Clinch, on the other hand, stood fronting him,
with the whole breadth of his chest; holding his weapon awkwardly across
his body, with both hands. Pinkem appeared unwilling to take him at such
advantage, for, although violent and headstrong, and but too frequently
the slave of his passions, he had some noble traits in his character.
"Turn your feather edge to me, Mr Clinch; take a fair chance, man."
The lieutenant bowed, and I thought would have spoken, but he was checked
by the dread of being thought to fear; however, took the advice, and in an
instant the word was given--"Are you both ready?"
"Yes."
"Then fire!"
Clinch fired without deliberation. I saw him, for my eyes were fixed on
him, expecting to see him fall. He stood firm, however, which was more
than I did, as at the instant, a piece of the bullion of an epaulet, at
first taken for a pellet of baser metal, struck me sharply on the nose,
and shook my equanimity confoundedly; at length I turned to look at
Pinkem, and there he stood with his arm raised, and pistol levelled, but
he had not fired. He stood thus whilst I might have counted ten, like a
finger--post, then dropping his hand, his weapon went off, but without
aim, the bullet striking the sand near his feet, and down he came headlong
to the ground. He fell with his face turned towards me, and I never shall
forget the horrible expression of it. His healthy complexion had, given
place to a deadly blue, the eyes were wide open and straining in their
sockets, the upper lip was drawn up, showing his teeth in a most frightful
grin, the blood gushed from his mouth as if impelled by the strokes of a
force pump, while his hands griped and dug into the sand.
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