The Rupa Book of Heartwarming & The Rupa Book of Wicked Stories

by Ruskin Bond

  The next thing in order was the choice of weapon. My principal said he was not feeling well, and would leave that and the other details of the proposed meeting to me. Therefore I wrote the following note and carried it to M. Fourtou's friend:

  'Sir,—M. Gambetta accepts M. Fourtou's challenge, and authorises me to propose Plessis-Piquet as the place of meeting; to-morrow morning at daybreak as the time; and axes as the weapons. I am, sir, with great respect, Mark Twain.'

  M. Fourtou's friend read this note, and shuddered. Then he turned to me and said, with a suggestion of severity in his tone:

  'Have you considered, sir, what would be the inevitable result of such a meeting as this?'

  'Well, for instance, what would it be?'

  'Bloodshed!'

  'That's about the size of,' I said.' Now, if it is a fair question, what was your was your side proposing to shed?'

  I had him there. He saw he had made a blunder, so he hastened to explain it away. He said he had spoken jestingly. Then he added that he and his principal would enjoy axes, and indeed prefer them, but such weapons were barred by the French code, and so I must change my proposal.

  I walked the floor, turning the thing over in my mind, and finally it occurred to me that Gatling guns at fifteen paces would be a likely way to get a verdict on the field of honour. So I framed this idea into a proposition.

  But it was not accepted. The code was in the way again. I proposed rifles; then double-barreled shot-guns; then Colt's navy revolvers. These being all rejected, I reflected a while and sarcastically suggested brick-bats at three-quarters of a mile. I always hate to fool away a humorous thing on a person who has no perception of humour; and it filled me with bitterness when this man went soberly away to submit this last proposition to his principal.

  He came back presently and said his principal was charmed with the idea of brick-bats at three-quarters of a mile, but must decline on account of the danger to disinterested parties passing between. Then I said:

  'Well, I am at the end of my string now. Perhaps you would be good enough to suggest a weapon. Perhaps you have even had one in your mind all the time?'

  'Oh, without doubt, monsieur!'

  So he fell to hunting in his pocket—pocket after pocket, and he had plenty of them—muttering all the while, 'Now, what could I have done with them?'

  At last he was successful. He fished out of his vest pocket a couple of little things which I carried to the light and ascertained to be pistols. They were single-barreled and silver-mounted, and very dainty and pretty. I was not able to speak for emotion. I silently hung one of them on my watchchain, and returned the other. My companion in crime now unrolled a postage stamp containing several cartridges, and gave me one of them. I asked if he meant to signify by this that our men were to be allowed but one shot a piece. He replied that the French code permitted no more. I then begged him to go on and suggest a distance, for my mind was growing weak and confused under the strain which had been put upon it. He named sixty-five yards. I nearly lost my patience. I said:

  'Sixty-five yards, with these instruments? Squirt guns would be deadlier at fifty. Consider, my friend, you and I are banded together to destroy life, not make it eternal.'

  But with all my persuasions, all my arguments, I was only able to get him to reduce the distance to thirty-five yards; and even this concession he made with reluctance, and said with a sigh:

  'I wash my hands of this slaughter; on your head be it.'

  There was nothing for me but to go home to my old lion heart and tell my humiliating story. When I entered, M. Gambetta was laying his last lock of hair upon the altar. He sprang towards me, exclaiming:

  'You have made the fatal arrangements—I see it in your eyes!'

  'I have.'

  His face paled a trifle, and he leaned upon a table for support. He breathed thick and heavily for a moment or two, so tumultuous were his feelings; then he hoarsely whispered:

  'The weapon, the weapon! Quick! What is the weapon?'

  'This!' and I displayed that silver-mounted thing. He cast but one glance at it, then swooned ponderously to the floor.

  When he came to, he said mournfully:

  'The unnatural calm to which I have subjected myself has told upon my nerves. But away with weakness! I will confront my fate like a man and a Frenchman.'

  He rose to his feet, and assumed an attitude which for sublimity has never been approached by man, and had seldom been surpassed by statues. Then he said, in deep bass tones:

  'Behold I am calm, I am ready, reveal to me the distance.'

  'Thirty-five yards…'

  I could not lift him up, of course; but I rolled him over, and poured water down his back. He presently came to, and said:

  'Thirty-five yards—without a rest? But why ask? Since murder was that man's intention, why should he palter with small details? But mark you one thing: in my fall the world shall see how the chivalry of France meets death.'

  At half-past nine in the morning the procession approached the field of Plessis-Piquet in the following order: first came our carriage—nobody in it but M.Gambetta and myself; then a carriage containing two poet-orators who did not believe in God, and these had MS funeral orations projecting from their breast pockets; then a carriage containing the head surgeons and their case of instruments; then eight private carriages containing consulting surgeons; then a hack containing a coroner; then two hearses; then a carriage containing the head undertakers; then a train of assistants and mutes on foot; and after these came plodding through the fog a long procession of camp followers, police, and citizens generally. It was a noble turn-out, and would have made a fine display if we had thinner weather.

  There was no conversation. I spoke several times to my principal, but I judge he was not aware of it, for he always referred to his notebook and muttered absently, 'I die that France may live.'

  Arrived on the field, my fellow-second and I paced off the thirty-five yards, and then drew lots for choice of position. This latter was but an ornamental ceremony, for all choices were alike in such weather. These preliminaries being ended, I went to my principal and asked him if he was ready. He spread himself out to his full width, and said in stern voice, 'Ready! Let the batteries be charged.'

  The loading was done in the presence of duly constituted witnesses. We considered it best to perform this delicate service with the assistance of a lantern, on account of the state of the weather. We now placed our men.

  At this point the police noticed that the public had massed themselves together on the right and left of the field; they therefore begged a delay, while they should put these poor people in a place of safety. The request was granted.

  The police having ordered the two multitudes to take positions behind the duelists, we were once more ready. The weather growing still more opaque, it was agreed between myself and the other second that before giving the fatal signal we should each deliver a loud whoop to enable the combatants to ascertain each other's whereabouts.

  I now returned to my principal, and was distressed to observe that he had lost a good deal of his spirit. I tried my best to hearten him. I said, 'Indeed, Sir, things are not as bad as they seem. Considering the character of the weapons, the limited number of shots allowed, the generous distance, the impenetrable solidity of the fog, and the added fact that one of the combatants is one-eyed and the other crossed-eyed and near-sighted, it seems to be that this conflict need not necessarily be fatal. There are chances that both of you may survive. Therefore cheer up; do not be downhearted.'

  This speech had so good an effect that my principal immediately stretched forth his hand and said, 'I am myself again; give me the weapon.'

  I laid it, all lonely and forlorn, in the centre of the vast solitude of his palm. He gazed at it and shuddered. And still mournfully contemplating it he murmured, in a broken voice:

  'Alas! it is not death I dread, but mutilation.'

  I heartened him once more, and with such success th
at he presently said, 'Let the tragedy begin. Stand at my back; do not desert me in this solemn hour, my friend.'

  I gave him my promise. I now assisted him to point his pistol towards the spot where I judged his adversary to be standing, and cautioned him to listen well and further guide himself by my fellow-second's whoop. Then I propped myself against M. Gambetta's back, and raised a rousing 'Whoop-ee!' This was answered from out the far distances of the fog, and I immediately shouted:

  'One—two—three—fire!'

  Two little sounds like spit! spit! broke upon my ear, and in the same instant I was crushed to the earth under a mountain of flesh. Bruised as I was, I was still able to catch a faint accent from above, to this effect:

  'I die for…for…perdition take it, what is it I die for? … Oh, yes—FRANCE! I die that France may live!'

  The surgeons swarmed around with their probes in their hands, and applied their microscopes to the whole area of M. Gambetta's person, with the happy result of finding nothing in the nature of a wound. Then a scene ensued which was in every way gratifying and inspiriting.

  The two gladiators fell upon each other's necks, with floods of proud and happy tears; the other second embraced me; the surgeons, the orators, the undertakers, the police, everybody embraced, everybody congratulated, everybody cried, and the whole atmosphere was filled with praise and with joy unspeakable.

  It seemed to me then that I would rather be a hero of a French duel than a crowned and sceptred monarch.

  When the commotion had somewhat subsided, the body of surgeons held a consultation, and after a good deal of debate decided that with proper care and nursing there was reason to believe that I should survive my injuries. My internal hurts were deemed the most serious, since it was apparent that a broken rib had penetrated my left lung, and that many of my organs had been pressed out so far to one side or the other of where they belonged, that it was doubtful if they would ever learn to perform their functions in such remote and unaccustomed localities. They then set my arm in two places, pulled my right hip into its socket again, and re-elevated my nose. I was an object of great interest, and even administration; and many sincere and warm-hearted persons had themselves introduced to me, and said they were proud to know the only man who had been hurt in a French duel in forty years.

  I was placed in an ambulance at the very head of the procession; and thus with gratifying éclat I was marched into Paris, the most conspicuous figure in that great spectacle, and deposited at the hospital.

  The Cross of the Legion of Honour has been conferred upon me. However, few escape that distinction.

  Such is the true version of the most memorable private conflict of the age.

  I have no complaints to make against anyone. I acted for myself, and I can stand the consequences. Without boasting, I think I can say I am not afraid to stand before a modern French duelist, but as long as I keep in my right mind I will never consent to stand behind one again.