"Pigott, are you aware it is past six?" Then pulling out his watch, he added, "I must be at Ballinasloe by eleven o"clock."
"If you speak another word, sir," said the old Colonel, with an air of offended dignity, "I leave the ground. Major Mahon, a word, if you please."
They walked apart from the rest for a few seconds; and then the Colonel, throwing his glove upon the gra.s.s, proceeded to step off the ground with a military precision and formality that I am sure at any other time would have highly amused me.
After a slight demur from the Major, to which I could perceive the Colonel readily yielded, a walking-stick was stuck at either end of the measured distance; while the two seconds, placing themselves beside them, looked at each other with very great satisfaction, and mutually agreed it was a sweet spot.
"Would you like to look at these?" said Pigott, taking up the pistols from where they lay on the gra.s.s.
"Ah, I know them well," replied the Major, laughing; "these were poor Tom Casey"s, and a better fellow, and a handier with his iron, never snapped a trigger. These are ours, Colonel"; presenting, as he spoke, two splendid-looking Mortimers, in all the brilliancy of their maiden freshness. A look of contempt from the Colonel, and a most expressive shrug of his shoulders, was his reply.
"Begad, I think so," said Mahon, as if appreciating the gesture; "I had rather have that old tool with the cracked stock--not but this is a very sweet instrument, and elegantly balanced in the hand."
"We are ready now," said Pigott; "bring up your man, Major."
As I started up to obey the summons, a slight bustle near attracted me.
Two or three of Burke"s friends were endeavouring as it were to pacify and subdue him; but his pa.s.sion knew no bounds, and as he broke from them, he said in a voice perfectly audible where I stood--
"Won"t I, by G----! then I"ll tell you, if I don"t shoot him-----"
"Sir," said the Colonel, turning on him a look of pa.s.sionate indignation, "if it were not that you were here to answer the appeal of wounded honour, I"d leave you to your fate this moment; as it is, another such expression as that you "ve used, and I abandon you on the spot."
Doggedly and without speaking, Burke drew his hat far down upon his eyes, and took the place marked out for him.
"Mr. Hinton," said the Colonel, as he touched his hat with most courteous politeness, "will you have the goodness to stand there?"
Mahon, meanwhile, handed each man his pistol, and whispering in my ear, "Aim low," retired.
"The word, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "will be, "One, two, three."
Mr. Hinton, pray observe, I beg of you, you "ll not reserve your fire after I say "three."" With his eyes fixed upon us he walked back about ten paces. "Are you ready? Are you both ready?"
"Yes, yes," said Burke impatiently.
"Yes,"said I.
"One, two, three."
I lifted my pistol at the second word, and as the last dropped from the Colonel"s lips one loud report rang through the air, and both pistols went off together. A quick sharp pang shot through my cheek as though it had been seared by a hot instrument. I put up my hand, but the ball had only touched the flesh, and a few drops of blood were all the damage.
Not so Burke; my ball had entered above the hip, and already his trousers were stained with blood, and notwithstanding his endeavours he could not stand up straight.
"Is he hit, Pigott?" cried he, in a voice harsh from agony. "Is he hit, I say?"
"Only grazed," said I tranquilly, as I wiped the stain from my face.
"Another pistol, quick! Do you hear me, Pigott?"
"We are not the arbiters in this case," replied the Colonel coolly.
"Major Mahon, is your friend satisfied?"
"Perfectly satisfied on our own account," said the Major; "but if the gentleman desires another shot----"
"I do, I do!" screamed Burke, as, writhing with pain, he pressed both hands to his side, from which the blood, now gushing in torrents, formed a pool about his feet. "Be quick there, Pigott! I am getting faint." He staggered forward as he spoke, his face pale and his lips parted; then suddenly clutching his pistol by the barrel, he fixed his eyes steadily on me, while with a curse he hurled the weapon at my head, and fell senseless to the earth. His aim was true; for straight between the eyes the weapon struck me, and felled me to the ground. Although stunned for the moment, I could hear the cry of horror and indignant shame that broke from the bystanders; but the next instant a dreamy confusion came over me, and I became unconscious of what was pa.s.sing around.
CHAPTER x.x.x. A COUNTRY DOCTOR
Should my reader feel any interest concerning that portion of my history which immediately followed the events of my last chapter, I believe I must refer him to Mrs. Doolan, the amiable hostess of the Bonaveen Arms. She could probably satisfy any curious inquiry as to the confusion produced in her establishment by the lively sallies of Tipperary Joe in one quarter, and the more riotous madness of myself in another. The fact is, good reader, my head was an English one; and although its contents were gradually acclimating themselves to the habits of the country, the external sh.e.l.l had not a.s.sumed that proper thickness and due power of resistance which Irish heads would appear to be gifted with. In plain words, the injury had brought on delirium.
It was somewhere in the third week after this unlucky morning that I found myself lying in my bed with a wet cloth upon my temples, while over my whole frame was spread that depressing sense of great debility more difficult to bear than acute bodily suffering. Although unable to speak, I could distinctly hear the conversation about me, and recognise the voices of both Father Tom and the Major as they conversed with a third party, whom I afterwards learned was the Galen of Loughrea.
Dr. Mopin, surgeon of the Roscommon militia, had been for forty years the terror of the sick of the surrounding country; for, independent of a naturally harsh and disagreeable manner, he had a certain slangy and sneering way of addressing his patients that was perfectly shocking.
Amusing himself the while at their expense, by suggesting the various unhappy and miserable consequences that might follow on their illness, he appeared to take a diabolical pleasure in the terror he was capable of eliciting. There was something almost amusing in the infernal ingenuity he had acquired in this species of torture. There was no stage of your illness, no phase of your const.i.tution, no character or condition of your malady, that was not the immediate forerunner of one or more afflicting calamities. Were you getting weaker, it was the way they always died out; did you gain strength, it was a rally before death; were you despondent, it was the best for you to know your state; were you sanguine, he would rebuke your good spirits and suggest the propriety of a priest. However, with all these qualifications people put up with him; and as he had a certain kind of rude skill, and never stuck at a bold method, he obtained the best practice of the country and a widespread reputation.
"Well," said Father Tom, in a low voice--"well, Doctor, what do you think of him this evening?"
"What do I think of him? Just what I thought before--congestion of the membranes. This is the low stage he is in now; I wouldn"t be surprised if he"d get a little better in a few days, and then go off like the rest of them."
"Go off! eh? Now you don"t mean----"
"Don"t I? Maybe not. The ould story--coma, convulsions, and death."
"d.a.m.n the fellow!" said the Major, in a muttered voice, "I feel as if I was in a well. But I say, Doctor, what are we to do?"
"Anything you plase. They say his family is mighty respectable, and have plenty of money. I hope so; for here am I coming three times a day, and maybe when he dies it will be a mourning ring they"ll be sending me instead of my fee. He was a dissipated chap I am sure: look at the circles under his eyes!"
"Ay, ay," said the priest, "but they only came since his illness."
"So much the worse," added the invincible Doctor; "that"s always a symptom that the base of the brain is attacked."
"And what happens then?" said the Major.
"Oh, he might recover. I knew a man once get over it, and he is alive now, and in Swift"s Hospital."
"Mad?" said the priest.
"Mad as a March hare," grinned the Doctor; "he thinks himself the post-office clock, and chimes all the hours and half-hours day and night."
"The heavens be about us!" said Father Tom, crossing himself piously. "I had rather be dead than that."
"When did you see Burke?" inquired the Major, wishing to change the conversation.
"About an hour ago; he is going fast."
"Why, I thought he was better," said Father Tom; "they told me he ate a bit of chicken, and took a little wine and water."
"Ay, so he did; I bid them give him whatever he liked, as his time was so short. So, after all, maybe it is as well for this young chap here not to get over it."