Superstitious Notions.—Abolition of Duelling.—Interference of
Providence.—Challenge to the Ordeal.—The Trial.—Conviction of
the Offender.—Uncertainty of the Ordeal.—Ineffectual
Prohibition.—Check against Slander.—Exclusion from Society.—Absurd
Alternative.—Personal Courage.—Imputation of Cowardice.—Public
Opinion.—War between Nations.—Challenges.—Fear of Disgrace.
Mr. Adamson afterwards proceeded to relate the circumstances connected
with the cavern. Many superstitious notions, it seems, and much tendency
to give credit to tales of supernatural mystery had been brought from
Europe by several of the original settlers, trained as they had been in
the then prevailing credulity, and many of them tinctured with
fanaticism. It is not to be wondered therefore, that, ignorant as they
were of physical phenomena, several should have given more or less
credit to the reports of the natives respecting evil demons dwelling in
these caverns; the dangerous nature of them having been proved in some
instances by fatal experience.
The employment of one of them for the purpose of an ordeal originated
long after. “It ought in the first place to be acknowledged,” said Mr.
Adamson, “that the barbarian institution of duels did exist among us,
though now long since exploded.”
They were not of common occurrence; but he added that his father
distinctly remembered as a boy the final abolition of the practice, in
the manner about to be related. The duel was regarded—and such is well
known to have been its original design—as a kind of ordeal, as a solemn
appeal to Heaven, which it was supposed would not fail to interfere in
support of the rightful combatant.
And here Mr. Sibthorpe had the candour to interpose a remark, that,
though _duels_ have long since ceased to be considered in that light,
the general principle is very far from being exploded among a large
proportion of our own countrymen, who frequently apply the terms
“providential,” and even “miraculous,” to the detection of murderers;
the frustration of schemes of injustice; the escape of pious men from
dangers of shipwreck or fire, &c. and who speak of pestilential
diseases, conflagrations, and other fatal accidents, as judgments from
Heaven on the sufferers; evidently referring to a supposed special
interference of Providence to allot temporal successes or adversities
according to the deserts of the parties; and often setting down as
little better than an atheist any one who questions such a doctrine.
“Now,” said he, “if it be admitted that there is a special and
extraordinary interference of Providence for the immediate temporal
punishment of the wicked, and for the securing of success to a righteous
cause, there seems no reason why this should not be looked for in the
case of a judicial combat. Our ancestors were at least as wise as we,
and more consistent, if we deride or reprobate the idea of a special
interposition of Providence in the case of a single combat, while we
look for it in all _other_ cases. And you well know,” added he to Mr.
Jones, “how strongly the doctrine I allude to is set forth in
newspapers—in magazines—in publications of various descriptions, and,
not least, in the nursery-books which are first put into the hands of
children.”
This could not be denied. “Well, such,” continued Mr. Adamson, “had been
our belief as well as yours. But while the trial by single combat was
retained under an altered character, the other kinds of ordeal—such as
the hot ploughshare, &c. to which women, as well as men, had in former
times been exposed—fell completely into desuetude.”
Among the Southlanders the institution was, by an accidental
circumstance, reintroduced. It seems that a woman, named Margaret
Brucker, had been grossly defamed by a neighbour, and being highly
indignant at the imputations cast on her virtue, and conscious of
perfect innocence, she appealed to the judgment of Heaven, and
challenged her accuser to accompany her publicly along the mountain
side, by what was afterwards called the ‘Ordeal Path,’ to pass by the
goblin cavern, the one viewed by our travellers. She professed her full
confidence that her innocence would protect her from the demons residing
there, and that the false accusation would be visited by a divine
judgment on her who had devised it. Margaret appears to have been a
perfectly sincere enthusiast, and to have possessed that fervid
eloquence which is the result of genuine strong feeling. This, together
with youth, beauty, and the sympathy excited by her distress of mind,
operated so strongly on the superstitious feelings of the people that
they vehemently seconded her proposal; and the woman who had accused her
dared not refuse the trial.
The parties accordingly set forth, attended by a great concourse of
eager spectators, who ranged themselves on the edge of the cliff
overhanging the cavern in breathless expectation of the results. The
magistrates had only ventured to exert their authority so far as to
require that ropes should be let down from the top of the cliff, and
secured by straps to the body of each of the women, so that in case of
danger they might be safely drawn up.
Margaret, with a firm and undaunted step, walked unhurt close along the
mouth of the cavern. Her companion, who had been observed to become pale
and agitated as they approached the scene of trial, sank down insensible
at the entrance of the cavern. The mingled shouts of wonder, alarm,
horror, and exultation proceeding from the spectators of this complete
fulfilment of the prophecy may easily be imagined. The fainting victim
was drawn up by the rope to the top of the cliff, to all appearance
dead. By sprinkling her with water, however, she gradually revived; and
on being restored to her senses and speech, confessed, with much awe and
contrition, the entire falsity of the stories she had circulated, and
which she had fabricated through jealousy. She acknowledged, and no
doubt fully believed, that she had been struck down by the demon of the
goblin cavern as a just judgment on her calumny. Of course Margaret
Brucker was venerated as little less than a prophetess, and the ordeal
rose into high and general repute.
Several, indeed, of the more sagacious entertained at the time the
opinion which it would then have been most discreditable to avow, but
which has long since become universal, that the one party escaped unhurt
because she walked erect across the opening of the cavern, the noxious
gas being so heavy that its influence does not usually extend much more
than one or two feet above the surface of the ground; and that the
other, through the agitation of conscious guilt and superstitious
terror, either turned giddy, or stumbled over a stone, and falling down,
was immediately exposed to the full current of the vapour. This is
agreeable to what is found to take place in the celebrated Grotto del
Cane, which is entered with impunity by men, but is fatal to a dog
(whose head is so much nearer to the ground) if the poor beast is
compelled to remain over one of the fissures from which the gas issues.
The ordeal, however, was a very uncertain one, from the variations
occurring in the quantity of vapour emitted. Sometimes both parties were
suffocated, and oftener both escaped unhurt; and in some instances, as
might have been expected, it happened that a person whose character had
been cleared by the ordeal, was afterwards, by circumstances
subsequently brought to light, proved, or violently suspected, to have
been guilty.
Instances of this kind, in conjunction with the advancement of
intellectual culture, gradually weakened, in progress of time, the
belief in the supernatural character of the ordeal. It was, however, for
a long time, frequently appealed to, both by women and men, from all the
states; and, in spite of laws which were passed, but which it was found
impossible fully to enforce, prohibiting any such trial, and denouncing
as murder the offence of being accessary to any one’s exposure to it in
case of a fatal result,—the custom still received the sanction of many
who disavowed all belief of miraculous interference in the case of such
trials.
“They defended,” said Mr. Adamson, “by nearly the same arguments as I
have lately heard from you, both duels, such as you apply the name to,
and these which were always very justly regarded as a kind of duel;
since there is no essential difference between calling on your adversary
to stand a pistol-shot or a poisonous blast. It was conducive, they
contended, to the preservation of good manners, and of a high and
delicate sense of honour in both sexes, that a man should be restrained
from ungentlemanly behaviour, and from lightly taxing another with it,
by the apprehension of personal danger; and that female purity should be
guarded in like manner. ‘It is,’ they said, ‘a useful additional check
against lying, for instance, and against rashly charging another with
being a liar, to reflect on the probable consequence of being called on
to face the sword or pistol, or the goblin cavern of Mount Peril. And it
is but fair, that a woman also should recollect that levity of conduct,
or wanton slander, may occasion her to be required to undergo a similar
danger.’ There were not wanting many who reprobated this doctrine, and
urged such arguments on the other side respecting the wickedness and the
absurdity of the custom as we have lately heard from Mr. Jones. But they
were urged with as little practical effect as they appear to have had
among you. At length, several persons of the higher classes, and
remarkable for correctness of life, refinement of manners, and
cultivated understanding, formed themselves into an association and
declared strenuous war against every kind of duel, including, as has
been said, under that name the ordeal of the cavern, which they
contended against on entirely new grounds.
“They did not confine themselves to such topics as had been before,
again and again, urged without effect; but maintained that the practice
tended to defeat the very end proposed, and to lower (instead of
raising, as was pretended) the tone of manners in the society. ‘If,’
they said, ‘there were no such custom, then, any one, whether man or
woman, who transgressed the rules which public opinion had sanctioned in
the circle of society in which he or she moved, would at once be
excluded from that circle. And the apprehension of this exclusion, of
thus losing caste, and being sent to Coventry, which is the ultimate
penalty that such a society can inflict for a breach of its rules, would
be the best preventive of any violation of them,—the best preservative
of the tone of the society, that it is possible to attain. If, under
such a system, any one insulted another, he would be regarded as an
ill-mannered brute, and excluded from good company: a woman who
displayed levity of conduct would be at once excluded from reputable
society: any one, man or woman, who should bring rash imputations
against a neighbour, would be shunned as a slanderer: and so of the
rest. But under the system of duelling, society offers an _alternative_;
the only effect of which, as far as it operates, is unmixed evil.
Instead of saying, absolutely, you must abstain from brutal insolence of
demeanour, on pain of being excluded from our circle, it says, you must
_either_ abstain from insolence, _or_ be ready to expose your life;
instead of requiring a woman to abstain from levity of conduct, and
defamatory language, on pain of forfeiting the countenance of
respectable people, it proposes the alternative of _either_ observing
those rules, _or_ the being prepared to encounter the ordeal; and the
result is, that those who possess personal intrepidity will often be
enabled to transgress with impunity those rules of good society, which
the duelling system professes to enforce. Nay more; the system tends to
invest with a certain degree of dignity, arising from our admiration of
personal courage, such conduct as would otherwise excite only
unmitigated abhorrence and contempt. An insolent man, for instance, if
by his insolence he braved no danger but that of expulsion from good
company, would be simply despised: but since he also, under the other
system, braves the danger of death, he obtains some degree of honour for
his intrepidity. And though some may be deterred from such conduct by
the fear of a challenge, others, on the contrary, may be encouraged to
it, by a desire of displaying valour; especially if they have reason to
think, from what they know of the other party, that a challenge will
_not_ ensue, and that they shall enjoy their triumph unmolested.
“‘Moreover, the magnitude of the injuries which one person actually can
do to another is infinitely enhanced by the system of duels, because
every affront offered is thus made to carry with it an imputation on
one’s personal courage, which can only be wiped out by the exposure of
life. If, for instance, I am a man of uniform and scrupulous veracity,
and some ill-mannered ruffian gives me the lie, then, supposing duels
unknown, the attack recoils entirely on the assailant. He is incapable
of proving his charge—my life refutes it,—and the only result is that
_he_, not I, is set down as a liar, for having falsely called me a liar.
But under the other system, I must go out and expose my life, or else I
am disgraced—disgraced, not as a _liar_ (for _that_ imputation, perhaps,
is disbelieved after all), but as a _coward_, for not daring to risk my
life in defence of my honour. And thus a person, who otherwise might
have been incapable of doing me any serious hurt at all, has it in his
power to propose to me at his pleasure the alternative of hazard to my
life and violence to my conscience, or ignominy. A venom is thus added
to the sting of the most contemptible insect.
“‘So much,’ said they, ‘for the protection thus provided for us against
injuries the most painful to the feelings! Great part of the disgrace
attaching to the authors of such injuries is removed; the injuries are
probably rather increased than diminished in frequency; and in the pain
they inflict, they are undoubtedly aggravated tenfold.’ With regard to
the supposed necessity for a person’s thus vindicating his own honour in
certain cases, on the ground that the parties have no common authority
to appeal to, this they flatly denied. The public opinion of the society
they belong to, _is_ that common authority. And that it is so, and is
competent to decide effectually, is proved, they urged, by the very
existence of duelling; for the duel itself is enforced by nothing else
but public opinion. I am obliged, it is said, to challenge a man who has
affronted me, because there is no authority to appeal to that will
compel him to redress the injury. But what, then, compels him to
_accept_ the challenge? Nothing, but the knowledge that if he refused
it, society would reject him as disgraced. Then, why should not society
at once pronounce on him this sentence of disgrace for the affront
itself, unless he makes a satisfactory submission? If he defies public
opinion, and does not care for disgrace, he need not accept the
challenge: if he does care for public opinion, then let the disgrace
attach at once to the offering of the affront, instead of to the refusal
of the challenge. It is manifest that those who have the power to
propose the alternative, of either suffering disgrace or fighting, must
have the power to discard the latter part of the alternative. Let
society, therefore, but do its duty, and it is plain that it may, by a
proper exertion of the power which it has, and which it actually
exercises even now, restrain, and restrain much more effectually,
without duelling, the very evils which duelling professes to remedy.
“As for the case of war between independent states, this,” observed Mr.
Adamson, “by the way, is by no means a parallel to that of private
duels. One nation does not _send a challenge_ to another; because, as
the parties really have no common authority to refer to, the aggressors
would of course decline the challenge, and _would_ prefer enjoying
unmolested the fruits of their injustice. The nation, therefore, which
considers itself aggrieved has no other remedy than, after complaining
and demanding redress in vain, to declare war, levy troops, and commence
hostilities against its opponents without waiting for their consent; and
this procedure would be parallel to the case of duels only, if these
were quite of a different character from what they are. If it were
customary for a man who had received an affront to declare _war_ against
his neighbour, arm himself, and _proceed to attack_ him without asking
his consent, this would correspond to a war between two states. But a
_challenge_ is quite a different thing; it is an invitation which a man
may either accept or decline, to meet at a time and place settled by
mutual agreement, where the parties, by common consent, expose
themselves to a certain specified risk. Generally, the challenge is both
sent and accepted, not from motives of revenge, but from fear of public
censure: but universally, the party challenged might refuse it if he
were willing to brave public censure.
“So far, therefore, is a duel from being a mode of repelling injury,
which a man is driven to resort to through the want of any common
authority to appeal to, that, on the contrary, every duel actually rests
on a tacit appeal to such an authority—viz. to public opinion; since no
one could compel another to afford him the satisfaction sought except
through the influence of the fear of disgrace, the other being at
liberty to refuse the challenge if he dares to set public opinion at
defiance. Every duel, therefore, whether actually taking place, or
merely talked of and threatened, is itself a complete disproof of the
plea on _which_ duels are justified.”