Newton Forster; Or, The Merchant Service

by Frederick Marryat

  VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

  He's truly valiant, that can wisely suffer The worst that man can breathe, and make his wrongs His outsides; to wear them, like his raiment, carelessly, And ne'er prefer his injuries to his heart, To bring it into danger. SHAKESPEARE.

  The colonel, in the meantime, had returned to the house where he wasresiding, when he was immediately accosted by Captain Carrington, andthe other gentlemen who had been let into the secret of the plot.During his walk home the colonel had been ruminating on his dismissal,and had not quite made up his mind whether he ought or ought not toresent the conduct of Mr Sullivan. Naturally more inclined for peacethan war, by the time that he arrived home he had resolved to pocket theaffront, when Captain Carrington called him on one side, and obtainedfrom him a recapitulation of what had passed; which probably never wouldhave been given if the colonel had not considered the communication asconfidential. This, however, did not suit the intentions of CaptainCarrington, who felt inclined for more mischief; and when the colonelhad concluded his narrative, he replied, "Upon my word, colonel, as youobserve, this conduct on the part of Mr Sullivan, is not exactly whatcan be permitted by us military men. I hardly know bow to advise;indeed I would not take the responsibility; however, I will consult withMr S--- and Mr G---, and if you will leave your honour in our hands,depend upon it we will do you strict justice:" and Captain Carringtonquitted the colonel, who would have expostulated, and, walking up to theother gentlemen, entered into a recapitulation of the circumstances. Awink of his eye, as his back was turned to the colonel, fully expressedto the others the tenor of the advice which they were to offer.

  "Well, gentlemen, what is your opinion?" said the captain, as heconcluded his narrative.

  "I think," replied Mr S---, with a serious face, "there can be butone--our gallant friend has been most grossly insulted. I think,"continued he, addressing the colonel, who had quitted the sofa, in hisanxiety to know the issue of their debate, "that I should most decidedlyask him what he meant."

  "Or rather demand an apology," observed Mr G---.

  "Which Mr Sullivan as a man of honour is bound to offer, and thecolonel as a gentleman and an officer has a right to insist upon. Doyou not think so, Captain Carrington?" said Mr S---.

  "Why, I always have been more inclined to be a peacemaker thanotherwise, if I can," replied Captain Carrington. "If our gallantfriend the colonel is not sure that Mr Sullivan did use the words, `Iwon't trouble you to call again,'--are you positive as to the exactwords, colonel?"

  "Why, to the best of my recollection," replied the colonel, "I ratherthink those were the words.--I may be mistaken:--it was certainly--mostcertainly--something to that effect."

  "Were they, `requesting you to call again?'" said Captain Carrington.

  "No, no,--that they certainly were not."

  "Well, they could be but one or the other.--Then, gentlemen, the case isclear--the words were uttered," said Mr S---, "Now, Captain Carrington,what would you advise?"

  "I really am vexed to say, that I do not see how our friend, ColonelEllice, can do otherwise than demand an apology, or a meeting."

  "Could not I treat him with contempt, Captain Carrington?" demanded thecolonel.

  "Why, not exactly," replied Mr S---. "Sullivan is of good family; theSullivans of Bally cum Poop. He was some time in the 48th regiment, andwas obliged to retire from it for challenging his colonel."

  "Well, gentlemen," replied the colonel, "I suppose I must leave myhonour in your hands, although it does appear to me that our time isvery short for such arrangements. We sail early to-morrow morning;Captain Carrington; at daylight, I think you said, and it will be toolate to-night."

  "My dear colonel, I will risk a rebuke from the Admiralty," replied thecaptain, "rather than not allow you to heal your wounded honour. I willstay till the day after to-morrow, should it be requisite for thearrangement of this business."

  "Thank you: many thanks," replied the colonel, with an expression ofdisappointment. "Then I had better prepare the letter?"

  "Carta por senhor commandante," interrupted a Portuguese, presenting aletter to the colonel; "O senhor embaixo; queir risposta."

  The colonel opened the letter, which contained Mr Sullivan'schallenge,--pistols--to-morrow morn, at daylight--one mile on the roadto Machico.

  The colonel's countenance changed two or three shades less yellow as heread the contents: recovering himself with a giggle, he handed theletter to Captain Carrington. "You see, captain, the gentleman hassaved me the trouble--He, he, he! these little affairs are common togentlemen of our profession--He, he! and since the gentleman wishes it,why, I presume--He, he! that we must not disappoint him."

  "Since you are both of one mind, I think there will be some businessdone," observed Mr S---. "I perceive that he is in earnest by theplace named for the meeting. We generally settle our affairs of honourin the Loo-fields; but I suppose he is afraid of interruption.--Theywant an answer, colonel."

  "Oh! he shall have one," replied the colonel, tittering with excitement;"he shall have one. What hour does he say?"

  "Oh! we will arrange all that. Come, colonel," said Captain Carrington,taking him familiarly by the arm, and leading him away.

  The answer was despatched, and they sat down to dinner. Many were thefriendly and encouraging glasses of wine drank with the colonel, whorecovered his confidence, and was then most assiduous in his attentionsto the ladies to prove his perfect indifference. He retired at an earlyhour nevertheless.

  In the mean time Mr Sullivan had received the answer, and had retiredto his counting-house, to arrange his affairs in case of accident. Hehad not seen his wife since the fracas. And now we will leave them bothfor awhile, and make a few remarks upon duelling.

  Most people lament, many abuse the custom as barbarous; but barbarous itis not, or it would not be necessary in a state of high civilisation.It is true that by the practice we offend laws human and divine; but atthe same time, it must be acknowledged, that neither law nor religioncan keep society in such good order, or so restrain crime. The man whowould defy the penalty of the law, and the commandments of his Godagainst seduction, will, however pause in his career when he finds thatthere are brothers to avenge an injured sister. And why so?--because inthis world we live as it were in a tavern, careless of what the bill iswhich we run up, but dreading the day of reckoning, which the pistol ofour adversary may bring at once. Thus duelling may be considered as anecessary evil, arising out of our wickedness; a crime in itself rare inoccurrence, but which prevents others of equal magnitude from occurringevery day; and until the world is reformed, nothing can prevent it. Menwill ever be governed by the estimation of the world: and until thewhole world decide against duelling--until it has become the usage tooffer the other cheek upon the first having been smitten, then, and nottill then, will the practice be discontinued. When a man refuses tofight a duel, he is stigmatised as a coward, his company is shunned;and, unless he is a wretch without feeling, his life becomes a burden.Men have refused from purely conscientious motives, and havesubsequently found themselves so miserable from the neglect andcontumely of the world, that they have _backslided_, and have fought torecover their place in society. There have been some few, very few,who, having refused from conscientious motives, have adhered to theseresolutions, because they feared God and not man. There was morecourage in their refusal than if they had run the gauntlet of a hundredduels; a moral courage, which is most rare, preferring the contempt ofman to the wrath of God. It is, however, the most trying situation onthis side of the grave. To refuse to fight a duel, is in fact to obeythe stern injunction, "leave all, and follow me."

  For my part, I never have and never will fight a duel, if I can help it.I have a double motive for my refusal; in the first place, I am afraidto offend the Deity; and in the next, I am afraid of being shot. I havetherefore made up my mind never to meet a man except upon what Iconsider fair terms; for when a man stakes his life, the gamblingbe
comes rather serious, and an equal value should be laid down by eachparty. If, then, a man is not so big--not of equal consequence in theconsideration of his fellow mites--not married, with five smallchildren, as I am--not having so much to lose--why it is clear that Irisk more than he does; the stake is not equal, and I therefore shallnot meet him. If, on the contrary, he presents a broader target,--if heis my superior in rank, more patriarchal at home, or has so manyhundreds per annum more, why then the disadvantages will be on his side;and I trust I am too much of a gentleman, even if he offers to waive allthese considerations, to permit him to fight. It would be _swindling_the man out of his life.

  The best advice I can offer to my friends under these unpleasantcircumstances is, first to try if they cannot persuade their adversariesto make an apology: and if he will not, why then let them make onethemselves; for although the making an apology creates a very uneasysensation, and goes very much _against_ the stomach, yet, depend uponit, a well-directed bullet creates a much more uneasy feeling, and, whatis worse, goes _directly into it_.

  We left Mrs Sullivan sobbing in her anger, when her husband bounded outof the room in his heroics. At the time that he made the threat she wasin no humour to regard it; but as her anger gradually subsided, so didher alarm increase. Notwithstanding that she was a coquette, she was aswarmly attached to her husband as he was to her; if she trifled, it wasonly for her amusement, and to attract that meed of admiration to whichshe had been accustomed previous to her marriage, and which no woman canrenounce on her first entry into that state. Men cannot easily pardonjealousy in their wives; but women are more lenient towards theirhusbands. Love, hand-in-hand with confidence, is the more endearing;yet, when confidence happens to be out of the way, Love will sometimesassociate with Jealousy; still, as this disagreeable companion provesthat Love is present, and as his presence is what a woman and all awoman asks, she suffers Jealousy, nay, sometimes even becomes partial tohim for the sake of Love.

  Now that Mrs Sullivan had been most unjustly accused, the reader mustknow, and moreover, that she had great reason to feel irritated. Whenher tears had subsided, for some time she continued in her chair,awaiting with predetermined dignity the appearance and apology of MrSullivan. After some time had elapsed, she wondered why he did notcome. Dinner was announced, and she certainly expected to meet himthen, and she waited for some minutes to see if he would not take thisopportunity of coming up to her;--but no. She then presumed that he wasstill in the sulks, and had sat down to table without her, andtherefore, as he would not come--why, she went; but he was not at thetable. Every minute she expected him:--Had he been told?--Where washe?--He was in the counting-house, was the reply. Mrs Sullivanswallowed a few mouthfuls, and then returned up stairs. Tea was made--announced to Mr Sullivan, yet he came not. It remained on the table;the cup poured out for him was cold. The urn had been sent down, withstrict injunctions to keep the water boiling, and all was cleared away.Mrs Sullivan fidgeted and ruminated, and became uneasy. He never hadbeen at variance for so many hours since their marriage, and all fornothing! At last the clock struck ten, and she rang the bell.--"Wherewas Mr Sullivan?"--"In the counting-house."--"Tell him that I wish tospeak with him." Mr Sullivan had not answered him, and the door waslocked inside. This intelligence created a little irritation, andchecked the tide of affection. "Before all the servants--soinconsiderate--it was quite insulting!" With a heavy heart, MrsSullivan lighted the chamber candle, and went up stairs to bed. Onceshe turned down the stairs two or three steps, intending to go to thecounting-house door; but her pride restrained her, and she re-ascended.In an hour Mrs Sullivan was in bed, expecting her husband every minute,listening at the slightest sound for his footstep; but two o'clock cameand he was still away. She could bear up against her suspense andagitation no longer; she rose, threw on her _robe de nuit_, anddescended the stairs. All the family had long retired, and every thingwas still: her light foot made no noise as she tripped along. As sheneared the door, she perceived the light gleaming through the key-hole.Whether to peep or to speak first--he might be fast asleep. Curiosityprevailed--she looked through the key-hole, and perceived her husbandvery busy writing. After he had finished his letter he threw down thepen, pressed his forehead with both hands, and groaned deeply. MrsSullivan could refrain no longer. "William! William!" cried she, in asoft imploring voice: but she was not answered. Again and again did sherepeat his name, until an answer, evidently wrung from him byimpatience, was returned--"It is too late now."

  "Too late, dear William! Yes, it is very late, it's almost threeo'clock. Let me in William,--pray do!"

  "Leave me alone: it's the last favour I probably shall ever request ofyou."

  "The last favour! Oh, William! you frighten me so:--dear William--do--do let me in. I'm so cold, I shall die:--only for one moment, and I'llbless you. Pray do, William!"

  It was not until after repeated and repeated entreaties of this kind,that Mr Sullivan, worn out by importunity, at last opened the door.

  "Mary, I am very busy; I have opened the door to tell you so, and torequest that you will not interrupt me. Now oblige me by going to bed."

  But getting in was every thing; and a young and pretty wife, indishabille and in tears, imploring, entreating, conjuring, promising,coaxing, and fondling, is not quite so easy to be detached when once shehas gained access. In less than half an hour Mr Sullivan was obligedto confess that her conduct had been the occasion of a meeting beingagreed for upon that morning, and that he was arranging his affairs incase of a melancholy termination.

  "You now, Mary, must see the consequences of your conduct. By yourimprudence, your husband's life is risked, probably sacrificed; but thisis no time to be at variance. I forgive you, Mary,--from my soul, I do,as I hope for pardon myself."

  Mrs Sullivan burst into a paroxysm of tears; and it was some timebefore she could answer. "William," cried she energetically, "as youwell say, this is no time to be at variance, neither is it a time forfalsehood. What I stated to you this morning was true:--if not, may Inever hope for pardon! and may Heaven never be opened to me! You havebeen deceived, grossly deceived; for what purpose, I know not; but so itis. Do not therefore be rash. Send for all who were present, andexamine them; and if I have told you a falsehood, put me away from you,to the shame and seclusion I shall so well deserve."

  "It is too late, Mary; I have challenged him, and he has accepted it. Ifain would believe you; but he told me so himself."

  "Then he told a lie! a base cowardly lie! which sinks him beneath thenotice of a gentleman. Let me go with you and confront him. Only lethim dare to say it to my face: 'tis all I ask, William, that I may clearmy fame with you. Come to bed--nay, nay, don't refuse me;" and poorMrs Sullivan again burst into tears.

  We must leave the couple to pass the remaining hours in misery, which,however, reclaimed them both from faults. Mrs Sullivan never coquettedmore, and her husband was, after this, never jealous but on trifles.

  The colonel was just as busy on his side, in preparing for the chancesof the morrow: these chances however were never tried; for CaptainCarrington and his confederates had made their arrangements. MrSullivan was already dressed, his wife clinging to him in franticdespair, when a letter was left at his door, the purport of which wasthat Colonel Ellice had discovered that his companions had been jokingwith him, when they had asserted that during his state of inebriety, hehad offered any rudeness to Mrs Sullivan. As therefore no offence hadbeen committed, Colonel Ellice took it for granted that Mr Sullivanwould be satisfied with the explanation.

  Mrs Sullivan, who devoured the writing over her husband's shoulder,sunk down on her knees in gratitude, and was raised to her husband'sarms, who, as he embraced her, acknowledged his injustice.

  The same party who wrote this epistle also framed another in imitationof Mr Sullivan's hand-writing, in which Mr Sullivan acquainted theColonel, that having been informed by a mutual friend that he had beenin error relative to Colonel Ellice's be
haviour of the night before, hebegged to withdraw the challenge, and apologise for having suspected thecolonel of incivility, etcetera. That having been informed that ColonelEllice embarked at an early hour, he regretted that he would not be ableto pay his respects to him, and assure him, etcetera.

  The receipt of this letter, just as the colonel had finished a cup ofcoffee, preparatory to starting, made him, as a single man, quite ashappy as the married couple; he hastened to put the letter into thehands of Captain Carrington, little thinking that he was handing it overto the writer.

  "You observe, Captain Carrington, he won't come to the scratch. Perhapsas well for him that he does not," said the colonel, chuckling in hisglee.

  The breakfast was early; the colonel talked big, and explained the wholeaffair to the ladies, quite unconscious that every one in the companyknew that the hoax had been played upon him. Before noon, every one hadre-embarked on board of their respective ships, and their lofty sailswere expanded to a light and favouring breeze.