The Great Diamond Hoax and Other Stirring Incidents in the Life of Asbury Harpending. Asbury Harpending
of the offensive language. “That is out of the question,” said Judson. “We are wasting time. Let us proceed to details.”
“Proceeding to details” was quite a formal function in the code. Arrangements for the slaughter of a couple of human beings were always discussed over a bottle of wine, in a spirit of friendly benevolence. Judson produced the refreshments, filled my glass, handed it to me standing, left his own unfilled and sat down.
Now, in Southwestern Kentucky, where I was raised, gentlemen always drank together. To offer wine or corn juice to an equal and not partake yourself was an almost unpardonable affront. You might do that without offense to an humble dependent, but not to one of the same social rank.
I had determined that the duel should not take place and was watching for any chance to spar for time. This seemed to offer an “opening.” Of course, Judson had not the most remote idea of being discourteous. But I assumed to think otherwise. I looked as indignant as possible, dashed the glass on the floor, slapped my hat on my head and left the apartment before the astonished quartermaster had time to catch his breath. A few hours later my second, Captain Fluson, a famous duelist, waited on Judson with my challenge.
I hope no one will imagine I am bragging. I took not the slightest chance in sending the challenge and knew it very well. No man was compelled to accept a challenge without a full knowledge of the nature of his offense. If a person wanted to fight you just for his own amusement or because he disapproved of the cut of your coat, no one was expected to humor him, and a man of honor could properly refuse to consider a challenge based on trivial grounds or even kick the bearer out of doors. As soon as my second presented himself to Judson, just as I expected, he asked to be informed in what way he had given offense to Mr. Harpending. My second explained the deadly nature of the one-sided invitation to drink, according to the usages of Southwestern Kentucky, whereat the quartermaster laughed and said he was ignorant of any such custom; that he had never had the remotest intention of being discourteous and asked that this explanation be given me before going further.
Of course, I had to appear immensely gratified. I wrote Judson, expressing my entire satisfaction, apologized for my own hasty conclusion, and asked him to dinner. We had a jolly sort of time and over black coffee we discussed the proposed Rubery-Tompkins duel. Both agreed it was a shame to see two fine young fellows fill each other with lead and decided to co-operate to prevent it. We managed to bring the principals together and after a lot of diplomacy on all sides Tompkins agreed to a written retraction of the insulting language, Rubery promising that it should never be exhibited unless he were charged with cowardice as a result of the billiard-hall incident.
Everything terminated in a dinner party and the incident was closed.
Rubery and I, thus strangely brought together, became inseparable. We were nearly of an age, both crazy for adventure, both devoted to the South. It was not, therefore, strange that I confided to him all my plans of outfitting a privateer. When he learned the details he became almost idiotic with delight. “Now, we’re getting somewhere,” he cried. “Let me be your associate and count me in to the limit.”
That is how the nephew of John Bright became associated with Greathouse and myself in an effort to destroy the commerce of the Pacific Coast and how he came to loom largely in what was known to history as the “Chapman piracy case.”
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