Truer words were never written than those of Franklin at the time when the code was appealed to for the settlement of every dispute pertaining to personal honor: "A duel decides nothing; the man appealing to it, makes himself judge in his own cause, condemns the offender without a jury, and undertakes himself to be the executioner." And yet, the startling record remains that in the State of New Jersey, one of the ablest and most brilliant of statesmen met death at the hands of an antagonist scarcely less gifted, who was at the time Vice-President of the United States. The survivor of an encounter equally tragic, occurring near the banks of the Cumberland in 1806, was a little more than a score of years later elevated to the Presidency. The valuable life of the Secretary of State during the administration of the younger Adams was saved only by his antagonist magnanimously refusing to return the fire which came within an ace of ending his own life. Thirteen years after the Clay and Randolph duel, a member of Congress from Maine perished in an encounter at Bladensburg with a representative from Kentucky. Sixty-six years ago, a challenge to mortal combat was accepted by one who in later years was twice elected to the Presidency. One of the signers of the Declaration of Independence fell in a duel with an officer of the Colonial army, soon after that great event. There are many yet living who read the startling telegram from the Pacific coast that a Senator from California had fallen in a duel with the Chief Justice of that State, and sad as it is, this dreadful recital might be much farther extended.
While a member of Congress many years ago, in company with Representatives Knott and McKenzie of Kentucky I spent some hours upon the historic duelling ground at Bladensburg, a Maryland village of a few hundred inhabitants, six miles from the city of Washington. Governor Knott pointed out the exact spot where Barron and Decatur stood in the memorable duel in 1820, in which the latter was killed. It is impossible to read the account of this fatal meeting even after the lapse of more than four score years, without a feeling of profound regret for the sad fate of one of the most gallant of all the brave officers the American Navy has known. It was truly said of Decatur: "He was one of the most chivalric men of any age or country." He was one of the little band of naval commanders who by heroic exploits at sea did so much to redeem the American name from the humiliation and disgrace caused by incompetent generalship upon land, in our second war with Great Britain. His encounters with the enemy were of frequent occurrence, and in each instance added new laurels to our little navy. If Commodore Decatur had rendered no other service to his country, that of the destruction of the Algerine pirates would alone entitle him to a place among its benefactors. His skill and daring when in command of our little fleet upon the Mediterranean destroyed forever the power of "the common enemy of mankind," avenged the insult to our flag, and secured for the American name an honored place among the nations of the world.
The tragic death of Decatur—recalling so much of gallant service— has cast a spell about his name. It belongs in the list of immortals, with the names of Sir Walter Raleigh, Captain Lawrence, Lord Nelson, and Oliver Hazard Perry. Cities and counties without number throughout our entire country have been given the honored name of Decatur.
Commodore Barron, too, had known much active service. For an alleged official delinquency, he had been court-martialed near the close of the War of 1812, and sentenced to a suspension of five years from his command. Smarting under this humiliation, he was bitter in his denunciation of all who were in any way concerned in what he regarded an act of flagrant injustice to himself. Chief among the officers who had incurred his displeasure was Commodore Decatur. A protracted and at length hostile correspondence ensued between the two, and this correspondence resulted at length in a challenge from Barron, accepted by Decatur. The latter had repeatedly declared that he bore no personal hostility toward Barron. Before going to the fatal field he told his friend William Wirt—then the Attorney-General of the United States—that he did not wish to meet Barron, and that the duel was forced upon him. When he received the challenge, he assured a brother officer that nothing could induce him to take the life of Barron. In connection with this sad affair, Mr. Wirt—who was untiring in his efforts to effect a reconciliation—has left the record of a conversation with Decatur in which the latter declared his hostility to the practice of duelling, but that he was "controlled by the omnipotence of public sentiment." "Fighting," said he, "is my profession, and it would be impossible for me to keep my station and preserve my respectability without showing myself ready at all times to answer the call of any one who bore the name of gentleman."
The hostile meeting between Barron and Decatur occurred at the place already mentioned, March 22, 1820. The distance was eight paces, the weapons, pistols. Decatur's second was Captain Bainbridge, at a later day a distinguished admiral in our navy. As they took their places at the deadly range, Barron said, "I hope on meeting in another world we will be better friends than in this." To which Decatur replied, "I have never been your enemy, sir." At the word both pistols were discharged, making but a single report. Both combatants fell. Decatur was supported a short distance, and sank down near his antagonist, who was severely—and as it was then supposed, mortally—wounded. Mr. Wirt says:
"What then occurred reminded me of the closing scenes of the tragedy between Hamlet and Laertes. Barron proposed that they should make friends before they met in another world. Decatur said he had never been his enemy, that he freely forgave him his death, but he could not forgive those who had stimulated him to seek his life. Barron then said: 'Would to God you had said that much yesterday.'"
Thus they parted in peace. Decatur knew he was to die, and his only regret was that he had not died in the service of his country.
The last duel fought at Bladensburg was in 1838, between Jonathan Cilley and William J. Graves. The former was at the time a Representative in Congress from Maine, and the latter from Kentucky. In its main features, this duel is without a parallel. It was fought upon a pure technicality. The parties to it never exchanged an unkind word, and were in fact, almost up to the day of the fatal meeting, comparative strangers to each other.
Briefly related, the fatal meeting between Cilley and Graves came about in this wise. In a speech in the House, Mr. Cilley in replying to an editorial in The New York Courier and Inquirer, criticised severely the conduct of its proprietor, James Watson Webb, a noted Whig editor of that day. At this, the latter, being deeply offended and failing to obtain a retraction by Cilley of the offensive words, challenged him to mortal combat. The bearer of this challenge was William J. Graves, a prominent Whig member of the House. Mr. Cilley in his letter to Mr. Graves, in which he declined to receive the challenge of Webb, said: "I decline to receive it because I choose to be drawn into no controversy with him. I neither affirm nor deny anything in regard to his character, but I now repeat what I have said to you, that I intended by the refusal no disrespect to you."
This letter was considered unsatisfactory by Graves, and he immediately sent by his colleague Mr. Menifee, a note to Cilley then in his seat in the House, saying: "In declining to receive Colonel Webb's communication, you do not disclaim any exception to him personally as a gentleman. I have, therefore, to inquire whether you declined to receive his communication on the ground of any personal exception to him as a gentleman or a man of honor." Mr. Cilley declining to give the categorical answer demanded, was immediately challenged by Graves. The challenge was borne by Mr. Wise, a Representative from Virginia. On the same evening, Mr. Jones—then a delegate and later a Senator from Iowa—as the second of Cilley, handed the note of acceptance of the latter to Graves. Bladensburg was designated as the place of meeting, rifles the weapons, the distance eight yards, the rifles to be held horizontally at arm's length down, to be cocked and triggers set, the words to be, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Some delay was occasioned by the difficulty in procuring a suitable rifle for Mr. Graves. This was at length obviated, as will appear from the following note of Mr. Jones to Mr. Wise: "I have the honor to inform you that I have in my possession an excellent rifle, in good order, which is at the service of Mr. Graves." With every courtesy proper to the occasion rigidly observed, the rifle mentioned, "through the politeness of Dr. Duncan," was sent to Mr. Graves, and the hostile meeting occurred at the designated time, February 24, 1838.