FullReads

The Major then announced that he would load the pistols without waiting for the advent of the other gentlemen, as he “represented both of them.”

This was too much for so accomplished an adept at the Code as George Washington, and he immediately asserted that such a thing was preposterous, asking with some scorn, as he strutted up and down, “Who ever heah o’ one gent’man ripresentin’ two in a jewel, Marse Nat?”

The Major bowed politely. “I was afraid it was a little incompatible,” he said.

“Of cose it’s incomfatible,” said George Washington. “I ripresents one and you de t’urr. Dat’s de way! I ripresents Marse Jeff. I know he ain’ gwine fly de track. I done know him from a little lad. Dat urr gent’man I ain’ know nuttin tall about. You ripresents him.” He waved his hand in scorn.

“Ah!” said the Major, as he set laboriously about loading the pistols, handling the balls somewhat ostentatiously.

George Washington asserted, “I b’lieve I know mo’ ’bout the Code ‘n you does, Marse Nat.”

The Major looked at him quizzically as he rammed the ball down hard. He was so skilful that George at length added condescendingly, “But I see you ain’ forgit how to handle dose things.”

The Major modestly admitted, as he put on a cap, that he used to be a pretty fair shot, and George Washington in an attitude as declarative of his pride in the occasion as his inebriated state admitted, was looking on with an expression of supreme complacency, when the Major levelled the weapon and sighted along its barrel. George Washington gave a jump which sent his cherished beaver bouncing twenty feet.

“Look out, Marse Nat! Don’ handle dat thing so keerless, please, suh.”

The Major explained that he was just trying its weight, and declared that it “came up beautifully;” to which George Washington after he had regained his damaged helmet assented with a somewhat unsteady voice. The Major looked at his watch and up at the trees, the tops of which were still brightened with the reflection from the sunset sky, and muttered an objurgation at the failure of the principals to appear, vowing that he never before knew of a similar case, and that at least he had not expected Jeff to fail to come to time. George Washington again proudly announced that he represented Jeff and that it was “that urr gent’man what had done fly de track, that urr gent’man what you ripre-sents, Marse Nat.” He spoke with unveiled contempt.

The Major suddenly turned on him.

“George Washington!”

“Suh!” He faced him.

“If my principal fails to appear, I must take his place. The rule is, the second takes the place of his non-appearing principal.”

“In cose dat’s de rule,” declared George Washington as if it were his own suggestion; “de secon’ tecks de place o’ de non-repearin’ sprinciple, and dat’s what mecks me say what I does, dat man is done run away, suh, dat’s what’s de motter wid him. He’s jes’ nat-chelly skeered. He couldn’ face dem things, suh.” He nodded towards the pistols, his thumbs stuck in the armholes of his flowered velvet vest. As the Major bowed George Washington continued with a hiccough, “He ain’ like we gent’mens whar’s ust to ’em an’ don’ mine ’em no mo’ ‘n pop-crackers.”

“George Washington,” said the Major, solemnly, with his eyes set on George Washington’s velvet waistcoat, “take your choice of these pistols.”

The old duellist made his choice with due deliberation. The Major indicated with a wave of his hand one of the spots which George had marked for the expected duellists. “Take your stand there, sir.” George Washington marched grandly up and planted himself with overwhelming dignity, whilst the Major, with the other pistol in his hand, quietly took his stand at the other position, facing him.

“George,” he said, “George Washington.”

“Suh.” George Washington was never so imposing.

“My principal, Mr. Pickering Lawrence, having failed to appear at the designated time and place to meet his engagement with Mr. Jefferson Lewis, I, as his second and representative, offer myself to take his place and assume any and all of his obligations.”