As it was, a contretemps did occur, which could not be settled without the intervention of seconds. These gentlemen decided that a meeting must take place. It chanced after this wise. As will happen in all lands, there had arisen a veiled but distinct antagonism between two men who aspired to social leadership. These were William Argyll and John Hampden.
The former, haughtily impatient of opposition, was prone to follow out likes and dislikes, with the enthusiasm of his Highland blood. Culture, travel, and the drill of society had but modified his natural temperament. Under provocation it was as untamed as that of any son of MacCallum Mohr who had never quitted the paternal glen. He undervalued the opinions of his Australian-born neighbours who had not, like himself, enjoyed the advantages of travel. Hasty in word or deed, habituated to high consideration from the dwellers near his paternal estate, he was careless to a fault about giving offence.
Hampden, though a proud and self-respecting man, was singularly imperturbable of demeanour. Open-minded, generous, interested in every idea calculated to advance the welfare of his native land, his position was high and unquestioned. In his own part of the country he was respected by his equals and reverenced by his inferiors to a degree uncommon, but by no means unknown in Australia. The people were much in the habit of resorting to him for aid or counsel in their difficulties. And whatever Mr. Hampden said in such cases carried with it the weight and authority of law. His decisions, indeed, were more often quoted, more rarely disputed, than those of any bench of magistrates in the land.
Although cautious in forming his opinions and chary of expressing them, John Hampden was noted as one who never gave back an inch from any position which he assumed. This trait chafed the choleric Argyll, who had also a considerable ‘following’—admirers of his attainments, and dominated by his unrelaxing though generous despotism. It therefore happened that, in public matters, Argyll and Hampden were mostly observed to take different sides.
Before the race meeting there arose a dispute, common enough in those days, between the stock-riders of the two establishments as to the ownership of certain calves at the annual muster of Mount Wangarua. Some ill-considered remarks of Argyll’s, reflecting on Hampden’s management, were repeated with additions. Allusion had been made to ‘indiscriminate branding,’ than which nothing could have been more uncalled for. A scrupulously exact man in such matters, many a poor man had reason to bless the day when his few head of strayed cattle found their way into the herds which bore the J.H. brand. Rarely was it placed on an animal without satisfactory proof of ownership. However, ‘accidents will occur in the best regulated (cattle) families,’ and so had come to pass the mistake, fully explained afterwards, upon which Argyll had commented unfavourably.
The opportunity afforded for withdrawing his hasty expressions was not availed of. So after a formal interview, the alternative was reached which, by the laws of society in that early day, compelled a resort to the pistol.
Of course, this ultimatum, though known to a few intimate friends, was carefully concealed from the general public. The rivals met without suspicious coldness, were seen at the ordinary gatherings, and bore themselves as became the average pleasure-seekers of the hour. But the meeting had been fixed for the Monday following the race week, and it was agreed that the principals, with their seconds, should visit a certain secluded spot on the homeward route of Hampden’s party, and there arrange their difficulty.
Both men were known to be good shots; with rifle and pistol (not yet had Colonel Colt impressed his revolving signet on the age) Hampden was known to have few equals. But no surprise was manifested when it was announced on the eventful Monday that Hampden and his friend Neville, together with Forbes, Argyll, and Churbett, had departed at daylight and taken the same road. Every one was in the confused state of mind which is prone to succeed a season of indulgence. There were bills to pay, clothes to pack, resolutions as to improvement to be made by those who had exceeded their usual limit in love, loo, or liquor. So that, except an expression of astonishment that any reason whatever should have had power to take Fred Churbett out of his bed at such an abnormal hour, little was said.
As they rode through the silent streets of the sleepy town, a moaning breeze betokened that the exceptionally fine weather they had enjoyed was about to change for the worse.
To Fred Churbett, as he rode along with a young surgeon impressed in case of accident, the day seemed chilly, the fitful wind boding, the darkening sky gloomy and drear. ‘What if one of these men, in all the pride of manhood, so lately rejoicing in the sport in which they had been jointly engaged, should never leave the Granite Glen alive? What a mockery was this life of ours! And for what? for a careless word—a hasty jest—for this might a man go down to the dark unknown, with all his sins upon his head. A melancholy ending to their pleasant days and joyous nights!’