CHAPTER LXIII.

THE MEETING IN BATTERSEA FIELDS.

According to instructions given to his landlady, Mr. Frank Curtis was called at a quarter to six on the morning following the incidents just related; and leaping from his warm bed, he proceeded, with quivering limbs and chattering teeth, to strike a light.

Having, after a great deal of trouble, persuaded the short wick of his candle to catch the flame of the match which he held to it, he drew aside the window-curtains and looked forth to ascertain the nature of the weather.

The result of this survey was by no means reassuring; for a mizzling rain was falling, and a cheerless mist appeared to hang against the window.

Frank closed the curtains again, and looked wistfully at the bed, as if he were more than half inclined to return to it, and leave Captain O'Blunderbuss to do his worst;—but, on second thoughts, he knew that this was a hazardous venture—and, accordingly, he began to huddle on a portion of his garments.

Then commenced the process of shaving—always an unpleasant one, but doubly so by candle-light, and when the hand is so nervous that the chances are equal whether you mow off the hirsute stubble or the tip of your nose.

"Bother to this razor!" cried Frank: "it won't cut at all this morning!"

The fault was not, however, in the razor, but with him who wielded it.

At length, by dint of reiterated scraping, and steadying the right wrist with the left hand, Mr. Frank Curtis managed to achieve this portion of his toilette.

When occupied with his ablutions, he thought that the water had never appeared so icy cold before; and his teeth chattered like a box of dominoes rattling.

The fact was, that the nearer the eventful moment approached, the more alarmed became this heroic young gentleman, lest the lawyer should disappoint him, or deceive himself, in the task of taming the formidable Captain O'Blunderbuss.

It was half-past six before Mr. Curtis quitted his bed-room; and he had just time to take a cup of coffee in his sitting apartment while the girl of the house ran to fetch a cab. She speedily returned with, or rather _in_ the vehicle; but when Mr. Curtis had taken her place, he perceived to his dismay that the horse had such an unpleasant knack of suddenly bolting round each corner he came to, and the driver was already so drunk, even at that early hour in the morning, that the chances were decidedly in favour of an upset.

He, however, reached the lawyer's office in safety, though not before the clocks at the West-End were striking seven.

A hackney-coach was already waiting at the door; and the moment Frank rang the office-bell, Mr. Howard appeared.

"Come, jump in—we have not a minute to lose," said the latter.

Frank accordingly entered the coach, in which, to his surprise, he found two ill-looking, shabbily-dressed fellows ensconced. Mr. Howard followed him—the door was closed hastily—and away rolled the vehicle in a westerly direction.

Mr. Curtis was now enabled to examine at his ease—or rather at his leisure, for easy he was not—the two individuals just mentioned.

One was a man of about forty, dressed in seedy black, and with a beard of at least three days' growth, and a shirt that seemed as if it had been worn and slept in too for a fortnight. His face was pale and cadaverous, and its expression sinister in the extreme. His companion was worse-looking and dirtier still; but _his_ countenance was red and bloated with intemperance. He carried a stout stick in his hand, and smelt awfully of rum.

"Got your pistols, Frank?" inquired Mr. Howard, when the coach had moved off the pavement.

"Pistols!" repeated the young gentleman, turning dreadfully pale. "I thought you—you—you——"

And his teeth chattered violently.

"I know what I promised; and what I promised I will perform," responded the attorney. "But I thought you might like to make a show of an intention to fight, before I interfered."

"Oh! you know I never bully," exclaimed Frank. "If I made a show of fighting, as you call it, I _would_ fight—and not pretend merely."

"Well—just as you like," observed Howard. "We will settle the business the instant we get down there."

"But is the gen'leman sartain the Cap'ain'll be there?" asked the man with the stout stick and the red face.

"Hold your tongue, Proggs!" growled his companion in the shabby black. "These gen'lemen know what they're up to."

Silence then prevailed in the vehicle; and Frank Curtis sate wondering who the strange-looking twain could be. At last he came to the conclusion that they must be constables whom Mr. Howard had called into requisition for the laudable purpose of putting a stop to the duel. Still, such seedy constables were seldom seen: but then, reasoned Frank within himself, they might perhaps be in a state of insolvency—a suspicion certainly warranted by their outward appearance.

The mist-like rain continued; and, though the morning grew a trifle brighter, it was in a very sickly manner. Frank had seldom felt more dispirited in his life, the weather leaguing itself with his own vague apprehensions to render him utterly miserable.

At length the coach reached the vicinity of Battersea Fields; and Mr. Howard pulled the check-string as a signal for the driver to stop.

He then descended; Frank Curtis followed; and the two queer-looking gentlemen alighted also.

"You will keep at a decent distance, Mr. Mac Grab," said Howard, addressing himself to the individual in seedy black.

"Wery good, sir. Proggs," continued Mr. Mac Grab, turning to his companion, "you make a circumbendibus like, so as to cut off the Captain's retreat down yonder. I'll skirt the river a short way, and then drop down on him.".

"All right," growled Mr. Proggs; and off he set in the direction indicated by his master, Mr. Mac Grab.

Howard then took Frank's arm; and they walked on together, the young gentleman shivering and trembling violently.

"What _is_ the matter with you?" demanded the lawyer. "You shake just like an aspen."

"Oh! nothing—nothing!" returned Frank, in a faltering tone. "Only it's very cold this morning—and this cursed mist——But there's the Captain already!" he suddenly ejaculated, making a full stop.

Howard glanced in the same direction towards which Frank's eyes were turned, and beheld two individuals at a short distance. One, who was wrapped in a cloak, was standing still; the other was pacing rapidly up and down in the immediate vicinity of his companion, and tossing his arms about as if in a perfect fury of indignation.

"Come on," said the lawyer, dragging forward the terrified Frank Curtis. "There! the person who is walking up and down like a maniac, has caught sight of us——"

"That's the Captain!" almost whimpered the young man. "Oh! my stars! how fierce he does look!"

"Now, then, ye shir-rkers! is it keeping us waiting ye mane?" vociferated the terrible Captain, sending his voice half-way across a field in a tone of awful indignation. "Be Jasus! it's a rale insult to me and my frind, to be seven minutes and a half behind time in this way!"

"We are coming, sir, as fast as we can!" exclaimed Howard: "and may be a little faster than you will find to be agreeable."

"My God! don't irritate him!" implored Frank. "He's capable of——of——shooting us both—as we walk along."

"Don't be such a fool, Frank. You will see a rare bit of fun in a few minutes. Come along!"—and the lawyer dragged his shrinking companion forward.

"Be the holy poker-r!" vociferated the Captain, as Howard and Curtis now drew near enough for him plainly to recognise their countenances: "be the holy poker!" he repeated, his eyes glaring furiously, "Sir Christopher is not here! Morthaunt, my dear frind, ye are swindled—robbed—plunthered—chated of the pleasure of a duel this cold mornin'. But I'll avenge ye, my boy—for I tould that Misther Curtis there that I'd hould him responsible——"

"Come, come, Captain!" exclaimed Howard, as he and Frank now stopped at the distance of a few paces from the warlike officer and his friend Mordaunt: "don't bluster and sputter in this fine fashion——"

"Is it blusther and sputther to me ye mane!" cried Captain O'Blunderbuss. "Be Jasus; sir-r—ye shall ate the wor-rds afore we're done. But I'll shoot Mr. Curtis first; and 'tis yourself I'll send headlong afther him. Morthaunt, my frind, instead of being principal now, 'tis second ye must be. So give us the pisthol-case from under your cloak, man."

"With all my heart, Captain!" said Mordaunt, who was a tall, awkward gentleman, about thirty-five years of age, and as like Miss Julia as brother could be to sister.

"Howard—my dear friend—my good fellow," gasped Frank Curtis in the ear of his companion; "is it possible that—that—you've——"

"Be Jasus! we're watched!" suddenly exclaimed the Captain, whose quick eye now caught sight of a man approaching from the next field.

"It's only my servant, sir, who is bringing my case of pistols," remarked Howard. "Not knowing whether you would be here, we kept them in the coach at a short distance."

"Not be here!" repeated the Captain. "Do ye take us for as great cowards as ould Sir Christopher Blunt? Be Jasus——But that man don't look like a servant anyhow!" ejaculated the warlike gentleman, interrupting himself, and fixing a ferocious look upon Mr. Mac Grab, who now came running up to the spot, completely out of breath.

Howard glanced rapidly to the left, and beheld Proggs approaching from that direction.

"Here's another fellow!" exclaimed Mordaunt, who had marked and followed the lawyer's scrutinizing look. "Gentlemen, what _does_ this mean?"

"Yes—and be Jasus!" vociferated Captain O'Blunderbuss: "what does this mane? Have ye had recourse to the dirthy expadient of getting constables to come for-ar-rd to spile the purtiest little affair that was ever to come off on a misty mornin'?"

"It don't mean nothink of the kind, Captain," said Mr. Mac Grab gruffly: then, as with a side glance he convinced himself that his follower Proggs was now only a few paces distant in the rear of the warlike Irishman, he continued thus:—"The fact is, I'm a hofficer—and you're my prisoner."

"An officer-r-r!" vociferated Captain O'Blunderbuss, his countenance becoming actually purple with rage, while Frank Curtis, suddenly assured that all prospects of a duel were at an end, began to enjoy the scene amazingly.

"Yes, sir—this person is an officer," said Mr. Howard, in the calmest manner possible; "and I am the attorney for the plaintiff—Mr. Spriggins—at whose suit you are now captured for three hundred and forty-seven pounds, including costs."

"Blood and thunther-r!" roared Captain O'Blunderbuss, swelling so tremendously with passion that he seemed as if about to burst through his military frock-coat with its frogs and braidings: "this is a rale insult not ounly to me, but also to ould Ireland. Mor-r-thaunt, my boy——"

"It's a very awkward business, Captain," said the gentleman thus appealed to. "But I do not see why it should prevent the business on which we met. Pistols first—prison afterwards."

"That won't do," said Mr. Mac Grab.

"Not a bit," growled Proggs, who was now stationed close behind the Captain.

"Bastes of the ear-rth!" roared O'Blunderbuss: "do——"

"Come now—enough of this gammon," interrupted Mac Grab. "If you won't walk quiet off with us, we must see what force will do."

"It is no use to resist, my boy," whispered Mordaunt to his friend, who was literally foaming at the mouth. "But we will find another occasion to punish these cowardly fellows," he added aloud, casting fiery glances upon the lawyer and Frank Curtis.

"Be Jasus! and I'll have some of it out of 'em now!" ejaculated Captain O'Blunderbuss; and springing upon the unfortunate Frank, he administered to this young gentleman three or four hearty cuffs, before a hand could be stretched out to withhold him.

Curtis roared and wriggled about with the pain; but he was speedily released from the effects of this onslaught, Mac Grab, Proggs, and the lawyer, hastening to his assistance.

The warlike Captain was then borne away to the hackney-coach, in which he was safely deposited, Mordaunt obtaining leave from Mr. Howard to accompany his friend in the same vehicle as far as the prison to which he was to be consigned.

Frank Curtis declined forming one of the party; and while the coach proceeded in as direct a line as possible for Horsemonger Lane gaol, the young gentleman sped merrily along alone and on foot, delighted, in spite of the drubbing which he had received, to think that the redoubtable Captain O'Blunderbuss was on his way to a place where his warlike propensities stood every chance of being "cribb'd, cabin'd, and confin'd," at least for a season.

You may conceive, gentle reader, that Captain O'Blunderbuss was in a dreadful rage at being interrupted in the midst of his favourite pursuit—especially as the interruption was of so unpleasant a nature as that described. But his vapouring and blustering produced little effect upon Messrs. Mac Grab and Proggs, who never spoke a word during the journey from Battersea Fields to Horsemonger Lane, save to answer in an affirmative when Mr. Howard proposed that they should stop at a public-house for a few moments to partake of some refreshment; and then they each responded—"Yes—rum, please."

The Captain himself was accommodated with a glass of whiskey: Mordaunt and the lawyer took nothing.

The vehicle then proceeded, without stopping, to the prison, where the gallant Captain—oh! most ignominious fate!—was handed over to the care of the turnkeys in the debtors' department of the establishment.