Chapter Forty One. Provoking a Duel
We were scarcely outside before we saw him for whom we were searching. He was standing at a short distance from the porch, conversing with a group of officers, among whom was the dandy already alluded to, and who passed under the appropriate appellation of “Beau Scott.” The latter was aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief, of whom he was also a relative.
I pointed Ringgold out to my companion.
“He in the civilian dress,” I said.
“Och! man, ye needn’t be so purticular in your idintification. That sarpint-look spakes for itself. Be my sowl! it’s an unwholesome look altogither. That fellow needn’t fear wather – the say’ll niver drown him. Now, look here, Geordy, boy,” continued Gallagher, facing towards me and speaking in a more earnest tone: “Follow my advice to the letther! First trid upon his toes, an’ see how he takes it. The fellow’s got corns; don’t ye see, he wears a tight boot? Give him a good scrouge; make him sing out. Ov course, he’ll ask you to apologise – he must – you won’t. Shurely that’ll do the bizness without farther ceremony? If it don’t, then, by Jabus! hit him a kick in the latter end.”
“No, Gallagher,” said I, disliking the programme, “it will never do.”
“Bad luck to it, an’ why not? You’re not going to back out, are ye? Think man! a villain who would murdher you! an’ maybe will some day, if you let him escape.”
“True – but – ”
“Bah! no buts. Move up, an’ let’s see what they’re talking about, anyhow. I’ll find ye a chance, or my name’s not Gallagher.”
Undetermined how to act, I walked after my companion, and joined the group of officers.
Of course, I had no thoughts of following Gallagher’s advice. I was in hopes that some turn in the conversation might give me the opportunity I desired, without proceeding to such rude extremes.
My hopes did not deceive me. Arens Ringgold seemed to tempt his fate, for I had scarcely entered among the crowd, before I found cause sufficient for my purpose.
“Talking of Indian beauties,” said he, “no one has been so successful among them as Scott here. He has been playing Don Giovanni ever since he came to the fort.”
“Oh,” exclaimed one of the newly arrived officers, “that does not surprise us. He has been a lady-killer ever since I knew him. The man who is irresistible among the belles of Saratoga, will surely find little difficulty in carrying the heart of an Indian maiden.”
“Don’t be so confident about that, Captain Roberts. Sometimes these forest damsels are very shy of us pale-faced lovers. Lieutenant Scott’s present sweetheart cost him a long siege before he could conquer her. Is it not so, lieutenant?”
“Nonsense,” replied the dandy with a conceited smirk.
“But she yielded at last?” said Roberts, turning interrogatively towards Scott.
The dandy made no reply, but his simpering smile was evidently intended to be taken in the affirmative.
“Oh yes,” rejoined Ringgold, “she yielded at last: and is now the ‘favourite,’ it is said.”
“Her name – her name?”
“Powell – Miss Powell.”
“What! That name is not Indian?”
“No, gentlemen; the lady is no savage, I assure you; she can play and sing, and read and write too – such pretty billets-doux. Is it not so, lieutenant?”
Before the latter could make reply, another spoke:
“Is not that the name of the young chief who has just been arrested?”
“True,” answered Ringgold; “it is the fellow’s name. I had forgotten to say that she is his sister.”
“What! the sister of Osceola?”
“Neither more nor less – half-blood like him too. Among the whites they are known by the name of Powell, since that was the cognomen of the worthy old gentleman who begot them. Osceola, which signifies ‘the Rising Sun,’ is the name by which he is known among the Seminoles; and her native appellation – ah, that is a very pretty name indeed.”
“What is it? Let us hear it; let us judge for ourselves.”
“Maümee.”
“Very pretty indeed!”
“Beautiful! If the damsel be only as sweet as her name, then Scott is a fortunate fellow.”
“Oh, she is a very wonder of beauty; eyes liquid and full of fiery love – long lashes: lips luscious as honeycombs; figure tall; bust full and firm; limbs like those of the Cyprian goddess; feet like Cinderella’s – in short, perfection.”
“Wonderful. Why, Scott, you are the luckiest mortal alive. But say, Ringgold! are you speaking in seriousness. Has he really conquered this Indian divinity? Honour bright —has he succeeded? You understand what I mean?”
“Most certainly,” was the prompt reply.
Up to this moment I had not interfered. The first words of the conversation had bound me like a spell, and I stood as if glued to the ground. My brain was giddy, and my heart felt as if the blood passing through it was molten lead. The bold enunciations had so staggered me, that it was some time before I could draw my breath; and more than one of the bystanders noticed the effect which the dialogue was producing on me.
After a little, I grew calmer, or rather more resolute. The very despair that had passed into my bosom had the effect of steeling my nerves; and just as Ringgold uttered the flippant affirmative, I was ready for him.
“Liar!” I exclaimed; and before the red could mount into his cheek, I gave it a slap with the back of my hand, that no doubt helped to heighten the colour.
“Nately done!” cried Gallagher; “there can be no mistake about the maynin of that.”
Nor was there. My antagonist accepted the act for what it was meant – a deadly insult. In such company, he could not do otherwise; and, muttering some indistinct threats, he walked away from the ground, attended by his especial friend, the lady-killer, and two or three others.
The incident, instead of gathering a crowd, had the contrary effect; it scattered the little group who had witnessed it; the officers retiring in-doors to discuss the motives, and speculate as as to when and where “the affair would come off.”
Gallagher and I also left the ground; and, closeted in my quarters, commenced preparing for the event.