“Captain, are you wounded?”
“I am, Major.”
“So am I—mortally!”
There was but one house near, and in one room were these unhappy victims of a diseased refinement obliged to remain for a whole night, before the termination of which Major W. died. The other recovered, after a long confinement from a most severe wound in the hip.
A third character is one who goes to extremities at once, and deals out the lie or the blow in the heat of passion. There are few quarrels that cannot be amicably arranged by judicious seconds, if the lie or blow have not passed; but those who deal in such acts or expressions, generally lose their lives in duelling. Many have fallen in this way, and many but narrowly escaped, owing to the almost impossibility of settling the matter without a bloody or protracted combat.
Two officers, a Lieutenant and a Surgeon, quarreled in this way at Ostend, in 1815. They were intimate friends, and had differed in a public coffee-room about a trifling bet at backgammon, when the Lieutenant gave the unqualified lie to the other in a loud voice, and in the presence of several gentlemen. The Surgeon instantly knocked him down, and in his rage kicked him out of the room. A message was sent next day from the Lieutenant at twelve o'clock, and a meeting was appointed to take place at four, outside the ramparts. The parties met, each attended by a second. There was also a mutual friend, and a Flemish surgeon. The combatants took their distance at ten paces. The earth was covered with snow, and afforded, therefore, a greater chance of a hit from either side; but the evening was drawing in dusky. There was scarcely a word spoken by any of the party; and from the nature of the quarrel, no hope of separating without blood was entertained. The combatants stood back to back, close together, and each marched five paces, when the words “halt—front—fire” were given. They fired: the Surgeon in a very elevated direction above his antagonist's head, the Lieutenant point blank at his man without effect. The former fired as described without letting his second previously know that he intended to do so, and (as he afterwards declared) for the purpose of terminating the affair; he feeling satisfied that his antagonist, although the first aggressor, was in no way his creditor. This, however, was unnoticed by both his own second and that of his opponent.
It was now demanded by the Lieutenant's party whether the Surgeon was disposed to apologize, and answered in the negative. The pistols were again loaded, and the Surgeon, seeing that nothing but blood or apology could terminate the matter, proposed by his second to advance two paces closer every round. This was declined by the Lieutenant's party. The word was again given, and it was evident that neither of the combatants intended to leave their next shot to chance, for each took deliberate aim while one could count ten; yet, strange to say, (although both well-known good shots) neither ball took effect. They certainly could not have been many hairs' breadth from fate. I saw the aim of the pistols from a hedge close by; both men were as steady as rocks, and I fully expected to see both fall.
It was now getting dark: the apology was again demanded, and again refused. Another round was inevitable; but there were no more balls which would fit both pistols. It was, therefore, proposed that the seconds should return to the town for them. This was agreed to, and the combatants returned both to a cottage or farm-house near, where they coolly sat by the kitchen fire while the balls were preparing—at least half an hour—for it was necessary to cast the balls. It was by this time settled night, but the moon rose very bright; which, together with the reflection from the snow, gave a tolerably good light. The men took their ground once more—all parties silent—again was the word given—and again deliberate and slower aim was taken. One pistol missed fire, the other was harmless.
There had now been three hours spent: the seconds, however, consulted, and both the combatants shook hands. It was a heart-sickening scene to all; and more so when it was observed that each of the opponents expressed themselves happy that the other had escaped. It is but justice to say, that when the surgeon informed him (all being then over) that he had fired in the air, the most generous assurance was given that if it had been known to the Lieutenant's party at the time, they would not have fired another shot: the surgeon declared that he did so from a repugnance to fire at his friend, when he felt that he had taken summary satisfaction the night before; he therefore fired obliquely, and not palpably upwards, in hopes that one shot would satisfy the Lieutenant without affording a chance to misconstrue the surgeon's good feelings towards him.
Thus terminated a duel, which, but for something like a miracle, would have been fatal to one or both of these mutual friends. The lie was an irritating insult; but had the insulted acted prudently, he would not have returned it by a blow, and therefore would have held a greater power over his opponent. He should have sent him an immediate message, and the consequences most likely would have been that an apology as public as the insult would have been made: in my mind, a far greater triumph than the death of the insulter, for such is the moral humility from conviction of having committed an injury; and the atonement is ample. If no insult except a blow (or even that in some cases) were returned on the moment, but cool and determined steps taken for gentlemanly satisfaction, there would be but few fatal duels; for few men when under the influence of calm reason (a state seldom attending the man while insulting) will hesitate to make every amends in his power. If otherwise, then is the pistol the friend.