Newton Forster

Captain Carrington was excessively fond of a joke, and never lost the opportunity when it occurred: now, it happened that in the party invited there was a merchant of the name of Sullivan, who, upon his last visit to England, had returned with a very pretty, and at the same time, a very coquettish young lady as his wife. It happened, in the casualties of a large dinner party, that the old colonel (Ellice was his name, if I have not mentioned it before) was seated next to her, and, as usual, was remarkably attentive. Mr Sullivan, like many other gentlemen, was very inattentive to his wife, and, unlike most Irishmen, was very jealous of her. The very marked attention of the colonel had not escaped his notice; neither did his fidgeting upon this occasion escape the notice of those about him, who were aware of his disposition. The poor colonel was one of those upon whose brain the wine had taken the most effect; and it was not until after sundry falls, and being again placed upon his legs, that he had been conveyed home between Captain Carrington and Mr–, the merchant at whose house the party from the Bombay Castle were residing. The ensuing morning he did not make his appearance at breakfast; and the gentlemen residing on the island, commenting upon the events of the evening before, declared in a joking way that they should not be surprised at Mr Sullivan sending him a challenge in the course of the morning; that was, if he was up so soon, as he had quitted the house in a greater state of inebriety than even the colonel. It was upon this hint that Captain Carrington proposed to have some amusement; and having arranged it with one of the junior partners of the house, he went into the room of the colonel, whom he found still in bed.

"Well, colonel, how do you find yourself?" said Captain Carrington, when he had roused him.

"Oh! very bad, indeed: my head is ready to split; never felt such a sensation in my head before, except when I was struck with a spent ball at the battle of—"

"I am very sorry for your headache, colonel: but more sorry that the wine should have played you such a trick last night."

"Trick, indeed!" replied the colonel; "I was completely overcome. I do not recollect a word that passed after I quitted the dinner-table."

"Are you serious? Do you not recollect the scene with Mrs Sullivan?"

"Mrs Sullivan! My dear sir, what scene? I certainly paid every attention due to a very pretty woman; but I recollect no further."

"Not the scene in the drawing-room?"

"God bless me!—No—I do not even recollect ever going into the drawing-room! Pray tell me what I said or did: I hope nothing improper."

"Why, that depends very much whether the lady likes it or not; but in the presence of so many people—"

"Merciful powers! Captain Carrington, pray let me know at once what folly it was that I committed."

"Why, really, I am almost ashamed to enter into particulars: suffice to say, that you used most unwarrantable freedom towards her."

"Is it possible?" cried the colonel. "Now, Captain Carrington, are you not joking?"

"Ask this gentleman; he was present."

The assertion of the captain was immediately corroborated, and the colonel was quite aghast.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I will run immediately—that abominable wine. I must go and make a most ample apology. I am bound to do it, as a gentleman, as an officer, and as a man of honour."

Captain Carrington and his confederate quitted the room, satisfied with the success of their plot. The colonel rose, and soon afterwards made his appearance. He swallowed a cup of coffee, and then proceeded on his visit, to make the amende honorable.

When Mr Sullivan awoke from the lethargy produced from the stupefying effects of the wine, he tried to recollect the circumstances of the preceding evening; but he could trace no further than to the end of the dinner, after which his senses had been overpowered. All that he could call to memory was, that somebody had paid great attention to his wife, and that what had passed afterwards was unknown. This occasioned him to rise in a very jealous humour; and he had not been up more than an hour, when the colonel sent up his card, requesting, as a particular favour, that the lady would admit him.

The card and message were taken by the servant to Mr Sullivan, whose jealousy was again roused by the circumstance; and wishing to know if the person who had now called was the same who had been so attentive to his wife on the preceding evening, and the motives of the call, he requested that the colonel might be shown in, without acquainting his wife, whom he had not yet seen, with his arrival. The colonel, who intended to have made an apology to the lady without the presence of a third person, least of all of her husband, ascended the stairs, adjusting his hair and cravat, and prepared with all the penitent assurance and complimentary excuses of a too ardent lover. The fact was, that, although the colonel had expressed to Captain Carrington his regret and distress at the circumstance, yet, as an old Adonis, he was rather proud of this instance of juvenile indiscretion. When, therefore, he entered the room, and perceived, instead of the lady, Mr Sullivan, raised up to his utmost height, and looking anything but good-humoured, he naturally started back, and stammered out something which was unintelligible. His behaviour did not allay the suspicions of Mr Sullivan, who requested, in a haughty tone, to be informed of the reason why he had been honoured with a visit. The colonel became more confused, and totally losing his presence of mind, replied:—

"I called, sir,—on Mrs Sullivan,—to offer an apology for my conduct last night; but as I perceive that she is not visible, I will take a more favourable opportunity."

"Any apology you may have to offer to my wife, sir," replied Mr Sullivan, "may be confided to me. May I inquire the circumstances which have occurred to render an apology necessary?" and Mr Sullivan walked to the door and closed it.

"Why, really, Mr Sullivan, you must be aware that circumstances may occur," replied the colonel, more confused: "the fact is, that I consider it my duty, as a gentleman and a man of honour, to express my regrets to your fair lady."

"My fair lady! for what, sir, may I ask?"

"Why, sir," stammered the colonel, "to state the truth, for, as a gentleman and a man of honour, I ought not to be ashamed to acknowledge my error—for—the very improper behaviour which I was guilty of last night."

"Improper behaviour, sir!—d—nation! with my wife?" roared Mr Sullivan, in his rage. "What behaviour, sir? and when, sir?"

"Really, sir, I was too much affected with the wine to know anything which passed. I did hope to have addressed the lady in person on the subject, and I came here with that intention."

"I daresay you did, sir."

"But," continued the colonel, "as it appears I am not to have that honour, I consider that I have done my duty in requesting that you will convey my sentiments of regret for what has passed;—and now, sir, I wish you a good morning."

"Good morning," retorted the husband, with a sneer, "and observe, sir, I will not trouble you to call again. William, show this gentleman outside the door."

The colonel, who was descending the stairs, turned round to Mr Sullivan at the latter part of his speech, and then, as if thinking better of it, he resumed his descent, and the door was immediately closed upon him.

Mr Sullivan, as soon as he was satisfied that the colonel was shut out, immediately repaired to his wife's dressing-room, where he found her reading.

"Madam," said he, fixing his eyes sternly on her, "I have been informed of what took place last night."

"I'm sure I do not know what that was," replied the lady, coolly, "except that you were very tipsy."

"Granted, madam; you took advantage of it; and your conduct—"

"My conduct, Mr Sullivan!" replied his wife, kindling with anger.

"Yes, Mrs Sullivan, your conduct. A married woman, madam, who allows gentlemen—"

"Gentlemen, Mr Sullivan! I allow no gentleman but yourself. Are you sure that you are quite sober?"

"Yes, madam, I am; but this affected coolness will not avail you: deny, if you can, that Colonel Ellice did not last night—"

"Well, then, I do deny it. Neither Colonel Ellice nor any other man ever did—"

"Did what, madam?" interrupted the husband in a rage.

"I was going to observe, if you had not interrupted me, that no one was wanting in proper respect towards me," replied the lady, who grew more cool as her husband increased in choler. "Pray, Mr Sullivan, may I inquire who is the author of this slander?"

"The author, madam! look at me—to your confusion look at me!"

"Well, I'm looking."

"'Twas, madam—the colonel himself."

"The colonel himself!"

"Yes, madam, the colonel himself, who called this morning to see you and renew the intimacy, I presume; but by mistake was shown up to me, and then made an apology for his conduct."

"It's excessively strange! first the colonel is rude, without my knowledge, and then apologises to you! Mr Sullivan, I'm afraid that your head is not right this morning."

"Indeed, madam, I only wish that your heart was as sound," replied the husband, with a sneer; "but, madam, I am not quite blind. An honest woman—a virtuous woman, Mrs Sullivan, would have immediately acquainted her husband with what had passed—not have concealed it; still less have had the effrontery to deny it, when acknowledged by her paramour."

"Paramour!" cried the lady, with an hysterical laugh; "Mr Sullivan, when I select a paramour, it shall be a handsome young man—not an old, yellow-faced—"

"Pshaw, madam! there's no accounting for taste; when a woman deviates from the right path—"

"Right path! if ever I deviated from the right path, as you call it, it was when I married such a wretch as you! Yes, sir," continued the lady, bursting into tears, "I tell it you now—my life has been a torment to me ever since I married (sobbing)—always suspected for nothing (sob, sob)—jealous, detestable temper (sob)—go to my friends (sob)—hereafter may repent (sob)—then know what you've lost" (sob, sob, sob).

"And, madam," replied Mr Sullivan, "so may you also know what you have lost, before a few hours have passed away; then, madam, the time may come when the veil of folly will be rent from your eyes, and your conduct appear in all its deformity. Farewell, madam—perhaps for ever!"

The lady made no reply; Mr Sullivan quitted the room, and, repairing to his counting-house, wrote a challenge to the colonel and confided the delivery of it to one of his friends, who unwillingly accepted the office of second.

Chapter XXXV

  "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 was residing, when he was immediately accosted by Captain Carrington and the 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 to resent the conduct of Mr Sullivan. Naturally more inclined for peace than war, by the time that he had arrived home he had resolved to pocket the affront, when Captain Carrington called him on one side, and obtained from him a recapitulation of what had passed; which probably never would have been given if the colonel had not considered the communication as confidential. This, however, did not suit the intentions of Captain Carrington, who felt inclined for more mischief; and, when the colonel had concluded his narrative, he replied, "Upon my word, colonel, as you observe, this conduct on the part of Mr Sullivan is not exactly what can be permitted by us military men. I hardly know how to advise; indeed, I would not take the responsibility; however, I will consult with Mr 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 Carrington quitted the colonel, who would have expostulated, and, walking up to the other gentlemen, entered into a recapitulation of the circumstances. A wink of his eye, as his back was turned to the colonel, fully expressed to the others the tenor of the advice which they were to offer.

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

"I think," replied Mr S–, with a serious face, "there can be but one—our gallant friend has been most grossly insulted. I think," continued he, addressing the colonel, who had quitted the sofa, in his anxiety to know the issue of their debate, "that I should most decidedly ask 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 the colonel, as a gentleman and an officer, has a right to insist upon. Do you not think so, Captain Carrington?" said Mr S–.

"Why, I always have been more inclined to be a peacemaker than otherwise, if I can," replied Captain Carrington. "If our gallant friend the colonel is not sure that Mr Sullivan did use the words, 'I won't trouble you to call again,'—are you positive as to the exact words, colonel?"

"Why, to the best of my recollection," replied the colonel, "I rather think those were the words. I may be mistaken:—it was certainly—most certainly, something to that effect."

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

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

"Well, they could be but one or the other. Then, gentlemen, the case is clear—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, Colonel Ellice, can do otherwise than demand an apology, or a meeting."

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

"Why, not exactly," replied Mr S–. "Sullivan is of good family—the Sullivans of Bally cum Poop. He was some time in the 48th Regiment, and was obliged to retire from it for challenging his colonel."

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

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

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

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

The colonel opened the letter, which contained Mr Sullivan's challenge,—pistols—tomorrow morn, at daylight—one mile on the road to Machico.

The colonel's countenance changed two or three shades less yellow as he read the contents: recovering himself with a giggle, he handed the letter to Captain Carrington.

"You see, captain, the gentleman has saved me the trouble—He, he, he! these little affairs are common to gentlemen 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 business done," observed Mr S–. "I perceive that he is in earnest by the place named for the meeting. We generally settle our affairs of honour in the Loo-fields; but I suppose he is afraid of interruption.—They want 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 the friendly and encouraging glasses of wine drank with the colonel, who recovered his confidence, and was then most assiduous in his attentions to the ladies, to prove his perfect indifference. He retired at an early hour, nevertheless.

In the meantime Mr Sullivan had received the answer, and had retired to his counting-house, to arrange his affairs in case of accident. He had not seen his wife since the fracas. And now we will leave them both for a while, and make a few remarks upon duelling.

Most people lament, many abuse, the custom as barbarous; but barbarous it is 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, at the same time, it must be acknowledged, that neither law nor religion can keep society in such good order, or so restrain crime. The man who would defy the penalty of the law, and the commandments of his God against seduction will, however, pause in his career, when he finds that there are brothers to avenge an injured sister. And why so?—because in this world we live as if we were in a tavern, careless of what the bill is which we run up, but dreading the day of reckoning, which the pistol of our adversary may bring at once. Thus duelling may be considered as a necessary evil, arising out of our wickedness; a crime in itself rare in occurrence, but which prevents others of equal magnitude from occurring every day; and, until the world is reformed, nothing can prevent it. Men will ever be governed by the estimation of the world: and until the whole world decide against duelling—until it has become the usage to offer the other cheek upon the first having been smitten—then, and not till then, will the practice be discontinued. When a man refuses to fight 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 have subsequently found themselves so miserable, from the neglect and contumely of the world, that they have backslided, and have fought to recover their place in society. There have been some few—very few—who, having refused from conscientious motives, have adhered to these resolutions, because they feared God and not man. There was more courage in their refusal than if they had run the gauntlet of a hundred duels; a moral courage which is most rare,—preferring the contempt of man to the wrath of God. It is, however, the most trying situation on this side of the grave. To refuse to fight a duel, is in fact to obey the 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 afraid to offend the Deity; and in the next, I am afraid of being shot. I have, therefore, made up my mind never to meet a man except upon what I consider fair terms; for when a man stakes his life, the gambling becomes rather serious, and an equal value should be laid down by each party. If, then, a man is not so big—not of equal consequence in the consideration of his fellow-mites—not married, with five small children, as I am—not having so much to lose,—why, it is clear that I risk more than he does; the stake is not equal, and I therefore shall not meet him. If, on the contrary, he presents a broader target—if he is my superior in rank, more patriarchal at home, or has so many hundreds 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 all these 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 unpleasant circumstances is, first to try if they cannot persuade their adversaries to make an apology: and if they will not, why, then, let them make one themselves; for although the making an apology creates a very uneasy sensation, and goes very much against the stomach, yet, depend upon it, a well-directed bullet creates a much more uneasy feeling, and, what is worse, goes directly into it.

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

Now, that Mrs Sullivan had been most unjustly accused, the reader must know, and, moreover, that she had great reason to feel irritated. When her tears had subsided, for some time she continued in her chair, awaiting, with predetermined dignity, the appearance and apology of Mr Sullivan. After some time had elapsed, she wondered why he did not come. Dinner was announced, and she certainly expected to meet him then, and she waited for some minutes to see if he would not take this opportunity of coming up to her;—but no. She then presumed that he was still in the sulks, and had sat down to table without her, and therefore, as he would not come—why, she went; but he was not at the table. Every minute she expected him:—Had he been told?—Where was he?—He was in the counting-house, was the reply. Mrs Sullivan swallowed a few mouthfuls, and then returned upstairs. 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, with strict injunctions to keep the water boiling, and all was cleared away. Mrs Sullivan fidgeted and ruminated, and became uneasy. He never had been at variance for so many hours since their marriage, and all for nothing! At last the clock struck ten, and she rang the bell.—"Where is Mr Sullivan?"—"In the counting-house."—"Tell him that I wish to speak with him." Mr Sullivan had not answered him, and the door was locked inside. This intelligence created a little irritation, and checked the tide of affection. "Before all the servants—so inconsiderate—it was quite insulting!" With a heavy heart, Mrs Sullivan lighted the chamber candle, and went upstairs to bed. Once she turned down the stairs two or three steps, intending to go to the counting-house door; but her pride restrained her, and she reascended. In an hour Mrs Sullivan was in bed, expecting her husband every minute, listening at the slightest sound for his footsteps; but two o'clock came, and he was still away. She could bear up against her suspense and agitation no longer; she rose, threw on her robe de nuit, and descended the stairs. All the family had long retired, and everything was still: her light foot made no noise as she tripped along. As she neared the door she perceived the light gleaming through the key-hole. Whether to peep or to speak first—he might be fast asleep. Curiosity prevailed—she looked through the key-hole, and perceived her husband very busy writing. After he had finished his letter he threw down the pen, pressed his forehead with both hands, and groaned deeply. Mrs Sullivan could refrain no longer. "William! William!" cried she, in a soft, imploring voice: but she was not answered. Again and again did she repeat his name, until an answer, evidently wrung from him by impatience, was returned—"It is too late now."

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

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

"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'll bless you. Pray do, William!"