A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

war was over. It was now two in the afternoon, and I

had been present since half past nine in the morning.

The field of battle was indeed a red one by this time;

but some sawdust soon righted that. There had been one

duel before I arrived. In it one of the men received

many injuries, while the other one escaped without

a scratch.

I had seen the heads and faces of ten youths gashed

in every direction by the keen two-edged blades, and yet

had not seen a victim wince, nor heard a moan, or detected

any fleeting expression which confessed the sharp pain

the hurts were inflicting. This was good fortitude,

indeed. Such endurance is to be expected in savages

and prize-fighters, for they are born and educated to it;

but to find it in such perfection in these gently bred

and kindly natured young fellows is matter for surprise.

It was not merely under the excitement of the sword-play

that this fortitude was shown; it was shown in the surgeon’s

room where an uninspiring quiet reigned, and where there

was no audience. The doctor’s manipulations brought

out neither grimaces nor moans. And in the fights

it was observable that these lads hacked and slashed

with the same tremendous spirit, after they were covered

with streaming wounds, which they had shown in the beginning.

The world in general looks upon the college duels as very

farcical affairs: true, but considering that the college

duel is fought by boys; that the swords are real swords;

and that the head and face are exposed, it seems to me

that it is a farce which had quite a grave side to it.

People laugh at it mainly because they think the student

is so covered up with armor that he cannot be hurt.

But it is not so; his eyes are ears are protected,

but the rest of his face and head are bare. He can not only

be badly wounded, but his life is in danger; and he would

sometimes lose it but for the interference of the surgeon.

It is not intended that his life shall be endangered.

Fatal accidents are possible, however. For instance,

the student’s sword may break, and the end of it fly

up behind his antagonist’s ear and cut an artery which

could not be reached if the sword remained whole.

This has happened, sometimes, and death has resulted

on the spot. Formerly the student’s armpits were not

protected–and at that time the swords were pointed,

whereas they are blunt, now; so an artery in the armpit

was sometimes cut, and death followed. Then in the days

of sharp-pointed swords, a spectator was an occasional

victim–the end of a broken sword flew five or ten

feet and buried itself in his neck or his heart,

and death ensued instantly. The student duels in Germany

occasion two or three deaths every year, now, but this

arises only from the carelessness of the wounded men;

they eat or drink imprudently, or commit excesses in the

way of overexertion; inflammation sets in and gets such

a headway that it cannot be arrested. Indeed, there is

blood and pain and danger enough about the college duel

to entitle it to a considerable degree of respect.

All the customs, all the laws, all the details,

pertaining to the student duel are quaint and naive.

The grave, precise, and courtly ceremony with which the

thing is conducted, invests it with a sort of antique charm.

This dignity and these knightly graces suggest the tournament,

not the prize-fight. The laws are as curious as they

are strict. For instance, the duelist may step forward

from the line he is placed upon, if he chooses, but never

back of it. If he steps back of it, or even leans back,

it is considered that he did it to avoid a blow or contrive

an advantage; so he is dismissed from his corps in disgrace.

It would seem natural to step from under a descending

sword unconsciously, and against one’s will and intent–yet

this unconsciousness is not allowed. Again: if under the

sudden anguish of a wound the receiver of it makes a grimace,