The Major stated that he was glad that they had decided to use the regular duelling pistols, not only as they were more convenient—he having a very fine, accurate pair—but as they were smooth bore and carried a good, large ball, which made a clean, pretty hole, without tearing. “Now,” he explained kindly to Lawrence, “the ball from one of these infernal rifled concerns goes gyrating and tearing its way through you, and makes an orifice like a posthole.” He illustrated his meaning with a sweeping spiral motion of his clenched fist.
Lawrence grew a shade whiter, and wondered how Jeff felt and looked, whilst Jeff set his teeth more firmly as the Major added blandly that “no gentleman wanted to blow another to pieces like a Sepoy mutineer.”
George Washington’s bow of exaggerated acquiescence drew the Major’s attention to him.
“George Washington, are my pistols clean?” he asked.
“Yes, suh, clean as yo’ shut-front,” replied George Washington, grandly.
“Well, clean them again.”
“Yes, suh,” and George was disappearing with ponderous dignity, when the Major called him, “George Washington.”
“Yes, suh.”
“Tell carpenter William to come to the porch. His services may be needed,” he explained to Lawrence, “in case there should be a casualty, you know.”
“Yes, suh.” George Washington disappeared. A moment later he reopened the door.