“I take the liberty of introducing myself—I am Captain McCreagh, formerly of the ⸻ infantry. My business here is with a Mr. O’Connor, and the sooner it is despatched the better.”
“I am the gentleman you name,” said O’Connor; “and as you appear impatient, we had better proceed to your commission without delay.”
“Then, Mr. O’Connor, you will please to read that note,” said the captain, placing a sealed paper in his hand.
O’Connor read it through, and then observed:
“This is very extraordinary indeed. This note appears to me perfectly unaccountable.”
“You are very young, Mr. O’Connor,” said the captain, with vulgar familiarity; “but, without much experience in these matters, I think you might have anticipated something like this. You know the old saying, ‘Second thoughts are best;’ and so they are like to prove, by G⸺!”
“You will have no objection, Captain McCreagh, on the part of your friend, to my reading this note to these gentlemen; they are both confidential friends of mine, and one of them has already acted for me in this business.”
“I can have no objection,” replied the captain, “to your doing what you please with your own. I have nothing more to do with that note once I put it safe into your hand; and when that is once done, it is all one to me, if you read it to half the world—that’s your concern, and no affair of mine.”
O’Connor then read the following:
“Mr. Fitzgerald begs leave to state, that upon re-perusing Mr. O’Connor’s communication of this morning carefully, with an experienced friend, he is forced to consider himself as challenged. His friend, Captain McCreagh, has been empowered by him to make all the necessary arrangements.
I can hardly describe the astonishment with which I heard this note. I turned to the captain, and said:
“Surely, sir, there is some mistake in all this?”
“Not the slightest, I’ll assure you, sir,” said he, coolly; “the case is a very clear one, and I think my friend has pretty well made up his mind upon it. May I request your answer?” he continued, turning to O’Connor; “time is precious, you know.”
O’Connor expressed his willingness to comply with the suggestion, and in a few minutes had folded and directed the following rejoinder:
“Mr. O’Connor having received a satisfactory explanation from Mr. Fitzgerald, of the language used by that gentleman, feels that there no longer exists any grounds for misunderstanding, and wishes further to state, that the note of which Mr. Fitzgerald speaks was not intended as a challenge.”
With this note the captain departed; and as we did not doubt that the message which he had delivered had been suggested by some unintentional misconstruction of O’Connor’s first billet, we felt assured that the conclusion of his last note would set the matter at rest. In this belief, however, we were mistaken; before we had left the table, and in an incredibly short time, the captain returned. He entered the room with a countenance evidently tasked to avoid expressing the satisfaction which a consciousness of the nature of his mission had conferred; but in spite of all his efforts to look gravely unconcerned, there was a twinkle in the small grey eye, and an almost imperceptible motion in the corner of the mouth, which sufficiently betrayed his internal glee, as he placed a note in the hand of O’Connor. As the young man cast his eye over it, he coloured deeply, and turning to McDonough, he said:
“You will have the goodness to make all the necessary arrangements for a meeting. Something has occurred to render one between me and Mr. Fitzgerald inevitable. Understand me literally, when I say that it is now totally impossible that this affair should be amicably arranged. You will have the goodness, McDonough, to let me know as soon as all the particulars are arranged. Purcell,” he continued, “will you have the kindness to accompany me?” and having bowed to McCreagh, we left the room.
As I closed the door after me, I heard the captain laugh, and thought I could distinguish the words—“By ⸻ I knew Fitzgerald would bring him to his way of thinking before he stopped.”
I followed O’Connor into his study, and on entering, the door being closed, he showed me the communication which had determined him upon hostilities. Its language was grossly impertinent, and it concluded by actually threatening to “post” him, in case he further attempted “to be off.” I cannot describe the agony of indignation in which O’Connor writhed under this insult. He said repeatedly that “he was a degraded and dishohoured man,” that “he was dragged into the field,” that “there was ignominy in the very thought that such a letter should have been directed to him.” It was in vain that I reasoned against this impression; the conviction that he had been disgraced had taken possession of his mind. He said again and again that nothing but his death could remove the stain which his indecision had cast upon the name of his family. I hurried to the hall, on hearing McDonough and the captain passing, and reached the door just in time to hear the latter say, as he mounted his horse:
“All the rest can be arranged on the spot; and so farewell, Mr. McDonough—we’ll meet at Philippi, you know;” and with this classical allusion, which was
