The Guerilla Chief, and Other Tales

I might have dreaded the re-drawing of the pistol; but, during the whole interval, the mate and I, to whom I had given a hint, had kept our eyes upon the owner of it, and hindered him from rendering it available.

The combatants were soon separated; and after that commenced the more formal ceremony of the exchange of “cards.”

Casey gave his address, “Saint Charles Hotel” – whither we were bound, and towards which we had been steering when “brought to” by the gleaming lights of the café.

The Frenchman’s card was taken in return; and, after a parting glass with the honest mate, and his two or three confrères, we sallied forth from the saloon; traversed the long narrow streets of the First Municipality, and a little before midnight we arrived at that magnificent caravanserai known as the Saint Charles Hotel.

Story 2, Chapter IV

The Exchange of Cards

Monsieur Jacques Despard,

9, Rue Dauphin.

Such was the little memento that met my eyes as I entered Casey’s sleeping apartment, at an early hour in the morning. It lay upon his dressing-table – a sorry substitute for the “twenty guinea repeater” that should have been found there.

My friend was still in the land of dreams. I was loth to awake him to the unpleasant reality which that tiny piece of pasteboard would naturally suggest; for, besides being in itself a symbol of grave import, it would be certain to recall to poor Casey the remembrance of his loss, to whom, being no Croesus, it was a serious one.

In reality he so regarded it; and, when awakened at length, and conscious of what had transpired on the preceding night, he expressed far more concern about the loss he had sustained, than about the expected encounter. The latter he treated as a ridiculous joke – laughing at it as he pitched the card upon the floor.

“Stay!” said he, picking it up, and carefully placing it in his pocket-book. “It might be the fellow’s real name and address. If so, it will enable me to find him again; and, by Jaysus, I’ll have that watch, or take the worth of it out of his hide. Hang it, man! – it’s a family piece – got our crest on it – has been in the family ever since repeaters came into fashion. Yes, I’ll take the worth of it out of his hide! But that’s not possible – the whole of his yellow skin isn’t worth that watch!”

And so talked Casey, while he performed his toilet as coolly as if he were dressing for a dinner party, instead of preparing himself for what might prove a deadly encounter.

Pistols we had decided it should be. Casey, expecting to be the challenged party, would, of course, be entitled to the choice of weapons. Had it been otherwise, my friend would have been in a bit of a dilemma; for, as he assured me, he had never taken a fencing lesson in his life; and it is notorious that the Creoles of New Orleans are skilled in the use of the small-sword. Some friendly strangers, after the exchange of cards on the preceding night, had made us aware of this fact, at the same time warning us that Casey’s intended antagonist, whom they knew, was a noted swordsman. Swords, then, were not to be thought of.

Of course, as the party to be challenged, our duty was to stay at home (at the Hotel) until we should hear from the challenger. For my part, I did not anticipate there would be much delay; and I gave orders for a hurried breakfast.

“Faith! you may take your time about it,” said Casey to the retiring waiter. “There’s no need to spoil the meal. Never fear – we’ll eat our breakfast without being interrupted.”

“Nonsense! the friend of Monsieur Despard will be here in ten minutes.”

“No – nor in ten hours nayther. You’ll ate your dinner without seeing either Misther Despard or his friend.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Bah. – Is it a thief send a challenge to a gentleman? All blarney and brag! I tell you the fellow’s a thief – he has got my watch, bad luck to him! – and he thinks the givin’ of the card a ready way to get out of the scrape: that’s the maning of it. We’ll never set eyes on him again, barrin’ we go after him.”

I was at first disposed to ridicule this logic; but, as time passed, I began to think there was some truth in it. We waited for breakfast being prepared, and then ate it in the most leisurely manner. As Casey had predicted, no one interrupted us at the meal; no visitor was announced – no card came in. I had already given rigorous orders to the clerk of the Hotel to forward any application on the instant.

The hour of ten arrived, but no communication from “Monsieur Jacques Despard.”

“Perhaps he is hunting up a friend?” I suggested. “We must give him time.”

Eleven o’clock.

“Let’s have a sherry cobbler!” proposed Casey; “we’ll have plenty of time to drink it.”

A couple of those magnificent “sherry cobblers,” for which the Saint Charles is world renowned, were immediately ordered up; and we passed the better half of an hour with the straw between our lips.

Twelve o’clock. Still no Despard – no friend – no challenge!

“I told you so,” said Casey, not triumphantly, but rather in a tone of despondence. “This card’s good for nothing,” he continued, taking the piece of pasteboard from his pocket, and holding it up before his eyes; “a regular sham, I suspect, like the fellow himself – a false name and address – you see it’s in pencil? Ah, mother o’ Moses! I’ll never see that watch again! Sure enough,” continued he, after a pause, “the name’s in print – he’s gone to the expense of having that engraved, or somebody has for him, which is more likely. – No! – he won’t come to time.”

“We must remain at home till dinner. Perhaps they keep late hours here.”

“Late or early, we won’t see Misther Despard till we go after him; an’ by gorra!” cried Casey, striking the table in a most violent manner, “that’s what I mane to do. A man don’t point a pistol at my head, without giving me a chance to return the compliment; and I’m bound to have another try for that watch.”

From Casey’s earnest speech and manner, I saw that he was resolved; and I knew enough of him to be aware that he was a man of strong resolution. Whether a challenge came or not, he was determined that the affair should not drop, till he had some kind of revenge upon Jacques Despard, or, if no such person existed, upon the “swell” who had stolen his repeater.

It certainly appeared as if the card was a sham: for the dinner hour came, and no one had acknowledged it.

We descended, and ate our dinner at the general table d’hôte– such a dinner as can be obtained only in the luxurious hostelrie of the Saint Charles.

We sat over our wine till eight o’clock; but although a few friends joined us at the table, we heard nothing of a hostile visitor. Under the influence of Sillery and Moët, we for the time forgot the unpleasant incidents of the preceding night.

For my part, I should have been glad to have forgotten them altogether, or at all events to have left the matter where it stood; and such was the tenor of my counsels. But it proved of no avail: the fiery Hibernian was determined, as he expressed it, to have his “whack” out: he would either get back his watch or have a “pop” at the thief who stole it.

So resolved was he on carrying out his intention, that I saw it was idle to oppose him.

Certainly it was rather a singular affair; and now that a whole day had passed without any communication from Monsieur Despard, I became more than half convinced that Casey was right, and that the exquisite really had committed the theft. It was his indignant repudiation of the charge that had misled me; but Casey’s constant and earnest asseveration – now strengthened by the after circumstances of the false card, and the failure to make an appearance – satisfied me that we had been in the company of a sharper.

With this conviction I retired for the night, Casey warning me that he should be with me at an early hour in the morning, in order to devise what measures should be taken.

With regard to an early hour, he was too true to his promise. Before six – long before I felt inclined to leave my comfortable bed – he was with me.

He apologised for disturbing me so early, on the score of his being without a watch, and could not tell the time; but I could perceive that the jest was a melancholy one.

“What do you mean to do?”

“Why, to find Master Ruffleshirt, to be sure.”

“Will you not give him an hour’s grace? Perhaps he may send this morning?”

“No chance whatever.”

“It is possible he may have lost your card? Leave it alone till we have had breakfast.”

“Lost my card? No. Besides, he might easily have got over that difficulty. He knew we were on our way to this hotel. Don’t all the world come here? No; that isn’t the fellow’s excuse, and I shan’t eat till I know what is. So, rouse up, my boy! and come along.”

“But where are you going?”

“Number noine, Rue Daw – daw – hang his scribble! Daw – phin, I believe.”

I arose, and dressed myself with as little delay as possible.

Whilst making my toilette, Casey gave me a hurried sketch of how he intended to proceed. It amounted to little more than a declaration of his intention to make Monsieur Jacques Despard disgorge the stolen property, or fight. In other words, Casey, believing himself to be in a lawless land (and his experience to some extent seemed to justify the belief), had determined upon taking the law into his own hands.