STORIES OF THE DUELLISTS
TRADITIONS OF PERSONAL COMBATS THAT ILLUSTRATE, IN A WAY, A PART OF
THE LIFE LED BY THE OLD TIME NAVAL OFFICERS--WHEN AN ENGLISHMAN
DID NOT GET “A YANKEE FOR BREAKFAST”--THEY WERE OFFENDED BY THE
NAMES OF THE YANKEE SHIPS--SOMERS WAS ABLE TO PROVE THAT HE WAS
NOT DEVOID OF COURAGE--THE FATE OF DECATUR, THE MOST FAMOUS OF THE
NAVY’S DUELLISTS.
As the student of American naval history turns the leaves of Cooper’s
invaluable work, nothing found there is likely to impress him more
deeply than the list of names of the officers retained on the naval
register after the Peace Establishment Act of 1801. For he will find
there at a glance the names of the majority of the heroes of the early
days--the names of such men as Dale and Bainbridge and Stewart and
Hull and Somers and Decatur and Perry and Macdonough, to bring to mind
the notable deeds done when the nation was young. These alone make the
tabular pages notable. But when they are examined more closely, still
another impressive feature is found, for in the column of the table
that tells the ultimate fate of the majority of the men there named, he
will find the words “killed in a duel” so frequently as to produce a
distinct mental shock. There were thirty-six lieutenants, of whom two,
Stephen Decatur and Henry Vandyke, were “killed in a duel.” There were
one hundred and fifty-nine midshipmen, of whom three suffered a similar
fate.
It is a pity that no adequate record was kept of the duels of American
naval officers in other days, for, shocking as the assertion may seem
to the humanitarian, in these days, it is nevertheless a fact that some
of the duellists of those days proved their heroic and manly qualities
in personal combats--in combats that did not always result in death, as
well as in some that did. A few of these duels are mentioned in some
detail in a variety of historical works. There are others that live
by tradition only, while of others still there is nothing now known,
so far as the writer hereof could learn, although inquiry was made of
many naval officers and all the books relating to such subjects were
searched. But because some of the duels of which an account is to be
had were creditable under the circumstances to at least one of the men
taking part in each, and because others illustrate the spirit of the
age, even an inadequate account of them seems to be better than none at
all.
In proof of the assertion that duels were sometimes creditable, the
story of the meeting of Midshipman Joseph Bainbridge with the secretary
of Sir Alexander Ball, Governor of the Island of Malta, in 1803, shall
be told first of all. There are several versions of the story, but all
agree as to the most important facts, and of these there is no doubt.
As the reader will remember, the Americans had a fleet in the
Mediterranean, at that time, negotiating treaties with the Barbary
pirates. It was in the days when the lucky schooner _Enterprise_
thrashed the pirate polacre _Tripoli_, losing not a man herself, but
killing twenty of the enemy and wounding thirty more; when Stephen
Decatur avenged the treacherous killing of his brother James in a
hand-to-hand fight with the pirate murderer, and afterward burned
the _Philadelphia_; when Somers went to his death in the fire-ship
_Intrepid_.
At the various civilized ports where the American ships called, the
American officers fell in with the officers of the European navies. The
Yankees had already shown somewhat of their skill as sea-warriors, but
in the mind of the European officer they were at best mere plebeians.
They were of the people. In short, in the mind of the European officer,
they were not gentlemen. The English officers were the chief aggressors
in treating the Americans with contumely. Considering the state of
civilization at that day, what was an American officer to do?
On a certain night in the month of February, 1803, while the
_Chesapeake_, the _New York_, the _John Adams_, and the _Enterprise_
were lying at Malta, a number of the officers went ashore to spend
the evening. Eventually they gathered at the theatre. While a number
of them stood in the lobby there, the secretary of the Governor came
in with some friends. He was of mature years and a noted duellist of
that day--had killed a number of men, in fact--and his mission in the
theatre was to get a fight with one of the Yankee officers. He had
openly boasted, it is said, that he would “have a Yankee for breakfast”
the next day.
Looking over the group, he selected one of the youngest, Midshipman
Joseph Bainbridge, for his victim, and on walking past the group
jostled him. As it happened, Bainbridge was at that moment speaking
to a shipmate and was taken wholly by surprise. Having no idea that
anyone would wilfully seek a deadly quarrel, his first impression was
that the jostling was accidental. Nevertheless, when the secretary
walked away with a jaunty air, Bainbridge suspected that an insult had
been intended, and he was just speaking to his shipmates about it when
Lieutenant Stephen Decatur happened along. Decatur had had experience
in such matters, and Bainbridge at once stated the case to him.
“We’ll very soon learn whether it was an accident or an insult,” said
Decatur, and he was turning away to go in search of the offender when
the fellow came past the group from behind Decatur. As he arrived
beside young Bainbridge, the duellist said, in a voice that all could
hear:
“Those Yankees will never stand the smell of gunpowder.” Then he
jostled the youngster again and started on, but before he could take a
second step he received a blow from the Yankee’s fist that knocked him
sprawling.
Of course the duellist challenged as soon as he could get on his feet.
Decatur smiled and bowed. Turning to Bainbridge, who was, it should be
remembered, a boy of perhaps sixteen, Decatur said:
“Go aboard ship, sir, and give yourself no more concern about this
matter. I will attend to everything.”
As soon as Bainbridge left the theatre Decatur went aside with the
Englishmen to arrange for the inevitable duel. As the challenged party,
the Americans had the right to make the terms. Said Decatur when the
others were ready to hear him:
“We will go to the beach at sunrise to-morrow morning. There we will
place our men back to back, and at the word ‘March’ they shall each
march two steps and then whirl and fire. There shall be only the one
word.”
“My God, man,” said the English second, “that is clear murder.”
“Pardon me,” said Decatur, “your man is an experienced duellist. He
has picked out for his victim one of our young officers who has had no
experience whatever. By the terms that I propose they will be placed as
nearly on an equal footing as is possible. However, sir, if you do not
wish to fight in that way, I will take the place of the midshipman and
meet your man on the usual terms at ten paces.”
And the Englishman chose to fight the boy on the terms named rather
than face the experienced Decatur.
So Decatur went on board ship, and taking Midshipman Bainbridge on
deck, placed him with a cocked but empty pistol in hand, back to back
with a shipmate, and said “March.” Bainbridge marched two steps,
whirled on his heel in military fashion, and snapped the empty pistol
at his shipmate. Again he was placed in position, and again he marched
and turned and snapped the pistol. And from that time on he stood erect
and marched and turned, again and again, the whole night through--he
was drilled in his duty till he did it as mechanically as, and with the
accuracy of, a clock that strikes the hour.
And as the sun was tingeing the morning sky he was placed back to back
with the professional duellist. Both marched at the word and both
turned, but because Bainbridge had been trained by Stephen Decatur he
turned more swiftly than the enemy, and shot him dead.
Let the reader decide for himself whether that was or was not a fight
for the honor of the flag. Meantime, it is worth telling that the
Governor of Malta, Sir Alexander Ball, was so wrought up over the death
of his secretary, and made such a stir about it, that Decatur returned
to America as a passenger in the _New York_ to avoid international
complications.
In 1801 the frigate _Essex_, Captain William Bainbridge, was lying at
Barcelona. One night as the captain was going off to the _Essex_, the
commander of a Spanish guard-boat, in the harbor, hailed him and with
vulgar and abusive language ordered him to bring the gig alongside the
guard-boat. Captain Bainbridge paid no attention to the words, and the
Spaniards fired several musket-shots at him.
Then Bainbridge pulled alongside the guard-boat, supposing some mistake
had been made. To his surprise the Spaniard insolently ordered him
to come on board. At that Bainbridge rowed away, in spite of the
Spaniard’s threats to fire, and, being long-suffering, paid no further
attention to the matter.
The next night, however, Decatur, who was executive officer of the
_Essex_, was on shore with some of the other lieutenants, and when they
were going off they were insulted in much the same fashion.
That was too much for Decatur. Going over to the guard-boat next
morning, he asked for its captain. Unfortunately, that official was on
shore. Learning this, Decatur said:
“Tell him that Lieutenant Decatur, of the frigate _Essex_, pronounces
him a cowardly scoundrel, and that when they meet on shore he will cut
his ears off.”
Then he went back to the _Essex_. The guard-boat officers made
haste ashore and informed the Commandante of the Port as well as
their captain, who, it appears, was a man of influence. Straightway
the Commandante wrote to Bainbridge asking that the lieutenants of
the _Essex_ be kept on board ship in order to prevent a personal
altercation between Decatur and the guard-boat captain. Of course
Bainbridge refused the insolent request, sending word that if the
Spanish captain did not know how to treat American officers as
gentlemen, he must take the consequences.
Finding himself unable to wriggle clear of the trouble, the Spaniard,
rather than fight, made a humble apology. He was censured by his
superior also, and the King, on hearing the story, issued a special
edict ordering all officials to “treat all officers of the United
States with courtesy, and more particularly those attached to the
United States frigate _Essex_.”
When the War of 1812 was ended and the new American ships, that, like
the _Guerrière_, were named for victories over the British, arrived
at Gibraltar, en route to thrash the African pirates once more, the
feelings of the British officers on the station were so wrought up by
the presence of the Yankees that a number of duels were fought. A brief
tradition of one of them shall serve to illustrate the spirit of them
all.
An American lieutenant, on going ashore, was publicly insulted by six
British officers, who were all challenged by the American, and it was
arranged that he should meet one each day at sunrise, should he survive
long enough, until he had had satisfaction from them all. For four
mornings the American lieutenant rode away to the duelling ground,
and each day rode back again leaving the Englishmen to bring in the
dead body of their man. But on the next morning, as he rode out with
the fifth, there being no one in the party but the principals, their
seconds, and the surgeons, a mob of British partisans, well-armed and
disguised as highwaymen, came galloping toward them. As it happened,
the Englishman was riding a thoroughbred animal and the American
lieutenant a worthless scrub.
Seeing the mob coming the Englishman’s face paled with anger.
“They are coming to kill you,” he said to the American lieutenant. “You
take my horse and you can escape them, and we will settle this affair
at another time.”
Convinced by both the English principal and his second that the mob was
really bent on murder, the American accepted the horse, and by hard
riding did escape. But after that he did not have the heart to kill the
one who had shown himself so much of a man. The Englishman was willing
to apologize, and so was the remaining one who had been challenged, and
the American, with hearty good-will, accepted their explanations.
There were personal combats of another kind growing out of the European
dislike for the American Republic. Decatur was once on shore at night
with Midshipman Macdonough, in Naples, when a gang of three armed
ruffians attacked them. Decatur promptly cut down two of them with his
sword, when the third, who had attacked Macdonough especially, fled.
Macdonough pursued him. Running into an open door, the fellow fled to
the roof of the house with Macdonough close on his heels. On reaching
the roof and finding the Yankee still after him, he jumped from it, and
was instantly killed by the fall.
Of a very different nature from a moralist’s point of view at the
present time were the duels the American naval officers fought among
themselves. The story of the first--probably the only one--fought by
the lamented Somers, who lost his life before Tripoli, will serve
better than any other to show the spirit of the naval officers of the
day.
As related in the “United States Naval Chronicle,” Somers and Decatur,
who were intimate friends, were one day chaffing one another in the
presence of some other young officers, and in the course of the remarks
Decatur called Somers a fool. Somers, of course, paid no attention to
the epithet, for it was said in mere play. But the other youngsters,
five in number, took the matter seriously, and the next day refused to
accept Somers’s invitation to join him in a bottle of wine.
Somers, very greatly astonished, asked why, and they explained frankly
that they thought he had failed to show a spirit proper for a naval
officer when he was called a fool.
Immediately Somers went to Decatur and related the facts. Decatur said
at once that he would give a dinner at which he would explain the
whole matter, and place Somers right before his fellow-officers, but
Somers said:
“They have allowed themselves to suspect my courage. I must convince
them that they are mistaken; and my only course is to fight them all.”
Decatur acted as second for Somers, delivered the five challenges, and
it was arranged that Somers should meet them in succession during one
hour. So they gathered at a convenient place and Somers faced his first
man. At the word both fired, and Somers missed, but got his own right
arm pierced with the bullet of his antagonist.
At this Decatur wanted to take his place, but Somers refused and stood
up and fired at the second man, using his wounded arm. Again he missed
and again was himself struck, this time in the hip, the wound bleeding
so profusely that Somers was soon too weak to stand. Nevertheless he
insisted on having the third man come on.
When the third man took his stand Somers was unable either to stand
erect or to hold out a pistol steadily. So Decatur sat down on Somers’s
left side, put his right arm around Somers’s body until he could help
support the weight of Somers’s right arm, and in this position the
word was given. At this shot Somers managed to wound his antagonist.
The whole five were by this time so much impressed by the pluck and
persistence of the young fellow that they made ample apology for having
misjudged him.
It is because of the spirit which Somers showed on this occasion that
several writers of American history have expressed the belief that,
on finding the ketch _Intrepid_ caught by the Tripolitans when he was
taking her into the harbor, he did deliberately fire her magazine. He
was of the nature that would rather die than fail. What a pity it was
that he did not live to command a ship in the next war!
Commodore Perry once stood up to face an antagonist, a Captain Heath,
whom he had offended--but Perry and his second, Stephen Decatur, were
agreed that Heath had had just cause of offence, and Perry refused to
fire. The trouble was compromised after Heath had fired once.
Last of all was the duel that ended Decatur’s life--unquestionably
the most famous duel known to the annals of the navy, and one that
created almost as much stir in the nation as that between Hamilton
and Burr. Moreover, it is one that should not fade from memory, for
the one reason, if for no other, that it came as a direct result of
the attack of the British frigate _Leopard_ upon the American frigate
_Chesapeake_, in time of peace, for the purpose of taking three
impressed American seamen that had escaped from their slavery in the
British navy.
Commodore James Barron, as the reader will remember, was suspended
from the navy because he had gone to sea with his ship unprepared for
action, although the British officers at Norfolk had been very free in
making threats. In the course of years it became Decatur’s duty, as one
of the Naval Commissioners, to decide on the advisability of restoring
Barron to active service. Barron had continually protested that his
punishment was “cruel and unmerited,” and had made many attempts to
get into active service, but Decatur was unable to approve of all that
Barron had done. Decatur distinctly “disclaimed all personal enmity
toward him,” but said frankly that “he entertained and did still
entertain the opinion that his conduct, _since that affair_, had been
such as ought forever to bar his readmission into the service.” Barron
had remained out of the United States during all the War of 1812,
although the term for which he was suspended was but five years. It was
this, added to Barron’s failure to have the _Chesapeake_ ready for a
fight, that influenced Decatur.
The correspondence between Barron and Decatur on the subject of
Barron’s readmission began in June, 1819, and ended in February, 1820.
Barron’s last letter to Decatur was dated at Norfolk, January 16, 1820.
It said:
SIR: Your letter of the 20th ultimo I have received. In it you
say that you have now to inform me that you shall pay no further
attention to any communications that I may make to you other
than a direct call to the field; in answer to which I have only
to reply that whenever you will consent to meet me on fair and
equal grounds, that is, such as two honorable men may consider
just and proper, you are at liberty to view this as that call.
The whole tenor of your conduct to me justifies this course of
proceeding on my part. As for your charges and remarks, I regard
them not--particularly your sympathy. You know not such a feeling.
I cannot be suspected of making the attempt to excite it.
I am, sir, yours, etc., JAMES BARRON.
To this Decatur replied on January 24th as follows:
SIR: I have received your communication of the 16th, and am at
a loss to know what your intention is. If you intend it as a
challenge, I accept it, and refer you to my friend, Commodore
Bainbridge, who is fully authorized to make any arrangement he
pleases as regards weapons, mode or distance.
Your obedient servant, STEPHEN DECATUR.
On March 22, 1820, they met at Bladensburg, near Washington. Decatur
was accompanied by Commodore Bainbridge and Barron by Captain Elliott,
who, perhaps because his own conduct in the face of the enemy had been
assailed, was a strong partisan of Barron.
Henry Austin, in an interesting account of this duel, says that
Bladensburg was chosen as the site of the duel by Decatur because it
was “near the city of Washington,” where Decatur was then living, and
the “inconvenience of a man lying wounded at a distance from his own
home.” Pistols were the weapons chosen. The following letter describing
the event is by one who saw the duel:
WASHINGTON, Wednesday, March 22, 1820.
This morning, agreeably to his request, I attended Commodore
Bainbridge in a carriage to the Capitol Hill, where I ordered
breakfast at Beale’s Hotel for three persons. At the moment it was
ready, Commodore Decatur, having walked from his own house, arrived
and partook of it with us. As soon as it was over he proceeded in
our carriage toward Bladensburg. At breakfast he mentioned that he
had a paper with him which he wished to sign (meaning his will)
but that it required three witnesses, and as it would not do to
call in any person for that purpose, he would defer it until we
arrived on the ground. He was quite cheerful and did not appear
to have any desire to take the life of his antagonist; indeed, he
declared that he should be very sorry to do so. On arriving at a
valley, half a mile short of Bladensburg, we halted, and found
Captain Elliott standing in the road on the brow of the hill beyond
us. Commodore Bainbridge and myself walked up and gave him the
necessary information, when he returned to the village. In a short
time Commodore Barron, Captain Elliott, his second, and Mr. Latimer
arrived on the ground, which was measured (eight long strides) and
marked by Commodore Bainbridge nearly north and south, and the
seconds proceeded to load. Commodore Bainbridge won the choice of
stands, and his friend chose that to the north, being a few inches
lower than the other.
On taking their stands, Commodore Bainbridge told them to observe
that he should give the words quick, “Present; one, two, three;”
and that they were not, at their peril, to fire before the word
“one” nor after the word “three” was pronounced. Commodore Barron
asked him if he had any objections to pronouncing the words as he
intended to give them. He said that he had not, and did so.
Commodore Barron, about this moment, observed to his antagonist
that he hoped, on meeting in another world, they would be better
friends than they had been in this; to which Commodore Decatur
merely replied, “I have never been your enemy, sir.” Nothing
further passed between them previous to firing. Soon after
Commodore Bainbridge cautioned them to be ready, crossed over to
the left of his friend, and gave the words of command precisely as
before; and at the word “two” they both fired so nearly together
that but one report was heard.
They both fell nearly at the same instant. Commodore Decatur was
raised and supported a short distance and sank down near to where
Commodore Barron lay; and both of them appeared to think themselves
mortally wounded. Commodore Barron declared that everything had
been conducted in the most honorable manner and told Commodore
Decatur that he forgave him from the bottom of his heart. Soon
after this, a number of gentlemen coming up, I went after our
carriage and assisted in getting him into it; when leaving him
under the care of several of his intimate friends, Commodore
Bainbridge and myself left the grounds, and, as before agreed upon,
embarked on board the tender of the _Columbus_ at the Navy Yard.
It is due to Commodore Bainbridge to observe, that he expressed his
determination to lessen the danger to each, by giving the words
quick, with a hope that both might miss and that then their quarrel
might be amicably settled.--SAMUEL HAMBLETON.
Austin says that “after being shot, Decatur stood for a moment erect,
but was observed by Dr. Treditt, as subsequently communicated to Dr.
Washington, the other doctor, to press his hand to his right side. He
then fell, the ball having passed through his abdomen. He remarked,
‘I am mortally wounded. At least, I believe so, and wish that I had
fallen in defence of my country.’”
The ball from Barron’s pistol entered Decatur’s body two inches above
the right hip and, passing through the abdomen, lodged against the
opposite side. It was necessarily a mortal wound in those days, and
there would be but faint hope of a man surviving it in these days of
skilful surgery.
Decatur’s shot struck the upper part of Barron’s right hip and turned
to the rear--a severe but not a mortal wound. There is no doubt that
Decatur deliberately inflicted a wound that would not prove mortal.
Decatur had a fight with the mate of a merchant ship in 1799, in which
he wounded the mate precisely as he wounded Barron. He was a dead shot
when he chose to be.
Decatur died in the arms of his wife at the mansion on an estate known
as Kalorama, a mile from Georgetown, on the night of the duel. He was
but forty years old. His body was deposited in a vault at Kalorama on
the 24th in the presence of a tremendous concourse of people, including
nearly all the officials, American and foreign, of the capital. His
pallbearers were Commodores Tingey, Macdonough, Rodgers, and Porter,
Captains Cassin, Ballard, and Chauncey, Generals Brown and Jesup, and
Lieutenant McPherson. His body was removed to Philadelphia in 1844,
where it was deposited in St. Peter’s churchyard. “An Ionic marble
pillar on which an American eagle stands triumphant,” marks the grave.
Barron’s wound confined him to his boarding-house in Washington
(Norfolk was his home) for three weeks. He was restored to active
service in 1825; and in 1839 had become the senior officer of the navy.
He was then placed on waiting orders, when he retired to Norfolk, where
he died on April 21, 1851, aged eighty-two years. His name had been on
the naval register fifty-three years. Having missed the opportunity to
make a great name for himself by sinking the _Leopard_, as he ought to
have done, he never had another one. He was something of an inventor,
but his career in the navy is worth mentioning only as showing a
youthful officer what not to be.