# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/My first duel

MY FIRST DUEL.
Yes, I was going to fight a duel. Not that there was any necessity for me to fight, far from it, for I had quarreled with no one. No, I was going to fight, with a man whom I had only seen once before, for the mere pleasure of fighting.
This will, I have no doubt, sound curious to English ears, but the facts of the case were as follows: I was at that time (some five or six years ago) studying at a German university; and was, of course, intimate with a considerable number of the students, whose countless duels I was very fond of witnessing. One day, as I was walking home with one them, Müller by name, from the fighting ground, he suddenly said to me:
“I say, Albion,” (Albion was my nickname among the students), “I say, Albion, you ought to fight once, too; you will never get quite behind the scenes of German student life, unless you do so.”
“Well,” I said, “I think that I should like to fight once, just to see what my sensations would be like. I wonder whether I should feel afraid or not?”
“Then you will do so?” he said.
“Yes, I think I will,” I replied; “but I have no quarrel with anybody.”
“Never mind about that,” said he. “I will arrange everything for you, come to our Kneipe this evening, and afterwards we shall be sure to pick up a man for you in the Market Place.”
​I accordingly went to Müller’s lodgings a little before eight that evening, and he conducted me to the room in which his corps used to hold their “Kneipe;” it was a large, handsome apartment in one of the principal Restaurations, exclusively kept for the use of members of the corps. We there found about a dozen men already assembled, and nearly as many more dropped in by twos and threes shortly afterwards. We all supped together, and as soon as our meal was finished, the serious business of the evening, that is to say, the beer-drinking, commenced. I am afraid to say how much Bavarian beer was disposed of—we all drank like fishes; the more we drank, the thirstier we seemed to get: in fact, no one who has not seen German students drink beer, can form any adequate idea of the quantity they consume. Bavarian beer, is of course, not nearly so strong as the English beer; but is still a very agreeable drink; and tastes much like pale ale. About eleven o’clock, Müller said to me:
“Come, let us go and take a turn in the street, we shall not be many minutes finding you a man.”
We went out, and in the Market Place found a number of students belonging to various corps walking about, all of whom, as my companion informed me, were looking for opportunities to challenge some one, or force some one to challenge them.
“We shall very soon be suited,” said he.
“We!” I said, “are you going to quarrel, too?”
“Yes,” he answered carelessly. “I may as well do so now I am here. Ah! there is a man to whom I should like to say a few words.”
We stopped opposite to the man whom Müller had pointed out, and to whom he said, after politely taking off his cap:
“I beg your pardon; but you look amazingly stupid.”
The person thus addressed, bowed in his turn, told Müller that he should hear from him, and was passing on, when Müller said:
“Now do not be in such a hurry, for I should like to introduce my friend here to one of your men.”
He stared, for he saw that I was an Englishman; but answered:
“If you will wait here for two minutes, I will bring you several, and then you can take your choice.”
He left us, and I said to Müller:
“Show me which man you think will do for me, for I do not know how they can fight, and then I suppose the right thing will be for me to call him a fool at once.”
“No, no,” he answered; “that is not necessary, the fellow will know perfectly well what you want; a simple introduction is sufficient. Ah! here they are.”
He selected one of the new arrivals, to whom he introduced me as Mr. Jones, of London.
We bowed to each other, and the ceremony of quarreling was complete; so Müller and I returned to the Kneipe. As soon as we entered, we were assailed with a volley of questions as to where we had been, and what we had been doing.
“Oh! nothing particular,” answered Müller, “our English friend here wants to fight, and so I have been out with him to help him to select an opponent.”
“What! do you intend to fight, Englishman?” said the senior of the corps, as he shook me heartily by the hand; “that is right, old fellow. I am going to fight the day after to-morrow, so are several more of us, and your little affair can come off at the same time. Well done, Albion, I looks towards you.” And he poured about a pint and a quarter of beer down his capacious throat.
I likewise bowed, then refilled my pipe, and sat down again with the rest to finish the remainder of the evening, and what beer was left in the cask, for they said it would be a pity to let it stand till morning, as it might get flat. We separated about midnight. I went home feeling like an incipient hero, and very naturally dreamt of nothing but carte and tierce all that night, and if only half the number of duels in which I imagined myself engaged had really come to pass, I might well have called myself the hero of a hundred fights. When I awoke the next morning I must confess that I did not feel quite comfortable; I had, when watching the students’ duels, seen cheeks laid open, heads badly cut, and noses slit, and now I was going to expose myself to the very same thing; perhaps I should return to England with a scar right across my face, and then what would the Governor say? I remained in a very uncomfortable state all that day, for although I was by no means a despicable opponent in the fencing-room, where no one can be hurt, yet I could not tell what my sensations might be when I found myself without a helmet, facing an opponent armed with a sword a yard long and as sharp as a razor. However, I was in for it; there was no possible way of escape, so I concealed my fidgety state as well as I could, but still could not keep down unpleasant thoughts of gashed faces, and the consequent sewing up with needles and red silk, which constantly came into my head. At supper, too, that evening, I came in for a good deal of chaff, not exactly calculated to inspire me with additional confidence: one man, while examining the bill of fare before ordering his supper, remarked:
“Hm, bifsteck,—no, not to-day; an Englishman is going to be slaughtered to-morrow, so we shall have real English bifsteck then, shall we not, Albion?”
Another drew my attention to some cutlets on his plate, and asked how many similar ones could be cut out of me, for he said he had just made a bet upon the subject; and on finding me unable to give him the requisite information, remarked, “Well, never mind, we shall see to-morrow.” Frequent allusions were also made to mince-meat, sausages, &c., till the senior kindly put an end to the chaff by calling to me from the top of the table, “Never mind what they say, Albion; if you fight as well in earnest as you do in the fencing-room, none of those fellows who are chaffing you so could touch you; I know the man ​with whom you are going to fight; you are at least as good a swordsman as he; I will be your second myself, and if you only do as I tell you, all will be right.”
After supper he left the room, to see our opponents, and make the final arrangements with them; and during his absence I really could not help casting anxious glances towards the door, which was presently thrown open, and he reappeared.
“All right,” he said; “to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, at the usual place; the others will bring the doctor with them.”
The doctor! who to-morrow would perhaps have to try to reunite, by means of needles and thread (or rather silk), the dissevered halves of my countenance. So said my fears and some of my friends; but I determined to banish all disagreeable thoughts, expressed myself perfectly satisfied with the arrangements, and took a long draught of beer to conceal my—delight. I rose the next morning about the usual time, after having passed a rather restless night, dressed myself in the darkest clothes I had, in order that the blood—if any were spilt—might show as little as possible upon them; and after a hurried breakfast proceeded to the Kneipe, from whence we were to drive to the scene of action. Arrived there, I found almost the whole of the corps assembled, endeavouring to pass away the time with the aid of pipes and beer.
“Hallo,” I said, “are you fellows all going to cut lectures to-day.”
“Yes, old boy,” they said, “to be sure we are; we are all coming out to see you fight.”
“But,” I replied, “as it is my first appearance in public, I should like as few spectators as possible.”
“Nonsense,” was the answer; “you know that there are thirty or forty to look on at every fight, and there will be double that number to-day, for every one knows that you are going out, and we never saw an Englishman fight before.”
This I did not like at all; but I knew that nothing I could say would make them stay at home, so, as it was now barely ten and we were not to set off till half-past, I lighted a cigar, ordered some beer, and tried to persuade myself that I felt perfectly comfortable. The conversation was of a violent and decidedly sanguinary nature, consisting almost entirely of reminiscences of duels in which one or both of the combatants had been punished with unusual severity, and the Senior related to me, with great glee, how he had on one occasion cut his opponent’s nose completely off! The vehicle drove up punctually at half-past ten; as many of us as could find room got in, and in about twenty minutes we arrived at the ground, where we found the other party and the surgeon. The Senior—a splendid swordsman—was the first to engage; and after a very spirited and scientific combat of about ten minutes’ duration, put his opponent hors de combat by cutting his left cheek quite through. The surgeon immediately sewed up the gash, and the wounded hero was taken home, to amuse himself for the next three or four days with making iced applications to his cheek, and living upon soup, being, of course, most strictly forbidden either to smoke or to touch any beer, which prohibition is about the severest punishment in the world for a German student. As soon as he had left the spot, Müller came towards me, and said, “Now then, old fellow, go and get bandaged, your turn comes next.” I therefore followed him to the room where the duellists were bandaged, stripped to the waist, and was immediately dressed in a coarse linen shirt; a glove made of double leather, with a quantity of thin steel chain between the two thicknesses, intended to protect the hand and wrist, was put upon my right hand, and over that a sort of sleeve about an inch in thickness, formed of innumerable layers of silk, was drawn upon my arm, reaching from the wrist quite up to the shoulder. Over this again, a sort of rope, made of old silk stockings twisted, ran all along the outside of my arm, which was thus completely protected. A thick pad was then tied over the axillary artery, a long bandage wound round my throat, and a pair of “Paukhosen,” things something like cricket-pads, but reaching nearly up to the heart, strapped on. My toilet was now complete, the head and the upper part of the chest only being exposed. My antagonist was ready about the same time, the usual formalities were gone through, and we faced each other. With a passing thought of what the consternation of the “Governor” would be, could he but see me at this moment, I put myself into position; my adversary did the same; the seconds shouted “Los!” or “Go it!” and at it we went, hammer and tongs, with an energy worthy of a better cause. To my great surprise and gratification, any nervousness which I might have felt before had now entirely vanished; I felt as cool and collected as if I were only practising in the fencing-room, but at the same time there was an excitement which I had never felt when using blunted weapons. When we had been fighting for about five minutes, I suddenly felt a sharp slap on the left cheek, and found that I had not completely parried a vicious horizontal cut in carte, and that the flat of my enemy’s blade had struck me in the face, just drawing blood from the cheek. An appeal was of course made by the opposite second, and his claim of first blood was allowed.
We all paused for a few moments to recover breath and refresh ourselves with a glass of wine; during which pause my second whispered to me, “If he tries that cut again, and I feel sure that he will, return high tierce as quickly as possible.” (This, by the by, is considered quite fair).
I watched for this cut, which he soon did try again; as I had been told, I returned high tierce as quickly as I could; a large lock of my adversary’s hair fell to the ground, and in a moment his face was covered with blood. I had given him a smart cut on the top of the head—a cut perhaps four inches in length, which was, however, not severe enough to prevent his continuing the fight, and so we fought on for some time, but without touching each other again, till the referee warned us that the time, which is limited to a quarter of an hour, was expired. We then shook hands, resumed our ordinary habiliments, and, ​after my opponent’s wound had been sewn up by the doctor, left the ground on the best of terms. Thus ended my first duel; but I found the excitement of fighting so very pleasant, that I said to myself, as we left the ground, “I’ll fight again as often as I can.” And I did. I joined the corps that evening, and in course of time became one of the seniors.