CHAPTER II
Such was the frequent occurrence of duels in this long reign, that one hundred and seventy-two were fought (in which three hundred and forty-four persons were concerned); sixty-nine individuals were killed—in three of these fatal cases neither of the combatants survived; ninety-six were wounded, forty-eight of them desperately, and forty-eight slightly; while one hundred and seventy-nine escaped unhurt.
From this statement it will be seen, that rather more than one fifth of the combatants lost their lives, and that nearly one half received the bullets of their antagonists. It also appears, that only eighteen trials took place; that six of the arraigned individuals were acquitted; seven found guilty of manslaughter, and three of murder,—two of whom were executed, and eight imprisoned during different periods.
When we compare the frequency of duelling during this period and subsequent reigns, and at the same time consider how much more fatal these meetings generally proved, we are naturally led to inquire into the causes of this material difference and amelioration in the condition of society. Desirable indeed would it be, if this circumstance could be attributed to a better feeling in the upper classes, and a just detestation of a practice as absurd as it is inhuman; but it is to be feared, that the influence of fashion here had no inconsiderable share in the change of manners. Though many men pre-eminent in public estimation have sanctioned the practice by their example; yet how few are they compared with those of former times, where we find York, Norfolk, Richmond, Bellamont, Exmouth, Talbot, Townshend, Shelburne, Paget, Castlereagh, Petersham, Pitt, Fox, Sheridan, Canning, Tierney, and many others of rank and distinction! May not this circumstance be also in some measure attributed to the frequency of the virulent discussions, which have become so frequent during the constant struggles for power, when insults becoming, one may say, of daily occurrence, are rarely noticed? Has not the influence of the increased number of newspapers, many of which have been conducted with a degree of personal animosity, and we must say, ungentlemanly vituperation, rendered the use of offensive language so general as to have become a matter of course in political argument, and therefore rarely noticed, except by still more abusive recrimination? If such a latitude in degrading phraseology had been as generally prevalent in France, scarcely an editor would be now living to vindicate his excesses, by the satisfaction of pleading his antagonist’s death; the lie, the blow, which would once have required the fall of one of the parties, is now only resented by another accusation of falsehood, a second edition of a thrashing, or an action at law.
Of late years, the most unwarrantable parliamentary language has been apologized for, on the plea of its not having been allusive to private character, so that a legislator, or a minister, may be considered a political scoundrel, but a worthy individual member of society; guilty of a falsehood in the house, but devoted to the cause of truth beyond the purlieus of St. Stephen; faithful to all his engagements with the world, but a traitor to his country; for, after all, what is the language of opposition, but a strenuous endeavour to impugn an adversary’s veracity, to show, that for mere lucre or the vanity of possessing power and patronage, he betrays the most sacred trust reposed in him by his sovereign; that he hurries his country to perdition for the selfish motive of personal aggrandisement, and sacrifices the national weal for his own benefit and that of his family and dependants? can there be any insult offered to a man more pungent, more degrading? The lie, the blow, given in a moment of passionate ebullition, are trifling offences, when compared to such serious charges, which, if substantiated, should not only expose a man to universal contempt and detestation, but to the most ignoble death. When such impeachments are hourly, daily made, can we expect much sensitiveness when reciprocal abuse is bandied at the bar of the House, as well as at the bar of courts of justice? Pleaders consider themselves justifiable in using the bitterest, the most unwarrantable language. They dress for the character they perform in wig and gown; and fancy that when they have doffed their attributes, they withdraw from the stage, and have merely performed their part in the great drama of life. Then again, in the intemperate language of opposition, how often does galling necessity, and bitter disappointment in not obtaining office (when its emoluments are required, to keep the wolf from the postulant’s door), prompt the orator? and many a time perhaps an eloquent senator has drawn out the headings of his speech, on the back of an attorney’s threatening letter, and the evil day is ever put off with the usual promise of speedy liquidation “when the present people go out.”
Men, in a public sphere of life, are, to a certain extent, public property. Their actions are exposed to the scrutiny of the community at large. A writer, however galled his acute vanity may be, cannot consider the abuse lavished on his productions as a personal insult; and it is the same with the politician,—the invectives poured upon his public conduct are not esteemed as aspersions on his private character. A falsehood is considered an expedient evasion, an error; and a personal invective, a mere ebullition of eloquence, a bubbling over of the diplomatic cabinet, an opposition caldron, as heterogeneous and monstrous in its contents as that of the weird sisters.
These observations are not intended to condemn this philosophical view of the subject. Were these excesses noticed at the pistol’s muzzle, it would only be adding murder to corruption; and, as society is constituted, when an electioneering hustings may be oftentimes compared to a stall at Billinsgate, a candidate who seeks to vindicate what he is complacently pleased to call his honour, must indeed be a Quixotic character, when he in general conscientiously knows that every syllable of his address to the voters is void of veracity, and all his pledges futile and false.
The frequent occurrence of duels, in former times, may also be attributed to the mode of living in days fortunately gone by. Hard drinking is now rarely heard of; and when it was in fashion, insults were often given under the influence of liquor, and vindicated under the plea of excitement from the preceding night’s excesses. In Ireland it was not uncommon for parties to sit up carousing during the entire night preceding the murderous meeting; and the break of day, through the casement of the hall of revelry, was the signal for departure to the field. One of the greatest curses of intemperance is the extreme susceptibility which it gives our pride and vanity; and if there is any ground for the proverb, in vino veritas, it may be attributed to the fact, that under this potent influence we sometimes know ourselves better than in our more sober hours. The pangs of repentance are more bitter, although they may be transient in these moments of excited reflection, when the past, the present, and the future are exaggerated in all their circumstances by an imagination morbidly vivid. It is then that we love, and hate, with all the energy of our hearts; that all our evil passions, and sometimes our good feelings, prevail; for the miser, over his cups, may become generous; the barbarous, humane; and the man who has perpetrated the most reckless crimes, will weep with apparent anguish over ideal woes. Were it possible to ascertain the influence of intemperance in the many duels that have been fought, it would doubtless appear that many of these fatal quarrels would never have taken place in a sober society.
It is also to be observed, that duels, when of constant recurrence, became the subject of general conversation, and duels, like suicide, bear a fashionably contagious character, which spreads widely in society, and then the most mistaken of criminals fancies that he must also avenge certain wrongs, or rid himself of an uncertain life. The one feels a pleasure in killing a supposed enemy, and the other seeks a riddance from pain by killing himself. The one thinks that he must establish a character of courage, not to be despised by society, and the suicide bids farewell to a society which he disgraces; whereas, neither the one nor the other in these desperate acts displays a particle of true courage.
In the present state of society, insults to women are comparatively rare; and indeed, unless a person, who in the slightest degree claims the character of a gentleman, is labouring under the brutalizing influence of liquor, it is scarcely possible to imagine how he can so far forget every manly attribute as to offend a being whom nature has placed under our protection, and to whose assistance, when in danger, we rush instinctively. This cause of duelling is therefore seldom noticed.
Leaving off the wearing of swords, as I have already observed, rendered bloody frays less frequent; but at the same time, the adoption of pistols gave a much more serious complexion to a hostile meeting. It is true, that comparatively few shots tell, but the wounds of fire-arms are in general more dangerous than those inflicted by a rapier. Skill in fencing might be of considerable advantage to a good swordsman; but it is also a well-known fact, that a man who has science in fencing, can not only parry a thrust, but inflict a mortal wound on one less dexterous. Moreover, when what was called the first blood was drawn, however trifling the scratch, the seconds generally interposed. It may be therefore concluded, that as mankind is taught to think soberly, the danger of a duel may deter many from rashly running its chance.
In recording the many duels that took place during this reign, several of them may appear trivial, and not worthy of notice, yet, as the history of duelling, as I have already said, may be considered as the mirror of the manners and prevalent ideas of the day, these circumstances, however insignificant, are of importance, inasmuch as they show both the progress and the gradual decline of this detestable practice; they will tend also to point out those cases where the most punctilious should have been amply satisfied with an apology, and where the seconds were guilty of murder, by allowing their principals to proceed to the fatal extremity of sending life in pursuit of the phantom misnamed Honour.
BETWEEN LORD KILMAURS AND A FRENCH OFFICER,
May 1765.
Although this meeting took place at Marseilles; yet, as being one highly characteristic of the times, it may be properly considered here.
Lord Kilmaurs was the eldest son of the Earl of Glencarne, and was one of the best-natured persons imaginable; but, unfortunately, was extremely deaf. Being one evening at the playhouse, he was talking rather loudly to the person who sat next to him, as deaf people generally do. This happened to give offence to a French officer, who was in the neighbouring box, who called out to his Lordship “Paix!” (silence); which word the officer repeated two or three times without its being heard, or of course attended to. Upon which the Frenchman rose, and exclaimed, with great violence in an angry tone of voice, “Taisez-vous!” His Lordship this time heard the insolent address; and observing the supercilious air that accompanied it, replied, that as the other had no right to command silence there, he should show his utter contempt of his insolent injunction by talking still louder, which he accordingly did.
The French officer soon after left the box; and, as his Lordship’s ill star would have it, he also quitted his, and went into another, where the same officer was, but, it is reported, without the least thought of what had taken place, so much so indeed, that looking about him on entering the box, he cast his eyes on the officer without recollecting him. The indignant Frenchman ran up to him, and asked him, what he meant by staring him in the face. To which Lord Kilmaurs replied, that he had a right to look at any one. The officer indignantly replied, that he was not to be treated in such a manner with impunity. Without any further preamble he exclaimed, “Come along!” and pulled his Lordship by the arm out of the box, and in the middle of the street struck him across the shoulder with his naked sword. Upon which Lord Kilmaurs drew, and made a pass or two; and before any one arrived to part them, received the sword of his antagonist in the pit of his stomach, whence it passed through his right shoulder; on which they were parted. They were immediately surrounded by numberless spectators. At first his Lordship was hardly sensible of his wound, but in a few moments he dropped down speechless; in which situation he must inevitably have been smothered by the pressing on of the crowd, had not the Duke de Pequigny brought a guard to keep them off. Again, he ran the risk of being stifled with his own blood, had not a surgeon, passing through the crowd, cut his stock and the neck of his shirt, and applied some drops to his nostrils. He remained several hours speechless, with almost every mortal symptom. These, however, passed off, and in three days he was out of danger. The officer took post immediately into the Pope’s dominions at Avignon, while a short detail of the affair was sent to the British ambassador at Paris, who settled the affair.
The same year (1765), a duel was fought between two officers on Kennington Common, when a Major A—— was desperately wounded by a ball in the breast, which came out at his side. His opponent effected his escape.
In 1769 a duel was fought in Ireland between Henry Flood and James Agar, when the latter was shot dead. An old quarrel had long subsisted between them, and this mode of arranging their differences was ultimately agreed upon.
Duels between dramatic performers are uncommon occurrences. It is true, that there does not exist a class of society more morbidly alive to the unction of flattery than players; but they are so accustomed to rudeness of behaviour amongst each other, the green-room and stage familiarity fully illustrating the old proverb, that insults generally go, if not unheeded, at any rate, according to the ideas of honour generally entertained, unrevenged. In 1770, on the 17th November, a meeting took place between George Garrick, the brother of the celebrated David, and Mr. Baddeley, both of Drury Lane. The trumpet of fame had long accused George Garrick of being concerned in an intrigue with Baddeley’s wife, till at last Baddeley, urged on by an intriguing mischievous Jew, who was himself a great admirer of the lady, was persuaded, that it became him, as a man of parts, to demand satisfaction. The parties very reluctantly met in Hyde Park; when Baddeley discharged his pistol without effect, and, indeed, it was reported, without aim, as his arm was as unsteady as that of Gil Blas in his first action with the robbers. Garrick magnanimously fired his in the air. On the arrival of Mrs. Baddeley, in a hackney-coach, who, jumping out of the vehicle, threw herself between the combatants in an imploring attitude, exclaiming, “Spare him! spare him!” the tableau was so effective that the parties embraced each other, and the interlude was concluded by a general reconciliation.
BETWEEN LORD MILTON AND LORD POULETT,
January 29, 1771.
The cause of this duel was never well known. However, the meeting took place behind Bedford House. Lord John Cavendish was Lord Milton’s second; and Captain Kelly, Lord Poulett’s. When they had taken their ground. Lord Milton desired Lord Poulett to fire first, which he did, and the ball entered Lord Milton’s belly.
In 1772 a melancholy meeting took place between a Mr. M’Lean, of Gartmoor, in Scotland, and a Mr. Cameron. An old grudge had existed between them, when the latter gave M’Lean the lie; a duel followed, and M’Lean was killed on the spot. His mother, on hearing of the melancholy event, was deprived of her reason, and a Miss M’Leod, a young lady, to whom Mr. M’Lean was soon to have been married, was seized with fits, and died three days after.