The Major’s patience was giving out. “George Washington, you rascal!” he shouted, “do you think I can wait all night for you to pull up all the grass in the garden? Take the quarter out of your pocket, sir!”
“‘Tain’ in my pocket, suh,” quavered George Washington, feeling there instinctively, however, when the coin slipped down his sleeve into his hand again. This was too much for him. “Hi! befo’ de king,” he exclaimed, “how it git in my pocket? Oh, Marster! de devil is ‘bout heah, sho’! Marse Nat, you fling it up, suh. I ain’ nuttin but a po’ sinful nigger. Oh, Lordy!” And handing over the quarter tremulously, George Washington flung himself flat on the ground and, as a sort of religious incantation, began to chant in a wild, quavering tone the funeral hymn:
“Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.”
The Major tossed up and posted the duellists, and with much solemnity handed them the pistols, which both the two young men received quietly. They were pale, but perfectly steady. The Major then asked them, “Gentlemen, are you ready?” whilst at the omnious sound George Washington’s voice in tremulous falsetto, struck in,
“Ye-ee—so-ons off meenn co-ome view-ew the-ee groun’,
Wher-ere you-ou m—uss’ shor-ort-ly lie.”
They announced themselves ready just as George Washington, looking up from the ground, where he, like the “so-ons off meenn,” was lying, discovered that he was not more than thirty yards out of the line of aim, and with a muttered “Lordy!” began to crawl away.
There was a confused murmur from the direction of the path which led to the house, and the Major shouted, “Fire—one—two—three.”
Both young men, facing each other and looking steadily in each other’s eyes, with simultaneous action fired their pistols into the air.
At the report a series of shrieks rang out from the shrubbery towards the house, whilst George Washington gave a wild yell and began to kick like a wounded bull, bellowing that he was “killed—killed.”
The Major had just walked up to the duellists, and, relieving them of their weapons, had with a comprehensive wave of the hand congratulated them on their courage and urged them to shake hands, which they were in the act of doing, when the shrubbery parted and Margaret, followed closely by Rose and by Miss Jemima panting behind, rushed in upon them, crying at the tops of their voices, “Stop! Stop!”