The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Desultory Man: Collection of Ancient and Modern British Novels and Romances. Vol. CXLVII.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Fiction
During the evening he strove to occupy my mind with other thoughts,
after having satisfied himself that I was quite prepared, as far as
worldly matters went, for any event which might occur on the following
morning. At four o'clock the next day we were called, and breakfasted
by candle-light, and in the gray of an autumnal morning got into the
carriage with the case of pistols, and with my new French servant upon
the box; wondering what it all could mean. We first drove to the house
of the surgeon, who had been previously warned of our coming, and then
rolled on to Wandsworth as fast as we could. Here we arrived a full
quarter of an hour before our time, and leaving the carriage on the
road we wandered about the common. I was very chilly from the morning
air, and I could not but wonder at how differently I now felt,
agitated as I was by violent and terrible passions, from what I had
experienced on the former silly duel in Brittany, where I was agitated
by no passions at all, and could almost have laughed at the whole
business. Some five minutes before the time, also, my adversary
appeared, and never did I see a countenance expressing more malevolent
feelings than his did at the moment when we met. I could see his eye
fixing fiercely upon me, and his lips muttering, as if he could
scarcely refrain from giving utterance to all the hatred that was in
his heart. I felt not much less towards him; but I had sufficient
command over myself to prevent it from appearing, and waited with
sufficient appearance of calmness while the ground was measured and
the pistols loaded. The only words which were spoken by either my
adversary or myself, were occasioned by the seconds measuring twelve
paces.
"Twelve!" he exclaimed; "why the devil not make it eight?"
"Eight, by all means, gentlemen," I said. "I cannot be too near him."
"Over a handkerchief, if you like," he added; but B---- interfered,
exclaiming, "Nonsense! Nonsense, gentlemen! You must leave all that to
us, if you please."
The ground was accordingly measured, and B----, putting the pistol in
my hand, said, in a low tone, "Keep your side to him, and your arm
masking your side. The words will be, _One--two--three--Fire!_ You are
a good shot, I know of old, and he is too angry to hit you; so, if you
try, you may perhaps wound him without killing him."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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