HENRI D’EGVILLE.
HENRI D’EGVILLE;
OR, THE DUELLIST.
Swortzy afier my arrival on the other side of the At-
lantic, business called me to the island of Al-
though my sojourn there was brief, and I was not pos-
sessed of a single introductory letter, yet 1 found no
difficulty in getting into the most respectable society
the place afforded. West-India hospitality, in those
days, threw open every door to the stranger. “Times
have changed;” and, although the planters cannot
say, “we have changed with them,” inasmuch as they
possess the same warm feelings as formerly, unfortu-
nately they have no longer the means to indulge
them. Things were otherwise in the times I speak
of (1817): it was during that year, in the island of
——, that I dined with a large party who were enter-
tained by a merchant. The dinner was excellent,
the dessert superlative, and the Madeira, claret, and
Champagne exquisite. During the repast, I was call-
ed upon to take wine with every gentleman in com-
pany (some twenty in number) and had the gallantry
to pledge every lady present. After the dessert, the
king's health was drunk, the ladies retired, and the
speechifying commenced. We all assured each other
that these were the happiest momenis of our lives.
The bottle circulated freely, and, after several songs
were sung, our host proposed rejoining the Madies, when
one of the party begged, ere we took our coffee, to
call upon Captain Stewart for a Geelic song. To this,
our host acceded; but the Captain, a -prepossessing,
though somewhat melancholy-looking man, objected,
for a very sufficient reason; declaring, that although a
highlander, he had been educated at Edinburgh, and
had been so little among his native mountains, that he
could scarcely speak the language of his fathers, nor
did he know one highland song. This answer satisfi-
ed all, save he who moved the call; this was a Mr.
Henri D’Egville, a ci-devant colonist of St Domingo,
who, at an early period of his life, had escaped after
the revolution in that island. He was a man that, at
first view, might be judged to have passed the meri-
dian of life, on account of the dimness of his eyes, and
his furrowed brow; yet, on a second view, an observer
would judge that he had scarcely reached that period.
He was rather bloated and corpulent, and it was easy
to perceive that the lustre of his eyes had been quench-
ed rather by intemperance than time. Yet, with all
these defects, his form and features bore marks of hav-
ing been at one time handsome.
D’Egville persisted, in a peremptory tone, on Stew- art’s singing a Gelic song. The host endeavoured to appease him, and proposed an adjournment. This would not satisfy the St. Domingian—he became warmer on the subject: one or two of us interfered, amongst the rest myself. I was next to him, and his uareasonable ire was suddenly directed to me. Amid the confusion created by this unpleasant affair, Captain S. put a period to it by declaring, with a smile of good humour, that he now recollected a highland song. Silence was restored, and, to the tune of the “High- land Laddie,” the Captain sung an “Ode of Anacreon.” The effect produced by this witty ruse is indescrib- able. D’Egville’s education, like most of those in- structed in the colonies, was confined to one or two of the living tongues, and some of the exterior accom- plishments; so that the Greek ode passed muster well enough with him for Geelic; besides, his senses were rather obscured by wine. Two or three of the com- pany understood the noble languages in which the bard of Namos sung, and could scarcely restrain their laughter at the whim of chaunting his lay to a Gelic air. Three or four more of the party knew enough of
the classics to find that Stewart was singing Greek: these smiled; but the most interesting countenance to contemplate, was that of a Mr. Donald M’Phearsoa, a native of the Highlands: he knew not a word of the dead languages, but he well knew that Greek was not Gelic; he displayed a gallery of’ faces: at first he looked most profoundly mystified, not knowing what to make of the fine-sounding tones that Stewart was ut- tering. Then he seemed highly indignant at the in- sult the Captain was offering to his mother tongue; but the prudence, for which most of his countrymen are remarkable, got the better of his patriotic ire, and he smiled in applause of the singular stratagem.
The Greco-Gelic song ended; a burst of applause followed; none were louder in their approbation than D’Egville, who, drinking a large claret glass of Ma- deira to the health of Stewart, said that the Scotch was a language almost as soft and musical as the French; and requested the Captain to translate his song. This request the Captain good-humouredly complied with, by turning Anacreon’s ode literally into English. D’Egville was so delighted at the gallantry of what he called the Highland poet’s praise of beauty, that he shook Captain Siewart by the hand, who looked at the Creole with a very equivocal expression of counte- nance, which the latter, being “Bacchi plenus,” could not observe.
Nothing particular occurred during the rest of the evening, when the party broke up. Asmy path home lay towards the sea-side, accompanied Captain Stew- art on his way to join his boat, which waited to put him on board his ship—a fine West-Indiaman, on the eve of sailing to Europe. He had been a master in the navy, enjoying half-pay, and, by permission of the Admiralty, I believe, was now in the merchant ser- vice. Daring our walk, I had some conversation with him, and congratulated him on his ingenious stratagem of substituting a Greek ode for a Gelic song, diverting several of us, and at once satisfying and turning to ri- dicule the silly and impertinent demand of the inebri- ated French Creole. He wld me in reply to a remark I made on his classical attainments, that, at the end of ten years’ service in the navy, his trifling collegiate acquirements were nearly forgotten, but being, in 1814, appointed to a signal station on the western coast of England, and having much leisure and little society, he renewed his acquaintance with his long neglected friends of Greece and Rome, “one of whom, you see,” he observed, “got me out of the ]udicrous dispute with Mr. D’Egville; but he is equally quarrelsome when sober; one of his dangerous description should not be admitted into respectable society.”
“Ts he a duellist?” At this question of mine, the Captain paused in his conversation, and stopped walk- ing: after a lapse of some time, he said, with agita- tuona,—
“True, sir—most true: a duellist should be shunned by the worthy part of mankind. But yon wretched D'Egville is worse than a duellist: he is a murderer! —at least, so I account one who, by continual prac- tice with the pistol, can hit the ace of hearts at fifteen paces; who, by being ‘out,’ as it is called, so frequent- ly, is so accustomed to human destruction, that he can make bon-mots and take snuff the moment before he
pulls the trigger;—one whose talent for getting insult-
ed is so exquisite, that he has been known to wear a
new hat tied round with rope-yarn to attract notice,
which notice he has resented, made into a quarrel, and
finally brought to a duel. He has the blood of some
twenty victims to account for!” I shuddered to think
