Lady of the Ice

by James De Mille

  At length we came to a little settlement consisting of a half-dozen houses, one of which bore a sign on which we read the words Hôtel de France. We kept on without stopping, and O’Halloran soon turned to the right, into a narrow track which went into the woods. In about half an hour we reached our destination. The sleighs drew up, and their occupants prepared for business.

  It was a small cleared space in the middle of the woods. The forest-trees arose all around, dim, gloomy, and dripping. The ground was dotted with decayed stumps, and covered with snow in a state of semi-liquefaction. Beneath all was wet; around all was wet; and above all was wet. The place with its surroundings was certainly the most dismal that I had ever seen, and the dank, dark, and dripping trees threw an additional gloom about it.

  We had left Quebec before seven. It was after twelve when we reached this place.

  “Well, me boy,” said O’Halloran to me, with a gentle smile, “it’s an onsaisonable toime of year for a jool, but it can’t be helped — an’ it’s a moighty uncomfortable pleece, so it is.”

  “We might have had it out in the road in a quiet way,” said I, “without the trouble of coming here.”

  “The road!” exclaimed O’Halloran. “Be the powers, I’d have been deloighted to have had it in me oun parrulor. But what can we do? Sure it’s the barbarous legisleetion of this counthry, that throis to stoifle and raypriss the sintimints of honor, and the code of chivalry. Sure it’s a bad pleece intoirely. But you ought to see it in the summer. It’s the most sayquisthered localeetee that ye could wish to see.”

  Saying this, O’Halloran turned to his friend and then to us.

  “Gintlemin,” said he, “allow me to inthrojuice to ye me very particular friend, Mr. Murtagh McGinty.”

  Mr. Murtagh McGinty rose and bowed, while we did the same, and disclosed the form of a tall, elderly, and rather dilapidated Irishman.

  All this time we had remained in our sleighs. The surrounding scene had impressed us all very forcibly, and there was a general disinclination to get out. The expanse of snow, in its half-melted condition, was enough to deter any reasonable being. To get out was to plunge into an abyss of freezing slush.

  A long discussion followed as to what ought to be done. Jack suggested trying the road; McGinty thought we might drive on farther. The doctor did not say any thing. At last O’Halloran solved the difficulty.

  He proposed that we should all remain in the sleighs, and that we should make a circuit so as to bring the backs of the sleighs at the requisite distance from one another.

  It was a brilliant suggestion; and no sooner was it made, than it was adopted by all. So the horses were started, and the sleighs were turned in the deep slush until their backs were presented to one another. To settle the exact distance was a matter of some difficulty, and it had to be decided by the seconds. Jack and McGinty soon got into an altercation, in which Jack appealed to the light of reason, and McGinty to a past that was full of experience. He overwhelmed Jack with so many precedents for his view of the case, that at last the latter was compelled to yield. Then we drove forward, and then backward; now we were too far away, again we were too near, and there didn’t appear to be any prospect of a settlement.

  At last O’Halloran suggested that we should back the sleighs toward one another till they touched, and then his sleigh would move forward twelve paces.

  “But who’s to pace them?” asked Jack.

  “Why the horse, of course,” said O’Halloran. “Sure it’s a regular pacer he is, and bred up to it, so he is.”

  To this Jack had nothing to say.

  So the horses backed and the sleighs touched one another.

  “Wait a minute McGinty, me boy,” said O’Halloran — putting his hand on his friend’s arm — “let’s all take somethin’ warrum. Me system is slowly conjaylin, an’ such a steete of things is moighty onwholssome.”

  This proposition was received with the same unanimity which had greeted O’Halloran’s other propositions. Flasks were brought out; and some minutes were passed in a general, a convivial, and a very affectionate interchange of courtesies.

  “Me boy,” said O’Halloran to me, affectionately, “ye haven’t had so much ixpayrieence as I have, so I’ll teek the liberty to give ye a small bit of instherruction. Whin ye foire, eem low! Moind that, now — ye’ll be sure to hit.”

  “Thank you,” said I.

  He wrung my hand heartily; and then motioning to McGinty, his sleigh started off, and advanced a few paces from ours, a little farther than the usual distance on such an occasion. With this he seemed to be satisfied, and, as nobody made any objection, we prepared for the business of the day.

  O’Halloran and I stood up in the sleighs, while the seconds kept their seats. Jack and the doctor sat in the front seat of our sleigh. McGinty sat beside O’Halloran as he stood up. I stood in the after-seat of our sleigh.

  “Shall I give the word?” said Jack.

  “No,” said McGinty. “I’ve had more exparience. I’ve been sicond at elivin jools — an’ hope to assist at as minny more.”

  “Shure we won’t throuble ayther of ye,” said O’Halloran. “It’s me that’s fought more jools than you’ve been sicond at. Me friend Macrorie and I’ll manage it to shoot oursilves — so we will.”

  “Ye can’t give the word yersilves,” said McGinty.

  “An’ what do we want of a word, thin?” said O’Halloran.

  “To foire by,” said McGinty.

  “There’s a peculeeareetee,” said O’Halloran, loftily, “in the prisint occeesion that obveeates the nicissitee of such prosaydings, and inables us to dispinse with any worrd of command. Macrorie, me boy — frind of me sowl — I addhriss you as the Oirish addhrissed the English at Fontenoy: ‘Fire first!’’”

  And saying this, O’Halloran bowed and then stood erect, facing me with a grave countenance.

  “Fire first?” said I. “Indeed, Mr. O’Halloran, I’ll do nothing of the kind.”

  “Indade and you shall,” said he, with a laugh. “I insist upon it!”

  “Well, if it comes to that,” said I, “what’s to prevent me from insisting that you shall fire the first shot?”

  “Shure and ye wouldn’t dayproive me of the plisure of giving you the prasaydince,” said he.

  “Then, really,” said I, “you will force me to insist upon your having the precedence. You’re an older man than I am, and ought to have the first place. So, Mr. O’Halloran — fire first!”

  “Thank you,” said he, with a bow, “but really, me boy, you must excuse me if I insist upon it.”

  “Oh, no,” said I. “If it were any other occasion, I would cheerfully give you the precedence, and so I give it to you here.”

  “But, you see,” said O’Halloran, “you must considher me in the loight of an intertainer. Ye’re my guest to a certain ixtint. I must give up all the honors to you. So foire awee, me boy, and eem low.”

  “No,” said I, “I really couldn’t think of it.”

  This friendly altercation went on for some time, while the others sat listening in amazement.

  McGinty was the first to interrupt.

  “It’s in defoince of all the joolin’ code,” said he, starting up. “I must inter my protest.”

  “So say I,” cried Jack. “I say let the usual word be given — or else if one must have the first shot, let them draw for it.”

  O’Halloran looked upon them both with a smile of benevolent pity.

  “McGinty,” said he.

  “Well.”

  “Ye know me?”

  “Sure an’ I do.”

  “And how many jools I’ve fought?”

  “Meself does.”

  “Am I a choild at it? Will ye be koind enough to mintion any one that has any cleem to considher himself the shupayrior of Phaylim O’Halloran in the noiceties and t
he dilicacies of the jooling code? Will ye be so good, as to infarrum me what there is lift for me to lerrun?”

  At this appeal Mr. Murtagh McGinty subsided into silence, and sat down again, shaking his head.

  Jack still insisted that the word of command should be given; but O’Halloran silenced him effectually by asking him if he had ever fought a duel.

  “No,” said Jack.

  “Have ye ivir been second at one before?”

  “No,” said Jack, again.

  “So this is your first time out?”

  “Yes,” said Jack, who looked deeply humiliated.

  “Will, thin,” said O’Halloran, loftily, “allow me to infarrum you, sir, that this is the thirty-seventh toime that I’ve had the plisure of taking part in a jool, ayther as principal or sicond.”

  Whereupon Jack was suppressed.

  In all this the doctor took no part. He looked cold, wet, uncomfortable, and unhappy.

  And now O’Halloran turned to me again.

  “Me boy,” said he, “if ye’ll not grant me this as a feevor, I’ll cleem it as a roight.”

  “A right?” said I.

  “Yis,” said O’Halloran, solemnly, “a roight!”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, in some perplexity.

  “I’ll expleen I’m undher a debt of obleegeetion to you that I nivir can repee. Ye’ve seeved the loife of me daughter, me choild, me Marion — that’s one debt — then ye’re seeved my loife, me own. But for you, I’d have been tarrun in payees by a howling mob, so I would. Me oun loife is yours. Jewty, and the cleems of gratichood, and the code of honor, all inspoire me with a desoire to meek some rayturrun for what ye’ve done for me.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “ye’ve made a misteek of an onplisint nature about Mrs. O’H. Ye didn’t main any harrum; but the dade’s done, and there it is. It necissitates a jool. We must feece one another to satisfy offindid honor. But at the seem toime, while this jool is thus necissiteeted be the code of honor, jewty and gratichood must be considhered. It’s a moighty noice case,” he continued, meditatively, “and I don’t think such a case ivir came within my ixpayrience; but that ixtinsive ixpayrience which I’ve had rinders me the best judge of what may be the most shootable course on the prisint occasion. But the ulteemeete tindincy of all me mideeteetions on the subjict is this — that I must allow you to fire the first shot.”

  “Well,” said I, “if you insist on looking at it in that light, and if you persist in feeling obligation, that sense of obligation ought to make you yield to my wishes, and, if I don’t want to fire first, you ought not to insist upon it.”

  “No, me boy,” said O’Halloran; “that’s all oidle casuisthree an’ impty mitaphysics. There’s no process of ratiosheeneetion that’ll be iver eeble to overturrun the sintimints of jewty and dilicacy that spring spontaneous in the brist. So blaze away.”

  “Excuse me, but I insist on your firing first.”

  “Be the powers, thin! and I insist on your taking the lade.”

  “Pardon me, but you must.”

  “I’m inkeepeble of such a lack of common cevileetee,” said he. “I must still insist.”

  “And so must I.”

  This singular and very original altercation went on for some time. At last O’Halloran took the cushions off the seat, and deliberately sat down, facing me, with his legs dangling over the back of the sleigh. Seeing that our argument was to be continued for some time, and that he was thus making himself comfortable, I did the same. We thus sat facing one another.

  The seconds here again interposed, but were again baffled by O’Halloran, who explained the whole situation to them in so forcible a manner that they did not know how to answer him. For my part, I was firm in my resolve, and was not going to fire unless we both fired together. True, I might have fired in the air; but I knew O’Halloran so well by this time that I was convinced, if I did such a thing, he would reproach me for it, and insist on my firing again. And in that case it would all have to be commenced afresh.

  So there we sat, with our legs dangling over the backs of our respective sleighs, facing one another, pistol in hand, and occasionally renewing the discussion. He was obstinate, I was equally so, and the time began to pass away, and the situation gradually grew more and more tedious to our companions. Still they could not say any thing. It was a punctilio of honor which they could not argue down, and behind all the argument which might be used there arose the very impressive accumulation of O’Halloran’s past experience in the field of honor. So all that they could do was to make the best of the situation.

  The situation! It was, at best, a dismal one. Overhead was a leaden sky; underneath, the thawing snow, which every hour assumed a more watery appearance; in the distance arose the dreary, gloomy, melancholy forest-trees; while all around was a thin, fine drizzle, which enveloped us, saturating and soaking us with watery vapor. We all became limp and bedraggled, in soul as well as body. The most determined buoyancy of spirit could not withstand the influence of that drizzle, and, one by one, we all sank beneath it.

  But not without a struggle. For, at first, as O’Halloran and I thus sat facing one another, we did not forget the ordinary civilities of life, nor were we satisfied with sitting and staring at one another. On the contrary, we sought to beguile the time with an interchange of courtesy on both sides. I took my flask and drank to the health of O’Halloran. O’Halloran responded. Then the seconds followed. Then O’Halloran drank to the health of Jack and the doctor. Then I drank to the health of McGinty. Then Jack and the doctor drank to the health of O’Halloran, and McGinty pledged me.

  Two hours passed, and found each of us sitting there in the same position. Jack and the doctor made a doleful attempt at a game of euchre, but soon gave it up. McGinty sat refreshing himself with his flask, defying the weather, laughing, joking, and singing. Then we all smoked. From time to time the seconds would make fresh efforts to shake our resolve. They proposed once more that we should toss up for it, or drive home now, and come out again — in fact, any thing rather than sit here amid this cold, and drizzle, and wet, and dismal gloom, arid miserable, rheumatic atmosphere. But all these proposals were declined, and O’Halloran was immovable in his purpose; while I, on the other hand, was equally resolved that I would not fire first.

  Thus time passed, and neither of us would yield. At length, the doctor settled himself down into the bottom of the sleigh, and drew the buffalo-robes over him. After a final expostulation, accompanied with a threat to drive off, Jack imitated his example. McGinty, seeing this, proceeded to make himself comfortable in the same way.

  The poor horses had the worst time of it. The cold snow was up to their knees; and, as they stood there, they moved uneasily, tramping it down, till a pool of icy water lay beneath, in which they had to stand. I mentioned this to O’Halloran; but he only turned it against me, and made use of it as a fresh argument to shake my decision.

  At last I saw that O’Halloran’s face and attitude had undergone a change. For my part, I was wet to the skin, and chilled to my very bones; but I was young and strong, and could stand even that. With O’Halloran, however, it was different. A man of sixty cannot sit with impunity, inactive, and exposed to a cold, slimy drizzle, such as this was, without feeling very serious effects, and anticipating worse. This he soon experienced. I saw his figure, crouching down, and an expression of pain coming over his face. In the midst of his pain he still maintained his punctilious resolution; but how much did that cost him! It was his own fault, of course. It was all brought on by his impracticability, his whimsicality, his eccentricity, and his punctiliousness. Nevertheless, there was in him that which excited my deepest commiseration. The wretchedness and the pain of his face, and the suffering which was visible in his attitude, all touched me. He sat crouched down, shivering, shuddering, his teeth chattering, and presented a deplorable picture of one who
struggled vainly against an overmastering pain.

  My resolution was shaken by this. I rose to my feet.

  “Mr. O’Halloran,” said I, “pardon me. I see that I am subjecting you to very great suffering. If you sit there any longer, exposed to this damp, you’ll never get over it. It would be but poor courtesy to subject you to that any longer. And so I don’t see what better I can do than allow you to have your own way. I’ll have to give up my scruples, I suppose. I can’t sit here any longer, and see you suffer. And so — here goes! — I’m willing to fire as you wish.”

  At this O’Halloran rose to his feet with a cry of joy.

  “The first shot!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes,” said I, “the first. I’ll fire if you insist on it.”

  “And that’s just what I do,” said he, shivering.

  At this I took aim.

  Bang! went the shot. I afterward found that it passed through his hat.

  O’Halloran now raised his pistol, and levelled it at me. But the pleasure of his triumph had excited him; and, besides, he was shivering from head to foot, and his teeth were chattering. An accurate aim was impossible. His hand could scarcely hold the pistol, and his benumbed finger could scarcely pull the trigger. He fired, and the bullet passed through the sleeve of my coat, and close to the doctor’s head.

  “Me boy,” he cried, flinging down the pistol, “there’s no ind to the obleegeetions you put me under! I owe ye me loife a second toime. Ye’ve seeved me from death by fraizing.”

  Chapter 32

  HOME AGAIN. — THE GROWLS OF A CONFIRMED GROWLER. — HOSPITALITY. — THE WELL-KNOWN ROOM. — VISION OF A LADY. — ALONE WITH MARION. — INTERCHANGE OF THOUGHT AND SENTIMENT. — TWO BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. — AN EVENING TO BE REMEMBERED. — THE CONVIVIALITY OF O’HALLORAN. — THE HUMORS OF O’HALLORAN, AND HIS BACCHIC JOY.

  We all hurried away from the ground as rapidly as possible, and soon reached the Hôtel de France. It was small, stuffy, and rather close, but, to people in our half-frozen condition, the big Canadian stove was a blessing beyond words. O’Halloran seemed like an habitué of the place, judging by the way he button-holed the landlord, and by the success with which he obtained “somethin’ warrum” for the company. But the Hôtel de France was not a place where one might linger; and so, after waiting long enough to allow the heat of the Canadian stove to penetrate us, aided by the blended power of “somethin’ warrum” — and long enough also to give oats to the horses, which, after all, must have had the worst of it — poor devils! — we started and dragged on to the town.