THE TRUE COWARD
A Story in the Old Manner
A short story by William
Henry Smith
"A toast to the Main
Street of America!"
All stood and raised their
glasses.
"To the Main Street of
America," the group responded in unison.
It was a large gathering
that made the toast. They had dined well and were now expressing their
satisfaction with the dinner and life in general with numerous toasts and
songs. Their host, a Scotch Captain of a West Indiaman, was telling them about
the newly invented steamboat.
"My friends," he
said, "steamboats will change New Orleans. Today cargo comes down the
Mississippi River on barges. But barges don't have engines and can't go back up
against the strong river stream. Steamboats don't have this problem. They can
move up and down in complete ease. The center of America will be opened to
become the heart of this great land. The Mississippi River will be the Main
Street of America. New Orleans at its mouth will be its most important
city"
The company was very
pleasant and every one was enjoying themselves until a Creole named
d'Heberncourt, who had been drinking a little more than the others, spoke up.
"Captain Campbell, you
are Scotch, are you not?"
"Yes, I am."
"Will you, Sir, sing me
a Gaelic song?"
"I must decline,"
the Captain replied, "I don't know how to speak Gaelic."
The matter was dropped for a
moment but the Creole kept drinking and soon become insistent.
Captain Campbell realized
that d'Heberncourt was in his cups and anxious for a quarrel. He complied by
singing "Auld Lang Syne," the nearest thing to Gaelic that he knew.
D'Heberncourt knew a little English. Hearing the expressions "your aim
pint-stoup" and "a recht gude wullie-waugh" he took the song to
be Gaelic and seemed satisfied.
When the dinner party was
over, Captain Campbell started back to his ship, accompanied by his friend M.
Penicout. On the way they fell to talking about dueling. Captain Campbell said
that once in his younger days he and a friend had quarreled over a lady.
"We fought a duel and I
killed my friend. Since I saw him lying there on the ground I have not known a
happy day. I hate dueling."
"Captain," M.
Penicout said, "you are not familiar with the reputations of our New
Orleans society, so you should be warned about d'Heberncourt. He has gained a
questionable notoriety from the frequent and often fatal duels he has fixed on
his associates. He has fought so many times under the Dueling Oaks that it's
been suggested the trees be named after him."
"Then my fate came near
to me this evening," the Captain replied.
By the time they had
finished their conversation, they had reached the ship. The dawn of the new day
was just breaking and as they stood leaning against the bulwarks watching the
early morning sun light up the tall towers of the St. Louis Cathedral they
noticed three gentlemen making their way through the barrels of rum and other
commodities on the wharf.
"One of them is Captain
Bore," M. Penicout said. "He is an officer of the local militia and a
sworn friend of d'Heberncourt. Unless I am mistaken your fate is near."
He was not mistaken. Captain
Bore came aboard. After a polite salutation he delivered his message.
"I have come from M.
Henri d'Heberncourt. He is considerably astonished and outraged by your attempt
to impose upon him an English ditty for a Gaelic song and demands
satisfaction."
The Scotchman explained that
he told M. d'Herberncourt he couldn't speak Gaelic and he was very sorry if his
little deception had given pain. He added that he had just explained to his
friend, M. Penicout, the reason he would never fight another duel as long as he
lived.
Captain Bore protested but
was not able to change Captain Campbell's mind.
Providing his ship with
provisions prior to sailing occupied Captain Campbell's mind and he forgot the
incident. Then one morning when he was ashore on ship's business he happened to
meet d'Heberncourt on horseback.
In a loud voice so that all
present could hear, d'Heberncourt yelled, "Captain Campbell, why have you
refused my challenge?"
Campbell again tried to explain
why he would not fight a duel but M. d'Heberncourt would not listen. Instead he
pulled back hard on his horse's reins until the animal reared up on its hind
legs.
In this elevated position he
yelled, "Captain Campbell, you are a coward."
As the horse came down on
all fours d'Heberncourt struck Captain Campbell across the face with his horse
whip and galloped off laughing.
This was more than the good
Captain could stand. With all his fighting blood boiling he determined to rid
New Orleans and the world of this miserable rogue. He didn't consider his own
life important if he should lose it in the attempt.
He therefore penned a reply
to M. d'Heberncourt, accepting his challenge and asking him to meet at the
Dueling Oaks early the next morning.
That afternoon, Captain
Campbell, accompanied by two sailors from his ship, proceeded into the dark and
gloomy swamp south of New Orleans to the infamous Dueling Oaks. It had been
raining and water still dripped from the huge moss-covered oaks. Selecting a
low spot some 200 feet away, Captain Campbell directed the sailors to dig a
trench three feet wide, five feet deep and nine feet long.
"But Captain," one
of the sailors protested, "this is swamp country. Some say it's even below
sea level. A trench that deep will fill with water almost as fast as we dig
it."
"Exactly," the
Captain said. "Proceed."
The next morning Captain
Campbell and his friend M. Penicout were the first to arrive. The muck was so
heavy with water it was difficult to walk. As predicted, the trench was filled
with water to within a foot of the top.
When M. d'Heberncourt and
his second, Captain Bore, arrived, Captain Campbell approached them and said,
"M. d'Heberncourt, yesterday you accused me of being a coward. I now
propose to fight you; but being the challenged party, I demand the right to set
the terms."
As he spoke he stared at M.
d'Heberncourt with unblinking cold steel eyes. Always before this
d'Heberncourt's opponents, aware of his reputation, showed their fear. But this
man was different. He was not afraid. It was M. d'Heberncourt's time to feel a
chill run up and down his spine.
Recovering from his
momentary fright, M. d'Heberncourt said, "As long as they are fair and
honorable on both sides, I will agree to them."
"Then we shall stand in
this long grave I have dug..."
"Grave? Here? In this
mud? Gads!" d'Heberncourt broke in on the Captain. He began to look a
little pale.
"Yes, a grave here. It
is big enough to hold both our bodies if that be God's will. The water will
cover us as we fall and assure that we are both dead before my brave sailors
return the dirt to the hole."
From the breast pocket of
his jacket Captain Campbell drew a handkerchief and held it up by one corner.
"In one hand we will hold our pistols. In the other hand we will each hold
the diagonal corner of this pocket handkerchief. This done, one of our seconds
will give the word to fire."
"But,"
d'Heberncourt said rather weakly, "we can't miss at that range."
"Yes." the Captain
said. After a pause he added, "Then the world will be rid of a miserable
man and a dirty villain."
D'Heberncourt looked at this
calm madman and the trench filled with black swamp water. He trembled but made
no further protest. The sun was already rising when the pair stepped into the
water filled trench which promised to be their last resting place.
The Frenchman tried to
appear calm, but he fumbled with the pistol and dropped his end of the
handkerchief several times. When he was finally able to hold it, he looked
across to the calm face of his adversary. His own face was now as white as the
handkerchief itself.
The seconds had drawn lots
for the word of command and it became the duty of Captain Bore. Just as the
word "Fire" was on his lips, d'Heberncourt's eyes turned upwards
exposing the whites, and he fell forward in a dead faint. Captain Campbell
looked down at him for a moment and, reaching down into the water, pulled him
out and leaned him against the bank.
Quickly climbing out of the
trench, the Captain walked briskly away, leaving the prostrate bully, muddy and
dripping wet.
The name of the true coward
had been revealed.