Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.18 #103 (Dec 1858).
"Honor is the subject of my story."
For five-and-forty years I have borne the name of Peter Smith. Though you have never heard of me I flatter myself that my family name will be familiar to you. I am quiet in my habits, and, I believe, not disposed to interfere with the rights of other men; yet even this did not avail to save me some ten years since from becoming involved in an affair of honor. Let me tell you how it happened.
At the time of which I speak I was an inmate of Mrs. Jones's family. I use the word inmate advisedly, since it was well known that Mrs. Jones never took boarders. In fact she expressly gave me to understand that her only inducement in taking me was the pleasure she expected to derive from my society—that she was far above mercenary considerations. Of course I felt flattered by the compliment thus insinuated, though I confess I was somewhat surprised, since all mercenary considerations were disclaimed, to be charged a higher rate for board than I had ever before paid. Still I did not demur, feeling certain that I had at length found a home.
Let me describe Mrs. Jones, my hostess. Physically speaking, I should say that she came of a great family, her proportions being most aristocratic. In her demeanor toward me she was always very gracious and condescending, for which I felt properly grateful. She always came to the table arrayed in a stiff satin, the very rustle of which betrayed her consequence, and impressed me with a sense of my comparative insignificance.
Mrs. Jones had a daughter, by name Sophronia. In external appearance she was quite unlike her parent, being exceedingly tall and slender, while the latter was short and dumpy. In a copy of verses which she was kind enough to show me some enthusiastic young man had the temerity to call her a sylph. I do not know much about sylphs, never having seen one to my knowledge; but I question very much whether sylphs have red hair or noses with an upward tendency. I have my doubts also as to whether sylphs squint. Still I am far from denying that Miss Sophronia Jones was a sylph, since that belief evidently afforded her satisfaction.
Mrs. Jones's table was admirably adapted for a valetudinarian. There he would find no dishes of unwholesome richness—nothing, indeed, that was calculated to induce excess in eating. If, as some physicians have declared, health is best preserved by always rising from the table with an appetite, I was never in a fairer way to secure its blessings than when enjoying the genteel insufficiency of Mrs. Jones's hospitality.
About a month after my arrival, conversation turned, at the dinner-table, upon a concert which was to be given the same evening by Signora Falfalini. I have a poor memory for Italian names, but that is the name to the best of my recollection.
"I wish I could go, ma," said the fair Sophronia.
"So you could, my dear," replied Mrs. Jones, "if you had a gentleman protector."
Thereupon she began to declaim against the customs of society which preclude a lady's attending a place of amusement without a gentleman, lamenting that Sophronia had, on this account, been more than once debarred from gratifying her exquisite taste in music.
Of course I could not, in politeness, refrain from offering my escort, although I should thereby be prevented from attending the weekly meeting of the club of which I am a member.
Sophronia, in great confusion, said she could not think of troubling me.
I began to hope that she would not; but her mother quietly silenced her scruples by saying that she was a silly girl (thirty-five if she's a day), and that she must not think of refusing.
Sophronia made no further objections, and I had the pleasure of paying a high price for a couple of tickets.
Nature not having bestowed on me a musical ear, I could enter but indifferently into the raptures of my companion, who pronounced Signora Falfalini's singing divine, although she considered her quite devoid of personal attractions. The Signora being built after the same model as Sophronia, I quite agreed with her in this last bit of criticism.
"Do you know," simpered my companion, confidingly, "I have myself thought at times that I was designed by Nature for a prima donna or an opera singer like Signora Falfalini?"
"Then why did you not become one?" I inquired.
"Because ma had such an objection to any thing of a public character. She felt that I should be demeaned by so doing, and advised me to content myself with contributing to the gratification of my friends at home. You have never heard me sing, I think?"
I had at times heard a shrill voice in a very high key, as I sat in my room, which had struck me as far from agreeable. I thought it best, however, without mentioning this, to utter a simple negative.
"You must not expect much," continued Sophronia, "my voice is wild and uncultivated. Ma is always telling me that I ought to devote more attention to it; but I can never sing except when the inspiration seizes me. If you will come in to-morrow evening I will sing for you if you would like."
I expressed my thanks for this disinterested kindness, and, as the concert was now finished, proceeded to escort the lady home.
As we were making our way through the crowd, it chanced that some one, accidentally or otherwise, jostled my companion.
She immediately seized my arm convulsively and informed me that she had been insulted.
"Who did it?" stammered I, for I confess my courage is not of the highest order.
In reply Sophronia pointed out a tall gentleman with a very fierce mustache, who was standing at a little distance.
Mentally deciding that it might not be prudent to have an altercation with such a person, I hastened to assure my companion that it must have been an accident.
"No," said she, very decidedly. "It was not an accident. It was intentional. I wish you to demand an apology in my name."
"Don't-you think it would be better," said I, in great embarrassment, "to treat him with silent contempt?"
Sophronia was by no means of this opinion.
Accordingly I approached the gentleman, who appeared still more formidable on a nearer view, and asked—in what was intended to be a resolute tone—"what he meant by insulting the lady under my charge."
"Sir-r-r," he ejaculated, wheeling sharply around.
I repeated my request in a fainter tone, and suggested that I trusted it was accidental on his part.
Stroking his mustache very fiercely he informed me that he had no explanations to make—that if I wished to hear from him at any time I should have an opportunity, and forthwith presented me his card.
Without stopping to look at it I slunk away in the crowd and soon reached home.
My companion intimated that she supposed I should seek satisfaction in the usual way.
I said something indistinctly—I am not sure exactly what—and very thankfully took leave of the fair Sophronia in the entry.
Reaching my chamber, I examined the card which had been placed in my hand, and found inscribed thereon the name of Captain Achilles Brown, Astor House. Very probably he was distinguished by the same qualities which characterized his great namesake, and it made me shiver even to think of a conflict with him. Resolving that I would at least take every possible means to avoid it, I went to bed and sank into a slumber disturbed by frightful dreams, in which I fancied myself shot through the heart by that terrible Achilles Brown.
Early next morning, while in the momentary expectation of hearing the breakfast-bell, I was startled by a knock at the door. Immediately afterward entered a tall man, "bearded like a pard." He introduced himself to me as a cousin of Sophronia, and intimated that, having heard of my difficulty of the previous evening, he had come to offer his services as my second.
Thanking him for his kindness, I said that I had not, as yet, decided to call out the gentleman in question.
"Not yet decided!" repeated my visitor, springing to his feet, causing me thereby to recede two paces, in some personal apprehension; "not yet decided! But perhaps I do not understand you."
I intimated, rather uncomfortably, that I had conscientious scruples against the practice of the duello.
"Conscientious fiddlesticks!" interrupted my visitor. "Sir, you must fight. There is no alternative. A lady has been insulted while under your protection. That lady is my cousin. Unless you take notice of it, I must."
"I shall be very glad to have you," said I, eagerly, thinking to shift the duel upon him.
"You misunderstand me," said he, gravely. "Unless you challenge Captain Brown, I shall understand it as a personal disrespect to my cousin, and shall challenge you. Choose which of us you will fight."
This was said so resolutely that I succumbed at once. I reflected that, while there was equal danger to be incurred in a duel with my visitor, there would be less credit.
"Shall I write the missive?" inquired my companion, who called himself Lieutenant Eustace.
"Yes," said I, faintly.
He sat down at my desk, and in a few minutes produced the following:
"Sir,—You grossly insulted a young lady, while under my protection, last evening. As a man of honor, I call upon you either for an ample apology, or for the usual satisfaction accorded in such cases. I send this by Lieutenant Eustace, who is authorized to act as my friend. Yours, etc., PETER SMITH.
"CAPTAIN ACHILLES BROWN."
Having signed this, with some misgivings, I inquired as to the character of this Captain Brown.
"I don't know much about him," said my friend; "but I presume he is a regular fireeater."
This was satisfactory—very.
"Suppose," said I, in a tremulous voice, "you erase the word 'ample' before 'apology.' I shall consider any apology sufficient."
"But I shall not," was the Lieutenant's emphatic reply.
There was no more to be said. He departed with his missive; and I was left in no very enviable frame of mind.
Two hours after, the Lieutenant returned in high spirits.
"Has he apologized?" I inquired, eagerly.
"Not a bit of it," was the reply. "He vows that he will shed the last drop of his blood first."
"What a sanguinary monster he must be!" was my internal reflection.
"The meeting is appointed for to-morrow morning, an hour before sunrise," resumed the Lieutenant. "It is to take place at Hoboken: weapons, pistols; distance, fifteen paces."
"Isn't that rather near?" I ventured to remark.
"Near? Of course, you want it near. You will be more likely to hit your man."
"And he will be more likely to hit me," I rejoined.
"Of course," was the careless reply. "You must take your chance of that."
I could not help wondering whether he would be so cool about it if he were the principal, and I the second. In fact, I have always observed that seconds are much more scrupulous about the honor of their principals than they are disposed to be about their own. I suppose it is human nature. I think it altogether likely that I should make a very fierce second.
"I suppose you are used to pistols?" remarked my friend.
Used to pistols! I remembered once having fired one as a boy to the imminent danger of my little sister's life. Since then I had not had one in my hands.
As I strolled out into the streets in an unhappy frame of mind, a newsboy thrust into my hand a daily paper which I mechanically bought. Glancing over the columns I observed that a boat was advertised as about to start that day for Havana. The hour of departure was four in the afternoon. A sudden thought struck me. Would it not be much better to embark for Cuba than remain behind to be shot—a result which the state of my nerves and my want of practice with the pistol rendered altogether probable.
With new-born alacrity I immediately repaired to the boat and demanded to see the agent. He informed me that the boat would positively start at the hour indicated.
I asked to see the list of passengers.
Running my eyes casually down the list my heart beat quickly as they fell upon the last name. Could it be possible that my dreaded opponent Captain Achilles Brown had secured passage! What could be his motive?
"When did this gentleman book his name as a passenger?" I inquired.
"Not half an hour since."
"Did he understand that the boat started today?"
"Yes; he made particular inquiries on that point."
"Will you describe him to me? Is he tall?"
"Yes, quite so."
"And has a black mustache?"
"Yes."
"A dark complexion, and wears a large cloak?"
"Precisely. You know him, then?"
"Very slightly," said I, carelessly. "By-the-way, I don't think I shall be able to get away for a week. I won't engage to-day."
"We would give you good accommodations."
"No doubt of that. On the whole, you needn't mention to Captain Brown that any body inquired for him."
My heart bounded with exultation as with some difficulty I realized that my opponent, whom I had dreaded so much, was about to leave the country from fear of encountering me.
What a joke that was! I laughed all the way home, though I endeavored to preserve my gravity. On the way I purchased a brace of pistols, which I ostentatiously displayed on reaching my boarding-place.
"To think you should risk your life for me," simpered the fair Sophronia.
Miss Sophronia," said I, with suitable fierceness, "no one shall with impunity insult a lady while under my protection."
During a portion of the afternoon I practiced shooting at a mark, and was never more lively than at the tea-table. Lieutenant Eustace, who was present, seemed considerably surprised at the change in my demeanor, and was evidently puzzled to account for it.
After tea I invited the company to witness my will, which I had drawn up for the sake of producing an impression. It proved quite a master-stroke. I noticed that Lieutenant Eustace treated me with increasing respect, while Sophronia repeated several times under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear, "Brave man!"
All this I enjoyed, and took the opportunity to discourse severely upon the sacredness of honor, in defense of which I asserted that any man ought to be willing to lay down his life.
In the course of the afternoon I had had the pleasure of witnessing the sailing of the Ariel, with Captain Brown on board. Whether this circumstance had any thing to do with inspiring in me these elevated sentiments, I leave the reader to judge.
The next morning at an early hour I proceeded to the field with my second.
Captain Achilles Brown was nowhere to be seen!
I professed a great deal of disappointment, and insisted on waiting three hours to allow him ample time to appear. Of course it was in vain. All, however, testified to the remarkable courage which I displayed under the circumstances, and tendered their congratulations. The affair even found its way into the papers, and I found myself all at once elevated into a hero. I could not walk Broadway without being furtively pointed out as the celebrated duelist. Among the ladies, particularly, I became an object of great attention—a circumstance that may well excite surprise when it is considered that my only claims to their regard lay in my having been implicated in an affair which the moral sense of the community professes to condemn.
Soon afterward I left my boarding-place to the great regret of the fair Sophronia. I afterward learned that, had I shown the white feather, it was arranged that Lieutenant Eustace should force me into a marriage with his cousin on pain of a duel with himself. The extraordinary show of courage which I exhibited imposed upon him to such an extent that he did not think it advisable to offer the alternative, lest I should accept the duel.
I have heard nothing of Captain Achilles Brown since the memorable day on which he did me the service to sail for Cuba. Had he possessed a little more courage, I shudder to think what might have been the result.