[Mark Twain Mysteries 02] - A Connecticut Yankee in Criminal Court by Peter J. Heck

Author:Peter J. Heck [Heck, Peter J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Historical, General
ISBN: 9781479427222
Amazon: 1479427225
Publisher: Wildside Press
Published: 2017-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

16

It should surprise no one to learn that I slept very little that night. I spent a good deal of time mentally turning over the different ways I could imagine the events of the next day turning out, and trying to prepare myself for everything I could foresee. Alas for my mental composure, the majority of my imaginings found me facing Staunton on the field, gun in hand.

I realized I knew almost nothing about the code of honor by which duels were supposedly fought. Vaguely I recalled that the challenged party could dictate choice of weapons, not that I had enough experience with any sort of weapon to make a difference. The code almost certainly did not permit the parties to settle their differences by fisticuffs, which was the only style of fighting in which I might have an advantage over Percy Staunton. I had never fired a pistol in my life, and the closest I had ever come to fencing was in my boyhood, swinging a length of cattail stalk at another boy, similarly armed. My mother had put a stop to it with the admonition “You’ll poke each other’s eyes out.”

It was tempting to believe that in the clear light of dawn, when I gave my word as a gentleman that nothing had happened between me and Mrs. Staunton, and then apologized, that Mr. Staunton would give up his grudge. I could imagine myself in months to come, telling my old friends about my “duel” in New Orleans, and laughing at it all. Yet I could still see the livid face of Percival Staunton, ordering me from his house. My only real hope was that his seconds were correct in their belief that they could talk him out of it.

I did spend the better part of an hour writing to my parents. My conscience reminded me that my letters had been getting shorter and shorter as the distance from home increased, and I made up for it with a long letter. On the final page, I told them of the possibility that tomorrow might be my last day, and tried to say such things as I thought might be comforting. I wrote another note to Mr. Clemens, informing him of the events of the day, of my intimations concerning Staunton’s possible guilt in the murder of his brother-in-law, Robinson, and other information I thought might be of use to him in following up the case. In the event of my death, I asked him to forward my letter to my parents. Should I survive, I would send it myself, sans the final page.

I thought at first of making out a will, but then realized that in the absence of witnesses it would be without force. In any case, I had little enough property to be concerned with—really, little more than my clothes and the small amount of money I had saved. At last, I simply added a line to my note to Mr. Clemens, asking him to forward my personal effects to my parents.

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