University of Virginia Library

45. CHAPTER XLV.
THE FINALE AT THE BAL MASQUE.

And, while this tragic scene was in progress on the river, our
gallant rover, Lieutenant Molyneaux, was footing it, after a free
Irish fashion, in the saloon of Mrs. Perkins Anderson. He had
forgotten his piratical comrade in the intoxication of spirit occasioned
by his return, at last, after so long a period of denial, to
the society of fair women. As a good-figured and well-dressed
stranger, of commanding carriage, and wholly unknown — omne
ignotum pro magnifico — he was the observed of all observers.
The ladies smiled upon him graciously. You can always note
when the fair sex favors and when it only tolerates the party.
They are not apt to conceal; in fact, they can not, while young,
easily disguise their likes and dislikes.

Though something of a puppy, Molyneaux did not deceive himself
when he came to the conclusion that he had made a favorable
impression. Mrs. Anderson was despatched to bring him to more
than one fair lady who felt willing to fling him the handkerchief
for the dance, if for no longer engagement. And our lieutenant
soon established himself on a favorable footing — we mean no pun
here — with old and young. His manners gave him the advantage
over the confessedly high sprigs of nobility, the cavaliers
Craven and Cavendish. They were too apt to insist upon their
blood; carried high heads; and, in their intercourse with the best
people of the colony, made it very manifest that they were only
temporarily condescending to the provincials.

Now, Molyneaux, a better-looking fellow than either of them,
and quite as well-habited, was rarely upon his dignity. He was

too vain, and so too eager to conciliate kindly sentiment, to entertain
much self-esteem. A little stately at first — perhaps something
awkward because of his stateliness — he soon found himself
at home in the circle, as he found his welcome; and his manners
sensibly improved. He was gay, chatty, miscellaneous, frank —
eager to take the floor, and full of empressement when in such a
tête-à-tête with a fair woman as even a ballroom will sometimes
afford to a judicious couple who have learned to school the tones
of the voice only to the stretch of a single pair of ears. To sum
up, Molyneaux was vulgarly interesting. His empressement, fatal
to his aristocracy, was yet everything for his popularity. His
approach won an involuntary smile; his bon mots and sayings
were caught up and repeated. In two hours he had taken the
wind out of the sails of both his high-bred rivals.

“Who is he? What is he?”

Curiosity grew the more it questioned. Mrs. Anderson was
charmingly knowing and evasive. She knew well how to convert
her casual capital into good marketable stock. With a significant
smile, finger on lip, she would answer the eager questioner:—

“After a time. You shall know in due season. Be patient;
you will not be disappointed.”

Meanwhile, Craven and Cavendish began to feel uneasy. Molyneaux
had been doing the gallant to Zulieme with rare energy.
He had been fast growing familiar with some others of the acknowledged
beauties about town. He was making his way with
wonderful rapidity through the circle.

“The dem'd impudent puppy!”

“The dem'd conceited ass!”

“What a vulgar voice he has! How loud in his tones! how
boisterous!”

“And, do n't it occur to you, Keppel, that there is something
of the brogue — a twang — a —”

“Yes, by St. Jupiter! that accounts for it all. He 's a demn'd
impudent Irishman!”

“Ha! was not Sir Richard Pepper about to come out to the
colonies?”

“Yes; but that 's not Pepper! He 's too short and too stout.
No! it 's not Pepper; but who is he, then?”

“He 's certainly from `Grane Arin.'”

“Yes! There 's no mistaking the brogue.”

“And he 's a bully!”

“Right, like enough! But I 'll pink his jacket for him if he
gives me a chance!”

“He 's like enough to do it, Keppel. The fellow 's disposed to
be insolent.”

“It 's the bully art. But a drawn rapier usually quiets such a
temper.”

“Come, come; no brawls here!”

“Here? oh! surely not; but he must not put his horrid elephantine
hoofs upon my toes a second time!”

“You have a sort of pledge to him already on that score.”

“Yes! — but, as we know nothing of the fellow, I shall pursue
it only in the event of his crossing my path a second time. I will
surely pink him if he does.”

So the friends talked together, sotto voce, of the dashing stranger.
So Keppel Craven resolved to act in a certain event. And
so, talking and resolving, the pair eyed the movements of Molyneaux
with glances of jealousy and vexation.

And the dance sped, and the promenade; and groups formed
in the intervals; and punches and lemonades were served, with
jellies and preserves; all that the West Indies, in that day, could
provide — that fashion could employ — toward the comforting of
the “creature” in good society.

And, as the hours advanced — we are constrained to confess it
— the intoxications of such an assembly, added to the intoxicating
effects of punch, swallowed ad libitum, began to tell upon the
brain and the free-and-easy temper of our roving lieutenant.
The bashful Irishman began gradually to fling off the sedate restraints
of a becoming courtier, as well as of a natural modesty.
His voice grew louder; the brogue more rich; the sentiment more
free; the levity more audacious; and his action began to correspond
with the growing license of his tongue and sentiment. Rude
enough before in the dance, his steps became wilder, wider, wholly
out of the reach of measure and music. He would lose his partner;
lose his own circle; and find himself throwing a contiguous
ring into most adverse disorder.

But his merriment all the while — his free laughter — the good-natured
apology which excused his blundering and awkwardness

— were readily received; and his irregularities only provoked the
mirth, not the indignation of the party, if we except the two malcontent
rivals, Craven and Cavendish. They grew more and
more chafed as they perceived that the romping Zulieme looked
on with as much good humor as the rest, and resented none of
those familiarities which our lieutenant now began to bestow freely
upon all with whom he came in contact. His hands and arms
exhibited a restless desire to paw and encircle. Rebuffed, or
turned aside, he would laugh merrily, and address his freedoms
to some more flexible damsel. In the dance with Zulieme, he
would catch and fetter her hands; exhibit the queerest antics;
seize her fan, work it violently toward her face and his own, and
break out into the wildest guffaws. He was evidently fast ascending
into the excesses which usually distinguished the revelries
among certain classes of the West Indies, with which his experience
had been considerable.

While they danced thus, and he capered, Zulieme said to him:

“Look you, you great Irish monster, you are getting drunk!
Do n't you drink any more. I know what 'll come next. You 'll
be for fighting somebody!”

“Who shall I fight? I 'll fight anybody for you, Zulieme!”

“Thank you! But I do n't want any fighting done for me.
I do n't love fighting. When I do, I 've somebody to do my fighting
already.”

“What! you mean Calvert? Blast him, Zulieme, I 'll fight
him, any day, for you!”

This was spoken with an extreme change of voice and manner,
so sudden and startling, that even Zulieme felt it; and, as she
looked into his eyes — for he had now lifted his visor, and stared
intently upon her face — and as she noted the stern, concentrated
passion in his tones, she withdrew her hand from the fingers which
violently clutched it, and said:—

“You! — you fight him! It would be your last fight, then!
Harry would chop you to pieces in a minute! And you talk to
me of him, of my husband, in such a voice, and such language!
And curse him, too! Go! you are a great Irish blockhead and
a brute; and I wish you 'd leave, and begone to the ship!”

“Your husband! Why Zulieme, that 's a good one! What
do you care for him?”

“Me! what do I care for Harry? Oh, you are the greatest
fool! Why do n't you go, I say, and leave me? You will be
making a fool of yourself here, before long, getting drunk and
fighting somebody.”

“To be sure, I will! Shall I fight those two whipper-snappers
yonder? They seem to be watching us, by St. Jupiter! I 'll see
what they mean by it. I 'll—”

And he was rising, his glances set in the direction of the two
English cavaliers.

“No, no!” she cried, laying her hand upon his arm, and grasping
it firmly. “Oh, what a fool you are, you great Irish blackguard!
Why did you come here? Sit where you are, and be
quiet!”

“You do n't want me to go, then?”

“Oh, yes, go! Go from here, before there is mischief. You 'll
get into danger, and put Harry and the ship in danger. Why
did you come?”

“If I must go, Zulieme, I shall pull those fellows' noses before
I go! My fingers are itching for it. I will find out how much
tallow goes to the making of a fashionable puppy's nose. It will
grease my fingers, no doubt; but I 'll take the shape out of the
rudder. I 'll give it such a twist, that they will never be able to
steer by it again.”

“If you do, Mr. Molyneaux, I 'll never forgive you.”

“What! you love that curly-headed chap, do you? Say so,
and you send him to execution! It will not be his nose; it will
be his throat! Say it, if you dare! Just say you love that fellow!”

“Love him? You are the greatest fool, I tell you! You might
as well ask me if I love you.”

“Well, did n't you once?”

The scorn rose, like a lightning-flash, into her eyes.

“Yes, as I did my monkey! He was so odd and ugly, he made
me laugh.”

“Ha! your monkey! Zulieme Calvert, or Zulieme de Montano,
whichever you please, those words shall cost that fellow his
ears! Ay, they shall cost you a pair of ears, too — not your own,
for you are a woman; and, hark you!”— stooping and hissing the
words into her ear — “I 'll have you yet; ay, for that very speech!

Your monkey, Zulieme! Pretty little Zulieme! I shall yet see
you, and feel you, hugging and kissing that monkey, much more
fondly than you have ever kissed your husband — your royal
Harry — your — your — blast him!”

And, without waiting her speech, if she had been disposed to
make any, he rose and strode away from her — strode away into
the adjoining room, and in the direction of the punch-bowl.

For a moment's space Zulieme was stunned. Her child-nature
was horrified by the intense and concentrative bitterness with
which the man had spoken, by the ferocious violence with which
he threatened, and by the wolfish glare which shot from his eyes.
His phase of drunkenness had changed in a moment from the
monkey to the tiger development. She looked at him with a vacant
stare of terror, thoroughly paralyzed.

But, only for a moment. Scarcely had he left the room, than
her attention was roused by seeing Craven and Cavendish following
him. These two young men, irritated already with Molyneaux;
dissatisfied with themselves — their vanity vexed at the
unwonted necessity of playing second fiddle in a circle where hitherto
they had been the ruling spirits; curious to see who Molyneaux
was; and, with a vague sense of a want unsatisfied, a resentment
unappeased, an outrage unredressed; without any definite
idea of what should be done, but restless with mixed emotions
of a vexing ill humor — they followed him into the drinking-room.

As soon as Zulieme beheld the course which they took, her energies
came back to her. She started up, and crossed the room
to where Mrs. Perkins Anderson sat, the centre of a group of
well-dressed gentlemen, who no longer ranged themselves in the
ranks of the youthful candidates for merriment or matrimony; and,
drawing her aside, in a hurried whisper, she said:—

“Oh, dear Charlotte, send some of these gentlemen into the
other room!”

“Why, what 's the matter, dear Zulieme? You seem frightened.”

“I am frightened. That great Irish brute, Molyneaux, is
drunk, and getting savage. He has been rude to Craven, and
threatens him. Send some of these old gentlemen, and let them
keep these foolish fellows from fighting.”

“Oh, surely, there can be no danger of that. I 'll go myself.”

“No, do n't you!”

“Oh, yes: nothing like a woman to keep the peace between
young men. But I will carry some of these gentlemen with me.
Mr. Yonge — Mr. Yeamans!”

The two gentlemen came forward.

“Come with me. The Señorita de Montano thinks there is a
quarrel on foot between some of our young gallants. Come with
me, and give me your assistance should it be necessary.”

And quietly, with a composing smile for the circle which she
left, the fair hostess tripped out of the room, followed closely by
the two gentlemen to whom she had appealed.

Molyneaux was already at the punch-bowl. Two or three persons,
of like appetite with himself, were standing nigh, each with
a huge goblet in his hands. Molyneaux filled his own, and looked
around with a lordly complacency.

“Gentlemen, with your permission, I will drink with you.”

“We are honored, sir,” was the answer.

“Thanks! Then here 's d—nation to land-sharks and water-sharks;
to sharks masculine and feminine; to tiger-sharks and
puppy-sharks; to beast-sharks and human sharks; to all sharks
that — that — do n't value good-fellowship, and do n't know the
honesty in punch!”

“Well, that 's a grand toast, and too much for a shark's swallow.
Here 's to you, sir, and may the punch-bowl never run
dry!”

Even as Molyneaux held the goblet to his lips, Craven and
Cavendish came upon the scene, gradually approaching the parties.
He held the uplifted goblet untasted, and glanced at the
new-comers, saying aloud to those around him:—

“I said puppy-sharks too, my friends, you remember! That 's
a breed by itself. It 's a breed that follows in the wake of the
tiger-sharks. It has a thundering swallow, big as any, but no
teeth. It lives on what the tiger leaves. I say, fellows, of all
sharks I despise, the puppy-shark is the meanest. I spit on him!
He 's a suckfish!”

And he spat in the direction of the two cavaliers, never once
heeding the fine, well-bleached matting on Mrs. Anderson's floor.
Then he swallowed the contents of his goblet at a single gulp.

The action was sufficiently unequivocal. It was understood by
everybody, and occasioned some emotion among the other drinkers.
Craven and Cavendish did not misunderstand. Both of
them were men of blood. They might be frivolous, but they had
courage. They paused, however. Blood requires, in the case of
any old noblesse, of any country, that it shall not descend to its
inferiors, except in absolute self-defence. They knew nothing of
Molyneaux; and his conduct had been of a sort to show that,
whatever of blue might be in his blood, he lacked the breeding of
the gentleman.

“It is evident,” said Craven, in a whisper to Cavendish, “that
this fellow means to insult us, and me in particular.”

“He is a bully!”

“True; and in London, my dear fellow, I should hire a cudgel-player
to punish him. But the case is altered here. These people
know nothing of the refinements of a court, and are rather
pleased to behold the higher classes subjected to mortification:
they will side with the bully. Now, if this fellow will fight, and
offers any further annoyance, he shall fight. I feel that I can not
submit to further trespass. I must punish him. Look about you
at the first chance, and find Budgell, who is a gentleman — he
was here an hour ago — and Gifford, and one or two others, whom
we can trust, to see fair play. We must take care that we keep
off all bullies but the one. As for this fellow, I shall spit him
like a frog!”

Thus they communed, and in low voices, for a few seconds.
Molyneaux laid his goblet down, with some deliberation. He
had evidently made up his mind to something. He approached
them. But, even as he did so, Mrs. Perkins Anderson, followed
by the two gentlemen, passed between the parties. She wore the
sweetest smiles; she bowed with the most exquisite graces; her
tones were subdued to singular softness:—

“What, gentlemen,” said she, “do you fly the ladies for the
punch-bowl? Fie, fie upon you! What would be said of such
taste at the court of the merry monarch? Do you know the
ladies wait upon you for a minuet? Let me have the honor of
your arms.”

Craven and Cavendish were at once the gentlemen. It is surprising
how much a clever woman can achieve against the angry

passions of men. She did not take the arm of Cavendish; only
that of Craven.

“Sir Richard,” she said, addressing Molyneaux, “we can not
spare you.”

And she passed her arm within his. He hiccoughed, and staggered
forward. Her two elderly companions interposed.

“Pardon us, dear Mrs. Anderson, but we desire to make the
acquaintance of Sir Richard. Suffer him to remain with us; we
will guaranty his future appearance.”

Sir Richard was not unwilling to remain. He had reached
that mood when woman gives way to wine. The lady bore off
the two cavaliers. So far, she was successful. But they were
both uneasy. We are not prepared to say that they went through
the minuet. It is certain that Cavendish suddenly missed Craven,
and went after him. The company, meanwhile, was employed.
Zulieme had forgotten her terrors, in the mazes of a new dance,
with a new partner. Mrs. Anderson was busied with her circle.
It was not long before Craven and Cavendish were both in the
room where Molyneaux was expatiating on the delights of a “wet
sheet and a flowing sea,” half speaking, half singing.

On the appearance of the two cavaliers, he grew sullen. He
had been seated; he now rose. In evil moment, the two gentlemen,
Yonge and Yeamans, who had begun to suspect that his inimicality
was toward the two courtiers, fancied they could reconcile
the parties. The error of such an effort is a great one where
one of these is drunk, and where the parties have been reared
under a different convention. Punch was supposed to be the proper
mediatizing spirit. Molyneaux was never insensible to the claims
of punch. He was ready at the suggestion of a goblet all round,
But, even as Craven and Cavendish entered the circle, the inveterate
humor of the drunkard filled his brain; and when Yonge
and Yeamans fancied that all was now right and pacific, the rover,
confronting Craven, said abruptly:—

“I am to drink with you, am I? Do n't object! But I never
drink with a man whose nose is doubtful! I am curious to see
what your nose is made of. It looks soapy — greasy; has a look
of putty; and — so —”

Without stopping to finish the speech, he seized the nose of
Craven with thumb and forefinger, and, putting all his muscle

into the performance, subjected the astonished member to such a
twinge as was wholly new to the cavalier's experience.

The action of Craven was instantaneous. Like all true Britons,
of good breed, he was practised in the “manly art of self-defence.”
In the next moment he addressed a facer to Molyneaux,
which drew the claret.

The parties rushed into collision, but were instantly separated.
Then, while Molyneaux raved, Craven touched his sword-hilt,
and led the way out of the room into the piazza, and thence into
the street.

The affair had gone too far for intercession or mediation of any
kind. The elderly gentlemen gave the matter up. The punch-drinkers
followed Molyneaux as a leader: Craven, closely attended
by Cavendish, was accompanied by three gentlemen; and all
parties drew their swords the moment they emerged from the
dwelling.

“Not here!” said one of the party. “Let us not bring discredit
on the house.”

And he led the way, all following, to a thicket, which stood by
no means remote in that early day, and which was sufficiently far
from the dwelling for the purposes of combat.

None of the parties perceived that they were followed by other
and unknown persons. A group of six or eight men had been
prowling about the house, sheltered from sight by as many forest-trees.
They may have been curious only; but they followed
close in the wake of the combatants, without pressing upon them.

Mrs. Perkins Anderson dwelt, as we have said, somewhere
near the present corner of Church and Tradd streets. It was not
much of a walk from this point to the northern terminus of the
town, then very much on the spot covered now by the churches
St. Philip and the Circular. There was a tolerably thick wood in
this quarter — oak, pine, and cedar. A few scattered habitations
had cut out squares in the woods; but there was still enough shelter
for security, and there were well-known openings in which the
moon held a sufficient torch for the purposes of strife.

“Not too fast,” said one of the unknown party following; “but
keep close. It is a fight, I reckon. We must see what they are
after. If they stand up for each other, they are too many for us.
But if there 's a fight, we have only to watch our chance. Do

you be ready to put in when I bid you. The stout fellow, that
you see yawing so, is our man. He is a sailor, and must yaw a
little; but I reckon it 's the Jamaica that wants so much sea-room.”

And this group followed on. Scarcely had they begun to glide
among the trees, when still another party appeared, taking the
same course.

“To the right, Belcher! Sweep round for the rear; and take
cover, as you see me. Till I move, let no man stir. Use no pistols,
if you can help it; the bludgeons will answer. Take no life,
mark you, save in self-defence. But, when I have my man, throw
yourselves between us and the creek, and retreat with your faces
to the pursuers, whom you can easily keep back with the show
of firearms, till they lose the chase in the thicket by the marsh.
Look to me to take you off in the boat.”