Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Irish -- England -- Fiction
I was numb and cold for a moment. Then I slowly began to boil, like a
kettle freshly placed on the fire. So I was facing a rival? Well, and
he would get such a facing as few men had received. And he was my
rival and in the breast of my coat I wore a note--"God spare you!" Ha,
ha! He little knew the advantages under which he was to play. Could I
lose with "God spare you!" against my heart? Not against three
Foristers!
But hold! might it not be that the gentle Lady Mary, deprecating this
duel and filled with feelings of humanity, had sent us each a note
with this fervid cry for God to spare us? I was forced to concede it
possible. After all, I perfectly well knew that to Lady Mary I was a
mere nothing. Royale's words had been so many plumes in my life's
helmet, but at bottom I knew better than to set great store by them.
The whole thing was now to hurry to the duelling-ground and see if I
could discover from this black Forister's face if he had received a
"God spare you!" I took the Colonel's arm and fairly dragged him.
"Damme, O'Ruddy!" said he, puffing; "this can be nought but genuine
eagerness."
When we came to the duelling-place we found Lord Strepp and Forister
pacing to and fro, while the top of a near-by wall was crowded with
pleasant-minded spectators. "Aye, you've come, have ye, sirs?" called
out the rabble. Lord Strepp seemed rather annoyed, and Colonel Royale
grew red and stepped peremptorily toward the wall, but Forister and I
had eyes only for each other. His eye for me was a glad, cruel eye. I
have a dim remembrance of seeing the Colonel take his scabbard and
incontinently beat many worthy citizens of Bristol; indeed, he seemed
to beat every worthy citizen of Bristol who had not legs enough to get
away. I could hear them squeaking out protests while I keenly studied
the jubilant Forister.
Aye, it was true. He too had a "God spare you!" I felt my blood begin
to run hot. My eyes suddenly cleared as if I had been empowered with
miraculous vision. My arm became supple as a whip. I decided upon one
thing. I would kill Forister.
I thought the Colonel never would give over chasing citizens, but at
last he returned breathless, having scattered the populace over a wide
stretch of country. The preliminaries were very simple. In a
half-minute Forister and I, in our shirts, faced each other.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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