by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A DUEL "TO THE DEATH."
The duellists stood confronting one another, in the position of"salute," both hands on high grasping their swords at hilt and point,the blades held horizontally. The second of each was in his place, onthe left hand of his principal, half a pace in advance. But a momentmore all were waiting for the word. The second of the challenger hadthe right to give it, and Crittenden was not the man to make delay.
"_Engage_!" he cried out, in a firm clear voice, at the same timestepping half a pace forward, Duperon doing the same. The movement wasmade as a precaution against foul play; sometimes, though not alwaysintended. For in the excitement of such a moment, or under theimpatience of angry passion, one or other of the principals may closetoo quickly--to prevent which is the duty of the seconds.
Quick, at the "engage," both came to "guard" with a collision thatstruck sparks from the steel, proving the hot anger of the adversaries.Had they been cooler, they would have crossed swords quietly. But when,the instant after, they came to _tierce_, both appeared more collected,their blades for a while keeping in contact, and gliding around eachother as if they had been a single piece.
For several minutes this cautious play continued, without furthersparks, or only such as appeared to scintillate from the eyes of thecombatants. Then came a counter-thrust, quickly followed by a counterparry, with no advantage to either.
Long ere this, an observer acquainted with the weapons they werewielding, could have seen that of the two Kearney was the betterswordsman. In changing from _carte_ to _tierce_, or reversely, theyoung Irishman showed himself possessed of the power to keep his armstraight and do the work with his wrist, whilst the Creole kept bendinghis elbow, thus exposing his forearm to the adversary's point. It is arare accomplishment among swordsmen, but, when present, insuring almostcertain victory, that is, other circumstances being equal.
In Kearney's case, it perhaps proved the saving of his life; since itseemed to be the sole object of his antagonist to thrust in upon him,heedless of his own guard. But the long, straight point, from shoulderfar outstretched, and never for an instant obliquely, foiled all hisattempts.
After a few thrusts, Santander seemed surprised at his fruitlessefforts. Then over his face came a look more like fear. It was thefirst time in his duelling experience he had been so baffled, for it washis first encounter with an adversary who could keep a _straight arm_.
But Florence Kearney had been taught _tierce_ as well as _carte_, andknew how to practise it. For a time he was prevented from trying it bythe other's impetuous and incessant thrusting, which kept himcontinuously at guard, but as the sword-play proceeded, he began todiscover the weak points of his antagonist, and, with a well-directedthrust, at length sent his blade through the Creole's outstretched arm,impaling it from wrist to elbow.
An ill-suppressed cry of triumph escaped from the Kentuckian's lips,while with eyes directed towards the other second, he seemed to ask--
"Are you satisfied?"
Then the question was formally put.
Duperon looked in the face of his principal, though without much show ofinterrogating him. It seemed as if he already divined what the answerwould be.
"_A la mort_!" cried the Creole, with a deadly emphasis and bitterdetermination in his dark sinister eyes.
"To the death be it!" was the response of the Irishman, not so calmly,and now for the first time showing anger. Nor strange he should, sincehe now knew he had crossed swords with a man determined on taking hislife.
There was a second or two's pause, of which Santander availed himself,hastily whipping a handkerchief round his wounded arm--a permission notstrictly according to the code, but tacitly granted by his gallantantagonist.
When the two again closed and came to guard, the seconds were no longerby their sides. At the words "_a la mort_" they had withdrawn--each tothe rear of his principal--the mode of action in a duel to the death.Their _role_ henceforth was simply to look on, with no right ofinterference, unless either of the principals should attempt foul play.This, however, could not well occur. By the phrase "_a la mort_" isconveyed a peculiar meaning, well-known to the Orleans duellist. Whenspoken, it is no longer a question of sword-skill, or who draws firstblood; but a challenge giving free licence to kill--whichever can.
In the present affair it was followed by silence more profound and moreintense than ever, while the attention of the spectators, now includingthe seconds, seemed to redouble itself.
The only sound heard was a whistling of wings. The fog had driftedaway, and several large birds were seen circling in the air above,looking down with stretched necks, as if they, too, felt interested inthe spectacle passing underneath. No doubt they did; for they werevultures, and could see--whether or not they scented it--that blood wasbeing spilled.
Once more, also, from the tree tops came the mocking laughter of theeagle; and out of the depths, through long, shadowy arcades, themournful hootings of the great white owl--fit music for such fellstrife.
Disregarding these ominous sounds--each seeming a death-warning initself--the combatants had once more closed, again and again crossingsword-blades with a clash that frightened owl, eagle, and vulture, foran instant causing them to withhold their vocal accompaniment.
Though now on both sides the contest was carried on with increasedanger, there was not much outward sign of it. On neither any rashsword-play. If they had lost temper they yet had control over theirweapons; and their guards and points, though perhaps more rapidlyexchanged, displayed as much skill as ever.
Again Kearney felt surprised at the repeated thrusts of his antagonist,which kept him all the time on the defensive, while Santander appearedequally astonished and discomfited by that far-reaching arm, straight asa yardstick, with elbow never bent. Could the Creole have but added sixinches to his rapier blade, in less than ten seconds the young Irishmanwould have had nearly so much of it passed between his ribs.
Twice its point touched, slightly scratching the skin upon his breast,and drawing blood.
For quite twenty minutes the sanguinary strife continued without anymarked advantage to either. It was a spectacle somewhat painful tobehold, the combatants themselves being a sight to look upon. Kearney'sshirt of finest white linen showed like a butcher's; his sleevesencrimsoned; his hands, too, grasping his rapier hilt, the same--notwith his own blood, but that of his adversary, which had run back alongthe blade; his face was spotted by the drops dashed over it from thewhirling wands of steel.
Gory, too, was the face of Santander; but gashed as well. Bendingforward to put in a point, the Creole had given his antagonist a chance,resulting to himself in a punctured cheek, the scar of which would staythere for life.
It was this brought the combat to an end; or, at all events, to itsconcluding stroke. Santander, vain of his personal appearance, onfeeling his cheek laid open, suddenly lost command of himself, and witha fierce oath rushed at his adversary, regardless of the consequences.
He succeeded in making a thrust, though not the one he intended. Forhaving aimed at Kearney's heart, missing it, his blade passed throughthe buckle of the young Irishman's braces, where in an instant it wasentangled.
Only for half a second; but this was all the skilled swordsman required.Now, first since the fight began, his elbow was seen to bend. This toobtain room for a thrust, which was sent, to all appearance, home to hisadversary's heart.
Every one on the ground expected to see Santander fall; for by the forceof the blow and direction Kearney's blade should have passed through hisbody, splitting the heart in twain. Instead, the point did not appearto penetrate even an inch! As it touched, there came a sound like thechinking of coin in a purse, with simultaneously the snap of a breakingblade, and the young Irishman was seen standing as in a trance ofastonishment, in his hand but the half of a sword, the other halfgleaming amongst the grass at his feet.
It seemed a mischance, fatal to Florence Kearney, and only the veriestd
astard would have taken advantage of it. But this Santander was, andonce more drawing back, and bringing his blade to _tierce_, he wasrushing on his now defenceless antagonist, when Crittenden called "Foulplay!" at the same time springing forward to prevent it.
His interference, however, would have been too late, and in anotherinstant the young Irishman would have been stretched lifeless along thesward, but for a second individual who had watched the foul play--onewho had been suspecting it all along. The sword of Santander seenflying off, as if struck out of his grasp, and his arm dropping by hisside, with blood pouring from the tips of his fingers, were all nearlysimultaneous incidents, as also the crack of a rifle and a cloud of bluesmoke suddenly spurting up over one of the carriages, andhalf-concealing the colossal figure of Cris Rock, still seated on thebox. Out of that cloud came a cry in the enraged voice of the Texan,with words which made all plain--
"Ye darned Creole cuss! Take that for a treetur an' a cowart! Stripthe skunk! He's got sumthin' steely under his shirt; I heerd the chinko' it."
Saying which he bounded down from the box, sprang over the water-ditch,and rushed on towards the spot occupied by the combatants.
In a dozen strides he was in their midst, and before either of the twoseconds, equally astonished, could interfere, he had caught Santander bythe throat, and tore open the breast of his shirt!
Underneath was then seen another shirt, not flannel, nor yet linen orcotton, but link-and-chain steel!