Of the conversation that followed this scene, between
the two friends, left thus to themselves, we need not speak;
our history, which aims to present results, does not demand
a repetition of these details here.

It naturally turned—the colloquy of the friends—upon
the subject which had so suddenly thrust itself upon their
attention; and gradually passing from a consideration of
the actual circumstances, Mr. Incledon and his friend

[figure description] Page 387.[end figure description]

discussed that problem of modern times—duelling—in all its
branches.

The reader will thus perceive that we omit nothing
necessary to the comprehension of the history, in forbearing
to follow the conversation. Abstract discussions are
scarcely entertaining, and so the conversation of the
friends is spared the reader.

But still, before proceeding with the events which
followed, it may be permitted to a solitary writer to
express his thoughts upon this subject, in a few brief
words—to say that, in his own opinion, what the age calls
its code of honor is pitiable, irrational, and bloody—that
duelling, in all its ramifications, under any circumstances,
is as ludicrous, and pitiable, an inconsequence, as any
prejudice by which the minds and actions of men ever have
been led, and governed, and enslaved. In the middle
ages—with the sword at the side, the leg in the saddle—
the highway or the street filled with two classes only,
friends and enemies—then there was something to be said
in support of the single combat; when often it was
reduced to your own life or your enemy's, your own sword
through his heart, or his through your own—in a word,
self-defence or death. There was then something rational
in the clashing of two swords, the breast to breast conflict—
and the rationality remains with men, thrown in a
similar attitude, to-day. But to perpetuate that bloody
fashion of a faulty past—to force into the calm flow of the
nineteenth century, the weakness and failing of the ninth—
to declare that a tone of the voice, a word hastily uttered,
a breach of etiquette, even, shall make it necessary for an

[figure description] Page 388.[end figure description]

honorable gentleman to go in cold blood to a distant
place, and take his adversary's life or yield up his own—
this is the ludicrous and bloody inconsequence which makes
the age silent in applause of it, and yet forces men whose
minds and hearts reject and loathe the system, to pour out
every drop of their heart's blood in obedience to it. The
terrible offence against every law of God and man, in thus
appealing to a bloody child's-play, need not even be
touched upon; such an argument has little weight. It is
the rational aspect of the affair—the coldly rational—that
overturns and routs it with a word, and stamps it as the
weak and sanguinary prejudice of men who inherit a tradition,
and are bound by it in chains stronger than the
shackles of a slave. It is the rational aspect which shows
plainly that participants in these affairs, fight neither for
revenge, or from hatred; but because they depend for their
opinions of themselves upon what others say of them—
and shrink before the ordeal with a pitiable fear, and go
and take a life they do not want—shed blood that cries
out from the ground against them to their latest hour, and
makes them children—fearful of the very winds and darkness.
This is the fatal flaw in all the poor sophistry—the
fact that they have suffered none of those terrible domestic
wrongs which madden the brain, and make the heart
thirsty for the perpetrator's blood—that they would not
risk the chance of leaving wives and children to the charity
of the world, for all the mines of Peru or Golconda—that
nothing in them calls for blood, except the poor whisper
of a false self-respect—“take care, they will laugh at
you!” It is this which causes so many such affairs to be

[figure description] Page 389.[end figure description]

arranged to the satisfaction of both parties—it is this
which makes the world laugh and jeer—this well-known
fact that men act without any thirst for blood, with reluctance,
with dread: and that this is done in obedience
to a narrow and pitiable fear of ridicule; the laughter of
worldlings among men, or the whispers of women—of
women who forget that God is over them, and that some
day they will have a bloody reckoning to settle for their
words. We utter what the minds of the best and most
intelligent men, of every society of our times, believe and
are convinced of: we utter what will be acquiesced in by
all classes but the Captain Tarnishes, and those resembling
him—the fungi of the times—excrescences which break
out on the body social from the working of its purulent
and corrupt humors. Some day—to-morrow, or the next
year, or the next age—this pitiable and melancholy weakness
will be swept away: that public opinion, arising from
the noblest and most expanded culture of the brain and
heart, will strike it: and the very existence of a system
so degrading to immortals, will become a subject for the
wonder or the incredulity of men. That time comes
slowly—but it will come.

Mr. Incledon promised his friend to call again some
time in the course of the day, as he would probably be
passing, in making his arrangements for departure:—and
making this promise, he rose calmly, and wrapping his
cloak around him, took his departure.

Mr. Sansoucy sat for an hour, thinking of the events of
the morning—then finding his dinner hour approach,
went and performed almost a mere ceremony in that

[figure description] Page 390.[end figure description]

particular—and then returning, sat down as before, and
pondered.

“Well, Ralph is a man of resolution, really enormous,”
he said, with a sigh, at last, and as the result of his reflections,
“and I don't know what will be the end of all this.
As long as Tarnish is mixed up with the affairs, however,
I am second principal in the struggle, and I'll do my part.
Bah! how I do despise these two men—and yet they have
the power, perhaps, to injure Ralph or myself. It is not
ambiguous voices which these gentlemen sprinkle—they
do not stop at falsehood! Tarnish, I'll bet, is over yonder
now, giving his version of the scene here this morning!
Can it be! can he be making up his falsehood, and retailing
it! He shan't misrepresent Ralph—I'll go see.”

And as suddenly as the resolution was conceived, did
Mr. Sansoucy put it into execution.

He summoned his servant, ordered him to direct any
one who called on business, to the shooting gallery, which
was near at hand: and then wrapping his overcoat about
him, issued forth, and soon reached the gallery.

The shooting and fencing gallery, in which Monsieur
Guillemot officiated, in the capacity of pistol-loader—foilstraitner,
mark-bearer, and fact-totum, generally, in place
of the proprietor, was one of those establishments so often
met with in cities, and much frequented by young gentlemen
engaged in killing time—an enemy which is savagely
attacked, and gotten rid of summarily, by billiards, cards,
wine drinking, races, and divertisements of a thousand
descriptions, more or less partaking of a rapid character.

True, there is little honor or profit to be derived from

[figure description] Page 391.[end figure description]

these pursuits; and they generally make a very large hole
in even the most plump and well-stocked purse:—neither
is there any especial glory or subject for triumph in causing
a bell to ring at ten paces, with a pistol ball; but
still the direful enemy, Time, is routed by their assistance,
and the chief end of human life is accomplished.

The philosophy of Monsieur Guillemot's connection with
the gallery was better founded. His attention to the
pistols and the foils, brought him in a moderate, but sure
sum of money: and with this money, Monsieur Guillemot
assiduously administered to that life which his youthful
visitors seemed to be so desirous to get through with.

A sheet-iron board, of large size, marked in chalk, with
the figure of a man, whose heart was represented by a
bell—a number of tables, upon which were scattered foils
and masks—a group of gentlemen, among whom Monsieur
Guillemot glided, handing pistols, giving the word, and
performing his duties—this was the sight presented to
Mr. Sansoucy, when he entered.

Immediately in front of the door, stood Captain Tarnish—
and by his side, Mr. Fantish, whose face still wore
a cold sneer, from the events of the morning.

Captain Tarnish, who held a discharged pistol in his
hand, and was talking to an acquaintance, turned round,
as the door opened, and recognizing Mr. Sansoucy,
greeted him with a frown.

Having no desire to meet the Captain in combat at
the moment, Mr. Sansoucy passed by him without paying
any attention to his menacing look, which Mr. Fantish

[figure description] Page 392.[end figure description]

copied; and going to the fire-place, greeted Monsieur
Guillemot.

“Ah, Mossieu Sansoucí!” said the old Frenchman,
“charmè de vous voir! what fine day!”

“Very cold, though,” said Mr. Sansoucy.

“Ver cold, but fine! You see my friends, Lacklitter,
to-day?”

“No; I've been busy.”

“Ah, Mossieu! nevare work too hard with head.'
Tis bad—'tis very bad, Mossieu Sansoucí!”

“So it is, my dear friend, and I have come over here to
look around, and listen, and perhaps take a few shots.”

“Ah, you will shoot!”

“Yes; come try your hand with me, Monsieur Guillemot.”

“I try my hand, Mossieu! You shoot with poor
Guillemot, who is bank-a-root, Mossieu! Quel honneur!”

“Honor? not at all. I think the honor will be on
your side,” said Sansoucy, amused at the modest self-appreciation
of the polite old Frenchman. “You”ll
beat me.”

“Beat you! nevare—ah! nevare Mossieu mon ami!”
cried the fencing master, shrugging his shoulders, elevating
his eyebrows, and turning out his hands which held
two pistols, “'tis too much honneur to 'ave for my friend
such gentleman as Mossieu Sansoucí. 'Tis true, Mossieu,'
tis very true. Voici le Capitaine Tarnish—he will shoot
with you, Mossieu!”

Captain Tarnish turned round upon hearing his name
spoken, and scowled at Monsieur Guillemot.

[figure description] Page 393.[end figure description]

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I say, Monsieur le Capitaine,” said the Frenchman,
“that you and Mistare Sansoucí will shoot together, if it
please you!”

“Shoot!”

“Practeese, Mossieu.”

“Well, sir, I have no objection. I believe I have heard
a good deal of this gentleman's shooting, but I have never
seen it.”

“Nevare!” said the Frenchman, “est il possible! you'
ave nevare seen Mistare Sansoucí—him, Mossieu?”

“No.”

“Well see him now—here are ze pistols.”

“I am ready.”

Sansoucy stood completely thunderstruck at the impertinence
and want of delicacy in this man, who had only a
few hours before retreated ignominiously from him, under
a personal threat. He scarcely seemed to realize that
any one calling himself a man, could abdicate so completely
all self-respect.

It may thus easily be understood, that Mr. Sansoucy
was very far from intending to enter the lists of friendly
contest with a man whom he could not refrain from
despising.

“I am ready, sir,” said Captain Tarnish, with a grand
air, as he advanced to take the loaded pistol which Monsieur
Guillemot extended toward him.

“And I am not, sir,” said Mr. Sansoucy, in a freezing
tone, “I only shoot with gentlemen and my friends.”

The words, full of unmistakeable contempt and insult,

[figure description] Page 394.[end figure description]

sounded clearly and distinctly in the silence—for at Captain
Tarnish's offer to try issues with his opponent, every
one in the gallery, who had gotten an inkling of the interview
of the morning, drew back, and ceased speaking.

It was then in the middle of a dead silence, that Mr.
Sansoucy uttered these distinct words:

“I am not ready, sir. I only shoot with gentlemen
and my friends!”

For an instant Captain Tarnish stood like a statue of
bronze, gazing at the cold face of his opponent.”

“Sir!” he said, at last, with an explosion, “do you
mean to insult me!”

“You may understand my words just as you please`”
replied Mr. Sansoucy, rivetting his eyes upon his opponent's
with as much contempt as anger; “just as you
please, sir! That is the privilege I grant you.”

Captain Tarnish placed his left hand upon his pistol,
and sprung the hammer back. As he did so, Mr. Sansoucy
felt a hand touch his arm, and this hand which
belonged to Monsieur Guillemot, contained the second
pistol.

“Are you ready, gentlemen,” said Monsieur Guillemot,
affecting to regard the conversation as a jest, “the bell is
not ring this morning.”

“I will shoot with you, not with this person,” said Mr.
Sansoucy, coldly taking the pistol.

Captain Tarnish's weapon pointed at the floor. If it
had been the intention of that worthy to commit a murder,
the sight of the pistol in his adversary's hand, caused him

[figure description] Page 395.[end figure description]

to modify his resolution. He took refuge in bravado, and
said boastfully.

“I thought I would not see the fine shooting I was
promised.”

“By me, sir? you refer to our conversation some days
since?”

“I do, sir?”

“Well, I'll reply to that, sir?”

“You will much oblige me, sir!”

And Captain Tarnish made a threatening movement
with his pistol.

“I will oblige you,” said his opponent with a contempt
and coldness, galling in the extreme, even to the
Captain. “I reply simply, that I will not degrade
myself by meeting in friendly contest a man who brings a
bullying and insolent swagger to insult my friends with—
and finding that his miserable errand is abortive, ignominiously
abandons the position he has assumed, at the
first word! There is my reason for refusing, sir!”

As Mr. Sansoucy uttered these words, Mr. Fantisn
advanced toward him pale and sneering:

“A miserable errand, did you say, sir?” he asked,
coldly,

“Yes, sir—if I am forced to quarrel, let it be with
both, and let it be before everyone. Gentlemen,” added
the speaker, raising his voice, and addressing the group
which had gathered round them: “my friend, Mr. Incledon,
tells me that he disappointed an attempt of this
gentleman to commit an infamous wrong, this very morning—
a mortal defiance, couched in terms of the bitterest

[figure description] Page 396.[end figure description]

insult followed—and it was brought by Captain Tarnish,
who retreated from my room before a threat of personal
chastisement. You shall judge now, whether I or the
officers of the law, are the proper umpires of the dispute.
I declare, distinctly, that nothing but the necessity of self-defence,
shall force me to have any contest with these
persons!”

Undoubtedly an attack would have followed these
words in a moment, but just as Mr. Sansoucy concluded,
a voice at the door said, suddenly:

“Ernest! Ernest!”

And Mr. Incledon, wrapped in his cloak, entered the
apartment, and approached the group quickly.

He had gone to Mr. Sansoucy's room—been directed
by the servant to the shooting gallery, and had arrived
just at the crisis of the dispute.

No sooner had Mr. Fantish become aware of the presence
of Mr. Incledon, than forgetting the new quarrel,
he turned like an enraged tiger upon the man he hated
so profoundly.

“Good!” he said, seizing the pistol in Captain Tarnish's
hand; “this little affair may wait. Ah, sir! at last
I meet you face to face!”

And grinding his teeth with rage, he pointed to the
table, on which lay a number of loaded pistols.

“Take your weapon, sir! I will force you, sir! now,
now! this very instant—here!”

And actually white with passion, Mr. Fantish cocked
his weapon.

Mr. Incledon stood perfectly still, and gazed as coldly

[figure description] Page 397.[end figure description]

at his adversary, as he had done on that morning when
he stood opposite to him with a similar weapon, giving a
similar challenge.

“I will not fight with you, sir,” he said: “and that
for the separate reasons, that I do not consider myself
called to meet you: would not, if I were—and, lastly,
that you are better used to your weapon than myself
This is a lesser objection, however, sir.”

And Mr. Incledon stood like a statue before his enraged
adversary, who twice raised his pistol with the
crime of murder in his heart.

But Mr. Fantish never completely lost his reason; and
nothing but madness could have led him to fire upon an
unarmed man in presence of a dozen witnesses.

“You refuse! do you wish me to strike you, sir, and
dishonor you? You refuse,” he said, with almost a howl
of rage: “you refuse upon the miserable pretence that
you are not accustomed to the pistol. But you shall not
escape, sir! I have seen you fence, and we are good
matches—there, sir!”

And seizing two foils, Mr. Fantish snapped off the
buttons, leaving the sharp steel points, and grasping
one, threw the other on the table, close to Mr. Incledon's
right hand.

“Refuse now! and I will brand you as a coward! yes,
sir, as a coward!”

The tone of these words was unendurably insulting, and a
faint tinge came to his opponent's cheeks: his eyes flashed.

“Ah, you are not made of iron, I see! Take your
weapon, sir, or I will slap your face!”

[figure description] Page 398.[end figure description]

With a movement, which was perfectly unconscious,
Mr. Incledon threw back his cloak, and as he did so, a
shudder passed over his frame, and his eyes fell upon the
weapon.

“Defend yourself!” cried his adversary, advancing
furiously to strike; “defend yourself, or I will drive my
foil through your craven heart!”

The cup was full.

Mastered by passion, aroused from the depths of his
nature, and yielding to the fiery thought, that, after all,
it was only self-defence in him, Mr. Incledon grasped the
handle of the foil, and parried the blow which Mr. Fantish
directed at his heart.

The contact of his hand with the long unused weapon
seemed to change the man into his former passionate self:
and losing thought of everything but the adversary before
him, he rushed toward him as savagely as he had been
attacked.

The two enemies were both excellent fencers, and the
hilts of their weapons clashed and held them thus face to
face for an instant.

Then the combat commenced really, and the crowd drew
back from the spot, frightened by the furious cruelty of
the weapons, which flashed like lightning in the powerful
hands of the adversaries.

In ten minutes, Mr. Incledon, overcome with fury, and
feeling a giant's strength in his wrist, had driven his opponent
to the table on the opposite side; and there, parrying
a desperate lunge, had closed and driven his weapon full
upon his enemy's heart.

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[figure description] Page 399.[end figure description]

One moment would have seen the end of Mr. Fantish—
only his thin silk waistcoat and linen protected him from
the sharp point, driven by the furious hand—in one moment
Mr. Incledon might have ended the contest by taking
his adversary's life.

But he did not. He arrested his hand as it was driving
the point home: and said with a shudder:

“Take your life—I have no use for it.”

The words were not uttered, when Mr. Fantish, livid
with rage, drove his sword forward completely through
his opponent's shoulder, in which it snapped.

At the same moment, Captain Tarnish seized the weapon
of Mr. Incledon, but received immediately a violent
blow from Mr. Sansoucy, which cut and brought the blood
from his temples, and threw him backward.

Mr. Fantish rose erect; and as he did so, Mr. Incledon
dropped his weapon, and leaning one hand on the table,
would have fainted but for prompt assistance.

“A murder!” cried Sansoucy, throwing himself
toward Mr. Fantish, “I arrest this man for murder!”

But the movement of the crowd separated them, and
Mr. Fantish, finding himself unobserved for the instant,
shrunk from the group which supported Incledon, and
with a curse upon his lips rushed through the door and
disappeared.

Sansoucy, with his own hand drew out the broken steel,
and staunched the blood.

As he rose, he looked round with his fiery eyes for the
man who had caused this—saw that he had disappeared—
ran to the window and threw it up, to call on passers by to

p506-409 [figure description] Page 400.[end figure description]

stop him: — and then suddenly grew motionless and
pale.

Mr. Fantish had descended the stairs, and leaped into
his open carriage—caught the reins—and struck his fiery
horses violently with the whip.

Driven to fury by the cruel blow, they reared, started
forward like lightning, and crashing against the stone abutment
of the corner of the street, broke the carriage into
a thousand pieces. Mr. Fantish, hurled out violently, fell,
striking his temple against the stones.

This was what Mr. Sansoucy had witnessed