It was hardly daylight when my little black attendant brought a glass of mint-julep to my bed-side, and told me it was time to rise; and I had hardly refused the beverage, which I did not choose to take that morning, of all others, when Zed hobbled in with his white wool, and his face as polished as an ebony cabinet, all glowing with excitement. I understood quite well that he knew all about the business in hand, and he seemed to look upon himself as a sort of squire to a knight arming for the tilt-yard, eager and anxious for his master to do great deeds, and never for a moment doubting his success. The morning was a dull and cheerless one, though it was warm enough. The sky was covered; and a thin, white mist hung over the ground, not sufficient to hide objects, even at two or three hundred yards' distance, but sufficient to render them somewhat hazy and indistinct. In fact, it was a morning quite in harmony with the business I was about. However, I was soon dressed and in the drawing-room, where I found Billy Byles already up and waiting for me.

"I hope you have taken your mint-julep," he said; "it will steady your hand."

"Thank you," I answered; "my hand is quite steady enough, and I don't think brandy would make it any firmer."

"Well, come and take some breakfast, at all events," said my host; "never fight upon an empty stomach."

"I have been obliged to do so before now," I answered; "but I will take some breakfast if we have time; for, to say truth, I am very hungry."

"Oh, plenty of time, plenty of time," answered Mr. Byles. "I always like to be on the ground first, so I took care you should be called early enough. Wheatley will be here in a minute. I woke him myself, and the lazy dog said the great bore of fighting duels was the getting up in the mornings." We had not been five minutes at table when Mr. Wheatley appeared, just as gay and unconcerned as ever; and although I could not help feeling an impression of some heavy thing impending, I joined in the conversation as cheerfully as I could, feeling that it was of no use to think of what was coming, when it could not be avoided. It had been agreed that we should proceed to the ground in Mr. Wheatley's double-seated carriage; and about twenty minutes after we sat down to breakfast, it was announced that the vehicle was at the door. When I went out I found three or four negroes, beside Zed, surrounding the carriage. Mr. Wheatley and I took our seats in front: Billy Byles sprang into the hinder division: Zed scrambled in beside him, with the pistol-case under his arm, and away we went towards the place of encounter. The moment we started I could see two or three of the negro boys take to their heels and run on towards the woods as fast as their legs could carry them; and I could not but think of the speech of the poor old Scotch nobleman when going to be beheaded: "You need not run so fast, boys: there will be no fun till I come." Billy Byles acted as pilot, directing Mr. Wheatley how he was to drive; and I must say a rougher ride I never took in my life; for we went over fields without the slightest pretension to a road; fences we pulled down unceremoniously to let us pass; and I certainly did think more than once that the whole business would end in our getting our necks broken. I was afraid, too, that various evolutions and man[oe]uvres which we had to perform would make us late; and more than once I took out my watch to see how the time went.

"Plenty of time, plenty of time," said Billy Byles. "You see that wood there; well, that's the Hunter-wood, and we just cross the narrow part by the path into the savannah, and there we are." The wood was soon reached, and out we all got, for the carriage could go no further.

"Here, give me the pistols," said Mr. Byles; "you stay here by the horses: we shall be back in half an hour." And leading the way by a very narrow path, he speedily brought us to that long strip of open ground which I have before described, and which I had passed in pleasant talk with Bessy Davenport. We now struck it considerably higher up, however, and at no great distance from the high road to Jerusalem. But it had a much more melancholy aspect now than when I first saw it. The mist which I have mentioned rested more heavily in that narrow avenue; and the trees cut off all the rays of the sun, who was struggling, as he rose, to disperse the gray clouds that covered the sky. All was sombre and cheerless-looking, and Billy Byles laid down the pistol-case under a live oak-tree, and rubbed his hands as if it had been winter. I gazed up and down the long open strip, to see if my antagonist was apparent, and Mr. Byles exclaimed, in a congratulatory tone, "First on the field, you see, Sir Richard! but we have five minutes yet to spare. I won't open the case till they come, for this unpleasant mist may damp the tools."

"Rather bat-fowling work," said Mr. Wheatley. "Lucky you chose pistols, for I don't think one could see at rifle-range." Before the five minutes were over, a gig, with two men on horseback, appeared towards the high-road end of the savannah, halted there, and having tied the horses to the trees, came forward on foot towards the place where we were standing. Before they came quite close, they paused again; and a somewhat sharp discussion seemed to go on between Mr. Robert Thornton, whom I could now distinguish, and one of his companions, for their gestures were exceedingly animated. They then approached, and Mr. Thornton saluted me by touching his hat, to which I returned a silent bow.

"Well, Sir Richard," he said, "for my own part, I don't see why you should not apologize even now, if you like it."

"I have no apology to make," I replied; "and, moreover, we came here, I think, to act, and not to talk." As I said this, I turned away and took a step or two up and down the meadow, leaving the gentlemen who had accompanied me and Mr. Thornton to make their arrangements as usual. They were all pretty well skilled and experienced in the business, I imagine; for the pistols were loaded and the ground measured out very rapidly. I was not sorry for this, as I had nothing to amuse myself with but watching some half-dozen black faces, peeping out from behind the trees at the end of the wood.

"Now, Sir Richard," said Mr. Byles, stepping up to me with a pistol in his hand, "you will have the goodness to stand here, where I have put down my glove. The words are, 'One, two, three, fire!' but you can fire any time after the word 'Three.'"

"Mind, you keep your arm to your side, and cover your angles," said Mr. Wheatley.

"I will take care," I answered, with a smile; "I am not quite inexperienced in such affairs."

"I suppose not, from the way you take it," he replied. And when they had placed me in a proper position, my two friends withdrew. I could see that my adversary, Mr. Robert Thornton, marched up to his ground with every appearance of boldness. I had been rather inclined, by his preceding conduct, to think that he was somewhat nervous; but no symptom of timidity was now apparent, except indeed a slight touch of swagger in his walk and manner. As he stood before me, I measured him deliberately with my eyes, and thought I had him very sure. He stood on a somewhat angular position, which I was sorry for, as I did not wish to injure him severely, or run the risk of killing him; though I certainly did intend to wound him so as to prevent him doing any more mischief for the present. There seemed to be some little talk between himself, his second, and another friend--about what I know not; and then the two gentlemen left him, and a moment after the words were given by Mr. Wheatley. A slight degree of hesitation, remorse, or what you will, made me reserve my shot till the word "Fire!" had been pronounced. My antagonist fired at the word "Three," but his ball went quite wild. I then raised my hand and fired, being perfectly certain of hitting him, I thought somewhere about the elbow. I fancied, too, that I saw him stagger a little, but he did not fall; and he exclaimed, loudly,--

"Give me another pistol!" Billy Byles and Mr. Wheatley both ran up to me with a fresh weapon, and while the former put it in my hands, the latter whispered,--

"Mind what you are about. He will aim better this time; you have grazed him, and his blood is up. Don't try to spare him, or you'll get killed yourself." It all passed in a moment, and they were gone back to their places before I well knew what had occurred. I continued, however, to eye my antagonist deliberately while the words were spoken, and I could see that he was scanning me in the same manner. This time we both fired together at the word "Three;" and, almost before I heard the report, I felt a smart blow upon the arm, which made me recoil a little with a sensation as if a piece of hot iron had been run into the flesh; but Robert Thornton fell back at once, amidst the long grass, and I lost sight of him. My two friends were up with me in a moment.

"You are wounded! you are wounded!" said Billy Byles, with friendly anxiety. "I saw you stagger; you must be wounded."

"But slightly," I replied; "take the pistol, and just get my handkerchief out of the pocket." I had learned a little of surgery in India, and saw, by the jerking of the stream of blood which was flowing from my arm, that some artery was cut. I therefore made my two friends fold the handkerchief and tie it tightly some way above the wound, by which means the bleeding was soon reduced in quantity, though it continued to ooze a little, though not sufficient to do any harm. I then turned my eyes to the spot where my opponent had stood. Three persons had now gathered round him, one of whom had raised Thornton's head and shoulders on his knee.

"You have done for him!" said Billy Byles; "he seems as dead as a mackerel."

"I hope not," I replied. "I did not intend it; but he stood awkwardly, and it was impossible to be sure of one's shot. I do hope he is not killed."

"Pooh, nonsense!" ejaculated Mr. Wheatley. "What did he come here for, but to kill you, or be killed himself? We had better make the best of our way to my buggy, and get home as soon as possible, for I suspect the ball is still in your arm, and we must send for the surgeon."

"I will see how he is, first," I answered; and walked quietly up to the spot where my antagonist lay. His friends were perfectly gentlemanly and polite; and the two who were standing up bowed civilly as I approached.

"I am afraid he is gone, Sir Richard," said one of them.

"I hope not," I replied, with a sensation I cannot describe. "I can assure you I did not intend it; I only sought to wound him."

"You did that at the first fire," answered the other. "See here--your second shot has gone through his chest." I now perceived that the blood was streaming from one wound in the fleshy part of the back, just below the shoulder-blade, and behind the right arm. This seemed of no great consequence; for it was clear it had not penetrated the chest; but there was another wound much more formidable in appearance, where the ball had entered the side, just in front of the arm, and had issued out at the other side a little further forward. That it had touched the lungs I could not doubt; but though I do not know much of anatomy, I felt sure that the heart must have escaped, notwithstanding the death-like paleness of his face, and the state of complete insensibility in which he lay. I knelt down, and put my fingers on his wrist; the pulse was very feeble, but still beating free, and I said,--

"Gentlemen, he is not dead, and I should hope will soon recover. If you would take my advice, you would try and restrain the bleeding as much as possible. Get him to the nearest house, and send for a surgeon immediately. The shaking of a carriage may produce great hemorrhage; but there are a number of negroes about who can carry him more easily."

"Hi, boys!" cried Billy Byles; "come here, come here!" And immediately at least a dozen black men and lads ran out from the woods towards the scene of action.

"You had better get home yourself, sir," said the gentleman who had before spoken to me; "for I see you also are wounded, and the blood is running off the tips of your fingers. One thing I will say, Sir Richard; a fairer fight I never beheld. You have behaved quite like a gentleman, and a man of honour, and a d----d good shot too." Seeing that I could be of no further service, I bowed and retired from the ground. As we walked along through the little path in the wood, it became a question where I was to go. Mr. Byles wanted me to return with him to his house; but Mr. Wheatley, more prudently, urged that I should go back at once to Mr. Stringer's. "It is nearer by a mile," he said; "and, besides, he will have plenty of women there to take care of him. He-nurses are always bad ones, my friend; and, moreover, there may be certain persons who may tease their little hearts to death, to know how he is going on, who would not venture to come to the house of a gay bachelor to see him." This latter argument was very conclusive in my own mind; but I made light of the wound, saying, "Oh, this is a mere nothing. I shall be well in a few days." Although, to say sooth, I felt very unpleasantly faint. We soon reached the carriage, which we found tied to a tree; for Zed, it appears, would not be debarred the pleasure of sharing in the day's sport. He came hobbling after us, the next instant, however; untied the horses, placed the pistol-case under the seat, and after fumbling for a minute in a corner, produced an old champagne-bottle, which he held out to me, saying,--

"Here, master, take a drop o' dis--good old rye; you look mighty white, and bleeding like piggie. My ole massa never go out to fight without taking some rye wid him in case of de worse." I took some of the whisky, which, to say the truth, was not altogether unnecessary, for I had lost a good deal of blood. Then, requesting my two companions to tie the handkerchief still tighter, I got into the carriage, and we drove off towards Mr. Stringer's.