The Prussian Terror Part 51

"Yes, sir, and he has chosen the sword; we are to go to a sword cutler and choose a couple of blades that neither of you will have seen before; then we are to go to the nearest convenient spot for the meeting. We suggested the fortifications, and these gentlemen have agreed; they are to take an open carriage, we are to take another; and, as they do not know the way and we do, we shall guide them along the boulevard, and at the first sword-cutler's we will buy the swords."

Everything was arranged accordingly. Two waiters were sent for two carriages. The seconds suggested that the surgeon-major of the Zouaves should accompany the party, and the suggestion being accepted, one of the officers went to fetch him. He joined Benedict and the two Frenchmen, while General Sturm and his seconds followed at some distance.

At the sword-cutler's--which was Claudin's, Benedict said in an aside to the shopman, whom he knew:

"The swords are to be charged to me; let the gentlemen who are in the second carriage choose them."

Three different swords were shown to General Sturm, who selected the one that best suited his hand, and asked its price; he was told that they were paid for. The two carriages went as far as the etoile turnpike by way of the Maillot gate. Thence they followed the line of the fortifications for a short distance, then, when they had reached a tolerably deserted spot, the two Zouave officers alighted from their chaise, looked up and down the fosse, and finding it empty beckoned their adversaries to join them. In another minute the whole party was standing at the base of the walls. The ground was level and offered every facility for a combat of the kind that was now to take place.

The general's seconds presented the two swords to Benedict who had not previously seen them; he cast a quick glance at them and saw that they were _montees en quarte_, a circ.u.mstance which suited his designs admirably. Apparently it suited General Sturm's, also, since he had chosen the swords.

"When is the light to stop?" asked the seconds.

"When one of us is killed," answered the two antagonists together.

"Coats off, gentlemen!" said the seconds.

Benedict threw aside his jacket and waistcoat, displaying his shirt.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked the seconds.

"Yes," replied both at the same time.

One of the Zouave officers took one sword and put it into Benedict's hands; one of the Prussian officers took the other and put it into General Sturm's hands.

The seconds crossed the two swords at a distance of three inches from the points, and, moving aside to leave the combatants face to face, said:

"Now, gentlemen!"

The words were scarcely uttered when the general swiftly made himself master of his opponent's sword by a double engagement, making as he did so a stride forward with all the usual impetuosity of a man who knows himself an adept in fencing.

Benedict leapt back; then, looking at the general's guard:

"Ah, ah!" he murmured, "a quick fellow on his feet. Attention!"

He exchanged a quick glance with his seconds, to tell them not to be uneasy.

But at the same moment, and without any interval, the general, while entangling the sword by a skilful pressure advanced in a crouching att.i.tude, and lunged with so rapid a _degagement_ that it needed all Benedict's close handling to parry by a _counter quarte_, which, quick though it was, could not save his shoulder from a graze. The shirt tore upon the sword's point and became slightly tinged with blood.

The return thrust came so swiftly that the Prussian by luck or by instinct had not time to resort to a circular parry and mechanically employed the _parade de quarte_ and was now on the defensive. The thrust was parried, but it had been given with such energy that General Sturm staggered on his legs and could not deliver his counter thrust.

"He is a pretty fencer, after all," thought Benedict. "He gives one something to do."

Sturm stepped back and lowered his point.

"You are wounded," said he.

"Come, come," returned the young man, "no nonsense! Here's a fuss about a scratch. You know very well, general, that I have got to kill you. One must keep one's word, even to a dead man." He put himself in position again.

"You? Kill me! Upstart!" exclaimed the general.

"Yes, I, greenhorn as you think me," replied Benedict. "Your blood for his, although all yours is not equal to one drop of his."

"Cursed rascal!" swore Sturm, growing crimson. And, rushing upon Benedict, he made as he came, two successive _coups de seconde_, so hasty and so furious that Benedict had barely time to parry them, by twice retiring, and then a _parade de seconde_ delivered with such precision and energy that the loose shirt was torn above the waistband, and Benedict felt the cold steel. Another stain of blood appeared.

"What! Are you trying to tear off my shirt?" said Benedict, sending his enemy a high _thrust de quarte_, which would have run him through, but that, feeling himself in danger, he flung himself forward in such a manner that the hilts touched, and the two adversaries stood with their swords up face to face.

"Here!" cried Benedict, "this will teach you to steal my thrust."

And before the seconds could interpose their swords to separate them, Benedict, freeing his arm like a spring, drove the two hilts like the blow of a fist in his adversary's face, who staggered back, his face lacerated and bruised by the blow.

Then followed a scene which made those who beheld it shudder.

Sturm drew back for an instant, his mouth half-open and foaming, his teeth clenched and bleeding, his lips turned back, his eyes gleaming, bloodshot and almost starting from their sockets, his whole countenance reddish purple.

"Blackguard! Dog!" he yelled, waving his stiff-held sword and crouching back for his guard like a jaguar ready to spring.

Benedict stood calm, cold, contemptuous. He extended his sword towards him.

"You belong to me, now," he said in a solemn voice. "You are about to die."

He fell back to his guard, exaggerating the pose as a sort of challenge.

He had not to wait long.

Sturm was too good a fencer to throw himself unprotected upon his enemy.

He advanced sharply one pace, making _un double engagement_, of which Benedict turned aside the second by a _degagement fait comme on les pa.s.se au mur_.

Anger had disturbed Sturm's guard, he was lunging with his head down--an att.i.tude which, for this once at least, saved him. The _degagement_ merely grazed his shoulder by the neck. Blood appeared.

"A sleeve for a sleeve," retorted Benedict, falling back quickly to his guard, and leaving a great distance between the general and himself.

"Now for it!"

The general found himself too far off, took a step forward, gathered all his powers, made a frenzied beating with his sword and struck straight, lunging at the full stretch of his body. All his soul, that is to say, all his hope, was in that blow.

This time Benedict, planted firmly on his feet, did not yield an inch; he caught the sword _par un demi cercle_, executed in due form, with his nails held upwards as though he were in a fencing school, and standing over the point of his sword inclined towards his feet:

"Now then," he said, delivering his thrust.

The sword entered the upper part of the chest and disappeared completely in the general's body where Benedict left it, as he sprang back--as a bull fighter leaves his dagger in the breast of the bull. Then, folding his arms, he waited.

The general remained standing for a second, staggered, tried to speak; his mouth became full of blood, he made a movement with his sword and the sword fell from his hand; then he, himself, like an uprooted tree, fell full length upon the turf.

The surgeon rushed to the body of Sturm; but he was already dead.

The point of the sword had gone in below the right shoulder blade, and come out on the left hip, after pa.s.sing through the heart.

"_Sapristi!_" muttered the surgeon, "that's a man well killed."

Such was Sturm's funeral oration.