A Bayard From Bengal/Chapter 6
CHAPTER VI
LORD JOLLY IS SATISFIED
Ah, why should two, who once were bosom's friends,
Present at one another pistol ends?
Till one pops off to dwell in Death's Abode—
All on account of Honour's so-called code!
Thoughts on Duelling, by H. B. J.
MANY a more hackneyed duellist than our unfortunate friend Bhosh might well have been frightened from his propriety at the prospect of fighting with genuine bullets across so undersized a nosekerchief as that which the Duchess had furnished for the fray.
But Mr Bhosh preserved his head in perfect coolness: "It is indisputably true," he said, "that I proposed to shoot across a pocket-kerchief—but I am not an effeminate female that I should employ such a lacelike and flimsy concern as this! As a challenged, I claim my constitutional right under Magna Charta to provide my own nosewipe."
And, as even my Lord Jack admitted that this was legally correct, Mr Bhosh produced a very large handsome nosekerchief in parti-coloured silks.
This he tore into narrow strips, the ends of which he tied together in such a manner that the whole was elongated to an incredible length. Then, tossing one extremity to his lordship, and retaining the other in his own hand, he said: "We will fight, if you please, across this—or not at all!"
Which caused a working majority of the company, and even Lord Jack Jolly himself, to burst into enthusiastic plaudits of the ingenuity and dexterity with which Mr Bhosh had contrived to extricate himself from the prongs of his Caudine fork.
The Duchess, however, was knitting her brows into the baleful pattern of a scowl—for she knew as well as Chunder Bindabun himself that no human pistol was capable
THE BULLET HAD PERFORATED A LARGE CIRCULAR ORIFICE IN HONBLE BODGER'S HAT
AUTHOR'S NOTE ON ILLUSTRATION No. IV.
The duelling incident has already been found fault with by certain superficial criticasters, on the alleged ground of its improbability at so modern a period as the present.
I will only reply that I am not addicted to describing—even in fiction—manners and customs of which I have had no personal experience, and also drop a hint that some such duel may actually have taken place in London not so many years ago (though, of course, under a rose without the presence of any reporter), and that a native gentleman, who shall be nameless, may possibly have figured as hero on that occasion.
I have not many remarks to offer on this illustration, which is sufficiently true to Nature to pass muster.
Monkeys are not usually permitted to be present at these encounters, but it is quite credible that the one in the picture was a particular pet of Duchess Dickinson's and therefore the chartered libertine.
Only I am strongly of opinion that she would have ordered him off the line of fire, for fear that he might receive his quietus from some stray bullet.
Mr Bodgers ought not to have been drawn in a sun-helmet. He wore, of course, the more ceremonious covering of chimney-pot pattern. But poor Mr Pahtridhji could not perhaps be expected to know this!
H. B. J.
to achieve such a distance! The duel commenced. His lordship and Mr Bhosh each removed their upper clothings, bared their arms, and, taking up a weapon, awaited the momentous command to fire.
It was pronounced, and Lord Jolly's pistol was the first to ring the ambient welkin with its horrid bang. The deadly missile, whistling as it went for want of thought, entered the door of a neighbouring pigeon's house and fluttered the dovecot confoundedly.
Mr Bhosh reserved his fire for the duration of two or three harrowing seconds. Then he, too, pulled off his trigger, and after the explosion there was a loud cry of dismay.
The bullet had perforated a large circular orifice in Honble Bodger's hat, who, by this time, had returned to self-consciousness!
"I could not bring myself to snuff the candle of your honble lordship's existence," said Mr Bhosh, bowing, "but I wished to convince all present that I am not incompetent to hit a mark."
And he proceeded to assure Mr Bodger that he was to receive full compensation for any moral and intellectual damage done to his said hat.
As for his lordship, he was so overcome by Mr Bhosh's unprecedented magnanimity that he shed copious tears, and, warmly embracing his former friend, entreated his forgiveness, vowing that in future their affection should never again be endangered by so paltry and trivial a cause as the ficklety of a feminine. Moreover, he bestowed upon Bindabun the blushing hand of Princess Jones, and very heartily wished him joy of her.
Now the Princess was the solitary brat of a very wealthy merchant prince, Honble Sir Monarch Jones, whose proud and palatial storehouses were situated in the most fashionable part of Camden Town.
Sir Jones, in spite of Lord Jack's resignation, did not at first regard Mr Bhosh with the paternal eye of approval, but rather advanced the objection that the colour of his money was practically invisible. "My daughter," he said haughtily, "is to have a lakh of rupees on her nuptials. Have you a lakh of rupees?"
Bindabun was tempted to make the rather facetious reply that he had, indeed, a lack of rupees at the present moment.
Sir Monarch, however, like too many English gentlemen, was totally incapable of comprehending the simplest Indian jeu des mots, and merely replied. "Unless you can show me your lakh of rupees, you cannot become my beloved son-in-law."
So, as Mr Bhosh was a confirmed impecunious, he departed in severe despondency. However, fortune favoured him, as always, for he made the acquaintance of a certain Jewish-Scotch, whose cognomen was Alexander Wallace MᶜAlpine, and who kindly undertook to lend him a lakh of rupees for two days at interest which was the mere bite of a flea.
Having thus acquired the root of all evil, Bindabun took it in a four-wheeled cab and triumphantly exhibited his hard cash to Sir Jones, who, being unaware that it was borrowed plumage, readily consented that he should marry his daughter. After which Mr Bhosh honourably restored the lakh to the accommodating Scotch minus the interest, which he found it inconvenient to pay just then.
I am under great apprehensions that my gentle readers, on reading thus far and no further, will remark: "Oho! then we are already at the finis, seeing that when a hero and heroine are once booked for connubial bliss, their further proceedings are of very mediocre interest!"
Let me venture upon the respectful caution that every cup possesses a proverbially slippery lip, and that they are by no means to take it as granted that Mr Bhosh is so soon married and done for.
Remember that he still possesses a rather formidable enemy in Duchess Dickinson, who is irrevocably determined to insert a spike in his wheel of fortune. For a woman is so constituted that she can never forgive an individual who has once treated her advances with contempt, no matter how good-humoured such contempt may have been. No, misters, if you offend a feminine you must look out for her squalls.
Readers are humbly requested not to toss this fine story aside under the impression that they have exhausted the cream in its cocoanut. There are many many incidents to come of highly startling and sensational character.