Фредерик Марриет
Percival Keene
Chapter Thirty Seven
My time was now fully employed during the day in fitting out the frigate; but in the evening I generally dined out at the admiral’s or at the officers’ mess. I received several invitations from the marine mess to dine with them; but I always contrived to be engaged, for I was fearful that something might be said relative to my putative father, Ben, which might hurt my pride. Not that I had any reason to suppose that any of the officers would have been guilty of any such rudeness; but as a great deal of wine was drank when company were at the mess, and there were many young men there, it was possible that, having the knowledge, they might in their cups say something which they never would have done when they were sober. The colonel very often dined there, and constantly asked me why I refused. My reply was certainly not the truth, for I said that I was not very partial to marine officers.
We had been three weeks at Portsmouth when Colonel Delmar received a letter from a friend of his, a Major Stapleton, which he read aloud to me at breakfast. It stated that the major would be down at Portsmouth the next day, and requested the colonel to procure him good rooms. “He is an excellent fellow, the major,” continued the colonel, “and will be a great addition to our society. I will prevail upon him to stay a week or ten days.”
On my return from the dock-yard on the following day, I found the colonel and Major Stapleton in our sitting-room, and was introduced to him. He was a small, neatly-made man, with handsome features, very well dressed, and of very fashionable appearance. Still there was something in his eye which did not please me; it was unsettled and wandering, and never fixed upon you for more than a second. He met me with great warmth and empressement, shook me by the hand, and declared what pleasure he had in making my acquaintance. We sat down to dinner, and were very merry.
The major had been with us a week, when we had a large party to dinner. The wine was passed freely, and we all were more or less elated. The major appeared particularly so, and very much inclined to be quarrelsome, and as he constantly addressed himself to me, I was very cautious in what I said, as I perceived that he was in the humour to take offence at anything. Several very offensive remarks were made by him, as if to pick a quarrel between us, but I parried them as well as I could, and I was making an observation, when the major started up, and told me that what I said was a lie, and that I was a scoundrel for having said so.
Now, as my observation was to my first lieutenant, and was in reference to the hold of the frigate, there could be no cause for this insult, and it could only be ascribed to his being in a state of intoxication. My reply was very cool and quiet: “Major, you do not know what you are saying; but we will talk about it to-morrow morning.” I then rose and went to my bed-room, and the whole party broke up immediately.
Shortly afterwards, Colonel Delmar came into my room, and blaming the major very much for his conduct, ascribed it to intoxication and said that he would make him send a proper apology, which he had no doubt the next morning, when the major was informed of what he had done, he would be most anxious to offer himself.
I replied, that I presumed so; and he quitted my room. Indeed, so fully was I convinced of this in my own mind, that I gave it no further thought, and was soon fast asleep, and did not wake until Colonel Delmar entered my room at a late hour.
“Well, colonel,” said I.
“My dear Keene,” said he, “I have been to the major, and, to my surprise, when I stated to him what had passed at the table last night, his reply was, that he perfectly remembered all about it and that he would not retract what he had said. I remonstrated with him, but in vain. He says, that it is cowardly to retract, and that he will never make an apology.”
“Then,” replied I, “there is but one step for me to take.”
“As our friend, I told him so, and pressed him very hard to acknowledge his error, but he continued steadfast in his refusal. I then took upon myself to say that I was there as your friend, and begged he would name an officer to whom I might address myself. Did I not right, my dear Keene?”
“Certainly; and I am very much obliged to you,” replied I, putting on my dressing-gown.
“He must be mad, utterly and positively mad!” exclaimed Colonel Delmar; “I regret very much that he has ever come here. I know that some years ago, when he was younger, he fought two or three duels rather than make an apology; but in this instance it was so unprovoked, and I had hoped that he had got over all that nonsense and obstinacy. Are you a good shot, Keene? because he is a notorious one.”
“I can hit my man, colonel; it is true that I have only fought one duel in my life, and would make a great sacrifice rather than fight another; but no alternative is left me in this case; and if blood is shed, it must be on the head of him who provoked it.”
“Very true,” replied Colonel Delmar, biting his lip; “I only hope you will be successful.”
“I have no particular animosity against Major Stapleton,” replied I; “but as he is such a good shot, I shall in my own defence take good aim at him. At all events, I have sufficient acquaintance with fire-arms, and have passed through too many bullets not to be cool and collected under fire, and I therefore consider myself quite a match for the major. Now, colonel, if you will order the breakfast, I will be down in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.”
As the colonel was going out of the room, his servant knocked at the door, and said that Captain Green wished to speak to him on particular business; I therefore did not hurry myself, but proceeded quietly with my toilet, as I was well aware what the particular business was, and that the conference might last some time. On my descending into the sitting-room I found the colonel alone.
“Well, Keene,” said he, “everything is arranged, for the major is deaf to all expostulation. You are to meet this evening, and, to avoid interference, Captain Green and I have agreed to say that the major has apologised, and all is made up.” Of course I had no objection to make to that, and we parted for the present, I walking to the dock-yard, and he remaining at the hotel to write letters.
The reader may think that I took matters very coolly; but the fact was, I had no preparations to make in case of accident, having no wife or family, and as to any other preparations at such a time, I considered them as mockery. I knew that I was about to do what was wrong—to offend my Creator—and knowing that, and sinning with my eyes open, much as I regretted that I was compelled to do so, I was still resolved upon doing it. How great may be the culpability in such cases when you are called upon to sacrifice all your worldly interests, and to be despised among men, or run the risk of involuntarily taking another person’s life, I could not pretend to judge; but one thing was certain, that, however it may be judged in the next world, in this, among soldiers and sailors, it will always be considered as venial. I did, therefore, what most in my profession would have done under the same circumstances. I drove it from my thoughts as much as possible, until the time came to decide my fate. I considered that I must be judged by the tenor of my whole life, and that repentance, under chance of death, was of about the same value as death-bed repentance.
As soon as the dock-yard men were mustered out, I returned to the hotel, and sat down to dinner with the colonel. We had scarcely finished a bottle of claret when it was time to be off. We walked out of the town, to the place appointed, where I found my adversary and his second. The ground was marked out by the colonel, and, when I took my station, I found that the setting sun was in my eyes. I pointed it out to him, and requested my position might be changed. The other second heard me do so, and very handsomely agreed that I was entitled to what I asked, and the colonel immediately apologised for his remissness to my interests. The ground was then marked out in another direction, and the colonel took me to my place, where I observed that one of the white-washed posts was exactly behind me, making me a sure mark for my antagonist. “I am not used to these things, Keene,” replied Colonel Delmar, “and I make strange mistakes.” I then pointed out a direction which would be fair for both parties. The pistols were then loaded, and put into our hands. We fired at the signal. I felt that I was hit, but my adversary fell. I was paralysed; and although I remained on my feet, I could not move. Captain Green and the colonel went up to where my adversary lay: the ball had passed through his chest.
“He is dead,” said Captain Green—“quite dead.”
“Yes,” replied Colonel Delmar. “My dear Keene, I congratulate you: you have killed the greatest scoundrel that ever disgraced his Majesty’s uniform.”
“Colonel Delmar,” replied Captain Green, “the observation might well be spared: our errors and our follies die with us.”
“Very true, Captain Green,” replied I. “I can only express my surprise that the colonel should have introduced to me a person whose memory he now so bitterly assails.” Somehow or another, from the commencement of the duel, Colonel Delmar’s conduct had excited my suspicions, and a hundred things crowded into my memory, which appeared as if illumined like a flash of lightning. I came suddenly to the conviction that he was my enemy, and not my friend. But I was bleeding fast: some marines, who were passing, were summoned, and the body of Major Stapleton was carried away by one party, while I was committed to another, and taken back to the hotel. The surgeon was sent for, and my wound was not dangerous. The ball had gone deep into my thigh, but had missed any vessel of magnitude. It was extracted, and I was left quiet in bed. Colonel Delmar came up to me as before, but I received his professions with great coolness. I told him that I thought it would be prudent of him to disappear until the affair had blown over; but he declared to me that he would remain with me at every risk. Shortly afterwards, Captain Green came into my room, and said, “I’m sure, Captain Keene, you will be glad to hear that Major Stapleton is not dead. He had swooned, and is now come to, and the doctor thinks favourably of him.”
“I am indeed very glad, Captain Green; for I had no animosity against the major, and his conduct to me has been quite incomprehensible.”
After inquiry about my wound, and expressing a hope that I should soon be well, Captain Green left; but I observed that he took no further notice of Colonel Delmar than a haughty salute as he quitted the room; and then, to my surprise, Colonel Delmar said that, upon consideration, he thought it would be advisable for him to go away for a certain time.
“I agree with you,” replied I; “it would be better.” I said this, because I did not wish his company; for it at once struck me as very strange that he should, now that Major Stapleton was alive and promising to do well, talk of departure, when he refused at the time he supposed him to be killed. I was therefore very glad when in an hour or two afterwards he took his leave, and started, as he said, for London.
Chapter Thirty Eight
My recovery was rapid: in less than a fortnight I was on the sofa. The frigate was now rigged, and had taken in her water and stores, and was reported ready for sea in a month, as we still required about forty men to make up our complement. I saw a great deal of Captain Green, who paid me a visit almost every day; and once, when our conversation turned upon the duel, I made the same remark as I did when Colonel Delmar used such harsh language over the body of Major Stapleton. “Yes,” replied Captain Green, “I thought it was my duty to tell him what Colonel Delmar had said. He was very much excited, and replied, ‘The greatest scoundrel, did he say?—then is the devil better than those he tempts; however, we are both in each other’s power. I must get well first, and then I will act.’ There certainly is some mystery, the attack was so unprovoked, the determination so positive. Have you any reason to suppose that Colonel Delmar is your enemy, Captain Keene? for certainly he did appear to me to do all he could at the time of the duel to give your adversary the advantage.”
“I really have no cause to suppose that he has grounds for being my enemy; but I cannot help suspecting that, for some reason or reasons unknown, he is so.”
When Captain Green had left me, I tried all I could to find out why Colonel Delmar should be inimical to me. That he was the supposed heir to Miss Delmar I knew; but surely her leaving me a few thousands was not sufficient cause for a man to seek my life. Lord de Versely had nothing to leave; I could come to no conclusion that was at all satisfactory. I then thought whether I would write to Lord de Versely, and tell him what had happened; but I decided that I would not. The initials had been put in the papers at the announcement of the duel, and, had he seen them, he certainly would have written down to inquire about the facts. My mother had so done, and I resolved that I would answer her letter, which had hitherto remained on the table. I sent for my desk, and when my servant brought it me, the bunch of keys were hanging to the lock. I thought this strange, as I had locked my desk before I went out to meet Major Stapleton, and had never sent for it since my return; my servant, however, could tell me nothing about it, except that he found it as he brought it to me; but after a little time, he recollected that the doctor had asked for a pen and ink to write a prescription, and that the colonel had taken the keys to get him what he required. This accounted for it, and nothing more was said upon the subject. Of course, although it was known, no notice was taken of what had passed by the Admiralty. I had not even put myself down in the sick report, but signed my daily papers, and sent them into the admiral’s office as if nothing had happened.
In six weeks I was able to limp about a little, and the Circe was at last reported ready for sea. My orders came down, and I was to sail with the first fair wind to join the squadron in the Texel and North Sea. I had taken up my quarters on board, and was waiting two days, while the wind still blew hard from the eastward, when my promise to write to Mr Warden occurred to me; and, as I had closed all my despatches to Lord de Versely—the Honourable Miss Delmar, to whom I made my excuse for not being able to pay my respects before my departure—my mother, and my aunt Bridgeman—I resolved that I would write him a long letter previous to my sailing. I did so, in which I entered into the whole affair of the duel, the conduct of Colonel Delmar, and my suspicions relative to him; stating, at the same time, that I could not comprehend why he should have sought to injure me. I finished this letter late in the evening, and the next morning, the wind having come round, we sailed for our destination.
Once more on the water, all my thoughts were given to the service. We soon fell in with the North Sea squadron, and the day afterwards the Circe was directed to go on shore in company with the Dryad, and watch the flotillas of gun-boats which had been collecting in the various rivers and ports; to sink, burn, and destroy to the utmost of our power. This was an active and dangerous service, as the enemy had every advantage in the sands and shoals, and hardly a day passed in which we were not engaged with the flotillas and batteries. It was, however, now fine weather, for the winter had set in early, and had passed away, and for two months we continued in the service, during which my skip’s company were well trained. One morning a cutter from the fleet was reported from the mast-head, and we expected that we should soon have our letters from England, when the Dryad threw out the signal for six sail of praams in shore.
The two frigates made all sail in chase, leaving the cutter to follow us how she could. Our masters were well acquainted with the shoals on the coast, and we threaded our way through them towards the enemy. We were within gun-shot, and had exchanged broadsides with the batteries, when the flotillas gained a small harbour, which prevented our making any further attempts. The Dryad made the signal to haul off; it was quite time, as we had not more than four hours’ daylight, and were entangled among the shoals. The breeze, which had been fresh, now increased very rapidly, and there was every appearance of a gale. We worked out as fast as we could, and by nine o’clock in the evening we were clear of the sands, and in the open sea; but the gale had sprung up so rapidly that we were obliged to reduce our sail to close-reefed topsails. With the sands under our lee, it was necessary to draw off as fast as we could, and we therefore carried a heavy press of sail all the night—at last, the wind was so strong that we could only carry close-reefed maintop-sail and reefed fore-sail; and with a heavy sea, which had risen up, we felt that we were in extreme danger.
Daylight once more made its appearance. Our first object was to ascertain the position of the Dryad. For a long time we looked in vain; at last, a partial clearing up of the horizon on the lee bow discovered her, looming through the heavy atmosphere, more like a phantom ship than the work of mortal hands. She was a deep grey mass upon a lighter grey ground. Her top-masts were gone, and she was pitching and rising without appearing to advance under her courses and storm staysails.
“There she is, sir,” said Mr Wilson; “and if the gale lasts, good-bye to her.”
“If the gale lasts, Mr Wilson,” said I in a low voice, “I suspect you may sing our requiem as well; but we must trust to Heaven and our own exertions. Pass along the lead-line, Mr Hawkins.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the officer of the watch; “how much out sir?”
“Forty fathoms.”
The men ranged themselves along the lee-bulwarks, chains, and gangway and passed the deep sea-lines from aft to the anchor stock forward. The deep sea lead was taken forward, and as soon as it was bent and ready, the ship was thrown up to the wind so as to check her way. “Heave,” and the lead was thrown, and as it descended the line was dropped from the hands of the men, one after another, as the line drew aft; but when it came to the hands of the master, who was on the quarter, instead of finding, as he expected, forty fathoms of water, he had to haul in the slack line for such a length of time, that the lead was astern and no proper soundings could be obtained.
One thing was, however, certain, which was, that we were in much shallower water than we had any idea of; and the master, much alarmed, desired the quarter-master to go into the chains and see if he could get soundings with the hand-lead while the men were hauling in the deep sea-line. The quarter-master was forestalled by Bob Cross who, dropping into the chains, cleared the line, and swinging it but twice or thrice, for there was little or no way in the vessel, let it go.
The anxiety with which the descent of the line was watched by me, the master, and other of the officers who were hanging over the hammock rails, it would be difficult to describe. When sixteen fathoms were out the lead sounded. Cross gathered up the slack line, and fourteen and a half fathoms was announced.
“Mr Hillyer,” said I, “oblige me by coming down into the cabin.” The master followed me immediately. The chart was on the table in the fore-cabin.
“We must have gone to leeward dreadfully, sir.”
“Yes,” replied I; “but the sweep of the currents in heavy gales is so tremendous, and so uncertain on this coast, that I am not surprised. We must have had a South East current, and probably we are hereabouts,” continued I, putting the point of the compass upon the spot.
“It seems hardly possible, sir,” replied the master; “but still I fear it must be so; and if so,” continued he, drawing a deep sigh, “I’m afraid it’s all over with us, without a miracle in our favour.”
“I am of your opinion, Mr Hillyer; but say nothing about it,” replied I; “the gale may moderate, the wind may shift, and if so we may be saved. At all events, it’s no use telling bad news too soon, and therefore you’ll oblige me by not saying anything on the subject. A few hours will decide our fate.”
“But the Dryad, she is good four miles to the leeward of us, and the soundings decrease here so rapidly, that in an hour, with the sail she is under, she must go on shore.”
“She has no chance, that’s certain,” replied I. “I only hope it may be so thick that we may not see her.”
“Not a soul will be saved, sir,” replied the master, shuddering. “I should say it were impossible, Mr Hillyer; but we all owe Heaven a death; and if they go first and we go after them, at all events, let us do our duty until the time comes—but never despair. As long as there is life, there is hope; so now let us go on deck, and put as good a face on it as we can.”
