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George Washington, indeed, as he made his way stealthily down towards the rendezvous glanced behind him once or twice as if he were not at all certain that some impalpable pursuer were not following him, and he almost jumped out of his shoes when the Major, who had for ten minutes been pacing up and down the grass-plat in a fume of impatience, caught sight of him and suddenly shouted, “Why don’t you come on, you–rascal?”

As soon as George Washington recognized that the voice was not supernatural, he recovered his courage and at once disarmed the Major, who, watch in hand, was demanding if he supposed he had nothing else to do than to wait for him all night, by falling into his vein and acquiescing in all that he said in abuse of the yet absent duellists, or at least of one of them.

He spoke in terms of the severest reprobation of Mr. Lawrence, declaring that he had never had a high opinion of his courage, or, indeed, of any quality which he possessed. He was, perhaps, not quite prepared to join in an attack on Jeff, of whose frequent benefactions he entertained a lively recollection amounting to gratitude, at least in the accepted French idea of that virtue, and as he had constituted himself Jeff’s especial representative for this “solemn recasion,” he felt a personal interest in defending him to some extent.

At last the Major ordered him to take out the weapons and some little time was spent in handling them, George Washington examining them with the air of a connoisseur. The Major asserted that he had never seen a prettier spot, and George Washington, immediately striking an attitude, echoed the sentiment. He was, indeed, so transported with its beauty that he declared it reminded him of the duel he and the Major fought with Judge Carrington, which he positively declared, was “a jewel like you been read about,” and he ended with the emphatic assertion, “Ef dese gent’mens jes plump each urr like we did de Judge dat evelin!—-” A wave of the hand completed the period.

The Major turned on him with a positive denial that he had ever even shot at the Judge, but George Washington unblushingly insisted that they had, and in fact had shot him twice. “We hit him fyah an’ squar’.” He levelled a pistol at a tree a few yards distant, and striking an attitude, squinted along the barrel with the air of an old hand at the weapon.

The Major reiterated his statement and recalled the fact that, as he had told him and others a thousand times, they had shaken hands on the spot, which George Washington with easy adaptability admitted, but claimed that “ef he hadn’t ‘a’shook hands we’d ‘a’shot him, sho! Dis here gent’man ain’ gwine git off quite so easy,” he declared, having already decided that Lawrence was to experience the deadly accuracy of his and Jeff’s aim. He ended with an unexpected “Hie!” and gave a little lurch, which betrayed his condition, but immediately gathered himself together again.

The Major looked at him quizzically as he stood pistols in hand in all the grandeur of his assumed character. The shadow of disappointment at the non-appearance of the Juel-lists which had rested on his round face, passed away, and he suddenly asked him which way he thought they had better stand. George Washington twisted his head on one side and, after striking a deliberative attitude and looking the plat well over, gave his judgment.

“Ah–so,” said the Major, and bade him step off ten paces.

George Washington cocked his hat considerably more to the side, and with a wave of his hand, caught from the Major, took ten little mincing steps; and without turning, glanced back over his shoulder and inquired, “Ain’ dat mighty fur apart?”

The Major stated that it was necessary to give them some chance. And this appeared to satisfy him, for he admitted, “Yas, suh, dat’s so, dee ‘bleeged to have a chance,” and immediately marked a point a yard or more short of that to which he had stepped.’