"Ain't there no way to get out of it, Fernando?" asked Sukey, his droll
face comical even in distress.

"Not honorably."

"Well, now that you're in the game, just shoot that infernal
Englishman's head right off his shoulders, that's my advice. I've read
lots about duels, and it all depends on who is quickest at the trigger.
Take good aim and don't let him get a second the advantage of you."

They went to bed early, and Fernando slept soundly. It was Terrence who
awoke them and said it would not do to be late. He had engaged a sailor
called Luff Williams to take them in his boat to the spot, a long sandy
beach behind a high promontory some five or six miles from the city. The
spot was quite secluded, and Terrence declared it a love of a place for
such little affairs.

"What are ye thinkin' of, Fernando?" asked Terrence, when the boat with
the three young men was under way.

"I'm thinking, sir, if I were to kill him, what I must do after."

"Right, my boy; nothing like it; but 1811 will settle all for ye. I
don't believe, now that America is on the verge of war with the British,
that my one will make much of a row for killin' the murdherin' baste.
Are ye a good shot?"

"I am with a rifle; but I never could do anything to speak of with a
pistol."