CHAPTER XII.

"He must be taught to know he has presumed To stand in competition with me. --You will not kill him?" SHIRLEY.

--"Wherefore com'st thou? --To comfort you, and bring you joyful news." MARLOW.

On the second night of the Chalmetta's voyage, as Henry was about to retire, the steward handed him a note. An hour before he had struck a "fashionable" man a severe blow, and he conjectured at once that it had called forth this note. On opening the billet, his supposition proved to be correct. It was a challenge from Maxwell.

We are very much opposed to duels and duelling, and we regret that faithfulness to the facts of history compels us to record that Captain Carroll accepted the challenge. He had moral courage enough to resist the promptings of that artificial spirit of honor which encourages duels, but there was "a lady in the case,"--a lady whom he fondly loved. He felt that the insult which she had received was not sufficiently punished. Besides, there was an audacity about the man which deserved to be punished, and he resolved to punish it. Poor human nature! Henry never reflected that he might be shot himself, and the persecutor of innocence escape unharmed. No, he felt that the blow he had struck in defence of innocence was a just retribution, as far as it went; and that he should fall, _he_ who had espoused the cause of innocence, why it was simply impossible!

He accepted the challenge, and requested a brother officer to act as his "friend." The two seconds--Major Brunn on the part of Henry, and Vernon on the part of Maxwell--arranged the preliminaries.

The boat would arrive at Natchez about daylight, and would remain there long enough to allow the meeting to take place.

Henry Carroll, though his chivalrous spirit was gratified at the opportunity to revenge the insult offered to Emily, was ill at ease. To meet a man of no character (for such he supposed Maxwell to be) was not a very ornamental accompaniment to an affair of honor. He had a hundred times braved death on the field of battle, but to die in a duel with such a man seemed to his now tranquillized mind anything but honorable. Emily had retired, and he could not bid her farewell. Perhaps he had seen her for the last time on earth, for the possibility of being killed himself tardily came to his mind. He wrote a long letter to Emily, and another to Uncle Nathan.

The worthy Northerner had produced a very favorable impression upon his mind. He knew his liberal soul, and the design of the letter was to interest him in her favor,--to induce him to conduct her to his Northern home.

Henry returned to his couch with many painful doubts as to the morality, and even the expediency, of his course. But the feeling of honor--of false honor--comforted him, and, animated by its spirit, he even looked forward with pleasure upon his revenge,--upon the death of his opponent. This would be in accordance with the justice of the case, and he flattered himself that justice, if it did not always prevail, would triumph in this instance. With such reflections he closed his eyes, and sunk to his slumbers.

The Chalmetta moved lazily on her course. Her lights had all been extinguished, and the idlers, who a few hours before had paced the decks, were now slumbering in their berths, or on the cabin floor. The clock over the clerk's office indicated the hour of twelve. On the main deck forward the sleepy firemen were languidly supplying the furnaces; the engineers, less actively employed, had fallen asleep by the cylinders.

On the after quarter, laying flat upon the deck, were two men earnestly engaged in conversation, in which the whispered brogue of Pat Fegan might have been detected. After the conversation had continued some time, one of them cautiously raised his head, as if to penetrate the gloom that enshrouded them. Satisfied that they were alone, the two rose, and, without noise, climbed up one of the posts to the gallery which surrounded the cabin. Then, with a light step, they passed on, and stopped before the state-room occupied by Vernon.

"Are you sure this is his room?" asked Hatchie, in a smothered whisper.

"Troth, I am, thin," responded his companion; "but be aisy, or you'll wake him."

"The worse for him," replied Hatchie, as his teeth ground together.

Hatchie placed his hand upon the door, and softly opened it. The sleeper heard him not. The negro groped about the room until his hand rested upon some pistols which lay on a trunk by the side of the berth. These he took, and, handing two of them to Pat, retained the third in his hand. Closing the door, they proceeded, as they had come, to the main deck.

Seating himself behind a heap of merchandise, Hatchie proceeded to examine the pistols by the light of a lantern which Pat had _borrowed_ from the sleeping engineers. The pistols were of the common pattern used in duelling. Two of the three were mates; and Hatchie discovered, on examination, that neither of them were loaded with ball. The third pistol, which contained two balls, was very similar in form and size to the pair. Hatchie extracted the balls from this one, and loaded the pair with one ball each, leaving the unmatched one blank. They then carefully conveyed them to Vernon's state-room, and placed them on the trunk precisely as they had found them.

As had been premised, the Chalmetta arrived at Natchez about daylight. Vernon, well acquainted with all its localities, led the parties of the duel to a retired place in the vicinity. The distance was measured off, and the principals took the stations assigned them.

"Now be careful they do not see you do it," said Vernon, in a low, careless tone.

The pistols were handed to the principals, the signal was given, and both fired nearly at the same instant.

"Confound it!" exclaimed Maxwell, dropping his pistol, and grasping the left arm, which had been hit by Henry's ball. "How does this happen?"

But Vernon was as much confounded by this unexpected result of the duel as his principal. He had only time to protest that he had prepared the pistols as agreed upon, when Major Brunn arrived at the spot.

On examining the wounded man, it was found that the ball had struck the fleshy part of the arm. The injury was very trifling. Maxwell was much astonished at receiving a ball from his opponent's pistol,--a circumstance which was owing entirely to Hatchie's precaution on the previous night. He had overheard the plan by which Maxwell was to fire a ball at Henry, with no danger of receiving one in return. Vernon had loaded the pair without ball, and the single pistol with two balls. Henry was to select from the pair; the third was to be concealed upon the person of Maxwell, who was to use it instead of the blank. Major Brunn, supposing Vernon to be a man of honor, had not insisted upon examining the charge in presence of both seconds, and thus everything had worked to the satisfaction of the confederates up to the time of the firing. By Hatchie's precaution, Henry held one of the two which were loaded with ball, while Maxwell had fired the blank.

Maxwell was, as may be supposed, vexed and disconcerted at the result of the duel; and, with an ill grace, he resolved to postpone his revenge to another time, inasmuch as he could not hope again to shoot at his foe in perfect safety.

The party returned to the steamer just in season for her departure. Maxwell's wound was examined by the surgeon, and pronounced very slight. Henry was rejoiced at this intelligence, for the cold-blooded thoughts which had found a place in his heart had departed, and his naturally kind disposition resumed its sway. He was glad that the affair had terminated without the loss of life; glad that his conscience was not burdened with the blood of a fellow-creature; glad, too, that he had escaped unhurt. This last consideration was not a selfish one. He felt that all the energy he possessed he should require in the restoration of her he so tenderly loved.

His first step, on returning to the steamer, was to destroy the letters he had written to meet the worst calamity which might befall him. Having occasion to open his trunk, he discovered, to his surprise, that it was unlocked. Further examination showed that he had been robbed of all his earthly possessions. This was a severe blow. The money was the accumulation of two years' service, and he was now penniless,--without even a sufficient sum to pay his passage. He immediately informed the captain of his loss, who gave him the comfortable assurance that the robber had probably gone ashore at Natchez. However, he caused a thorough search of the boat to be made; but, as may be supposed, the search was vain.

Uncle Nathan sympathized with him in his loss,--not with words alone, but voluntarily proposed to lend him any amount he required; an offer which Henry accepted with gratitude.

"I see you are acquainted with that lady you saved from drowning," said the worthy farmer, after he had passed the loan to Henry. The duel had before been discussed and roundly condemned. The cause of the quarrel had introduced the fact to which the farmer had alluded.

"I am. Her father was my best friend. I spent a few weeks with him a short time before his death."

"O, ho!" thought Uncle Nathan, "I guess the black feller didn't know that, or he would have given the papers to him;" and he resolved to inform Hatchie of Henry's presence.

Descending, he soon discovered Pat Fegan, and, by his help, was enabled to hold a conference with Hatchie, who, now that it was daylight, talked through a crevice in his box.

Hatchie was anxious to know the result of the duel, which Uncle Nathan imparted, to whom, in return, the mulatto related the means he had used to foil the attorney's purpose, which was nothing less than murder. He also disclosed the particulars of the second plot, which was to be put in execution that night.

The information the faithful slave had gained in relation to the character of Henry's efforts for his mistress made him quite willing to have him admitted into the confidence of her secret protectors.

Uncle Nathan returned to the cabin, delighted with the idea of sharing his responsibility with Henry. But his first wish was to relieve the distress of Emily, who, he rightly judged, was in continued suffering, on account of the painful uncertainty which shrouded her destiny.

Emily rose on the morning of the duel in blissful ignorance of the danger which Henry had incurred on her account. She had passed a sleepless night, in the most intense agony. Her eyes were red and swollen with weeping, and her heart yet beat with the violence of her emotions. She felt in the most intense degree the misery of her situation, to which she failed not to give all its weight. She had a friend--a brother--more than brother--near, in the person of Henry. That love which she allowed her fond heart to cherish was like an oasis in the desert of her misery. She loved him, and in this thought--in the delightful sensation which accompanied it--she found her only solace.

At breakfast she saw him again; again his speaking eyes told how fondly his heart clung to her; again his smile fanned her fevered brain, like the zephyr of summer, into a dream of bliss. Her heart led her back to the days when they had wandered together over her father's plantation. Then, restrained by the coyness of unrevealed love, each enjoyed a happiness to which the other was supposed to be a stranger.

But the anguish of her painful position _would_ come to destroy the dream of bliss, and dissipate the bright halo her imagination had cast before her. She retired to her state-room, to ponder again her unhappy lot. "Thy will be done," murmured she, as, throwing herself into a chair, she resigned herself to the terrible reflection that she was a slave and an outcast. The bright dream of love was only a chimera, to make her feel more deeply the terrible reality.

Whilst she was thus venting her anguish, she was roused from her lethargy of grief by the chambermaid, who had entered by the inner door.

"Please, ma'am, a gentleman out in the cabin says he wants to speak to you."

"A gentleman wishes to speak to me? Did he send his name?"

"No, ma'am. He said you wouldn't know him, if he did; so it was no use to send it."

"Pray, what looking gentleman is he?"--her mind reverting to Maxwell.

"Well, ma'am, he's a very respectable looking gentleman," answered the girl, to whom Uncle Nathan (for he was the person alluded to) had given half a dollar. "I think he is a Yankee, by his talk."

"Pray, ask him to send his name."

"Yes, ma'am," said the chambermaid, retiring.

Emily was puzzled by the request, and, judging from the girl's description that it could not be Maxwell, began to dread a new enemy.

The chambermaid presently returned, and said the gentleman's name was Benson.

Emily's perplexity was not diminished, but she resolved to see the applicant at the door of the room, so that, if his errand was from Maxwell, she could easily retire from his presence. Accordingly she instructed the girl to show him to the door on the gallery.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Uncle Nathan, as soon as he reached the position assigned him; "you are Miss Dumont, I believe?"

"The same," said she, as calmly as her fluttering heart would permit. "May I beg to know your business with me?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Uncle Nathan, bluntly; "but don't be scart. I know something of your trials; and I trust the Lord will give you strength to endure them with patience."

"Really, sir, you astonish me! May I be allowed to ask how you became acquainted with my affairs?"

"All in good time, ma'am; I have in my possession a document, which, I'm told, will set matters all right with you."

"What is it, sir?"--and Emily was still more astonished at the singularity of the adventure.

"_It is your father's will_, ma'am," replied Uncle Nathan, disdaining all preface and preliminary to this important remark.

"My father's will, sir! Impossible!"

"Fact, ma'am. I will tell you all about it," and Uncle Nathan proceeded, in his own blunt way, to relate his adventures in the hold.

Emily listened with surprise and joy to the honest farmer's story. When he had concluded, although she did not give way to the joy of her heart, a change from the depth of despair to the pinnacle of happiness took place in her silent heart. How devoutly she thanked the great Father who had watched over her in her anguish, and now shed a halo of joy across her darkened path! How earnest was the silent prayer which arose from the depths of her heart, for the safety of the faithful slave, who had perilled his life for her happiness! How deeply laden with the incense of gratitude was the song of thanksgiving which rose from her soul to the Giver of all good!

And when Uncle Nathan told the story of the duel, a new song of thanksgiving arose for Henry's safety. The joy she felt in his preservation would not be entirely confined to her heart, and Uncle Nathan--unromantic bachelor as he was--could not but discern the deep interest she felt in him.

The interview was concluded, and the worthy farmer left the gallery more rejoiced than if he had himself been declared heir of Colonel Dumont's millions; and he looked around, as excited as a school-boy on the first day of vacation, to find Henry, and relate the good news.