Charles O'Malley; the Irish Dragoon (Rackham, 1897)/Chapter 8
Chapter VIII
The Duel
As the boatmen pulled in towards the shore, we perceived, a few hundred yards off, a group of persons standing, whom we soon recognised as our opponents. “Charley,” said the Count, grasping my arm lightly, as I stood up to spring on the land. “Charley, although you are only a boy, as I may say, I have no fear for your courage; but, still, more than that is needful here. This Bodkin is a noted duellist, and will try to shake your nerve. Now, mind that you take everything that happens quite with an air of indifference—don’t let him think that he has any advantage over you, and you’ll see how the tables will be turned in your favour.”
“Trust to me, Count,” said I, “I’ll not disgrace you.”
He pressed my hand tightly, and I thought that I discerned something like a slight twitch about the corners of his grim mouth, as if some sudden and painful thought had shot across his mind, but in a moment he was calm and stern-looking as ever.
“Twenty minutes late, Mr. Considine,” said a short red-faced little man, with a military frock and foraging cap, as he held out his watch in evidence.
“I can only say, Captain Malowney, that we lost no time since we parted; we had some difficulty in finding a boat; but, in any case, we are here now, and that, I opine, is the important part of the matter.”
“Quite right, very just indeed. Will you present me to your young friend?—very proud to make your acquaintance, sir; your uncle and I met more than once in this kind of way. I was out with him in ’92—was it? no, I think it was ’93—when he shot Harry Burgoyue, who, by-the-bye, was called the crack shot of our mess; but, begad, your uncle knocked his pistol hand to shivers, saying in his dry way, ‘He must try the left hand this morning.’ Count, a little this side, if you please.” While Considine and the Captain walked a few paces apart from where I stood, I had leisure to observe my antagonist, who stood among a group of his friends, talking and laughing away in great spirits. As the tone they spoke I was not of the lowest, I could catch much of their conversation at the distance I was from them, They were discussing the last occasion that Bodkin had visited this spot, and talking of the fatal event which happened then.
“Poor devil,” said Bodkin, it wasn’t his fault; but you see some of the th had been showing white feathers before that, and he was obliged to go out. In fact, the Colonel himself said, ‘Fight, or leave the corps’ Well, out he came: it was a cold morning in February, with a frost the night before going off in a thin rain; well, it seems he had the consumption or something of that sort, with a great cough and spitting of blood, and this weather made him worse, and he was very weak when he came to the ground, Now, the moment I got a glimpse of him, I said to myself, ‘He’s pluck enough, but as nervous as a lady,’ for his eyes wandered all about, and his mouth was constantly twitching. ‘Take of your greatcoat, Ned,’ said one of his people, when they were going to put him up; ‘take it off, man,’ He seemed to hesitate for an instant, when Michael Blake remarked, ‘Arrah, let him alone, it’s his mother makes him wear it, for the coll he has.’ They all began to laugh at this, but I kept my eye upon him, and I saw that his cheek grew quite livid, and a kind of a grey colour, and his eyes filled up; ‘I have you now,’ said I to myself, and I shot him through the lungs.”
“And this poor fellow,” thought I, “was the only son of a widowed mother.” I walked from the spot to avoid hearing further, and felt as I did so something like a spirit of vengeance within me for the fate of one so untimely cut off.
“Here we are, all ready,” said Malowney, springing over a small fence into the adjoining field—“take your ground, gentlemen,”
Considine took my arm and walked forward. “Charley,” said he, “I am to give the signal—I’ll drop my glove when you are to fire, but don’t look at me at all, I’ll manage to catch Bodkin’s eye, and do you watch him steadily, and fire when he does.”
“I think that the ground we are leaving behind us is rather better,” said some one.
“So it is,” said Bodkin; “but it was troublesome to carry the young gentleman down that way—here all is fair and easy.”
The next instant we were placed, and I well remember the first thought that struck me was that there could be no chance of either of us escaping,
“Now, then,” said the Count, “I’ll walk twelve paces, turn and drop this glove, at which signal you fire—and together mind. The man who reserves his shot falls by my hand.” This very summary denunciation seemed to meet general approbation, and the Count strutted forth. Notwithstanding the adyice of my friend, I could not help turning my eyes from Bodkin to watch the retiring figure of the Count. At length he stopped—a second or two elapsed—he wheeled rapidly round and let fall the glove. My eye glanced towards my opponent, I raised my pistol and fired, My hat turned half round upon my head, and Bodkin fell motionless to the earth. I saw the people around me rush forward; I caught two or three glances thrown at me with an expression of revengeful passion; I felt some one grasp me round the waist, and hurry me from the spot, and it was at least ten minutes after, as we were skimming the surface of the broad Shannon, before I could well collect my scattered faculties to remember al] that was passing, as Considine, pointing to the two bullet-holes in my hat, remarked, “Sharp practice, Charley; it was the overcharge saved you.”
“Is he killed, sir?” I asked.
“Not quite, I believe, but as good; you took him just above the hip.”
“Can he recover?” said I, with a voice tremulous from agitation, which I vainly endeavoured to conceal from my companion.
“Not if the doctor can help it,” said Considine; “for the fool keeps poking about for the ball; but now let’s think of the next step—you’ll have to leave this, and at once too.”
Little more passed between us. As we rowed towards the shore Considine was following up his reflections, and I had mine, alas! too many and too bitter to escape from.
As we neared the land a strange spectacle caught our eye; for a considerable distance along the coast crowds of country people were assembled, who, forming in groups, and breaking into parties of two and three, were evidently watching with great anxiety what was taking place at the opposite side. Now, the distance was at least three miles, and therefore any part of the transaction which had been enacting there must have been quite beyond their view. While I was wondering at this, Considine cried out suddenly, “Too infamous, by Jove; we’re murdered men.”
“What do you mean?” said I.
“Don’t you see that?” said he, pointing to something black which floated fro a pole at the opposite side of the river.
"Yes, what is it?”
“It’s his coat they’ve put upon an oar to show the people he’s killed, that’s all. Every man here’s his tenant, and look—there—they’re not giving us much doubt as to their intention.” Here a tremendous yell burst forth from the mass of people we the shore, which, rising to a terrific cry, sunk gradually down to a low wailing, then rose and fell again several times, as the Irish death-cry filled the air and rose to heaven, as if imploring vengeance on a murderer.
The appalling influence of the keen, as it is called, had been familiar to me from my infancy, but it needed the awful situation I was placed in to consummate its horrors. It was at once my accusation and my doom. I knew well, none better, the vengeful character of the Irish peasant of the west, and that my death was certain I had no doubt. The very crime that sat upon my heart quailed its courage and unnerved my arm. As the boatmen looked from us towards the shore, and again at our faces, they, as if instinctively, lay upon their oars, and waited for our decision as to what course to pursue.
“Rig the sprit-sail, my boys,” said Considine, “and let her head lie up the river, and be alive, for I see they’re baling a boat below the little reef there, and will be after us in no time.”
The poor fellows, who, although strangers to us, sympathised in what they perceived to be our imminent danger, stepped the light spar which acted us mast, and shook out their scanty rag of canvas in a minute. Considine, meanwhile, went aft, and steadying her head with an oar, held the small craft up to the wind, till she lay completely over, and, as she rushed through the water, ran dipping her gunnel through the white foam.
“Where can we make without tacking, boys?” inquired the Count.
“If it blows on as fresh, sir, we’ll run you ashore within half a mile of the castle.”
“Put out an oar to leeward,” said Considine, “and keep her up more to the wind, and I promise you, my lads, you will not go home fresh and fasting if you land us where you say.”
“Here they come,” said the other boatman, as he pointed back with his finger towards a large yawl which shot suddenly from the shore, with six sturdy fellows pulling at their oars, while three or four others were endeavouring to get up their rigging, which appeared tangled and confused at the bottom of the boat. The white splash of water which fell each moment beside her showing that the process of baling was still continued.
“Ah, then, may I never—av it isn’t the ould Dolphin they have launched for the cruise,” said one of our fellows.
“What’s the Dolphin, then?”
“An onld boat of the Lord’s (Lord Clanricarde’s) that didn’t see water, except when it rained, these four years, and is sun-cracked from stem to stern.”
“She can sail, however,” said Considine, who watched, with a painful anxiety, the rapidity of her course through the water.
“Nabocklish, she was a smuggler’s jolly-boat, and well used to it. Look how they’re pulling, God pardon them; but they’re in no blessed humour this morning.”
“Lay out upon your oars, boys; the wind’s failing us,” cried the Count, as the sail flapped lazily against the mast.
“It’s no use, your honour,” said the elder; we’ll be only breaking our hearts to no purpose, they’re sure to catch us.”
“Do as I bade you, at all events, What’s that ahead of us there?”
“The oat rock, sir; a vessel with grain struck there and went down with all aboard, four years last winter. There’s no channel between it and the shore—all sunk rocks, every inch of it, There’s the breeze;” the canvas fell over as he spoke, and the little craft lay down to it till the foaming water bubbled over her lee bow-“keep her head up, sir, higher, higher still;”—but Considine little heeded the direction, steering straight for the narrow channel the man alluded to—“tear and ages, but you’re going right for the cloch na quirka.”
“Arrah, an’ the divel a taste I’ll be drowned for your divarsion,” said the other, springing up.
“Sit dawn there and be still,” roared Considine, as he drew a pistol from the ease at his feet, “if you don’t want some leaden ballast to keep you so. Here, Charley, take this, and if that fellow stirs hand or foot—you understand me.”
The two men sat sulkily in the bottom of the boat, which now was actually flying through the water. Considine’s object was a clear one; he saw that in so sailing we were greatly overmatched, and that our only chance lay in reaching the narrow and dangerous channel between the oat rock and the shore, by which we should distance the pursuit; the long reef of rocks that ran out beyond requiring a wide berth to escape from. Nothing but the danger behind us could warrant so rash a daring; the whole channel was dotted with patches of white and breaking foam, the sure evidence of the mischief beneath, while here and there a dash of spurting spray flew up from the dark water, where some cleft rock lay hid below the flood. Escape seemed impossible; but who would not have preferred even so slender a chance with so frightful an alternative behind them! As if to add terror to the scene, Considine had scarcely turned the boat ahead of the channel when a tremendous blackness spread over all around—the thunder pealed forth, and, amid the crashing of the hail and the bright glare of lightning, a squall struck us, and laid us nearly keel uppermost for several minutes. I well remember we rushed through the dark and blackening water, our little craft more than half-filled, the oars floating off to leeward, and we ourselves kneeling on the bottom planks for safety. Roll after roll of loud thunder broke, as it were just above our heads; while, in the swift dashing rain that seemed to hiss around us, every object was hidden, and even the other boat was lost to our view. The two poor fellows! I shall never forget their expression; one, a devout Catholic, had placed a little leaden image of a saint before him in the bow, and implored its intercession with a torturing agony of suspense that wrung my very heart: the other, apparently less alive to such consolations as his Church afforded, remained with his hands clasped, his mouth compressed, his brows knitted, and his dark eyes bent upon me, with the fierce hatred of the deadly enemy; his eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and all told of some dreadful conflict within; the wild ferocity of his look fascinated my gaze, and amid all the terrors of the scene I could not look from him. As I gazed, a second and more awful squall struck the boat, the mast bent over, and, with a loud report like a pistol shot, smashed at the thwart, and fell over, trailing the sail along the milky sea behind us; meanwhile the water rushed clean over us, and the boat seemed settling. At this dreadful moment the sailor’s eye was bent upon me, his lips parted, and he muttered, as if to himself, “This it is to go to sea with a murderer!” O God! the agony of that moment—the heartfelt and accusing conscience, that I was judged and doomed, that the brand of Cain was upon my brow, that my fellow-men had ceased for ever to regard me as a brother, that I was an outcast and a wanderer for ever. I bent forward till my forehead fell upon my knees and I wept. Meanwhile, the boat flew through the water, and Considine, who alone among us seemed not to lose his presence of mind, unshipped the mast, and sent it overboard. The storm now began to abate, and, as the black mass of cloud now broke from around us, we beheld the other boat, also dismasted, far behind us, while all on board of her were employed in baling out the water with which she seemed almost sinking. The curtain of mist that had hidden us from each other no sooner broke, than they ceased their labours for a moment, and, looking toward us, burst forth into a yell so wild, so savage, and so dreadful, my very heart quailed as its cadence fell upon my ear.
“Safe, my boy,” said Considine, clapping me on the shoulder, as he steered the boat forth from its narrow path of danger, and once more reached the broad Shannon; “safe, Charley; though we’ve had a brash for it.” In a minute more we reached the land, and drawing our gallant little craft on shore, set out for O’Malley Castle.