The German next lay back in his seat, coughed loudly, expectorated in all directions in that abominable manner peculiar to his country, placed his heavy military boots with a thundering crash upon two vacant chairs, drank his beer, and threw down the metal flagon roughly on the table, eyeing us from time to time with a sneering glance that was alike insulting and unwarrantable. But this man, whom we afterwards learned to be a noted bully and duellist, Captain Ludwig Schwartz, of the Prussian 95th or Thuringians, evidently wished to provoke a quarrel with either or both of us, as some Prussian officers and Hamburg girls, who were watching his proceedings from an alley of the garden, seemed to think, and to enjoy the situation. But for their presence and mocking bearing, Volhonski and I would probably, for the sake of peace, have retired and gone elsewhere; however, their laughter and remarks rendered the intrusive insolence of their friend the more intolerable. It chanced that a little puff of wind blew the ashes of Volhonski's cigar all over the face and big brown beard of the German, who, while eyeing him fiercely, slowly extricated the pipe from his heavy dense moustache, and striking his clenched hand on the table so as to make everything thereon dance, he said, imperiously, "The Herr Graf will apologise?"
"For what?" asked Volhonski, haughtily.
"For what!--der Teufel!--do you ask for what?"
"Ja, Herr Captain."
"For permitting those cigar ashes to go over all my person."
"In the first place, your precious person had no right to be there; in the second, appeal to the wind, and fight with it."
"I shall not fight with _it!_" thundered the German; "and I demand an instant apology."
"Absurd!" replied Volhonski, coolly; "I have no apology to make, fellow. Apologise to another I might; but certainly not to such as you."
"You dare to jest--to--to--to trifle with me?" spluttered the German, gasping and swelling with rage.
"I never jest or trifle with strangers; do you wish to quarrel?"
"No, Herr Graf," sneered the German; "do you?"
"Then how am I to construe your conduct and words?"
"As you please. But know this, Herr Graf: that though I ever avoid quarrelling, I instantly crush or repel the slightest appearance of insult, and you have _insulted_ me."
"Ja, ja!" muttered the German officers, in blue surtouts and brass shoulder-scales, who now crowded about us.
Volhonski smiled disdainfully, and drew from his pocket a richly-inlaid card-case; then taking from it an enamelled card, with a bow that was marked and formal, yet haughty, he presented it to Captain Ludwig Schwartz, who deliberately tore it in two, and said, in a low fierce voice,
"Bah! I challenge you, Schelm, to meet me with pistols, or hand to hand without masks, and without seconds, if you choose."
"Agreed," replied Volhonski, now pale with passion, knowing well that after such a defiance as that, and before such company, it would be a duel without cessation, a combat _à la mort_. "Where?" he asked, briefly.
"The Heiligengeist Feld."
"When?"
"To-morrow at daybreak"
"Agreed; till then adieu, Herr Captain;" and touching their caps to each other in salute, they separated.
Next morning, when the dense mists, as yet unexhaled by the sun, lay heavy and frouzy about the margin of the Elbe, and were curling up from the deep moats and wooded ramparts of the Holstein Thor of Hamburg, we met on the plain which lies between that city and Altona; it is open, grassy, interspersed with trees, and is named the Field of the Holy Ghost. A sequestered place was chosen; Volhonski was attended by me, Captain Schwartz by another captain of his regiment; but several of his brother officers were present as spectators, and all these wore the tight blue surtout, buttoned to the throat, with the shoulder-scales, adopted by the Prussians before Waterloo; and they wore through their left skirt a sword of the same straight and spring shell-hilted fashion, used in the British service at Fontenoy and Culloden, and retained by the Prussians still. The morning was chill, and above the gray wreaths of mists enveloping the plain rose, on one side, the red brick towers and green coppered spires of St. Michael, St. Nicolai, and other churches. Opposite were the pointed roofs of Altona, and many a tall poplar tree. Volhonski, being brave, polite, and scrupulous in all his transactions, was naturally exasperated on finding himself in this dangerous and unsought-for predicament, after being so grossly and unwarrantably insulted on the preceding night. He was pale, but assumed a smiling expression, as if he thought it as good a joke as any one else to be paraded thus at daybreak, when we quitted our hackney droski at the corner of the great cemetery and traversed the field, luckily reaching the appointed spot the same moment as our antagonists.
We gravely saluted each other. While I was examining and preparing the pistols, Volhonski gave me a sealed letter, saying, quite calmly, "I have but one relation in the world--my little sister Valérie, now at St. Petersburg. See," he added, giving me the miniature of a beautiful young girl, golden-haired and dark-eyed; "if I am butchered by this beer-bloated Teuton, you will write to her, enclosing this miniature, my letter, and all my rings."
I pressed his hand in silence, and handed our pistols for inspection to the other second, a captain, named Leopold Döpke, of the Thuringian Infantry.
"Now, Herr Graf, we fight till one, at least, is killed," said Schwartz, grimly.
Volhonski bowed in assent.
"Be quick, gentlemen," said the German officers; "already the rising sun is gilding the vane of St. Michael's."
Volhonski glanced at it earnestly, and his fine dark eyes clouded for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking of his sister, or of how and where he might be lying when the sun's rays were lower down that lofty brick spire, which is a hundred feet higher than the cross of St. Paul's in London. In the German fashion a circle was drawn upon the greensward, on which the diamond dew of a lovely summer morning glittered. Volhonski and Schwartz were placed within that circle, from which they were not permitted to retire; neither were they to fire until the signal was given.
"Mein Herren," said Captain Döpke, who seemed to think no more of the affair than if it had been a pigeon match, "when I give the signal by throwing up my glove and uttering the word you may fire at discretion, or as soon as you have your aim, and at what distance you please; but it must be _within_ the circumference of this ring. The first who steps beyond it falls by my hand, as a violation of the laws of the duel."
"Be quick," growled Schwartz; "for the night watch in St. Michael's tower have telescopes, and the Burgher Guard are already under arms at the Holstein Thor."
Twelve paces apart within that deadly ring stood Volhonski and Schwartz, facing each other. The former wore a black surtout buttoned up to the throat; the latter his uniform and spike helmet. He untied and cast aside his silver gorget, lest it might afford a mark for his adversary's pistol. His face was flushed with cruelty, triumph, and the lust of blood, that came from past successful duels. Volhonski looked calm; but his eyes and heart were glowing with hatred and a longing for a just revenge.
"_Fire!_" cried Captain Döpke, as if commanding a platoon, and tossing up his pipe-clayed glove.
Both pistols exploded at the same instant, and Schwartz uttered a cruel and insulting laugh as Volhonski wheeled round and staggered wildly; his left arm was broken by a ball.
"Fresh pistols!" cried Schwartz.
"Is not this enough for honour?" said I, starting forward. "No--stand back!" exclaimed Captain Döpke.
"Ach Gott! Herr Englander, your turn will come next," thundered Schwartz, as we gave them other pistols and proceeded deliberately to reload the first brace, yet warm after being discharged.
No word of command was expected now; both duellists aimed steadily. Schwartz fired first and a terrible curse, hoarse and guttural, escaped him, as his ball whistled harmlessly past the left ear of Volhonski, whose face was now ghastly with pain, rage, and hatred. Drawing nearer and nearer, till the muzzle of his pistol was barely two feet from the forehead of Schwartz, he gave a grim and terrible smile for a moment. We were rooted to the spot; no one stirred; no one spoke, or seemed to breathe; and just as a cold perspiration flowed in beadlike drops over the face of the merciless Schwartz; it seemed to vanish with his spike helmet in smoke, as Volhonski fired and--blew his brains out! We sprang into the droski, and I felt as if a terrible crime had been committed when we drove at full speed across the neutral ground, called the Hamburgerburg, which lies between the city and the river gate of Altona, along a street of low taverns and dancing-rooms; and there, when past the sentinels in Danish uniform, the Lion of Denmark and the red-striped sentry boxes indicated that we were safe within the frontier of Holstein. So intense were our feelings _then_, that the few short fleeting moments crowded into that short compass of time seemed as an age, so full were they of fierce, exciting, and revolting thoughts; but these were past and gone; and _now_, as I recalled this merciless episode, times there were when I felt in my heart that I could freely risk my life in the same fashion to kill Guilfoyle, even as Volhonski killed the remorseless German bully Schwartz.