“You lie, Griscelli; and you are not a liar merely, but a murderer and a coward.”

“Por Dios, you shall pay for this insult with your heart’s blood!” he shouted, furiously, half drawing his sword.

“It is like you to draw on an unarmed man.”  I said, laying hold of his wrist.  “Give me a sword, and you shall make me pay for the insult with my blood—­if you can.  Senores” (by this time all the people in the patio had gathered round us), “Senores, are there here any Venezuelan caballeros who will bear me out in this quarrel.  I am an Englishman, by name Fortescue; eleven years ago, while serving under General Mejia on the patriot side, I fell into the hands of General Griscelli, who deprived me of the sword he now wears, which I received as a present from Senor Carera, whose name you may remember.  Then, after deceiving us with false promises—­my friend General Carmen and myself—­he hunted us with his bloodhounds, and we escaped as by a miracle.  Now he protests that he never saw me before.  What say you, senores, am I not right in stigmatizing him as a murderer and liar?”

“Quite right!” said a middle-aged, soldierly-looking man.  I also served in the war of liberation, and remember Griscelli’s name well.  It would serve him right to poniard him on the spot.”

“No, no.  I want no murder.  I demand only satisfaction.”

“And he shall give it you or take the consequences.  I will gladly act as one witness, and I am sure my friend here, Senor Don Luis de Medina, who is also a veteran of the war, will act as the other.  Will you fight, Griscelli?”

“Certainly—­provided that we fight at once, and to the death.  You can arrange the details with my friends here.”

“Be it so.”  I said, “A la muerte.”

“To the death!  To the death!” shouted the crowd, whose native ferocity was now thoroughly roused.

After a short conference and a reference to Griscelli and myself, the seconds announced that we were to fight with swords in Senor de Medina’s garden, whither we straightway wended, for there were no police to meddle with us, and at that time duels a la muerte were of daily occurrence in the city of Caracas.  When we arrived at the garden, which was only a stone’s-throw walk from the posada, Senor de Medina produced two swords with cutting edges, and blades five feet long; for we were to fight in Spanish fashion, and Spanish duelists both cut and thrust, and, when occasion serves, use the left hand as a help in parrying.

Then the spectators, of whom there were fully two score, made a ring, and Griscelli and I (having meanwhile doffed our hats, coats, and shirts), stepped into the arena.

I had not handled a sword for years, and for aught I knew Griscelli might be a consummate swordsman and in daily practice.  On the other hand, he was too stout to be in first-rate condition, and, besides being younger, I had slightly the advantage in length of arm.