph was evidently sad.
“I'm delighted to see you, my dear captain,” said St.
John, holding out his hand, “and must beg your pardon for
nearly knocking you down. What news?”
The captain pressed his friend's hand with melancholy
pleasure, and with a countenance elongated to an extent
really deplorable, replied, sadly,
“Absolutely nothing, my dear comrade, unless you call
the convention here, and a dreadful disappointment I have
suffered, news.”
“A dreadful disappointment!”
“Yes, my friend, nothing less,” groaned the captain, “a
real staggerer.”
“You pain me,” said St. John, scanning the mortified
face of his companion; “come, be friendly, and tell me your
trouble as I told you mine. Perhaps I can serve you as you
served me.”
The captain shook his head.
“Impossible, mon ami,” he groaned, “actually impossible.
Morbleu! how black that sunshine is!”
And the captain drew down the corners of his mouth, and,
consequently, the midnight fringe which covered them, in
a way which indicated actual despair.
“You look at me curiously, my boy,” he said, after a moment;
“you lament my distress. You will lament it more
when I tell you about it, and will see that you can't relieve
it. I succeeded tolerably well in hatching that little affair
between you and Lindon, who is just getting out again, but
you can not reciprocate the favor. It has some relation to
that little circumstance at Jamestown island, but the similarity
soon ends. You can't help me, miserable wretch that
I am! You can not be of the least service to me!”
And the captain groaned again. This time he almost
sobbed.
“I see you are dying to hear about it, comrade,” he continued,
after a disconsolate pause, “and I do n't mind telling
you every thing. But let us go and get a cup of Canary
—I'm choking.”
With which words Captain Ralph led the way into the
domain of mine host of the Raleigh, and being supplied
with what he demanded, drew St. John into a corner of the
apartment, and sitting down, proceeded to his disappointment.
“Fancy me lounging yonder at home, mon ami,” he said,
“after seeing you well through that little affair with Lindon,
and behold me, as the French lingo has it, idle, sombre, becoming
gradually a prey to the blue devils. They assaulted
me even when you were sick, and that's why I told you all
those adventures and wore out your patience with stories!
Do n't deny it, comrade, you are too polite. My own
opinion is, that those narratives delayed your recovery at
least a fortnight! You smile—you think I'm a farceur!
My friend, I am not; I am plunged into despair. But to
proceed.”
And taking another draught of the Canary, the soldier
sighed and continued.
“Back to Flodden once more, as I said, companion, I became
a prey to the blue imps, and all day long I thought of
nothing but my disappointment in the matter of drawing
Foy into a duel. In vain did madam, that paragon of women,
endeavor to extract from me the origin of my low
spirits. In vain did Master Ralph Waters, that noblest of
urchins, and most indefatigable of dirt pie fabricators, climb
up my knees, and beg for a caress. I motioned Madame
Henriette away—I sent Master Ralph to the nursery. Every
day I grew thinner, and was rapidly becoming weary of life
under the ungentlemanly persecution of that fellow, Foy,
who has treated me abominably. You see it was his refusal
to fight me,
mon ami, which caused my melancholy, and I
was in despair.
“Well, things were in this condition, when, one morning
I read in the `Virginia Gazette,' that their honors, the delegates
of the colony, would meet in convention in a day or
two, at Williamsburg; and no sooner had I persued this
announcement than a fortunate or unfortunate idea at once
struck me. Foy had refused to fight me on the ground of
his secretaryship. Now I would place myself on an equality
with him, by becoming the secretary of the convention.
Do n't you see? I do n't mind saying I'm rather proud of
the idea, and I proceeded immediately to put it into execution.
I got a bundle of paper as big as a horse could carry,
a fascine of pens, which Madame Henriette made by reducing
all the geese on the plantation to a state of nature, and
having thus prepared for my civil duties, the ink being left
to the liberality of the convention, I hunted up my best
sword, and spent an entire day in burnishing my accoutrements.
On the next morning I set out in my carriage, bidding
a triumphant adieu to that paragon of women, Madame
Henriette, who was dying with curiosity—her only failing,
my friend—and in due time I reached Williamsburg.”
The captain stopped to sip his Canary, in the midst of
smiles from Mr. St. John.
“I arrived just in time,” continued the narrator, “and by
the influence of my friends, secured the post of secretary of
the convention, which I, however, paid a deputy, an excellent
scrivener, to perform the duties of. You see, however,
I was de jure, as Jack Hamilton is fond of saying, the secretary,
and I rubbed my sword again, until I could see my
face in it. As to the paper and quills, the deputy took them,
while I went after Foy.
“I called at the palace—his secretaryship was at Montebello,
the residence, some six miles below town, of his Excellency,
the noble Dunmore. I got into the saddle, and
went to Montebello; his secretaryship sent me word that he
was engaged in important business with his lordship, and
begged to be excused. You may know I came back in a
furious bad humor, and so I remained until this morning.
“I then heard that Foy had returned, and dressing myself
in this elegant suit, and girding on this pretty little parade
sword, I repeated my call at the palace.
“I heard Foy say to the servant, `Tell him, pest that he
is! tell him I have not returned!' The lackey was delivering
this message when I pushed him aside, and went in.
“Foy was sitting at his table, the same one, I doubt not,
mon ami, from behind which his Excellency scolded you,
and from the pile of papers before him, I suppose he was
busy. We look at each other for a moment, and Foy frowns.
I smile and bow.
“ `I am really distressed to disturb you, my dear Foy,' I
say, `but you will permit me to say that 't was scarcely
friendly to deny yourself thus to an old comrade.'
“ `I am busy, Captain Waters,' he replies, with a grand
air.
“ `I thought Conolly was gone, my dear friend,' I say;
for, you see, I wanted to get him up to the point. Once
aroused, I knew I had him.
“At the words, `I thought Conolly was gone,' his pale
face flushes, as I expected, and he rises and says,
“ `Captain Waters, this is the third or fourth time you
have been pleased to connect me with Major Conolly, his
Excellency's agent—'
“ `Ah! he is his Excellency's agent,' I interrupt; `you acknowledge
it?'
“ `I acknowledge nothing, sir!' he says, growing hot at
his blunder, `I only say that your persevering intrusion upon
me, and your insinuations, are insulting, offensive, and
such as I shall not longer endure!'
“My dear St. John,” continued the captain, smiling,
“when Foy said that, growing red as he spoke, I felt a happiness
which I have not before experienced for a long time.
I saw that I had fortunately come on him in an irritable
moment, when the best of us, you know, can't keep cool,
and I expected much from this circumstance.
“ `My dear Foy,' I say, `do you really consider that question
insulting? Well, I'll tell you in confidence, I meant
it to be so; not in any bad spirit, for I have a positive affection
for you, and would not wound your feelings for worlds,
but, you see, I have set my heart on fighting you.'
“I said all this with so much good feeling, that my gentleman
saw, I suppose, that I uttered the truth. He sat
down, coldly, and I read, in his keen eye, that he felt he
had all to lose and nothing to gain by the encounter, and
that his best revenge for my insult was to take no notice
of it.
“ `Sir,' he said, in his grand way, `you seem actually demented,
and did I not know the eccentricity of your character,
I should not suffer this offense to pass unanswered. I
shall not so proceed, however, sir, and I request that this
interview may end. I have repeatedly assured you that my
post of secretary, in the service of his Excellency, renders it
impossible for me to accept your defiance; you know me
perfectly well, sir, and are doubtless aware that I place much
restraint upon my feelings in refusing.'
“ `Know you! my dear Foy!' I reply, `like the word of
command! You're as brave as steel, and I offer you a little
affair whereby you may prove it to these stupid Virginians,
persons wholly ignorant of your valorous deeds at
Minden, and a thousand other places.'
“ `I repeat, sir,' he says, coldly, `that this duel is impossible.'
“ `Why? On account of your secretaryship, eh?'
“ `Yes, sir.'
“ `That makes the combat unequal?'
“ `It does, sir.'
“ `Well,' I say, triumphantly, `suppose we stood on equal
grounds, would things be changed?'
“ `Yes, sir, and as I said before, it would give me extreme
pleasure to cut your throat,' replies Foy, making me the
most elegantly sneering salute.
“I did not notice it; I got ready my blow.
“ `It gives me real happiness to inform you, my dear Foy,'
I say, `that the equality which you mention really exists.
I am secretary of the convention of Virginia, and here is a
parchment evidence of it, sworn to by three witnesses—I
added the third for safety. This paper, my dear Foy, proves
what I say, and now I suppose you will no longer refuse.
Come, let us make the arrangements; I'm dying to learn
the coup of Reinfels, and if I kill you, I shall bless your
memory.'
“My gentleman looks, with the strongest astonishment,
on the paper, and says,
“ `Captain Waters, you seem really crazy.'
“ `My dear Foy,' I reply, smiling, `you seem to me absolutely
stupid.'
“ `Captain Waters, I shall suffer no more insults!' says my
gentleman, flushing. `Take back your parchment, sir, the
evidence of your participation in a treasonable assemblage;
take it back, sir, and I advise you to destroy it. Otherwise
you will suffer by it when the government makes its investigations
into the riotous conduct of the inhabitants of the
colony. I give you this advice, sir, as an old companion,
and I refuse to have you arrested, as I might, because we
have fought and slept together. Go, captain! let us proceed
different ways; at present, I repeat that I neither can
nor will fight you, but if it is any consolation, I announce to
you that, in all probability, the time will soon arrive when
I shall show you your favorite coup. I do not pretend to
think that we are not enemies; we are, for we espouse different
sides. If you can kill me, do so; when the time
comes, I have good hopes of performing that ceremony for
yourself!'
“And bowing, with an air of the most odious elegance,
the confounded fellow bent over his papers again. I had
nothing to reply, my dear friend,” finished the captain. “I
could not force Foy to recognize the validity of my appointment
as secretary, when he conscientiously doubted. I was
beaten, driven back, disappointed, conquered completely.
I only shook my head, and bidding Foy adieu, came away.
At the door I met his Excellency, whom I saluted, and so I
was returning, sorrowfully, when I ran up against you.
Miserable and detestable fate!” added the captain, “which
pushes me eternally away from this snake. But even in the
depths of my disappointment, I'll not despair. I'll yet wait
for happier times.”
The captain finished his Canary, and rose, St. John, having
listened with the utmost attention, and not without
laughter, to his narrative.
“Perhaps resignation is the best, my dear captain,” he
said, “and I can feel for you in your distress. I have listened
to your relation with much entertainment, and 't is
certainly another touch added to Captain Foy in my imagination.
He seems to me a mixture of the soldier and the
diplomatist, the tiger and the lamb.”
“Exactly,” said the captain, “that hits him to the very
letter.”
“Well, may be his lamb's fleece will fall off and he will
show his teeth. Let us hope for the best!”
And, laughing, St. John rose and followed the soldier to
the street.
As they reached the portico of the tavern, St. John saw
Lindon pass, and the two adversaries exchanged a ceremonious
salute. On the part of St. John, this salute was perfectly
polite and frank; on the part of Lindon, formal and
almost haughty, his dark eyes glittering with a sinister ex
pression in his pale, cold face, as he passed on and disappeared.
“There's another of the snakes, if I'm not greatly mistaken,”
said the captain, “and I advise you to keep a good
look-out when you pass dark corners. A man with an eye
like that can't possibly be honest, and now, my dear friend,
I must return home. To our next meeting!”
And the friends separated—the captain to mount his
horse, St. John to attend to the business which brought
him to Williamsburg.
