the cruise of the jasper b[1].(杰斯帕·b·之游)-第36章
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originator； the genius。
And he was especially lucky in not having been tied down； in his
younger years； to one national tradition of the art。 The limitations of the
French； the Spanish； the Italian； or the Austrian schools had not enslaved
him in youth and hampered the free development of his individuality。 He
had studied them all； he chose from them all their superiorities； their
excellences he blended into a system of his own。
It might be called the Cleggett System。
The Frenchman is an intellectual swordsman； the basis of his art is a
thorough knowledge of its mathematics。 Upon this foundation he
superimposes a structure of audacity。 But he often falls into one error or
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another； for all his mental brilliancy。 He may become rigidly formal in
his practice； or； in a revolt from his own formalism； be seduced into a
display of showy； sensational tricks that are all very well in the studio but
dangerous to their practitioner on the actual dueling ground。
The Italian； looser； freer； less formal； more individual in his style；
springing from a line of forbears who have preferred the thrust to the cut；
the point to the edge； for centuries； is a more instinctive and less
intellectual swordsman than the Frenchman。 It is in his blood； he uses
his rapier with a wild and angry grace that is feline。
The Frenchman； even when he is thoroughly serious in his desire to
slay； loves a duel for its own sake； he is never free from the thought of the
picture he is making； the art； the science； the practical cleverness； appeal
to him independently of the bloodshed。
The Italian thinks of but one thing； to kill。 He will take a severe
wound to give a fatal one。 The French are the best fencers in the world；
the Italians the deadliest duelists。
Cleggett； as has been said； knew all the schools without being the
slave of any of them。
He brought his sword en tierce； Loge's blade met his with strength and
delicacy。 The strength Cleggett was prepared for。 The delicacy
surprised him。 But he was too much the master； too confident of his own
powers； to trifle。 He delivered one of his favorite thrusts； it was a stroke
of his own invention； three times out of five； in years past； it had carried
home the button of his foil to his opponent's jacket。 It was executed with
the directness and rapidity of a flash of lightning。
But Loge parried it with a neatness which made Cleggett open his eyes；
replying with a counter so shrewd and close； and of such a darting ferocity；
that Cleggett； although he met it faultlessly； nevertheless gave back a step。
〃Ah；〃 cried Loge； showing his yellow teeth in a grin； 〃so the little man
knows that thrust！〃
〃I invented it；〃 said Cleggett。
With the word he pressed forward and； making a swift and dazzling
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feint； followed it with two brilliant thrusts； either of which would have
meant the death of a tyro。 The first one Loge parried； the second touched
him； but it gave him nothing more than a scratch。 Nevertheless； the
smile faded from Loge's face； he gave ground in his turn before this rapid
vigor of attack； he measured Cleggett with a new glance。
〃You are touched； I think；〃 said Cleggett； meditating a fresh
combination； 〃and I am glad to see you drop that ugly pretense at a grin。
You have no idea how the sight of those yellow teeth of yours； which you
were evidently never taught to brush when you were a little boy； offends a
person of any refinement。〃
Loge's answer was a sudden attempt to twist his blade around
Cleggett's； followed by a direct thrust； as quick as light； which grazed
Cleggett's shoulder； a little smudge of blood appeared on his undershirt。
〃Take care； take care； Cleggett！〃 warned Wilton Barnstable； from his
post by the starboard bulwark。
〃Make yourself easy；〃 said Cleggett； parrying a counter en carte； 〃I am
only getting warm。〃
And both of them； stung by the slight scratches which they had
received； settled to the business with an intent and silent deadliness of
purpose。
To all appearances Loge had an immense advantage over Cleggett； his
legs were a good two inches longer； so were his arms。 And he knew how
to make these peculiarities count。 He fought for a while with a calm and
steady precision that repeatedly baffled the calculated impetuosity of
Cleggett's attack。 But the air of bantering certainty with which he had
begun the duel had left him。 He no longer wasted his breath on repartee；
no doubt he was surprised to find Cleggett's strength so nearly equal to his
own； as Cleggett had been astonished to find in Loge so much finesse。
But with a second slight wound Loge began to give ground。
With Cleggett a bout with the foils had always been a duel。 It has
been indicated； we believe； that he was of a romantic disposition and much
given to daydreaming； his imagination had thus made every set…to in the
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fencing room a veritable mortal combat to him。 Therefore； this was not
his first duel； he had fought hundreds of them。 And he fought always on
a settled plan； adapting it； of course； to the idiosyncrasies of his adversary。
It was his custom to vary the system of his attack frequently in the most
disconcerting manner； at the same time steadily increasing the pace at
which he fought。 And when Loge began to give ground and breathe a
little harder； Cleggett； far from taking advantage of his opponent's growing
distress to rest himself； as a less distinguished swordsman might have
done； redoubled the vigor of his assault。 Cleggett knew that sooner or
later a winded man makes a fault。 The lungs labor and fail to give the
blood all the oxygen it needs。 The circulation suffers。 Nerves and
muscles are no longer the perfect servants of the brain； for a fraction of a
second the sword deviates from the proper line。
It was for this that Cleggett waited； pressing Loge closer and closer；
alert for the instant when Loge would fence wide； waxing as the other
waned； menacing eyes； throat； and heart with a point that leaped and
dazzled； and at the same time inclosing himself within a rampart of steel
which Loge found it more and more hopeless to attempt to penetrate。 It
was as if Cleggett's blade were an extension of his will； he and his sword
were not two things； but one。 The metal in his hand was no longer
merely a whip of steel； it was a thing that lived with his own life。 His
pulse beat in it。 It was a part of him。 His nervous force permeated it
and animated it； it was his thought turned to tempered metal； and it was
with the rapidity； directness and subtlety of thought that his sword
responded to his mind。
〃Come！〃 said Cleggett； as Loge broke ground； scarcely aware that he
spoke aloud。 〃At this rate we shall be at home thrusts soon！〃
Loge must have thought so too； a shade passed over his face； his upper
lip lifted haggardly。 Perhaps even that iron nature was beginning to feel
at last something of the dull sickness which is the fear of death。 He
retreated continually； and Cleggett was smitten with the fancy to force him
backward and nail him； with a final thrust； to the stump of the foremast；
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which had been broken off some eight feet above the deck。
But Loge； gathering his power； made a brilliant and desperate rally；
twice he grazed Cleggett； whose blade was too closely engaged； and then
suddenly broke ground again。 This time Cleggett perceived that he had
been retreating in accordance with a preconceived program。 He was
certain the man contemplated a trick； perhaps some foul stroke。
He rushed forward with a terrible thrust。 Loge； whose last maneuver
had taken him within a yard of the hatchway opening into the hold；
grasped Cleggett's blade in his left hand； and at the same instant flung his
own sword； hilt first； full in Cleggett's face。 As Cleggett； struck in the
mouth with the pommel； staggered back； Loge plunged feet foremost into
the hold。 It was too unexpected； and too quickly done； for a shot from
Barnstable or any of Cleggett's men。
Cleggett； with the blood streaming from his mouth； recovered himself
and leaped through the aperture in the deck。 He landed upon his feet
with a jar； and； shortening his sword in his hand； stared about him in the
gloom。
He saw no one。
An instant later Wilton Barnstable and Cap'n Abernethy were beside
him。
〃Gone！〃 said Cleggett simply。
Barnstable drew from his pocket a small electric lantern and swept the
beam in a circle about the hold。 Again and again he raked the darkness
until the finger of light had rested upon every foot of the interior。
But Loge had vanished as completely as a snowflake that falls into a
tub of water。
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CHAPTER XXV
THE SECRET OF THE VESSEL'S
HOLD
〃Idiot that I am；〃 cried Cleggett； 〃not to have covered that hole！〃 His
chagrin was touching to behold。
〃There； there； Cl
