During the conflict, I had talked a little, now and then, with a young gentleman of the White Cap Corps, and he had mentioned that he was to fight next—­and had also pointed out his challenger, a young gentleman who was leaning against the opposite wall smoking a cigarette and restfully observing the duel then in progress.

My acquaintanceship with a party to the coming contest had the effect of giving me a kind of personal interest in it; I naturally wished he might win, and it was the reverse of pleasant to learn that he probably would not, because, although he was a notable swordsman, the challenger was held to be his superior.

The duel presently began and in the same furious way which had marked the previous one.  I stood close by, but could not tell which blows told and which did not, they fell and vanished so like flashes of light.  They all seemed to tell; the swords always bent over the opponents’ heads, from the forehead back over the crown, and seemed to touch, all the way; but it was not so—­a protecting blade, invisible to me, was always interposed between.  At the end of ten seconds each man had struck twelve or fifteen blows, and warded off twelve or fifteen, and no harm done; then a sword became disabled, and a short rest followed whilst a new one was brought.  Early in the next round the White Corps student got an ugly wound on the side of his head and gave his opponent one like it.  In the third round the latter received another bad wound in the head, and the former had his under-lip divided.  After that, the White Corps student gave many severe wounds, but got none of the consequence in return.  At the end of five minutes from the beginning of the duel the surgeon stopped it; the challenging party had suffered such injuries that any addition to them might be dangerous.  These injuries were a fearful spectacle, but are better left undescribed.  So, against expectation, my acquaintance was the victor.

CHAPTER VI [A Sport that Sometimes Kills]

The third duel was brief and bloody.  The surgeon stopped it when he saw that one of the men had received such bad wounds that he could not fight longer without endangering his life.

The fourth duel was a tremendous encounter; but at the end of five or six minutes the surgeon interfered once more:  another man so severely hurt as to render it unsafe to add to his harms.  I watched this engagement as I watched the others—­with rapt interest and strong excitement, and with a shrink and a shudder for every blow that laid open a cheek or a forehead; and a conscious paling of my face when I occasionally saw a wound of a yet more shocking nature inflicted.  My eyes were upon the loser of this duel when he got his last and vanquishing wound—­it was in his face and it carried away his—­but no matter, I must not enter into details.  I had but a glance, and then turned quickly, but I would not have been looking at all if I had known what was coming.  No, that is probably not true; one thinks he would not look if he knew what was coming, but the interest and the excitement are so powerful that they would doubtless conquer all other feelings; and so, under the fierce exhilaration of the clashing steel, he would yield and look after all.  Sometimes spectators of these duels faint—­and it does seem a very reasonable thing to do, too.