XX
Of the Meeting in the Woods
I suppose that I was very quiet and reflective during that walk home from church, for more than once Mistress Rose Lisle rallied me on my silence. And indeed I had cause for reflection, for I knew that what had passed between me and Dennis Watson meant serious business. I was not the man to draw back when he spoke of meeting to settle our difference, for I had no fear either of him or of death. But I do not think any man, however brave he may be, can choose but think seriously when he is about to fight a duel. There he is with a very great chance of being shot, and more chance, I suppose, than in a pitched battle. Now, if I were to be shot and killed it would be a very unpleasant thing in more senses than one. For the women would be left defenceless and the farm would be without a master, and everything would be at sixes and sevens, to say nothing of the grief that would result. However, what must be must be, and it was perhaps as well that the old quarrel had broken out again sooner than later. I knew right well that Dennis Watson and myself could never be other than enemies, and when there is a feeling like that betwixt two men, bloodshed is certain to result. So when I had come to that conclusion, I strove to put the matter from me and to talk and think of other things. But in spite of my endeavours I could not quite keep the matter out of my mind, and presently I found myself wishing that Jack Drumbleforth were at home so that I could ask his advice. For Jack was skilled in the conduct of all these sort of matters and would have been sure to give me wise counsel.
I was not, however, to go quite without an adviser, for when we reached home we found Ben Tuckett seated in the parlour, he having walked over the hill from Pontefract to pay his usual Sunday visit to Lucy. I was very glad to see honest Ben, and determined to confide in him. Yet I would much rather have seen Jack’s face, for Ben, though a true friend and a trusty, was very fond of preserving his own skin and other people’s too, and hated the sight of pistol or sword. Nevertheless, I determined to press him into service on this occasion.
After dinner I got Ben out of the house on pretence of wishing to show him a new cow which I had purchased the previous day at Doncaster. Ben was somewhat slow in responding to my invitation, for it was a bitter cold day outside, and the fire in my mother’s parlour looked very inviting. Moreover, there were some fine apples and walnuts on the table, and Lucy had picked out a remarkably large pear for Ben to try his teeth on, so that he gazed longingly around him as I led him forth, and shivered when we turned into the fold.
“Come, Ben,” I said, “you can surely stand ten minutes of cold weather. You did not notice the cold, I warrant, as you came along this morning!”
“No,” said he; “for then, Will, I was coming into Paradise, but now I am going away from it. Did you never notice that the schoolboy goes slowly to school and quickly from it? Likewise that a horse comes home from market faster than it goes? Show me this wonderful cow, Will, and let us go back to the fire and the girls.”
“Never mind the cow,” I said, “it is not worth seeing. Come in here, Ben, into the granary. It is warm enough here for anything. You see, I have something to tell you and could not tell it before the women.”
“Oh,” said he, “now I see what you would have. Well, out with it, Will, for your granary is, after all, but a draughty place.”
“Ben,” I said, “what would you say if I told you I was going to fight a duel?”
“Why, I should say more fool you,” answered Ben.
“That is just what I thought. Well, I am going to fight a duel.”
“Then I cannot say anything less, Will. A duel! Well, I had a better opinion of you than that.”
“Do you think I want to fight, man? Not I, indeed; but there are times when a man is forced to fight.”
“I do not believe it,” said he. “For, look you, Will, if a man wanted to fight me, I should tell him that I valued my life too dearly to expose it in that mad fashion. For life and liberty I would fight hard enow, but I would not put myself within twelve yards of another man’s pistol for him to shoot at in cold blood. That I call rank folly.”
“Well, so it may be, Ben, but you would not have me a coward?”
“I know thee, Will, for as brave a lad as ever stepped, but thou wouldst not wax braver in my estimation by fighting a hundred duels.”
“This one, however, I must fight, Ben. There is no question about it.”
“And with what other fool art thou going to fight, Will?”
“With Dennis Watson.”
Ben nodded his head significantly.
“Oh,” said he, “so that old sore is reopened, is it? The sleeping dogs will not lie, eh, Will?”
“They might have slept forever if it had rested with me, lad. And yet perhaps not. So far as I can see it is impossible for us Dales and Watsons to be at aught but enmity. Do you remember, Ben, that occasion when Dennis and I fought behind the high wall in the schoolyard?”
“Yea, very well.”
“After I had fairly beaten him he came up to me and told me that he hated me, and always should hate me, and would cause me such trouble as would make me wish that I had never been born. So that you see, Ben, hatred like that is not like to die out.”
“Lads,” replied Ben, “will say aught. You should have fallen upon him and given him another thrashing for his naughty speech. But this present disagreement—how came it about?”
“In this wise. It would seem that Dennis Watson gave Lucy and Mistress Rose a lift from the market on Saturday evening, and I was very grieved on account of that, and did chide Lucy very sharply therefor, as indeed I had a right to, for she is not thy wife yet, Master Benjamin.”
“Go on, lad, go on. You were always masterful over your womenkind.”
“Well, then, up springs Mistress Rose and flouts me most unmercifully, so that I had never a word to say. Yea, and looked at me, Ben, like a queen, so that I was quite ashamed of myself, saying that I was unkind to Lucy, and I know not what.”
“I am glad she hath such a spirit,” said Ben.
“Then this morning we went our ways to church, and there was this Watson in fine clothes like a jay, and when we came out he must be bowing and smiling to the two maidens, until I cut it short by telling him that I supposed my sister had already thanked him for his service, and therefore there was no need to say more. And at that he asks if I am for enmity or friendship, or something to that effect, to which I replied that there could never be aught but enmity between us. So then he said that we had best settle our difference, and if I would meet him in Went Wood tomorrow at sunrise, we would settle it. And now, Ben, you know all about it.”
“And a poor tale it is,” said Ben. “Why should you reply that there must always be enmity between you?”
“Because his father murdered mine.”
“You think so, Will, but you do not know it. But even if Rupert did slay your father, what had Dennis to do with that?”
“He is a Watson.”
“Pooh! Am I to be blamed for all the vagaries that Englishmen are now carrying on because I am of the nation too? You are wrong, Will. ’Tis better to be at peace than at enmity. Again, why did you chide Lucy? Did Dennis do anything but a neighbourly act in giving the maidens a lift? Why, ’twas snowing heavy that night!”
“Lucy had no business to accept a favour from him,” I said.
“Why, man, that is, to my mind, pure folly,” said Ben. “However, we will not argue the point. Only, I should not like to be hated by thee, Will, for thou art a good hater. Well, can we go back to the fire now?”
“Not till I have told you what I want, Ben. You must sleep here tonight and go with me in the morning. You can do that at least for me, whether you think me right or wrong.”
“Very well,” he said; and we went towards the house again, but had not crossed the fold when I caught sight of a lad standing at the gate with a paper in his hand. He came over when he saw us and gave me the paper, saying that Master Dennis Watson had sent it.
“Let us see what he has to say,” I said, turning away with Ben and breaking the seal. “Listen, Ben.
“ ‘If William Dale is in the same mind that he was in this morning, let him bring a friend with him to meet Dennis Watson and his friend at the old sheepfold in Went Vale tomorrow morning at eight of the clock.’
“You see, Ben,” I said, “he is not minded to let things rest. So now we must fight. Tell your master,” I continued, turning to the boy, “that I will do what he wishes.”
“God’s mercy!” said Ben, sighing deeply. “What a state of things is this, where men grown do act like children! Well, I will stand by thee to the end, Will, and if you fall I will protect the women. Alas! you had much better have gone to the wars, for there you would have had some chance. And now let us inside to the fire.”
During the rest of that day I was very restless and unsettled in my demeanour, and I suppose that Rose Lisle must have noticed it, for she kept looking at me in a strange way. I could neither talk nor eat, but wandered about from parlour to kitchen and in and out of the house, so that my mother and Lucy both spoke of my restlessness. And this was from no fear on my part, but because I wanted the time to pass and the affair to be over.
Late that night in my own chamber I cleaned my pistol and made ready my powder and shot, placing them in readiness for next morning. Somehow, the sight and handling of them restored my calmness, and presently I went to bed and slept as soundly as was usual with me. And when I woke the gray light was struggling through the window, whereupon I rose and woke Ben, and finding that it was nearly time for our meeting, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and set forth across the snow to the woods. Now that the time was at hand I felt as cool and unconcerned as ever I did in all my life; but poor Ben, who neither liked the business we were on nor leaving his warm bed for the frosty morning, was woebegone and miserable, and did shiver and tremble so that I had to give him my arm.
“Why, Ben,” said I, “this is the wrong way about. It is you who ought to support me, not I you. You might be going to be shot at yourself, man.”
“It is all very well to talk, Will, but I had rather be shot at myself than see another man shot at. Fancy the suspense while you take aim at one another! Whew! it makes me run cold to think of it!”
“Then do not think of it. And, prithee, pluck up some courage, for see, here they are, and I would not that either of us should show any signs of fright.”
“Who is it that Dennis hath brought with him?” said Ben, as we stepped into the enclosure. “Is it anyone we know?”
“It is Tom Gascoyne,” I said. “Ah! that is another man I like not. Birds of a feather are these two, Ben. But see, here is Tom coming towards us. Go you to meet him, Ben, and settle your plans quickly. Let us have no tarrying, so that the thing may be over and done with.”
“Alas!” groaned Ben, and went to meet Gascoyne, while I stayed behind watching them. They met, conversed a moment, examined and loaded the pistols, and then fell to talking again. Presently I saw Ben exhibit decided signs of dissent, shaking his head vehemently at what the other said, and growing so decided in his non-agreement that he came away to speak to me.
“What think you, Will?” said he. “They want you to face each other at fifteen paces, which is reasonable enough, but they also want you to fire in turn, the first turn to be tossed for. Why, ’tis murder, say I!”
“Nonsense, man,” said I. “Let them have their own way about it. I have as good a chance of winning the toss as Watson hath.”
“ ’Tis naught but murder!” grumbled Ben. “I wish I had set the magistrates on you.”
But he went back, and presently he and Gascoyne took the best of three tosses, and then Ben, with a lugubrious face, came to say that Dennis was to have the first shot.
“And they say he shoots well with the pistol,” sighed Ben. “Heaven turn the bullet from thee, Will! You are to stand here. Oh, that I had never come into this murderous business!”
“Come, Ben, be a man. I do not think he will hit me. See, Gascoyne calls thee.”
So there I stood, a clear mark against the snow-covered trees, and Dennis Watson stood fifteen paces away, his pistol hanging down by his side. Somehow I had no fear that he would hit me. I only felt curious to know what would happen.
“Gentlemen,” said Tom Gascoyne, “are you ready? Then, when I say ‘Fire,’ you, Dennis, will raise your piece and fire instantly.”
“There must be no taking aim,” groaned Ben. “It were murder if he took aim.”
“There must be no taking aim,” said Gascoyne. “The pistol must be lifted and fired at the word. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I called. “Quite ready.”
I looked straight at Dennis Watson as I spoke, and saw his eyes staring directly at mine.
“One—two—three,” said Gascoyne slowly and clearly.
But ere he could say the fatal word, someone cried, “Stop!” in a voice that made us all start and turn. And there we stood fixed and motionless, looking at Rose Lisle as she burst into the clearing, her face whiter than the snow, and her large eyes full of horror at the sight before her.