Part 18 (2/2)

”Governor-your response?”

”No, sir. I merely stated that he had stood trial as an alleged man of the road. As he certainly did, several times.”

”Not quite as d.a.m.ning as you seem to believe, Mr. Wentworth,” said Halloran. ”Is that interpretation suitable to you?”

”Not at all. My dear father was an exile, by his own choice. I still demand satisfaction.”

Halloran sighed. ”So be it.” He turned to the governor. ”Will you withdraw and apologize, Excellency?”

”No, sir, I am a prisoner to the truth. I cannot undo it.”

”In that case, gentlemen, there is nothing for it but to continue. I am the sole policeman of the rules. You will receive three instructions: to take your marks; get ready, which means have your weapons c.o.c.ked; and fire. Only one shot each will be permitted. If either, or both, of the firers is clearly hit, then the matter is concluded. So, too, if both shots fail to find their mark, I will consider the honor of both contestants to be satisfied. Your seconds may now approach to examine the pistols and observe their loading. The weapons come from a neutral source. I know you brought your own, Mr. Wentworth, but it will not do, sir.”

At this, the lawyer shook his head angrily.

Night had not yet pa.s.sed and Halloran still needed the flickering torch as he removed the pair of pistols from their plush-lined case. They were beautiful examples of the gunsmith's art, coldly gleaming and ornately decorated. Crotty guessed they were Whitworths. Edward Hall had no idea.

The referee now addressed the seconds: ”I can swear to the flints, the touch-holes are clear, the powder dry.”

After examination, the seconds handed back the weapons. Halloran poured measures of powder into each barrel and primed the pans. Before dealing with the powder, the party had stepped well away from the open flame, but the dimness did not hinder Halloran's surprising dexterity.

In seconds he seemed to juggle b.a.l.l.s, wadding and ramrod into the muzzles. Crotty and Hall took the loaded guns and handed them to their princ.i.p.als before prudently retiring to the safety of the sidelines with Halloran and Dr. Owens.

The referee's first order, ”At your marks, gentlemen,” was a formality; they were already at the twenty-four paces that marked the boundaries of the killing field. They faced each other, coatless, and turned sideways to offer smaller targets.

Ralph Darling had said he did not want the fight, but it must go on. He was not afraid and was confident of the outcome. In the boat, he had remarked to Crotty that he did not yet intend to meet poor little Edward. The simple truth was that his cla.s.s's rigid code of honor forced the contest upon him. No gentleman could refuse. All he could do was make every effort to ensure victory.

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AS THE PATTERER listened to the story unfold, he reflected that it was all so stupid, yet oddly necessary. He understood why officers led a.s.saults in full uniform-as examples. He knew why Nelson had stood in the face of fatal sniper fire at Trafalgar, invitingly displaying glittering stars of the Orders of the Crescent, St. Ferdinand, St. Joachim and the Bath. Men should always show cool resolve. Wellington had calmly ignored small-arms and cannon shot at Waterloo, and General Picton had allowed himself only the protection of a top hat and an umbrella before his head was taken off by a cannonball.

Some had criticized Wellington for allowing Maitland's Guards to conceal themselves behind a slope before attacking on Old Nosey's famous order, ”Get them up, Maitland!” (which had been turned by the penny prints into the more commonly known version, ”Up, Guards, and at 'em!”).

In the matter of the recent duel, Nicodemus Dunne could not help but feel that if there were ever a reason for one, it was editor Hall writing of Governor Darling's ”tyranny, surpa.s.sed only by that of the Great Moghul, the Czar of Muscovy and the Emperor of China.”

The patterer jerked his attention back to the general confession ...

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AT THE SHOUT of ”Make ready!”, the rivals lifted their heavy pistols, which strained their muscles with every pa.s.sing second.

But ”Fire” did not come.

As William Charles Wentworth raised his weapon, a sudden gust of wind lifted his hanging cravat, flapping it across his arm. Unnerved, he pulled the trigger in a reflex action. Dense smoke coughed from the pan and the barrel. Once the smoke blew away and the ringing of the shot faded, there was a hush, but not a fearful one-more one of embarra.s.sment. It seemed the rogue shot had gone wild. Darling stood unharmed.

”It was an accident,” gasped Wentworth finally, appealing to his opponent, who still stood at the ready.

”No doubt,” said Halloran. ”But the rules are clear. Although uncalled for, you have had your shot. Now it is the governor's turn.”

At Darling's shrug of doubt, he added, ”You must, sir.”

Still the governor held his fire.

”You must obey my call, sir,” repeated the referee.

Darling nodded. He saw that his flint was at full c.o.c.k of the dog's-head as he focused his eye along the barrel at the lawyer's s.h.i.+rt. He made only a minor adjustment, then the muzzle was true at the target. He inhaled deeply, let out half the breath, held it, then squeezed the trigger.

Wentworth staggered, but only in reaction to the explosion. He, too, had not taken a ball.

”I am satisfied, gentlemen,” said Halloran. ”Are you?”

Both men nodded, Wentworth rather shakily.

”Then let us depart.”

Wentworth's bravado quickly returned. He soon seemed to regard his failure as bad luck, Darling's as bad aim. He was heard to mutter, ”Not that much better a shot than that d.a.m.ned Dumaresq!”

But the governor did not take the bait. He simply smiled tightly.

With no further discussion, the parties returned to the waiting boats and were rowed back to Sydney Cove. All wanted the matter dead and buried. They would be hard put to explain why they had been involved in a forbidden enterprise that may have killed the king's representative.

Even being being that very representative wouldn't help. that very representative wouldn't help.

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THE PATTERER, OF course, was not able to piece together the whole strange story. He hadn't been given all the pieces. Dr. Halloran was certainly reticent about some details of the duel. As he spoke, he jiggled in his pocket two small spheres of lead and considered that at least one good thing-perhaps two lives-had come out of his transportation. During the long voyage out, he had instructed shackled s.h.i.+pmates in matters that required his learning. In turn, several had tutored him in their skills as ”fingersmiths,” who picked pockets; ”fogle-hunters,” who worked miracles lifting handkerchiefs; and ”bung-divers,” who purloined purses.

On the recent field of honor it had been child's play for Halloran to palm the ball in the shuffle each time he feigned loading the pistol. He rea.s.sured his conscience that he had not lied at any stage. Did not the Book of Common Prayer Book of Common Prayer record rewards to ”he who hath used no deceit in his tongue”? He didn't recall anything at all in there about deceit with one's fingers. record rewards to ”he who hath used no deceit in his tongue”? He didn't recall anything at all in there about deceit with one's fingers.

But the patterer could not understand why the governor had listened to the others tell the tale of this rather shameful incident with such an uncharacteristic smile.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE.

They [the natives] are the carriers of news and fish; the gossips of the town; the loungers on the quay.

They know everybody; and understand the nature of everybody's business.

-Judge Barron Field, Geographical Memoirs on New South Wales (1825, reprinted from the London Magazine)

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