He then proceeded to measure nine paces in a direction running north and south, and the principals took their ground.
“I must be troublesome to you once again, Mr. McDonough. One toss more, and everything is complete. We must settle who is to have the first slap.”
A piece of money was again thrown into the air; again the captain lost the toss and McDonough proceeded to load the pistols. I happened to stand near Fitzgerald, and I overheard the captain, with a chuckle, say something to him in which the word “cravat” was repeated. It instantly occurred to me that the captain’s attention was directed to a bright-coloured muffler which O’Connor wore round his neck, and which would afford his antagonist a distinct and favourable mark. I instantly urged him to remove it, and at length, with difficulty, succeeded. He seemed perfectly careless as to any precaution. Everything was now ready; the pistol was placed in O’Connor’s hand, and he only awaited the word from the captain.
McCreagh then said:
“Mr. McDonough, is your principal ready?”
McDonough replied in the affirmative; and, after a slight pause, the captain, as had been arranged, uttered the words:
“Ready—fire.”
O’Connor fired, but so wide of the mark that someone in the crowd exclaimed:
“Fired in the air.”
“Who says he fired in the air?” thundered Fitzgerald. “By ⸻ he lies, whoever he is.” There was a silence. “But even if he was fool enough to fire in the air, it is not in his power to put an end to the quarrel by that. D⸺ my soul, if I am come here to be played with like a child, and by the Almighty ⸻ you shall hear more of this, each and every one of you, before I’m satisfied.”
A kind of low murmur, or rather groan, was now raised, and a slight motion was observable in the crowd, as if to intercept Fitzgerald’s passage to his horse. McCreagh, drawing the horse close to the spot where Fitzgerald stood, threatened, with the most awful imprecations, “to blow the brains out of the first man who should dare to press on them.”
O’Connor now interfered, requesting the crowd to forbear, and some degree of order was restored. He then said, “that in firing as he did, he had no intention whatever of waiving his right of firing upon Fitzgerald, and of depriving that gentleman of his right of prosecuting the affair to the utmost—that if any person present imagined that he intended to fire in the air, he begged to set him right; since, so far from seeking to exort an unwilling reconciliation, he was determined that no power on earth should induce him to concede one inch of ground to Mr. Fitzgerald.”
This announcement was received with a shout by the crowd, who now resumed their places at either side of the plot of ground which had been measured. The principals took their places once more, and McCreagh proceeded, with the nicest and most anxious care, to load the pistols; and this task being accomplished, Fitzgerald whispered something in the Captain’s ear, who instantly drew his friend’s horse so as to place him within a step of his rider, and then tightened the girths. This accomplished, Fitzgerald proceeded deliberately to remove his coat, which he threw across his horse in front of the saddle; and then, with the assistance of McCreagh, he rolled the shirt sleeve up to the shoulder, so as to leave the whole of his muscular arm perfectly naked. A cry of “Coward, coward! butcher, butcher!” arose from the crowd. Fitzgerald paused.
“Do you object, Mr. McDonough? and upon what grounds, if you please?” said he.
“Certainly he does not,” replied O’Connor; and, turning to McDonough, he added, “pray let there be no unnecessary delay.”
“There is no objection, then,” said Fitzgerald.
“I object,” said the younger of the O’Gradys, “if nobody else will.”
“And who the devil are you, that dares to object?” shouted Fitzgerald; “and what d⸺d presumption prompts you to dare to wag your tongue here?”
“I am Mr. O’Grady, of Castle Blake,” replied the young man, now much enraged; “and by ⸻, you shall answer for your language to me.”
“Shall I, by ⸻? Shall I?” cried he, with a laugh of brutal scorn; “the more the merrier, d⸺n the doubt of it—so now hold your tongue, for I promise you you shall have business enough of your own to think about, and that before long.”
There was an appalling ferocity in his tone and manner which no words could convey. He seemed transformed; he was actually like a man possessed. Was it possible, I thought, that I beheld the courteous gentleman, the gay, good-humoured retailer of amusing anecdote with whom, scarce two days ago, I had laughed and chatted, in the blasphemous and murderous ruffian who glared and stormed before me!
O’Connor interposed, and requested that time should not be unnecessarily lost.
“You have not got a second coat on?” inquired the Captain. “I beg pardon, but my duty to my friend requires that I should ascertain the point.”
O’Connor replied in the negative. The Captain expressed himself as satisfied, adding, in what he meant to be a complimentary strain, “that he knew Mr. O’Connor would scorn to employ padding or any unfair mode of protection.”
There was now a breathless silence. O’Connor stood perfectly motionless; and, excepting the deathlike paleness of his features, he exhibited no sign of agitation. His eye was steady—his lip did not tremble—his attitude was calm. The Captain, having reexamined the priming of the pistols, placed one of them in the hand of Fitzgerald.—McDonough inquired whether the parties were prepared, and having been answered in the affirmative, he proceeded to give the word, “Ready.” Fitzgerald raised his hand, but almost instantly lowered it again. The crowd had pressed too much forward as it appeared, and his eye had been unsteadied by the flapping of the skirt of a frieze riding-coat worn by one of the spectators.
“In the name of my principal,” said
