“But, my hearties,” he said, when he had been silent for a considerable time, “will you go ashore, or remain with us? This is the schooner for any man of spirit; by G—d! I should’nt leave this ere craft if they would give me the finest palace to-morrow. Here we lead the lives of men—ay, tough brave men—ay, no lubberly coxcomb to make us jump about, or talk to us in oaths, by G—d, no. Every man here is a man; he has only to observe discipline, that’s all, no mistake there, my boys; overboard with any one who does’nt keep the rules—ay, this is the craft, my hearties. But what is the matter there?” as he said this, he pointed towards the bows of the vessel, where three men were standing, and seemed to be objects of attraction to all the other pirates, for the eyes of the whole crew were turned towards them. “Ah! I see,” observed Jim Splice, “it is my two shipmates of this morning, that are going to fight it out. That’s a bad business: we never see things of this sort on board this here craft; two men never claim the share of a dead comrade.”
It was, as Splice had justly remarked, the two men, who had claimed the portion of the departed Francis, under the pretence of being his friends. The other person, who was standing by them, was the officer of the watch, whose duty it was to see the order, which the captain had given in the morning, carried into effect. As soon as it was six o’clock, he had proceeded forwards, and reminded the parties that the time for the duel had arrived. He found the two men, who were about to join in deadly fight, drinking with their comrades, apparently thoughtless of the bloody deed which they were now bound, by the order of the captain, to execute. One of them, however, did not seem as gay as usual, although he made strong efforts to conceal the thoughtfulness which now and then shewed itself in his dull and uneasy manner. It might be imagined that some serious thoughts of parent or child were forcing themselves on his unwilling memory; or, perhaps, remorse for some deed that was horrible even to his piratical conscience was at that moment haunting him.
When the officer had reminded the two men that the hour was come, they proceeded with him to the bows of the schooner.
The officer placed himself by the combatants with the evident purpose of being a witness, or, rather, the witness, to the deed.
The two men, who were to fight, proceeded in the mean time to prepare for the combat. They undid each his sash, and folded it carefully round his left arm, examined the edges of their poniards, and placed themselves in attitude, with the left arm raised, as if supporting a shield. This was done with the most astonishing coolness, not a word was spoken between the antagonists, not a malignant or malicious glance escaped from either the one or the other, but the features of the two men that faced each other were locked in that grave fierceness which is too deep to be expressed by changes of the countenance.
Having completed their preparations, the intended combatants stood for a time inactive, each apparently expecting the assault of the other, and displaying in their manly attitude the muscular fulness, bold glance, and resolute eye, which we admire in the statues of the ancient gladiators that art has bequeathed to our contemplation. They seemed by no means eager to assail each other; they evinced not the impetuosity of men who rush on each other in the out-burst of their rage: they seemed to be about to do something which they were, indeed, obliged to perform, but from which their natures revolted; their blood was too cold for the deed; the small portion of a dead comrade was too little to fire their spirits and spur them headlong on each other. Still they were obliged to fight. When both had stood, however, in this manner for a long time, the one who in the morning had first claimed to be Francis’s friend, suddenly rushed on his antagonist, and raising his poniard on high made at his opponent.
By a sudden movement of the body the latter avoided the blow; as quick as thought the other drew himself up in his former position, and before his antagonist could regain the equilibrium which he had partly lost by bending his body to avoid the blow, he aimed a deadly stab, and the glistening poniard descended in sure destruction on the left breast of the stooping antagonist; but a dexterous parry with the muffled arm averted the blow, and the poniard passed harmlessly through the scarf. The apathy or indifference which existed at the beginning had now passed away, and the fight began to warm. The two fighters plunged with desperation at each other, but both seemed equally expert in the use of their weapons. With the agility and the pliability of serpents they avoided each other’s blows by the rapid movements of their bodies, while their feet scarcely moved from the place in which they were at first planted. On—on they rushed at each other, but in vain: they were well matched. The fight now became still more animated; anger, rage, disappointment, could now be read in the grim faces of the combatants; their nostrils distended wide with fatigue, the perspiration poured down their dark faces, and their lips, curling high with rage and scorn, exhibited their clenched teeth, white and glistening beneath the shadow of their black mustachios.
With a dreadful thrust, one at last buried his poniard deep into the neck of the other.
Exasperated by the cut, the wounded man made a desperate rush on his antagonist, who bent his body a little to the side and gave way to the assailant. Borne away by his own impetus, and already weakened by the wound, he staggered forwards a little, and fell flat on his face. The victor waited for a moment for his antagonist to rise, but the unhappy man had received his death-blow, and remained prostrate on the deck. The other, after this, did not seem to take the slightest notice of his opponent’s fall, but proceeded with coolness to unfold his sash from around his arm and to wipe his bloody poniard. The officer on duty immediately went to the assistance of the fallen man, and summoning two of the men of his watch, ordered him to be removed from the deck. The two sailors bent over the wounded man to lift him, but they were sullenly repelled. He was the pirate that had claimed the share last.