the cruise of the jasper b.-第40章

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but　at　a　loss　to　comprehend　her。



〃I　beg　you　to　believe；　Mr。　Cleggett；〃　said　Miss　Pringle；　averting

her　face　and　flushing　painfully；　while　she　turned　the　lorgnette

about　and　about　with　embarrassed　fingers；　〃I　beg　you　to　believe

that　in　electing　to　witness　this　spectacle　I　had　no　idea　of　its

exceedingly　informal　nature。〃



With　these　words　she　passed　into　the　cabin；　with　the　air　of　one

who　has　sustained　a　mortal　insult。



〃Ef　you　was　to　ask　me　what　she's　tryin'　to　get　at；〃　piped　up

Cap'n　Abernethy；　〃I'd　say　it's　her　belief　that　it　ain't　proper

for　gents　to　sword　each　other　with　their　shirts　off。　　She's

shocked；　Miss　Pringle　is。〃



〃In　great　and　crucial　moments；〃　said　Cleggett　soberly；　pulling

off　his　shirt　again　and　picking　up　a　sword；　〃we　may　dispense　with

the　minor　conventions　without　apology。〃



Loge　chose　a　weapon　with　the　extreme　of　care　and　particularity；

trying　the　hang　and　balance　of　several　of　them。　　He　looked　well

to　the　weight；　bent　the　blade　in　his　hands　to　test　the　spring　and

temper；　tried　the　point　upon　his　thumb。　　He　handled　the　rapier　as

if　he　had　found　an　old　friend　again　after　a　long　absence；　he

looked　around　upon　his　enemies　with　a　sort　of　ferocious；

bantering　gayety。



〃And　now；〃　said　Loge；　〃if　this　is　to　be　a　duel　indeed；　Mr。

Cleggett　and　I　will　need　plenty　of　room；　I　suggest　that　the　rest

of　you　retire　to　the　bulwarks　and　give　us　the　deck　to　ourselves。〃



〃For　my　part；〃　said　Cleggett；　〃I　order　it。〃



〃And；〃　said　Wilton　Barnstable；　drawing　his　pistol；　〃Mr。　Black

will　please　note　that　while　I　am　standing　by　the　bulwarks　I　shall

be　watching　indeed。　　Should　he　make　an　attempt　to　escape　from　the

vessel　I　shall　riddle　him　with　bullets。〃



〃Come；　come；〃　said　Loge；　〃all　this　conversation　is　a　waste　of

time！〃



〃That　is　my　opinion　also；〃　said　Cleggett。



They　saluted　formally；　and　engaged　their　blades。



With　Cleggett；　swordsmanship　was　both　a　science　and　an　art。　　And

something　more。　　It　was　also　a　passion。　　A　good　swordsman　can　be

made；　a　superior　swordsman　may　be　born；　the　real　masters　are　both

born　and　made。　　It　was　so　with　Cleggett。　　His　interest　in　fencing

had　been　keen　from　his　early　boyhood。　　In　his　teens　he　had

acquired　unusual　practical　skill　without　great　theoretical

knowledge。　　Then　he　had　recognized　the　art　for　what　it　is；　the　

most　beautiful　game　on　earth；　and　had　made　a　profound　and

thorough　study　of　it；　it　appealed　to　his　imagination。



He　became；　in　a　way；　the　poet　of　the　foil。



Cleggett　seldom　fenced　publicly；　and　then　only　under　an　assumed

name；　he　abhorred　publicity。　　But　there　was　not　a　teacher　in　New

York　City　who　did　not　know　him　for　a　master。　　They　brought　him

their　half　worked　out　visions　of　new　combinations；　new　thrusts；

he　perfected　them；　and　simplified；　or　elaborated；　and　gave　back

the　finished　product。



They　were　the　workmen；　the　craftsmen；　the　men　of　talent；　he　was

the　originator；　the　genius。



And　he　was　especially　lucky　in　not　having　been　tied　down；　in　his

younger　years；　to　one　national　tradition　of　the　art。　　The

limitations　of　the　French；　the　Spanish；　the　Italian；　or　the

Austrian　schools　had　not　enslaved　him　in　youth　and　hampered　the

free　development　of　his　individuality。　　He　had　studied　them　all；

he　chose　from　them　all　their　superiorities；　their　excellences　he

blended　into　a　system　of　his　own。



It　might　be　called　the　Cleggett　System。



The　Frenchman　is　an　intellectual　swordsman；　the　basis　of　his　art

is　a　thorough　knowledge　of　its　mathematics。　　Upon　this　foundation

he　superimposes　a　structure　of　audacity。　　But　he　often　falls　into

one　error　or　another；　for　all　his　mental　brilliancy。　　He　may

become　rigidly　formal　in　his　practice；　or；　in　a　revolt　from　his

own　formalism；　be　seduced　into　a　display　of　showy；　sensational

tricks　that　are　all　very　well　in　the　studio　but　dangerous　to

their　practitioner　on　the　actual　dueling　ground。



The　Italian；　looser；　freer；　less　formal；　more　individual　in　his

style；　springing　from　a　line　of　forbears　who　have　preferred　the

thrust　to　the　cut；　the　point　to　the　edge；　for　centuries；　is　a

more　instinctive　and　less　intellectual　swordsman　than　the

Frenchman。　　It　is　in　his　blood；　he　uses　his　rapier　with　a　wild

and　angry　grace　that　is　feline。



The　Frenchman；　even　when　he　is　thoroughly　serious　in　his　desire

to　slay；　loves　a　duel　for　its　own　sake；　he　is　never　free　from　the

thought　of　the　picture　he　is　making；　the　art；　the　science；　the

practical　cleverness；　appeal　to　him　independently　of　the

bloodshed。



The　Italian　thinks　of　but　one　thing；　to　kill。　　He　will　take　a

severe　wound　to　give　a　fatal　one。　　The　French　are　the　best

fencers　in　the　world；　the　Italians　the　deadliest　duelists。



Cleggett；　as　has　been　said；　knew　all　the　schools　without　being

the　slave　of　any　of　them。



He　brought　his　sword　en　tierce；　Loge's　blade　met　his　with

strength　and　delicacy。　　The　strength　Cleggett　was　prepared　for。　

The　delicacy　surprised　him。　　But　he　was　too　much　the　master；　too

confident　of　his　own　powers；　to　trifle。　　He　delivered　one　of　his

favorite　thrusts；　it　was　a　stroke　of　his　own　invention；　three

times　out　of　five；　in　years　past；　it　had　carried　home　the　button

of　his　foil　to　his　opponent's　jacket。　　It　was　executed　with　the

directness　and　rapidity　of　a　flash　of　lightning。



But　Loge　parried　it　with　a　neatness　which　made　Cleggett　open　his

eyes；　replying　with　a　counter　so　shrewd　and　close；　and　of　such　a

darting　ferocity；　that　Cleggett；　although　he　met　it　faultlessly；

nevertheless　gave　back　a　step。



〃Ah；〃　cried　Loge；　showing　his　yellow　teeth　in　a　grin；　〃so　the

little　man　knows　that　thrust！〃



〃I　invented　it；〃　said　Cleggett。



With　the　word　he　pressed　forward　and；　making　a　swift　and　dazzling

feint；　followed　it　with　two　brilliant　thrusts；　either　of　which

would　have　meant　the　death　of　a　tyro。　　The　first　one　Loge

parried；　the　second　touched　him；　but　it　gave　him　nothing　more

than　a　scratch。　　Nevertheless；　the　smile　faded　from　Loge's　face；

he　gave　ground　in　his　turn　before　this　rapid　vigor　of　attack；　he

measured　Cleggett　with　a　new　glance。



〃You　are　touched；　I　think；〃　said　Cleggett；　meditating　a　fresh

combination；　〃and　I　am　glad　to　see　you　drop　that　ugly　pretense　at

a　grin。　　You　have　no　idea　how　the　sight　of　those　yellow　teeth　of

yours；　which　you　were　evidently　never　taught　to　brush　when　you

were　a　little　boy；　offends　a　person　of　any　refinement。〃



Loge's　answer　was　a　sudden　attempt　to　twist　his　blade　around

Cleggett's；　followed　by　a　direct　thrust；　as　quick　as　light；　which

grazed　Cleggett's　shoulder；　a　little　smudge　of　blood　appeared　on

his　undershirt。



〃Take　care；　take　care；　Cleggett！〃　warned　Wilton　Barnstable；　from

his　post　by　the　starboard　bulwark。



〃Make　yourself　easy；〃　said　Cleggett；　parrying　a　counter　en　carte；

〃I　am　only　getting　warm。〃



And　both　of　them；　stung　by　the　slight　scratches　which　they　had

received；　settled　to　the　business　with　an　intent　and　silent

deadliness　of　purpose。



To　all　appearances　Loge　had　an　immense　advantage　over　Cleggett；

his　legs　were　a　good　two　inches　longer；　so　were　his　arms。　　And　he

knew　how　to　make　these　peculiarities　count。　　He　fought　for　a

while　with　a　calm　and　steady　precision　that　repeatedly　baffled

the　calculated　impetuosity　of　Cleggett's　attack。　　But　the　air　of

bantering　certainty　with　which　he　had　begun　the　duel　had　left

him。　He　no　longer　wasted　his　breath　on　repartee；　no　doubt　he　was

surprised　to　find　Cleggett's　strength　so　nearly　equal　to　his　own；

as　Cleggett　had　been　astonished　to　find　in　Loge　so　much　finesse。　

But　with　a　second　slight　wound　Loge　began　to　give　ground。



With　Cleggett　a　bout　with　the　foils　had　always　been　a　duel。　　It

has　been　indicated；　we　believe；　that　he　was　of　a　romantic

disposition　and　much　given　to　daydreaming；　his　imagination　had

thus　made　every　set…to　in　the　fencing　room　a　veritable　mortal

combat　to　him。　　Therefore；　this　was　not　his　first　duel；　he　had

fo