His pistols were magnificent pieces, ten inches of blued steel with rifled bores and walnut stocks, made by one of the finest gunsmiths in London, a Swiss fellow by the name of Durs Egg. Richard was inordinately fond of them. He handed one to Rafe, who nearly dropped it.
“It’s heavy,” he exclaimed.
“Yes. Weight dampens the recoil.” He showed Rafe how to load the pistol, then had him load the second. The young man bent his head over the task, his face set in concentration. Richard talked him through the steps, then directed him how to stand and hold his arm. A tree some ten or twelve yards distant had a large blue patch painted on its trunk, with a red circle in the center, right at the height of a man’s chest. Rafael raised the pistol, squinted down the barrel, and pulled the trigger.
“A good first effort,” said Richard.
“I missed it entirely,” muttered his nephew.
“But your form was good for a first attempt.” Richard handed him the powder. “Reload.”
After half an hour, during which Rafe managed to hit some part of the tree once, Richard told him to put down the pistol. “Rest your arm,” he said, taking up the powder and his own pistol.
“Do you get used to the weight?” Rafael flexed his hand after laying down his pistol.
Richard smiled. “Yes, although I would consider it a very bad sign were I ever required to take more than two shots in short order.”
“In a duel, you only shoot once.”
Richard gave him a sharp look. “In a duel, you only shoot at all if you are hot-tempered and impatient.”
Rafe gave a huff of laughter. “You sound like Mama.”
“Well,” said Richard, tamping the ball into place, “unlike your mother, I have actually engaged in a duel.”
“Three, wasn’t it?” asked Rafe eagerly.
“Yes. Three times I have shot a man because he would not listen to reason.” Richard raised his arm, still and steady, and pulled the trigger. Bark flew from the edge of the red circle. He turned to his nephew, whose admiration was mingled with shock.
“You shot . . .?” he faltered.
“Twice in the leg, once in the shoulder,” replied Richard. “None of them died, though I believe two of them were left considerably injured. And all of it could have been avoided if they had mastered their tempers and behaved as sensible men.”
“What do you mean?”
Richard laid down his pistol. “A duel results when one fellow feels his pride has been insulted beyond bearing, yet often the insult has been dealt only out of drunkenness, temper, or thoughtlessness, not out of real desire to wound. Sometimes the act is merely perceived as an insult because it strikes too near an unflattering truth. But whatever the incitement, a duel results because one, or perhaps both, parties would risk death or disability rather than humble themselves to make up the slight.” He paused with a significant look at his nephew. “And do not listen to any nonsense about honor being outraged. The victim of the grievance is as likely to suffer as the perpetrator, and what honor is satisfied then?”
“Then why have you fought three of them?” asked Rafe.
“Once, because a captain of our ship thought we should continue on when a storm threatened. I refused. He feared to look a coward, so insisted and eventually challenged me. I accepted for the sake of the entire crew, who were cowed by him. His shot went wide, my shot pinked him in the flesh of his thigh, and a hurricane blew in the next day and did such damage, his officers came to me to apologize. We would likely all have been killed had we continued into that storm.
“Second, when I came upon a man beating a woman, his servant. I stopped him and he flew into a passion, insisting I meet him.” Richard smiled slightly. “I did not try hard to avoid that one. Him, I shot in the shoulder, and he never could raise his arm again, to a woman or anyone else.”
Rafe was listening, wide-eyed.
“And third, on one expedition, a chieftain offered to sell us some people he had captured as slaves. One fellow, a merchant who had joined our party, thought that a fine idea. Several of the captives were young, boys and girls about Gabriel’s age. This man...” Richard stopped, remembering the frightened eyes of the children as well as the expression on the merchant’s face as he eyed them. “I knew why he wanted to buy them. I declined the chieftain’s offer, and this fellow protested. I said we would leave him behind if he attempted it, and he called me out. Gerhard tried to reason with him, but he held fast to his belief that I had not only impugned his honor, but that I had cost him valuable... servants.” He glanced at his nephew. “I shot him in the leg, breaking it badly, andthenwe left him behind.”
“Oh,” said Rafe softly. “But... thosedosound honorable, Uncle.”
“Only because they were against men of no honor at all.”
“How did none of them hit you?”
Richard snorted. “One did!” He drew his finger a few inches along the side of his abdomen. “Right here I have a scar. The ball did not penetrate, but it left a bloody gash that took weeks to heal.”
“How were you able to hit all three of them?”
“I stood my ground and did not lose my head.” Richard picked up one of his pistols. “Also, the barrel is rifled, which makes for a more reliable shot.”
