CHAPTER IX.
THE DUEL.
When they had had time to reflect, both combatants were equally sorryfor the fracas. Curran was specially meek, and apologised humbly tohis second, as they walked arm-in-arm to the trysting-place.
'Indeed, and I'm an old fool,' he admitted. 'Nothing, as you said, cancome of this sort of thing but noise. I can't afford to be kilt, forI'll be wanted later.' Then a thought came as a gleam of comfort. 'IfI could kill my man,' he said, 'that would be doing good service toould Ireland. But the devil looks after his own. He's much more likelyto make daylight through me.'
Lord Clare was more than annoyed; he was seriously disturbed. If hewere to kill Curran, his position would be fraught with difficulty.The mob loved Curran; they would certainly tear to pieces the man whoslew him. If he, by chance, escaped, he would be able to show his faceno more; and, having ceased to be useful, the authorities in Londonwould certainly throw him over. Was this wretched little pigmy alwaysto cross his path? Lord Clare ground out a curse, and determined (witha hasty prayer to his tutelary deity with the horns and hoofs) that ifthe first fire turned out harmless, he would declare his honoursatisfied, and decline a second shot. Meanwhile he improvedthe shining moments--Cassidy having rushed off to fetch thebarking-irons--by sending a special messenger to Ely Place, to order asaddled horse to be brought to the mall in Stephen's Green; aprecaution in favour of escape, in case an accident should happen tothe popular favourite.
Speedily as challenge had followed insult, he saw with chagrin thatthere was no hope of keeping the matter secret. The altercation hadbeen witnessed by several gownsmen who happened to be passing out ofthe Commons, and who, rushing across the road to Trinity, had bawledto all whom it interested that 'Curran was about to pistol thechancellor to Hades.'
The news flew like wildfire from court to court, for theundergraduates bore the latter no goodwill, by reason of the recentvisitation. They poured out like a flock of rooks, and were alreadyperched on wall and branch when the interested parties arrived.
There were not two opinions as to which way they hoped the affairwould end. Of the chancellor's enemies among the scum, there was noslight sprinkling, Phil having also rushed away to announce to sundrycronies that there was going to be great sport. Lord Clare regrettedhis choice of a second. He had selected him as likely to obey hisprincipal, instead of leading him, as he had a right to do; but hereckoned without the pugnacity which underlies the Irish character,and which is certain to burst forth on the first symptom of a row. Howcould Cassidy guess (who was, by nature, blundering and muddle-pated),that my lord chancellor really wished to back out of his challenge?Was he not an Irishman? That he was no coward all the world knew. Thegiant put down his peculiar manner to an ultra-refinement of courtesyand high-breeding, and was specially anxious to allow him to air hispoliteness without losing a point. He was extremely obstinate,therefore, declining to listen to anything his principal proposed--soperemptorily, indeed, that he would have marvelled at his ownaudacity, but for a conviction that he was doing what was expected ofhim.
'Ground! gintlemen, ground!' he cried in delight, as a sort ofsalutation. 'Blow measurement! We'll hip the puny babbler, my lord!Hip him--hip--hip! Bedad, your lordship's puce silk coat is in yourfavour. The daylight's waning. I can hardly distinguish your figurefrom the grass. Sure it's dewy, and your shoes are thin. Stand on myroquelaure. 'Twill prevent your taking could!'
'Damn his officiousness!' muttered his principal, with a scowl.
Mr. Curran met with such an ovation from the heavy flight of rooks inthe trees, as his small figure loomed in the twilight, that hisspirits rose again. His temporary humility was gone. He, too, was aHibernian war-horse, with a love for the clarion's bray, although hisbouts were more in the way of arguments than cudgel-playing. The ideaof shooting down, with his own dusky hand, Ireland's recreant son, herbitterest foe, might well raise his spirits.
Charlotte Corday, even though she did her country transcendantservice, cannot be acquitted of the charge of murder. It is not_convenable_ for a young lady to enter the bath-room of an unprotectedgentleman, and, having lodged a knife in his flesh, to retire behind acurtain and await her fate. But here was an analogous case, withoutits indecorous elements. A frowsy-looking mouse had bearded a gorgeouslion, and told him the simple truth about himself, which more timorousanimals were content to whisper behind his back. That lion, takingoffence, had challenged his small foe to mortal combat. Well, themouse would try to slay that lion, and, the combat being on equalterms, there was no murder about the business at all; a case ofretribution, simply. David and Goliath--nothing more. Anything more_convenable_ could not possibly be seen.
So Mr. Curran became quite jubilant, and seeming, to his surprise, todetect something which looked like the hesitation of fear, set himselfto taunt the fine-looking gentleman opposite, who made really asplendid appearance in his exquisitely-fitting silken clothes, with alarge diamond glimmering in a soft fall of lace, another in hishat-loop; while, as for the silver-hilted _couteau de chasse_ whichdangled from a silver belt, nothing could be more perfect inworkmanship, more chaste and elegant in design.
'Is the _State-doctor_ ready?' shouted Mr. Curran, who was in highestspirits by this time, amid crows of merriment. 'Sure he's alwaysprescribing _steel_ to his patient; bad luck to him!'
'Is it steel?' retorted Cassidy, whose principal pretended not tohear. 'Here's steel for ye! The prettiest irons in all Leinster; agift to me from Lord Glandore. Twelve inches long they are. Tear andowns! but they're lovely boys; as bright as moonbames. If they couldspake, they'd thank ye for giving them their liberty. Why, they've notbeen aired these six weeks.'
'Take care,' Terence observed, laughing; 'the one ye're flourishing isat full-cock.'
'Then full-cock your own, and let's blaze,' retorted the other,readily; which sally produced a yell from the rookery.
'If Mr. Curran will apologise----' Lord Clare began, glancingnervously round, for it was nearly dark, and the mob was thickeningfast.
'Ah! Go on, now; it's joking ye're,' shouted Cassidy, holding hissides. 'Your lordship's too polite entirely. Sure ye couldn't do it.Here are the rules laid down by the Knights of Tara, which you knowmay not be broke' (taking a small manuscript book out of hisvoluminous breeches-pocket). 'See No. 7: "No apology can be acceptedafter the parties meet, without a fire." Come, gintlemin. Proceed,proceed. Ould locks--barrels and stocks! Go on, _du_ now! Here areyour pair of bullies, nicely primed, my lord.'
'One will be sufficient, probably,' frowned his principal.
'Rule 33,' retorted the glib fire-eater: '"You may not be satisfiedtill two shots are fired at least, unless the apologiser hands theother a cane and submits to a good beating."'
'That's a Galway rule, which doesn't obtain in Dublin,' Terenceremarked. 'Not that my principal means to apologise; far from it.'
'Irish blackguard is one of our staple manufactures,' suggested Mr.Curran, to keep the ball rolling; but his adversary was imperturbable.He was a cur as well as a tyrant, then?
'Listen to me, my lord,' cried the sturdy advocate, crossing his arms.'In 1173, MacMurrough betrayed the land to Strongbow, as you arebetraying it now to Pitt, and received the wages of sin. Take a lessonfrom history. Hunted by despair, he died by his own hand. Under HenryII. England and Ireland were for a moment one. But England grew sickof the faint smell of the shambles, and abandoned her slave. Much gooddid that Union do!'
Lord Clare was stung to desperation. Openly to talk of a Union at thisjuncture might be productive of incalculable harm.
'Make haste, make haste!' he said pettishly. 'We don't want all themetropolis to look at us.'
The first shot did no mischief. The chancellor fired wide, hiswandering bullet creating a transitory excitement in a knot ofbystanders. Mr. Curran's pierced his adversary's coat.
'The devil looks after his own, I might have known it,' he muttered,tossing away one pistol and rais
ing the other. 'The gentleman standstoo far off. Let him come closer. I can't see him.'
Lord Clare approached nearer, and again fired wildly; while hisopponent was so diabolically deliberate, that he could not helpobserving through the stillness of expectation: 'It won't be yourfault if you don't kill me, Curran!'
'Did ye ever hear tell of Moran's collar?' inquired the advocate, as,closing one eye and screwing up his mouth into an O, he covered thechancellor. 'It was worn by justices in ould days, and had thewondrous property of contracting or relaxing according to his just orunjust conduct. How mightily it would have choked your lordship!'
Curran fired at last. The chancellor staggered, but recovered himself.
'A hit!' shouted Curran.
'A hit, a hit!' yelled the rooks, in the gathering darkness. Onepiping bird-voice cried above the rest, 'Moiley shall eat him!'
A multitude of friends vied with each other in sympathy for thechancellor. Cassidy supported him, despite his struggles, on his knee,while one ripped open his small clothes and another produced a probe.
On the fair skin there was a dark mark--a tiny trickle of blood like apin's scratch. The sight of it produced a murmur of astonishment. LordClare could conceal his fury no longer.
'Damn you all! Damn you, I say! for a pack of donkeys!' he cried,almost foaming. 'It's the gingerbread nuts that I eat in the longdebate--they've saved me from a bullet-wound--there--laugh away, andget you gone--I've danced too long already to your asinine piping!'
'One more blaze, my lord?' coaxed Cassidy, unconvinced, amid generaltittering.
But he was not long unconvinced. He saw _that_ in his principal's eyewhich reduced him to lowliness at once, and he bowed his head as thewounded warrior quoted with majesty Rule 22:
'"If a wound agitates the nerves and makes the hand shake, thebusiness must end for that day at least." The gingerbread nuts havemade my hand shake: at all events you may take it so, if you please.Provoke me no longer--clear away this rabble of idiots at once, or Itell you plainly, Mr. Cassidy, that you'll be sorry for it.'
The giant could not but perceive that his principal really wasfrantic, and hastened to obey his behests.
'Well, well,' he meditated. 'I'd rather be badly wounded than be savedby gingerbread nuts! It's an ignominious accident, and laughable, andthe chancellor cannot bear being laughed at.'
Cassidy busied himself in 'claring the coorse,' as he termed it; andwhile he did so, the aggrieved chancellor watched him with a sullenand lowering gaze. It was quite dark by this time.
'Terence,' he said presently, with unaccustomed kindness in his voice,'come hither. You dislike me, I know; and no wonder, prejudiced as younecessarily are by the company you choose to keep. Yet, for yourmother's sake, I fain would be your friend. You are a plucky fellow. Ihonour pluck, and genuinely like you, for yourself, in spite of you.I'm not so bad as I'm painted. Few people are. I'll give you a bit ofadvice. Act on it.'
Curran approached to listen (comforted, though he had not killed hisenemy, by the axiom he was so fond of quoting, that the devil, who ismore powerful than the best of men, looks after his own). He wasamazed to behold quite a human look on the dragon's face. Thetoothsome smile, so redolent of falseness, was gone; the hatchet lineshad curled themselves up into a mask which really resembled_bonhomie_. Can grapes grow on thistles? Was it possible that thisadamantine nature could be softened? Wonders will never cease,although some people do say that there's nothing new under the sun.Curran listened, trying to follow the direction of those wanderingeyes in the obscurity which he could not pierce.
'Terence,' the chancellor said, 'you have a foe--unscrupulous andbitter--who will ruin you if possible. I know not why. Be verycareful, or you will come to ruin. One foe in the dark is worse than ascore by day. You have slighted that enemy somehow. You are on theedge of quicksand; once beyond the brink, you must be swallowed up.For your dear mother's sake I will save you while I can. But I may notbe here always. A thousand things might happen. It's due to her aswell as to yourself to keep yourself free from obloquy. Think how herpride would suffer. Take off that ridiculous necktie.'
Honest Phil was also listening with craned neck and goggle eyes.
'It must be Biddy. She hates Master Terence, does she?' he muttered tohimself. 'Why? maybe she thought him comely, and he would have naughtto do wid her, being so tight entranced by Mistress Doreen, God blessher! Faix, she's a bad lot--taking to sodgers! And I thought her fitfor Paradise. I saw her just now by the quickset beyant, in her velvethat and feathers, and my lord saw her too, no doubt. I'll tell themasther who 'tis that's working the mischief, and set his mind atrest.'
'Half-confidences are worse than none, my lord,' blurted out Curran.'If you'd really do the lad a turn, speak out. Why give him a nut tocrack?'
'Betwixt you and me, sir,' Clare said with hauteur, 'there can benothing but animosity. I try to make things as pleasant as I can, andyou publicly insult me. I purposely fire wide; you try all you know tokill me. I would gladly have been your friend.'
'Begorra! such a friend,' growled Curran, 'as I'd help out of meecabin with mee boot! But never mind us. We're talking of this lad.Who's his enemy--who is it that's playing devil's capers among honestmen? We know that they're not all saints who use holy water!'
Lord Clare was still looking away into the darkness, while Philfollowed the direction of his glance, and said nothing.
'Don't press him,' Terence said, with coldness as chilling as thechancellor's. 'If he chooses to make confession for conscience' sake,so be it---I will be under no personal obligation to his clemency.'
'Silly boy! I want to save you, and, like the other asses, you poseand mouth heroics!' Clare said impatiently. 'Your name was on the listof those scatter-brains who were caged to-day, but I struck it throughwith my own pen. Yet I tell you fairly that if you commit yourselfbeyond a certain point, I shall be powerless to protect you. I shouldbring more odium than I dare upon the Government, if I wereinstrumental in stringing up a lot who deserve the rope, and savingthe worst of all because he happened to be my old friend's son. Ican't do more than I am doing. Even Mr. Curran here should tell youthat. I tell you that you have an enemy who would gladly destroy you.You must guess who it is. Who is there whom you have injured? I tellyou further that Lord Camden has signed a warrant for your arrest,which I believe is in his bureau. He deplores with me that one of thearistocracy should be a cause of scandal. But he may be called upon topermit execution of that warrant, and, acting as you do, I don't seehow he can refuse to let justice take its course. Had you no enemy itmight probably lie snug enough. But that enemy will ferret it out erelong, I fear. My boy, I earnestly implore you to leave the country.Every port shall be left open. Go to Paris--Vienna--Rome--anywhere. Ifyou are short of funds I will provide them--come! I would so gladlysee you gone,' he concluded after a pause, during which Terence'sheart was touched, and Curran stared at this new aspect of the lordchancellor. 'For if I mistake not, such events will happen here erelong as will cause the best-balanced mind to quake.'
What a pity that he uttered those last few words! Curran beheld againthe well-known Lord Clare. Terence became hot with resentment.
'If you are preparing a St. Bartholomew,' he said, 'why should I bespecially favoured? Murderer!'
'Murderer?' echoed Curran, with a scorn which incensed the chancellor.'Worse than murderer! Common butcher of your fellows! You have nettedthe leaders--you will goad the leaderless sheep to leap after them.You will drive them to rise against you. Then you'll massacre them forrising. You'll turn your artillery against the helpless peasants.You'll mow them down like grass. You know their peculiarities--so faryou are Irish. With a cudgel or a shillalagh there's none can beat'em. But they're bad at firearms. Firearms! The use of gunpowder'sbeen forbidden them for ever so many years!'
'On my honour, it's provoking to save people despite themselves,'affirmed the exasperated chancellor. 'If the boy's hanged it'll beyour fault, Curran.'
'I wish for no mercy,'
said moody Terence, 'from such hands as yours,my lord. I remember Orr. So will you on your death-bed. Here comesCassidy again. Come, Mr. Curran, we'll stroll to his chambers for aglass of claret.'
The trio departed together arm-in-arm, and Lord Clare looked aftertheir retreating figures with extreme vexation as, mounting his horse,he rode slowly to Ely Place.
My Lords of Strogue, Vol. 2 (of 3) Page 9