Percival Keene

I quickened my pace, so as to gain rapidly upon them, and was soon but a few yards from the animal. I had no stick or weapon of any kind, but still I knew how to manage unruly cattle as sailors do when they were sent on board ship alive. Indeed I had more than once put it into practice myself; and although with a bull it was not a very easy matter, with a cow I felt certain that I could effect my purpose.

The animal appeared now determined to come to close quarters; and I therefore approached her until I was about a couple of feet from her flank, all ready for a spring, in case she should see me, and turn round. But she was too busy with the parties in front of her, and at last she made a run. The stout young man pushed the little man towards the cow, and then ran for it. The little one, in his attempt to recoil, fell on the turf, and the cow made at him. I sprang forward, and catching the horn of the animal farthest from me in my right hand, at the same time put my left knee on the horn nearest to me, threw all my weight upon it, so as to turn the animal’s nose up in the air, and seizing it by the nostrils with the other hand, I held her head in that position, which of course rendered the animal harmless. In that position the cow went over the prostrate man without doing him any injury, plunging and capering, so as to extricate herself from my weight. I remained clinging to her for about ten yards further, when I perceived the stout fellow ahead, who hallooed out, “Hold her tight! hold her tight!” but that I would no longer do, as it was fatiguing work; so, as a punishment for his cowardice, I let go the animal, springing clear off, and behind it, the cow galloping away as fast as she could down the lane, and the fellow screaming and running before as fast as he could.

Having thus rid myself of the cow and the coward, I turned back to where the other party had been left on the ground, and found him standing up, and looking at what was passing. “You’re not hurt, sir?” said I.

“No, thanks to you; but no thanks to that rascally clerk of mine, who wanted to shove me on the cow’s horns to save himself.”

“He has a run for it now, at all events;” replied I, laughing, “and I let the cow loose on purpose; for if I had held on, and used all my strength, I could have brought her down on her side and kept her down. Oh! there’s a break in the bank, and he has climbed up it, so he is safe for a good fright,” continued I; “and now we had better get away ourselves; for the animal may come back, and, although one can pin her in that way from behind, it is not to be done when she comes stem on to you.”

“Well, sir, I have heard of taking the bull by the horns as not being a very wise thing; but taking a cow by them has probably saved my life. I thank you.”

“We manage them that way on board ship,” replied I, laughing.

“You are a sailor, then, sir,” replied the little man. “Probably I have the pleasure of addressing Captain Keene?”

“That is my name,” replied I; “but here is the cow coming back, and the sooner we get to the gate the better. I’m not ashamed to run for it, and I suppose you are not either.” So saying, I took to my heels, followed by my new companion, and we very soon put the barred gate between us and our enemy.

“I will wish you good day now, sir,” said I; “I am going to the Hall.”

“I am also bound there, Captain Keene,” replied my companion, “and, with your permission, will accompany you. Egad, we may meet another cow,” said he, laughing, “and I prefer being in your company.”

He then informed me that he was the solicitor and agent of the Honourable Miss Delmar, and had been sent for about some new leases, and that his name was Warden. During our walk I found him a very cheerful, merry little man, and a very good companion.

On our arrival at the Hall, Mr Warden was informed that Miss Delmar was not able to receive him just then, as she was very busy with Lord de Versely, who was with her in her private room. I therefore remained with Mr Warden for about an hour, when Lord de Versely came down and joined us. He appeared to be in a remarkable gay humour, and shook me warmly by the hand when he came in.

“Now, Mr Warden, you are to go up and receive your instructions, and recollect, the sooner everything is executed the better.”

Mr Warden left the room, and I narrated to his lordship the adventure with the cow. Just as I had begun it, Colonel Delmar came in, and listened to my narration.

In about half an hour Mr Warden came down-stairs, and with a very smiling face.

“Well, Mr Warden,” said his lordship, “have you your instructions?”

“Yes, my lord and I assure you that I never shall execute any with so much pleasure. Has Captain Keene told you how he saved my life this morning?”

“No, he did not say that,” replied his lordship; “but he has told me about the cow, and your clerk putting you foremost in the breach.”

“She would have made a breach in me I expect, if it had not been for the captain,” replied Mr Warden; “and you may therefore believe me, my lord, when I say that I shall obey my instructions with pleasure. I wish you good morning. Good morning, Captain Keene. Colonel, your most obedient.” So saying, Mr Warden left the room. I was very much struck with Mr Warden’s observation, that he would execute his instructions with so much pleasure; and when I turned round, I perceived that Colonel Delmar was looking very grave; but the first dinner bell rang, and we all went to our rooms to dress. Well, thought I, as I was dressing myself, I presume the old lady has left me a thousand or two in her will. I cared little about that, and then I dismissed the subject from my thoughts; but as I sat by Miss Delmar after dinner, I could not help thinking that her manner towards me was more affectionate than it had been before; the hauteur with which her civility and kindness had hitherto been blended appeared to have been thrown aside; I presumed that Lord de Versely had been speaking in my favour, and felt grateful to him for his kindness. Perhaps, thought I, he has revealed to her the secret of my birth, and she now considers me as a relation; perhaps she may have left me more than I supposed. However, it is of little consequence.

Chapter Thirty Six

The next day, being the first of September, we were all very busy, and we continued to shoot every day for a week, when I thought it time to return to Portsmouth. I mentioned my intentions to Lord de Versely, and was pressed to stay until the following Saturday, it being then Tuesday. On Wednesday Mr Warden made his appearance, attended by his clerk, who carried a bag of papers. He remained half an hour and then went home; but, before he went, he asked me to dine with him on the following day, and I consented.

After we returned from shooting the next day, I changed my clothes, and, leaving word with the butler that I dined out, I took my way across the fields. I was walking very quietly on the grass, by the side of a high hedge, when I perceived two other men on the opposite side; one I recognised as Colonel Delmar; the other I could not at first make out; but, as I approached them, I perceived that the colonel was talking with the clerk of Mr Warden. I passed them without notice, for they were very earnestly engaged in conversation. What they said, I did not know; but I thought it singular that so proud a person as Colonel Delmar should be so engaged with an inferior; a little reflection, however made me consider that there was nothing very surprising in Colonel Delmar’s entering into conversation with a man in the country. They might be talking about the game, or a hundred other things.

I had a very friendly dinner with Mr Warden, who, after dinner, gave me a hint that I should not be the worse for the papers signed the day before. He did not however, say anything positive, as it would have been a breach of trust. When I spoke of my soon being afloat again, he said that he would not fail to watch over my interests at the Hall during my absence, and he requested that I would write to him, and consider him as my sincere friend. “Of course, my dear Captain Keene, I do not expect that you will at present give me your entire confidence; but I trust you will when you know me, and at all events that you will not fail to do so when my advice may be of use to you. I have a debt of obligation to pay, and I shall be most happy to do so, if it is in my power!” I thanked Mr Warden for his kind offers, and promised to avail myself of them, and we parted great friends.

The next day, Friday, we had a large addition to our shooting party. I had not been out more than an hour, when, as I was standing near Lord de Versely, who was re-loading his gun, a report, close to us, was heard, and I fell down close to his feet, apparently dead. A keeper, who was with us, ran to see who had discharged the gun, and found that it was Colonel Delmar, who now ran up to us, stating, in hurried terms, to Lord de Versely, that his gun had gone off accidentally as he was putting on a copper cap, and bitterly lamenting the circumstance. Lord de Versely was at the time kneeling down by my side (as I was afterwards informed), showing the greatest anxiety and grief. My hat had been taken off; it was full of blood and the back of my head was much torn with the shot. I remained insensible, although breathing heavily; a gate was taken off its hinges, and I was laid upon it, and carried to the Hall.

Before the surgeon had arrived, I had recovered my senses. On examination, I had had a very narrow escape; the better part of the charge of shot had entered the back part of my head, but fortunately not any had penetrated through the skull. After a tedious hour, employed in extracting this load, my head was bound up, and I was made comfortable in my bed. I must say that Lord de Versely and Colonel Delmar vied with each other in their attentions to me; the latter constantly accusing himself as the author of the mischief, and watching by my bed the major part of the day.

This accident delayed my departure, and it was not until three weeks afterwards, that I was sufficiently recovered to leave my room. In the meantime, Lord de Versely, assured that I was out of danger, went back to London. The colonel, however, remained. His kindness and attention had given me great pleasure, and we had become very intimate. He had offered to go with me to Portsmouth, and I had expressed the pleasure I should have in his company. The Honourable Miss Delmar had shown the greatest feeling and anxiety for me during my illness; so had Mr Warden, who often called to see me; in fact, I found myself so surrounded by well-wishers and friends, that I hardly regretted my accident.

At the end of the fifth week, I was sufficiently recovered to be able to return to Portsmouth, where I was now very anxious to arrive, as the Circe had been launched and had already received her lower masts. I took my leave of Miss Delmar, who requested my early return to Madeline Hall, and, accompanied by Colonel Delmar, was once more established at Billett’s Hotel.

Bob Cross was the first who made his appearance; for I had written to him to acquaint him with my intended return. He had heard of my narrow escape, as it had been put into the newspaper; his information was trifling, but to the purpose. All was right as to the frigate: she sat on the water like a duck; the rigging was far advanced, and the officers seemed of the right sort. All was right, also, as to his matrimonial affairs; his wife was every thing he wished; the old gentleman was as sweet as molasses, and he had laid the keel of a young Cross. We then entered upon business, and I gave him some directions as to the rigging, and he left me.

The next morning, the first lieutenant called to pay his respects, and his appearance and conversation proved him to be what he had been recommended as, a good seaman and a brave man. I went with him to the dockyard to look at the frigate in the basin, and afterwards on board the hulk to see the other officers and the men, who had been entered. I had every reason to be satisfied, and I then returned to the hotel, to dine with Colonel Delmar. This officer appeared to have taken a strong interest in me, and ever since the accident of his gun going off, which had so nearly been fatal to me, was unbounded in his professions of regard. I must say, that a more gentleman-like or more amusing companion I never met with. A great intimacy was established between us; he was constantly making me presents of value, which I would fain have prevented his doing; occasionally, when we were alone, he would hint something about my family and parentage; but this was a subject upon which I was invariably silent, and I immediately changed the conversation; once only I replied, that my father and mother were both dead.

On my arrival at Portsmouth, I found several letters waiting for me, and among them two or three from my mother, who had seen the report in the newspaper of the escape that I had had, and, of course, was excessively anxious to hear from my own hand how I was. Had I thought that it would have come to her knowledge, I certainly should have written to my grandmother from Madeline Hall; but I imagined that she knew nothing about it, until my return to Portsmouth, when her anxious letters proved the contrary; for in her anxiety she had quite forgotten her promise that all communication should be through my grandmother.

As soon as I had read the letters I locked them up in my desk, and hastened to reply to them, assuring my mother of my perfect restoration to health, and cautioned her not to break through the agreement we had made for the future, pointing out to her that had these letters been forwarded to Madeline Hall, her handwriting would have been recognised. I said, in conclusion, “I must say, my dear mother, that I now heartily repent that we should have resorted to the step we have done in pretending that you are dead. That some advantage was gained by it at the time, I really believe; but I have a feeling that eventually some mischief may occur from it. I hope I may be mistaken; but if I am not, it will only be the punishment which I deserve for an act of duplicity which I have repented of ever since.”

Chapter Thirty Seven

My time was now fully employed during the day in fitting out the frigate; but in the evening I generally dined out at the admiral’s or at the officers’ mess. I received several invitations from the marine mess to dine with them; but I always contrived to be engaged, for I was fearful that something might be said relative to my putative father, Ben, which might hurt my pride. Not that I had any reason to suppose that any of the officers would have been guilty of any such rudeness; but as a great deal of wine was drank when company were at the mess, and there were many young men there, it was possible that, having the knowledge, they might in their cups say something which they never would have done when they were sober. The colonel very often dined there, and constantly asked me why I refused. My reply was certainly not the truth, for I said that I was not very partial to marine officers.

We had been three weeks at Portsmouth when Colonel Delmar received a letter from a friend of his, a Major Stapleton, which he read aloud to me at breakfast. It stated that the major would be down at Portsmouth the next day, and requested the colonel to procure him good rooms. “He is an excellent fellow, the major,” continued the colonel, “and will be a great addition to our society. I will prevail upon him to stay a week or ten days.”

On my return from the dock-yard on the following day, I found the colonel and Major Stapleton in our sitting-room, and was introduced to him. He was a small, neatly-made man, with handsome features, very well dressed, and of very fashionable appearance. Still there was something in his eye which did not please me; it was unsettled and wandering, and never fixed upon you for more than a second. He met me with great warmth and empressement, shook me by the hand, and declared what pleasure he had in making my acquaintance. We sat down to dinner, and were very merry.

The major had been with us a week, when we had a large party to dinner. The wine was passed freely, and we all were more or less elated. The major appeared particularly so, and very much inclined to be quarrelsome, and as he constantly addressed himself to me, I was very cautious in what I said, as I perceived that he was in the humour to take offence at anything. Several very offensive remarks were made by him, as if to pick a quarrel between us, but I parried them as well as I could, and I was making an observation, when the major started up, and told me that what I said was a lie, and that I was a scoundrel for having said so.

Now, as my observation was to my first lieutenant, and was in reference to the hold of the frigate, there could be no cause for this insult, and it could only be ascribed to his being in a state of intoxication. My reply was very cool and quiet: “Major, you do not know what you are saying; but we will talk about it to-morrow morning.” I then rose and went to my bed-room, and the whole party broke up immediately.

Shortly afterwards, Colonel Delmar came into my room, and blaming the major very much for his conduct, ascribed it to intoxication and said that he would make him send a proper apology, which he had no doubt the next morning, when the major was informed of what he had done, he would be most anxious to offer himself.

I replied, that I presumed so; and he quitted my room. Indeed, so fully was I convinced of this in my own mind, that I gave it no further thought, and was soon fast asleep, and did not wake until Colonel Delmar entered my room at a late hour.

“Well, colonel,” said I.

“My dear Keene,” said he, “I have been to the major, and, to my surprise, when I stated to him what had passed at the table last night, his reply was, that he perfectly remembered all about it and that he would not retract what he had said. I remonstrated with him, but in vain. He says, that it is cowardly to retract, and that he will never make an apology.”

“Then,” replied I, “there is but one step for me to take.”

“As our friend, I told him so, and pressed him very hard to acknowledge his error, but he continued steadfast in his refusal. I then took upon myself to say that I was there as your friend, and begged he would name an officer to whom I might address myself. Did I not right, my dear Keene?”

“Certainly; and I am very much obliged to you,” replied I, putting on my dressing-gown.

“He must be mad, utterly and positively mad!” exclaimed Colonel Delmar; “I regret very much that he has ever come here. I know that some years ago, when he was younger, he fought two or three duels rather than make an apology; but in this instance it was so unprovoked, and I had hoped that he had got over all that nonsense and obstinacy. Are you a good shot, Keene? because he is a notorious one.”

“I can hit my man, colonel; it is true that I have only fought one duel in my life, and would make a great sacrifice rather than fight another; but no alternative is left me in this case; and if blood is shed, it must be on the head of him who provoked it.”

“Very true,” replied Colonel Delmar, biting his lip; “I only hope you will be successful.”

“I have no particular animosity against Major Stapleton,” replied I; “but as he is such a good shot, I shall in my own defence take good aim at him. At all events, I have sufficient acquaintance with fire-arms, and have passed through too many bullets not to be cool and collected under fire, and I therefore consider myself quite a match for the major. Now, colonel, if you will order the breakfast, I will be down in ten minutes or a quarter of an hour.”

As the colonel was going out of the room, his servant knocked at the door, and said that Captain Green wished to speak to him on particular business; I therefore did not hurry myself, but proceeded quietly with my toilet, as I was well aware what the particular business was, and that the conference might last some time. On my descending into the sitting-room I found the colonel alone.

“Well, Keene,” said he, “everything is arranged, for the major is deaf to all expostulation. You are to meet this evening, and, to avoid interference, Captain Green and I have agreed to say that the major has apologised, and all is made up.” Of course I had no objection to make to that, and we parted for the present, I walking to the dock-yard, and he remaining at the hotel to write letters.

The reader may think that I took matters very coolly; but the fact was, I had no preparations to make in case of accident, having no wife or family, and as to any other preparations at such a time, I considered them as mockery. I knew that I was about to do what was wrong—to offend my Creator—and knowing that, and sinning with my eyes open, much as I regretted that I was compelled to do so, I was still resolved upon doing it. How great may be the culpability in such cases when you are called upon to sacrifice all your worldly interests, and to be despised among men, or run the risk of involuntarily taking another person’s life, I could not pretend to judge; but one thing was certain, that, however it may be judged in the next world, in this, among soldiers and sailors, it will always be considered as venial. I did, therefore, what most in my profession would have done under the same circumstances. I drove it from my thoughts as much as possible, until the time came to decide my fate. I considered that I must be judged by the tenor of my whole life, and that repentance, under chance of death, was of about the same value as death-bed repentance.

As soon as the dock-yard men were mustered out, I returned to the hotel, and sat down to dinner with the colonel. We had scarcely finished a bottle of claret when it was time to be off. We walked out of the town, to the place appointed, where I found my adversary and his second. The ground was marked out by the colonel, and, when I took my station, I found that the setting sun was in my eyes. I pointed it out to him, and requested my position might be changed. The other second heard me do so, and very handsomely agreed that I was entitled to what I asked, and the colonel immediately apologised for his remissness to my interests. The ground was then marked out in another direction, and the colonel took me to my place, where I observed that one of the white-washed posts was exactly behind me, making me a sure mark for my antagonist. “I am not used to these things, Keene,” replied Colonel Delmar, “and I make strange mistakes.” I then pointed out a direction which would be fair for both parties. The pistols were then loaded, and put into our hands. We fired at the signal. I felt that I was hit, but my adversary fell. I was paralysed; and although I remained on my feet, I could not move. Captain Green and the colonel went up to where my adversary lay: the ball had passed through his chest.

“He is dead,” said Captain Green—“quite dead.”

“Yes,” replied Colonel Delmar. “My dear Keene, I congratulate you: you have killed the greatest scoundrel that ever disgraced his Majesty’s uniform.”

“Colonel Delmar,” replied Captain Green, “the observation might well be spared: our errors and our follies die with us.”

“Very true, Captain Green,” replied I. “I can only express my surprise that the colonel should have introduced to me a person whose memory he now so bitterly assails.” Somehow or another, from the commencement of the duel, Colonel Delmar’s conduct had excited my suspicions, and a hundred things crowded into my memory, which appeared as if illumined like a flash of lightning. I came suddenly to the conviction that he was my enemy, and not my friend. But I was bleeding fast: some marines, who were passing, were summoned, and the body of Major Stapleton was carried away by one party, while I was committed to another, and taken back to the hotel. The surgeon was sent for, and my wound was not dangerous. The ball had gone deep into my thigh, but had missed any vessel of magnitude. It was extracted, and I was left quiet in bed. Colonel Delmar came up to me as before, but I received his professions with great coolness. I told him that I thought it would be prudent of him to disappear until the affair had blown over; but he declared to me that he would remain with me at every risk. Shortly afterwards, Captain Green came into my room, and said, “I’m sure, Captain Keene, you will be glad to hear that Major Stapleton is not dead. He had swooned, and is now come to, and the doctor thinks favourably of him.”