The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

THE
HISTORY OF DUELLING:

INCLUDING,

NARRATIVES

OF THE MOST

REMARKABLE PERSONAL ENCOUNTERS

THAT HAVE TAKEN PLACE FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD TO THE PRESENT TIME.

BY

J. G. MILLINGEN, M.D. F.R.S.

AUTHOR OF “CURIOSITIES OF MEDICAL EXPERIENCE,” ETC.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,

Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty.

1841.

LONDON:

PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,

Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

CONTENTS

OF

THE SECOND VOLUME.

CHAPTER I.

DUELS IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND.

CHAPTER II.

DUELS DURING THE REIGN OF GEORGE THE THIRD.

CHAPTER III.

DUELS IN VARIOUS COUNTRIES, FROM 1820 TO 1841.

HISTORY OF DUELLING.

CHAPTER I
DUELS IN GREAT BRITAIN.

In the beginning of this work an account has been given of various traditional trials by combat and judicial ordeals, marked with a similar character of brutality and superstition to that which distinguished similar meetings in France and other countries; and it has also been observed, that it appears evident that personal combats were brought into vogue in England by the followers of William the Conqueror. But the barbarous practice of trial by battle was modified in our island by various circumstances, and was chiefly applied to three special cases—The decision of causes in a military Court of Chivalry; Appeals of felony; and civil cases upon issue joined in a writ of right. This last ordeal, until the reign of Henry II, was the only mode of decision.

According to the maxim of the law of England, there is no rule more distinctly stated than that slaying, in a deliberate duel, is wilful murder; yet at all times considerable difficulties have arisen in this admission and construction.

The word murdrum appears to have been first used in the time of Canute; and was, according to Relyng, a term or description of a homicide committed in the worst manner. The presumption was, that the victim was a Dane, and that he was killed secretly and treacherously. If the murderer could not be found, the ville or hundred was amerced, and this fine was called murdrum. After the expulsion of the Danes, this law became a dead letter, until revived after the Conquest by William, when it was applied to the assassination of a Norman, or any Frenchman. In the reign of Henry III, the term murder was applied to the private slaying of any man, there being none present but those aiding in the perpetration of the deed.

In the reign of Richard II, murder was killing by await, assault, or malice prepense; but the distinction between murder and manslaughter was not clearly defined until the reign of Henry VIII, when benefit of clergy was taken away from the murderer. This distinction between murder and justifiable homicide se defendendo, or homicide per infortunium, was an important reform in our law, which at that period did not take into consideration the frail condition of mankind, and the influence of our passions, the more to be dreaded from the state of ignorance and superstition in which the nation was plunged. By our old law, if a man was killed in a quarrel, or in a sudden affray, it was equally felonious.

Many jurisconsults endeavoured to bring slaying in a duel within the class of murder, contrary to the general rule, that death ensuing in a mutual combat is only manslaughter; because, they said, when parties went out deliberately to fight with deadly weapons, there was presumptive malice aforethought, omitting all notice of treachery; which, in an ordinary duel, decided upon by seconds, appears to be the only ground for presuming that felonious malice was contemplated. It is evident that this distinction is one of the utmost importance. The primary object of a murderer is to destroy his victim; with this intention he attacks him, and although he may defend himself, yet the assault is treacherous as with malice aforethought; whereas the primary object of the duellist is to fight—the result of the meeting may be fatal or not,—his second consideration is to preserve his own life, and the third to put his adversary hors de combat.

Hawkins maintained that when divers rioters having forcibly taken possession of a house, afterwards killed the person whom they had ejected, as he was endeavouring in the night forcibly to regain possession and to fire the house, they were to be adjudged guilty of manslaughter only, notwithstanding they did the fact in maintenance of deliberate injury; perhaps, for this reason, because the person slain was so much in fault himself.

The same legal authority further says, “Some have gone so far as to hold that the seconds of the person killed are also equally guilty, in respect to that countenance which they gave to their principals in the execution of their purpose, by accompanying them therein, and being ready to bear a part with them:” but, perhaps, the contrary opinion is the more plausible; for it seems too severe a construction to make a man, by such reasoning, the murderer of his friend, to whom he was so far from intending a mischief, that he was ready to hazard his own life in his quarrel.

The highest authorities have strained the law to crush duelling without the aid of the legislature, and Hawkins says, that “it seems agreed, that whenever two persons in cold blood meet and fight on a precedent quarrel, and one of them is killed, the other is guilty of murder, and cannot help himself by alleging that he was first struck by the deceased.” Sir Edward Coke, in the case of Thomas, makes the following observation:—“As for direction to the jury, in cases of murder grounded upon former malice, it is very clear, and so it is adjudged in Plowden’s Commentaries, that if two men fall out, malice before is not anything material for the jury to inquire, but the subsequent matter, who began the affray; and if he be killed who offered the first wrong, yet it may be murder in the other who killed him, and the subsequent beginning not material.”

It would be foreign to the nature of this work to enter more fully into the legal opinions entertained on this matter by the greatest authorities, but many instances are upon record, in which, upon the judge’s charge, the survivor in a duel has been found guilty of murder. Such was the case of Morgan for the murder of Egerton; but he subsequently was pardoned, and set at large.

In the case of Richard Taverner a verdict of guilty of wilful murder was also found. The antagonist whom he had killed, was a man of the name of Bird, whose second, Hughes, was also killed. But many cases are on record, in which, notwithstanding the judge’s charge to the jury, a verdict of manslaughter was found.

During the early periods of our history, many challenges were sent, and combats have been prevented by regal and judicial interference. In the reign of Edward III, 1361, Henry, Duke of Lancaster, was challenged by the Duke of Brunswick to a combat before John, king of France, on account of some insulting language which the Duke of Lancaster had made use of. The challenge was accepted, and both parties appeared at the appointed time and place. But after they had entered the lists, the King of France interposed, and reconciled the parties. The field was in a plain near the Abbey of St. Germain des Prés, and the Bishop of Paris, Jean de Meulan, not to miss the sight, had slept at the Abbey the preceding night.

In the reign of Richard II, Henry, Duke of Hereford, sent, by Thomas Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, good advice and counsel to the King, which was purposely misrepresented, and mixed with offensive words, of which the Duke of Hereford being informed, he went to the King and explained the message he had sent; but denied the false one delivered in his name, and begged that he might combat the Duke of Norfolk, and maintain the truth. Leave was granted, and time and place appointed; but when they appeared and were ready to draw their swords, the King, who had submitted the matter to Parliament, commanded them to forbear, banished the Duke of Norfolk for ever, and his cousin of Hereford for a term of years: the meeting took place in 1398, near Coventry.

In the reign of Edward III, a most singular meeting took place between William Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, and Robert, Bishop of Salisbury, for the right of the castle of Old Sarum. The Bishop had laid claim to it, but the Earl declared himself ready to defend his possession by duel, to which the prelate consented. The day and place were appointed, when the parties were to fight by proxies. The Bishop brought to the lists his champion, cloaked with a white garment down to the knee, above which was a cassock embroidered with the episcopal arms, and with him a knight carrying a shield and staff. The Earl also led his champion by the hand into the lists, cloaked in the same manner, with two knights attending him; but while they were viewing and comparing arms, and searching whether any of them had amulets, charms, or enchantments about them, an order came from the King to adjourn the combat, and the matter was arranged.

From the commencement of the war of the roses, the trial by battle fell into desuetude. One of the latest instances of this ordeal was in the reign of Elizabeth, in 1571, when a suit having been instituted for recovery of certain manorial rights in the isle of Hartie, Kent, the defendant offered to maintain his claim by duel. The plaintiff accepted the challenge, champions were appointed, and the requisite arrangements made. On the day appointed, the judges, attended by the counsel of the parties, repaired to the lists in Tothill-fields, as umpires of the combat; but as the plaintiff did not make his appearance to acknowledge his champion, he was nonsuited, or rather the suit was compounded—the defendant remaining in possession by paying a stipulated sum to the petitioners; but yet to save the credit of the defendant, who had demanded the combat, all the ceremonials of time, place, and arms, were adjusted.[^[1]] Another instance occurred in the Court of Chivalry, in 1631: a trial by battle was also demanded in the palatine of Durham, in 1638. Of late years, it was only in 1818, that a similar demand was made in the case of Thornton and Ashford, when this barbarous and superstitious practice was finally abolished.

In 1542, Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, who had distinguished himself in the jousts and tournaments on the marriage of Henry VIII. to Anne of Cleves, was imprisoned in the Fleet, on the ground of a quarrel with a private gentleman, and remained closely confined for several weeks, until he was liberated on giving security to keep the peace in the then enormous sum of ten thousand marks. He was not long out of durance, being recommitted for having eaten meat in Lent, and broken the windows of peaceable citizens by shots from his crossbow. The defence of this unfortunate nobleman for the latter offence was rather curious, as he maintained that he had broken their windows in the hope of correcting the licentious and corrupt manner of these citizens, by impressing them with an idea that such attacks, by means unheard and unseen, were supernatural warnings from Providence of impending vengeance, a plea which is now extant on the minutes of the Privy Council!

During the reign of James I. duels appear to have been more frequent, and were resorted to, not only by the upper classes, but amongst the lower orders. This appears from a speech of Bacon, when attorney-general, in the case of a challenge brought before the Star Chamber Court. Bacon therein attributes the frequency of the practice to the rooted prejudice of the times, and hopes that the great would think it time to leave off the custom, when they find it adopted by barber-surgeons and butchers; and in one of his letters on the subject to Lord Villiers, he expresses his determination not to make any distinction between a coronet and a hatband in his efforts to repress the practice. “I will prosecute,” he says, “if any man appoint the field, though no fight takes place; if any man send a challenge in writing or verbally; if any man accept a challenge, or consent to be a second; if any man depart the realm in order to fight; if any man revive a quarrel after the late proclamation.” It does not appear, however, that this great man’s exertions were productive of much beneficial result, as the monarch, in one of his proclamations, called these combats “the bewitching duel.”[^[2]]

The duel fought, and the challenge sent, by Lord Herbert of Cherbury, and which we have elsewhere recorded, are striking illustrations of the chivalric notion of the times; and the Quixotic language in which that challenge was couched, was somewhat similar to that of the one sent by Sir Henry Urton, our ambassador to the court of France, to the Duc de Guise.

“Forasmuch as lately in the lodgings of the Lord Dumogre, and in public elsewhere, impudently, indiscreetly, and overboldly, you spoke badly of my sovereign, whose sacred person here in this country I represent, to maintain, both by word and weapon, her honour (which was never called into question among persons of honesty and virtue). I say you have wickedly and maliciously lied, in speaking so basely of my sovereign, and you shall do nothing else but lie whenever you dare to tax her honour. Moreover, that her sacred person (being one of the most complete and virtuous princesses that lives in this world) ought not to be evil spoken of by the vile tongue of such a perfidious traitor to her land and country as you are, and therefore I do defy you, and challenge your person to mine, with such manner of arms as you shall like or choose, be it either on horseback or on foot; nor would I have you to think any inequality of person between us, I being issued of as great a race and noble a house as yourself, in assigning me an indifferent place, I will there maintain my words, and the lie which I gave and give you. If you consent not to meet me hereupon, I will hold you, and cause you to be generally held, for the arrantest coward, and the most slanderous slave, in all France. I expect your immediate answer.”

It appears that De Guise did not think it expedient to accept the challenge.

The peace of the realm appears to have been frequently disturbed during the reign of James by duels, in which many valuable lives were lost. The death of Sir Hatton Cheek was one of these fatal occurrences. This gallant officer was the second in command of the English army at the siege of Juliers, in 1609, where a few hasty words addressed by him to Sir Thomas Dutton, induced that officer, who was of an inferior rank, to resign his commission and repair to England, where he endeavoured to injure the character of Cheek by various unfavourable reports, and the latter demanded a meeting at Calais. On their meeting on the sands, Dutton began to reproach Cheek with the injuries he had received at his hands, but Cheek insisted upon the immediate settlement of the business. The seconds stripped both parties to their shirts, and they attacked each other, each of them armed with a rapier and a dagger. In the first onset Cheek ran Dutton through the throat with his dagger, close to the windpipe; when Dutton made a pass at him and ran him through the body, while he stabbed him in the back with his poniard. Although Cheek’s wounds were mortal, he rushed upon his antagonist, who, observing that he gradually drooped from loss of blood, merely kept on the defensive till he fell dead at his feet.

James had to punish severely the Lord Sanquair, for having killed a fencing-master in a duel: the riddance to society of a master of the art of murder would have palliated the offence, but the unruly conduct of the Scotch followers of Sanquair was so obnoxious and ungovernable, that it was deemed necessary to inflict a punishment on their chief. This case was a curious one: his lordship, who prided himself on his skill in swordsmanship, had an assault with a fencing-master of the name of Turner, who put out one of his eyes with his foil. Turner made every possible excuse for the unfortunate occurrence, and Sanquair affected to forgive him. Some years after he visited the court of Henri IV. of France, when this prince asked him how he had lost his eye. Sanquair was embarrassed by the question, and with some hesitation replied, “By a sword wound.” The king immediately replied, “And does the man live?” An expression which sunk deep into his mind, and from that moment he formed the resolution to rid himself of the obnoxious cause of his misfortune in any manner. On his return to England, disdaining to sacrifice his victim with his own noble hands, he hired two ruffians who assassinated Turner in his lodgings in Whitefriars. The murderers were taken, but Sanquair had fled, and 1000l. reward was offered by proclamation for his apprehension. Trusting to his sovereign’s partiality for the Scotch, and having for a mediator at court the Archbishop of Canterbury, he surrendered himself; but all intercession was vain. Bacon was ordered to prosecute, and Sanquair and his accomplices were condemned, and he was hanged on the 29th of June, 1612, in front of the entrance of Westminster-hall.

In a MS. paper found in the library of Mr. Goodwin, author of the Life of Henry VIII, the following account, signed by R. Deerhurst, of a desperate duel fought by two noblemen of that period, was found:—

“HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF B—— TO THE LORD B——.

“The affront which you gave me at the imperial minister’s ball last night, would argue me a person very unworthy of the character I bear, to let it pass unregarded. To prove me that adventurous knight, which your evasive expression would have given the noble Lady to understand, may perhaps be the most acceptable means to reconcile your spleen; convince me then that you are more of a gentleman than I have reason to believe, by meeting me near the first tree behind the lodge in Hyde-park, precisely at half an hour after five to-morrow morning; and that there may be no pretension to delay, I have sent by the bearer of this two swords, of which I give you the privilege to make a choice. I shall approve of whatever terms of fighting you shall please to purpose. In the interim I wish your Lordship a good rest.

“Nine o’Clock.

B.”

“LORD B——’S ANSWER TO THE ABOVE.

“I received your Grace’s message, and accept the contents. It would give me a sensible concern to be obliged to give up the pretension which your Grace is doubtful of. It was from an oversight, I presume, that your Grace gave me the privilege to choose my sword, except your Grace has been so little used to this sort of ceremony as to have forgot that it is the challenger’s choice. This, however, is but a trifle (if anything). The terms I leave to our seconds, and will not fail to appear at the time appointed, and in the interim I wish your Grace a very good night.

“Eleven o’Clock.

B.”

After my Lord B—— had answered his Grace’s letter, he visited several of his friends, and was observed to be remarkably jocose at Lady Nottingham’s, which occasioned a young lady, after his departure, to remark that she fancied there was something very agreeable to his lordship renewed again, relating to the Countess of E——, well knowing his extraordinary passion for that lady. He told the messenger who carried his letter to bring his Grace’s answer to General De Lee, his second, with whom he remained that night in St. James’s-street.

About four in the morning his Lordship waked and got softly up, without (as he thought) being observed; and dressing himself, buckled on his sword, and fixing two agate flints in his pistols, charged them; but recollecting that the Duke’s second would probably desire to see them loaded, he drew the charge. By this time the General was awake; and observing his Lordship taking a book out of his pocket, he thought it improper to interrupt him. His Lordship then kneeled down at a small jasper table, and seemed to pray with great devotion for a quarter of an hour, often repeating, just loud enough to be heard, the errors of his youthful days, and fervently supplicating the Almighty not to impute them to him; after which he awoke the General, adding, that as the morning was cold and rainy he did not wish to delay his Grace. By the time they were accoutred, De Lee requested to view his Lordship’s sword, when he examined the point and handle most cautiously, and then returned it, adding, that he wished it was going to be employed in a cause more serviceable to his country. His Lordship replied, that it could be matter of little consequence, let the event be what it would. On their departure the General desired to know if there was any thing he was desirous to communicate, upon which he placed in his hand a letter addressed to the Right Hon. the Countess of E——, desiring that he would deliver it to her when alone, and not upon any consideration to put it into another hand.

They arrived somewhat before the appointed time, and took several turns from the tree to the lodge, his Lordship several times expressing surprise at his Grace’s delay, though it was not more than two minutes beyond it. His Grace then arrived, attended with one second only. He bade his Lordship a good morning, and hoped he had not waited for him long; then pulling out his watch, said that he had hit it to a point, adding, that he would rather die than break his promise upon such an occasion. His Lordship returned the expression, and said, that though they had waited a little, there was sufficient time left to despatch the business they were upon. To which his Grace replied, the sooner it is despatched, the more leisure there will be behind. In the interim, the seconds were pairing the swords, and each one loading his adversary’s pistols. They then agreed to the following terms, viz.:—

1. That the distance of firing should not be less at each time than seven yards and a half.

2. That if either should be dangerously wounded on the first discharge, the duel should cease, if the wounded person would own that his life was in the hands of his antagonist.

3. That between the firing and the drawing swords, there should be no limited time, but each should endeavour to make the first thrust.

4. That if either should yield, as in the second article, during the engagement with swords, whether by a wound, false step, or any other circumstance, then the engagement should cease.

To which four articles both parties assented. His Grace stripped off his coat, which was scarlet, trimmed with broad gold lace, when his Lordship’s second stepped in to unbutton his Grace’s waistcoat, to see justice done to the cause he had espoused; on which, with some indignation, his Grace replied, “Do you take me to be a person of so little honour!” The same ceremony was performed on his Lordship, who had already pulled off his coat, which was crimson, with broad silver lace, and both the combatants being ready, Lord B—— added, “Now, if it please your Grace, come on.” His Grace fired and missed, but my Lord B——, perhaps from more experience, and knowing that battles were seldom won by hasty measures, deliberately levelled at him, and wounded his Grace near the thumb. They both discharged again, when his Lordship received a slight wound in his turn. On which they instantly drew their swords, and impetuously charged each other, each of them seeming rather to meditate the death of his adversary, than to regard his own safety. In the first or second thrust Lord B—— entangled the toe of his pump in a tuft of grass, and in evading a lounge from his antagonist, fell on his right side, but supporting himself on his sword hand, by inconceivable dexterity, he sprang backwards, and evaded the thrust apparently aimed at his heart. A little pause intervening here, his Grace’s second proposed to his Lordship a reconciliation; but the ardent thirst after each other’s blood so overpowered the strongest arguments and reason, that they insisted to execute each other forthwith, whatever might be the consequence. Nay, the anger of his Grace was raised to such a pitch of revenge, that he, in that irritated moment, swore if, for the future, either of the seconds interposed, he would make his way through his body. Then, after all remonstrance had proved ineffectual, they retired to their limited distances, and perhaps one of the most extraordinary duels ensued that the records of history can produce, fairly disputed hand to hand. The parrying after this interval, brought on a close lock, which, Monsieur Des Barreaux says, nothing but the key of the body can open. In this position they stood, I dare say, a minute, striving to disengage each other by repeated wrenches, in one of which his Grace’s sword got caught in the guard of his Lordship, which circumstance his Lordship overlooked, so that this advantage was recovered by his Grace before the consequence which it might have brought on was executed. At last, in a very strong wrench on both sides, their swords sprang from their hands. I dare say his Lordship’s flew six or seven yards upright. This accident, however, did not retard the affair a moment, but both seizing their weapons at the same time, the duel was renewed with as much malevolence as ever. By this time his Lordship had received a thrust through the inner side of his sword arm, passing forward to the exterior part of the elbow; his, at the same time, passing a little over that of his antagonist; but, cleverly springing back, I think partly before his Grace had recovered his push, he ran him through the body a little above the right pap. His Lordship’s sword being thus engaged, nothing was left for his defence but a naked left arm; and his Grace being in this dangerous situation, yet had fair play at almost any part of his Lordship’s body, who bravely put by several thrusts exactly levelled at his throat, till at last, having two fingers cut off in defending the pushes, and the rest mangled to a terrible degree, his Grace lodged his sword one rib below the heart, and in this affecting position they both stood without either being able to make another push. Each of them by this time was in a manner covered with blood and gore, when both the seconds stepped in and begged they would consider their situation, and the good of their future state; yet neither would consent to part, till, by the great loss of blood which his Lordship had sustained, he fell down senseless, but in such a position that he drew his sword out of his Grace’s body; recovering himself a little before he was quite down, he faltered forward, and falling with his thigh across his sword, snapped it in the middle. His Grace observing that he was no longer capable of defence, or sensible of danger, immediately broke his own sword, and fell on his body with the deepest sigh of concern, and both expired before any assistance could be got, though Dr. Fountaine had orders not to be out of the way that morning. Thus fell two gallant men, whose personal bravery history can scarcely equal, and whose honour nothing but such a cause could stain.

During the civil wars that brought Charles’s head to the block, duelling became a very rare occurrence, and this circumstance is attributed to the following causes by an ingenious writer on the subject:[^[3]]—“These civil wars were not of a nature calculated, like those of France, to increase the rage of the duel, but rather to suspend the frequency of its practice. As it was not a struggle (latterly, in particular) between two powerful factions of the nobility and gentry one against the other, but of the commonalty against whatever was called royal, noble, or honourable in rank and fortune; the consequence was, that the gentry, and those who had been accustomed to look to their own swords for revenge in personal affronts, would have disdained to have settled points of honour by private duel, with antagonists of such ignoble birth. The general course of their thoughts being also bent on the repulsion of the common enemy of the order of gentry, they became more closely united within themselves, and were less in the habit of paying a scrupulous attention to all the supercilious dictates of a captious honour.”

During the Protectorate duels were unfrequent from causes somewhat similar amongst the upper classes, while the lower orders were inspired with a religious zeal and a fanatic enthusiasm, which would have induced them to consider assassination scarcely a greater sin than a duel. Yet we find that Cromwell, in 1654, passed an ordinance for punishing and preventing duelling. In this enactment it was provided, that all persons sending, carrying, or accepting a challenge, were to be imprisoned for six months; and persons who were challenged, and who did not declare it within twenty-four hours, were to be considered as acceptors. When death ensued in a duel, it was to be considered murder; and persons using provoking words or gestures, to be indicted, and, if convicted, to be fined, bound to good behaviour, and to make reparation to the party injured, according to the quality or the nature of the offence.

There was, however, a preparation for a purgation by single combat, in a doubtful case, in the reign of Charles I, A.D. 1631. “The Lord Rea, a Scotch Baron, impeached Ramsay and Meldrum for moving him to join a conspiracy. They denied it positively, and no witness could be produced. Ramsay, a soldier, offered to clear himself by combat that he was innocent, and the appellant, Rea, accepted the challenge. The King was desirous it should be put upon the duel, and the judges were consulted. According to their advice there was a Court of the Constable and Marshal appointed, and the Earl of Lindsey special constable for the purpose; and the proceedings between Rea and Ramsay in that Court were very solemn, multitudes of people attending the novelty. The business, however, was afterwards made up by the King, through the Marquis Hambleton, whose servant Ramsay was, and the Lord Rea returned to his command under the King of Sweden in Germany.”[^[4]]

It was under the reign of James that the celebrated duel between the Earl of Dorset and Lord Bruce took place at Antwerp. Jealousy appears to have been the cause of the difference that led to their fatal meeting. The offence had been of long standing, but it was renewed at Canterbury, when Lord Bruce gave the Earl “two or three good buffets in the face,” Sackville being without a weapon, “having given his rapier instantly before to the Palsgrave.” It appears, however, that on this occasion “they were parted, and made friends by the noblemen that were present,” and Lord Bruce went to France “to learn to fence.” A short time after the parties met by appointment, and the Earl gives the following account of the transaction:—

“As I am not ignorant, so I ought to be sensible of the false aspersions some authorless tongues have laid upon me in the reports of the unfortunate passage lately happened between the Lord Bruce and myself; which, as they are spread here, so I may justly fear they reign also where you are. There are but two ways to resolve doubts of this nature—by oath, and by sword. The first is due to magistrates, and communicable to friends; the other, to such as maliciously slander, and impudently defend their assertions. Your love, not my merit, assures me you hold me your friend, which esteem I am much desirous to retain. Do me, therefore, the right to understand the truth of that act, and in my behalf inform others, who either are or may be infected with sinister rumours, much prejudicial to that fair opinion I desire to hold amongst all worthy persons, and on the faith of a gentleman, the relation I shall give is neither more nor less than the bare truth.

“To our seconds we gave power for their appointments, who agreed we should go to Antwerp, from thence to Bergen-op-zoom, where, in the midway, a village divides the States’ territory from the Archduke’s, and there was the destined stage; to the end that, having ended, he that could might presently exempt himself from the justice of the country, by retiring into the dominion not offended. It was farther concluded, that in case any should fall or slip, that then the combat should cease, and he whose ill fortune had so subjected him was to acknowledge his life to have been in the other’s hands; but in case one party’s sword should break, because that could only chance by hazard, it was agreed that the other should take no advantage, but either then be made friends, or else, upon even terms, go to it again. These three conclusions being by each of them related to his party, were by us both approved and assented to. Accordingly we re-embarked for Antwerp, and by reason my Lord (as I conceive, because he could not handsomely without danger of discovery) had not paired the sword I sent him to Paris, bringing one of the same length, but twice as broad, my second excepted against it, and advised me to match my own, and send him the choice, which I obeyed, it being, you know, the challenger’s privilege to elect his weapon.

“At the delivery of the swords, which was performed by Sir John Heidon, it pleased the Lord Bruce to choose my own; and then, past expectation, he told him that he found himself so far behind hand as a little of my blood would not serve his turn, and therefore he was now resolved to have me alone, because he knew (for I will use his own words) ‘that so worthy a gentleman and my friend could not endure and stand by and see him do that which he must to satisfy himself and his honour.’ Thereunto Sir John Heidon replied, ‘that such intentions were bloody and butcherly, far unfitting so noble a personage, who should desire to bleed for reputation not for life;’ withal adding, ‘he thought himself injured, being come thus far, now to be prohibited from executing those honourable offices he came for.’ The Lord Bruce, for answer, only reiterated his former resolution, the which, not for matter but for manner, so moved me, as though, to my remembrance, I had not of a long while eaten more liberally than at dinner, and therefore unfit for such an action (seeing the surgeons hold a wound upon a full stomach much more dangerous than otherwise), I requested my second to certify him I would presently decide the difference, and should, therefore, meet him on horseback, only waited on by our surgeons, they being unarmed.

“Together we rode (but one before the other some twelve score) about two English miles, and then passion, having so weak an enemy to assail as my direction, easily became victor, and using his power, made me obedient to his commands. I being very mad with anger, the Lord Bruce should thirst after my life with a kind of assuredness, seeing I had come so far and needlessly to give him leave to regain his lost reputation, I bade him alight, which with all willingness he quickly granted, and there in a meadow, ankle-deep in the water, at least, bidding farewell to our doublets, in our shirts we began to charge each other, having afore commanded our surgeons to withdraw themselves a pretty distance from us, conjuring them besides, as they respected our favour or their own safeties, not to stir, but to suffer us to execute our pleasure, we being fully resolved (God forgive us) to despatch each other by what means we could.

“I made a thrust at my enemy, but was short, and in drawing back my arm I received a great wound thereon, which I interpreted as a reward for my short shooting; but in revenge, I pressed into him, though I then missed him also; and then received a wound in my right pap, which passed level through my body, and almost to my back. And there we wrestled for the two greatest and dearest prizes we could ever expect trial for—honour and life; in which struggling, my hand, having but an ordinary glove on it, lost one of her servants, though the meanest, which hung by a skin, and to sight yet remaineth as before, and I am put in hope one day to recover the use of it again. But at last breathless, yet keeping our holds, there past on both sides propositions of quitting each other’s swords; but when amity was dead, confidence could not live, and who should quit first was the question, which on neither part either would perform; and restriving again afresh, with a kick and a wrench together I freed my long-captive weapon, which incontinently levying at his throat, being master still of his, I demanded if he would ask his life or yield his sword? Both which, though in that imminent danger, he bravely denied to do. Myself being wounded, and feeling loss of blood, having three conduits running on me, began to make me faint, and he courageously persisting not to accord to either of my propositions, remembrance of his former bloody desire, and feeling of my present estate, I struck at his heart, but with his avoiding, missed my aim, yet passed through his body, and drawing back my sword, repassed it through again, through another place, when he cried, ‘Oh! I am slain,’ seconding his speech with all the force he had to cast me: but being too weak, after I had defended his assault, I easily became master of him, laying him on his back, when, being upon him, I redemanded if he would request his life? But it seems he prized it not at so dear a rate to be beholding for it, bravely replying he scorned it! which answer of his was so noble and worthy, as I protest, I could not find in my heart to offer him any more violence, only keeping him down; till at length, his surgeon, afar off, cried out he would immediately die if his wounds were not stopped: whereupon I asked if he desired his surgeon should come? which he accepted of; and so, being drawn away, I never offered to take his sword, accounting it inhumane to rob a dead man, for so I held him to be.

“This thus ended, I retired to my surgeon, in whose arms after I had remained awhile, for want of blood I lost my sight, and withal, as I then thought, my life also; but strong water and his diligence, quickly recovered me; when I escaped a great danger, for my Lord’s surgeon, when nobody dreamt of it, came full at me with my Lord’s sword; and had not mine, with my sword, interposed himself, I had been slain by those base hands, although my Lord Bruce, weltering in his blood, and past all expectation of life, conformable to all his former carriage, which was undoubtedly noble, cried out ‘Rascal, hold thy hand!’ So may I prosper, as I have dealt sincerely with you in this relation, which I pray you, with the inclosed letters, deliver to my Lord Chamberlain.

Ed. Sackville.”

It does not appear that this fatal and barbarous affair led to any proceedings against the Earl of Dorset, nor did it diminish his favour at court.

After the desperate and fatal duel between Duke Hamilton and Lord Mohun, a bill was brought into the House of Commons for the prevention of duelling, but was lost after a second reading. The following is the account that Swift gives of this meeting, in his letter to Mrs. Dingley, but it must be borne in mind that political animosities, which ran very high at this period, gave a peculiar acrimonious character to the transaction, the causes of which have never been satisfactorily explained:—

“Before this comes to your hands, you will have heard of the most terrible accident that hath almost ever happened. This morning, at eight, my man brought me word that Duke Hamilton had fought with Lord Mohun, and had killed him, and was brought home wounded. I immediately sent him to the Duke’s house to know if it was so, but the porter could hardly answer his inquiries, and a great rabble was about the house. In short, they fought at seven this morning. The dog Mohun was killed on the spot, but while the Duke was over him, Mohun shortened his sword, and stabbed him in the shoulder to the heart. The Duke was helped toward the lake-house, by the ring, in Hyde-park (where they fought), and died on the grass, before he could reach his house, and was brought home in his coach by eight, while the poor Duchess was asleep. M’Carthy and one Hamilton were the seconds, who fought likewise, and both are fled. I am told that a footman of Lord Mohun’s stabbed Duke Hamilton, and some say M’Carthy did so too. Mohun gave the affront, and yet sent the challenge. I am infinitely concerned for the poor Duke, who was a frank, honest, and good natured man. They carried the poor Duchess to a lodging in the neighbourhood, where I have been with her two hours, and am just come away. I never saw so melancholy a scene, for indeed all reasons for real grief belong to her; nor is it possible for any one to be a greater loser in all regards—she has moved my very soul. The lodging was inconvenient, and they would have moved her to another, but I would not suffer it, because it had no room backwards, and she must have been tortured with the noise of the Grub-street screamers dinging her husband’s murder in her ears.”

This duel must have been of the most murderous nature, from the number of wounds that both parties received. The Duke of Hamilton had received one on the right side of the leg, about seven inches long, another in the right arm, the third in the upper part of the right breast, running downwards towards the body, the fourth on the outside of the left leg. Lord Mohun received a large wound in the groin, another in the right side through the body and up to the hilt of the sword, and a third in his arm.

In the Postboy, of the 20th November, the following particulars of this field meeting were given:—“Major-General M’Carthy went three times to the Duke, and was at the bagnio all night with Lord Mohun, who was observed to be seized with fear and trembling at the time. The seconds were Colonel Hamilton, of the Foot-guards, for the Duke, and M’Carthy for Lord Mohun. It appears that the parties did not parry, but gave thrusts at each other, and Lord Mohun shortening his sword stabbed the Duke in the upper part of the left breast running downwards into the body, which wound was fourteen inches long, and he expired soon after he was put into the coach. A dispute at law had existed between the parties, but without any personal quarrel of consequence.”

Swift, in his history of the four last years of Queen Anne, says, that M’Carthy stabbed the Duke after he was wounded by Lord Mohun. He afterwards escaped to Holland, but in June, 1716, was tried for murder in the Court of King’s Bench, and found guilty of manslaughter. Swift relates a curious anecdote of a gentleman, who being attacked by highwaymen, told them that he was M’Carthy, upon which they brought him before a justice in the hopes of receiving the reward for his apprehension, when he gave the rogues in charge.

This Lord Mohun appears to have been an unprincipled character, whose associates were in general as depraved and contemptible as himself. In the year 1692, we find him tried for the murder of Montford the player, an atrocious act, in which he was at any rate most deeply implicated.

It appeared in this trial that Lord Mohun, with a Captain Hall, had formed a project forcibly to carry off Mrs. Bracegirdle, the actress, to whom, or rather, to whose successful career on the stage this Hall pretended to be attached. The worthy pair hired a coach to go to Totteridge, directing the driver to have six horses in readiness, and to be waiting, for them at Drury Lane, near the theatre, with only two horses to the carriage, about nine o’clock at night. The party had dined together at a tavern in Covent Garden, where Mrs. Bracegirdle became the subject of their conversation; and both admitted their belief that she was upon terms of more than common intimacy with Montford, a popular performer at that period. They therefore formed a plan to carry her off forcibly that very night into the country; for which purpose Hall had secured the assistance of a party of soldiers belonging to his company. In this conversation Hall told Lord Mohun, that unless they could be at the theatre by 6 o’clock, their plan would fail. They accordingly repaired to the playhouse, and went behind the scenes; where they were much disappointed in being informed, that Mrs. Bracegirdle was not to perform that night. Upon this intelligence they withdrew; but found, upon further inquiry, that she was to sup at the house of a Mrs. Page, of Drury Lane; and they therefore lay in wait for her near Lord Craven’s house.

About 10 o’clock Mrs. Bracegirdle, accompanied by Mr. Page, her mother, and her brother, were returning home towards Howard Street where she lived, when these ruffians seized her, and, assisted by the soldiers, endeavoured to force her into the carriage, while Captain Hall at the same time strove to drive away Mr. Page; but Mrs. Bracegirdle’s mother firmly grasped her, and struggled to protect her daughter. The uproar had now become so great, the neighbourhood being alarmed by the women’s shrieks, that several persons rushed to the rescue, the desperate project was defeated, and the soldiers were dismissed by their commander. Mrs. Bracegirdle and her party returned home; but Lord Mohun and his companion watched near her house at the corner of Norfolk Street, pacing up and down the flags with drawn swords, waiting for Montford whom they expected to pass in that direction, on his way home. Tired of thus standing sentry, these worthies, it appears, amused themselves by drinking two bottles of wine in the street; some surly watchmen, who observed their extraordinary conduct and their naked swords, had the presumption to question them, upon which Lord Mohun told the insolent guardians of the night that he was a peer of the realm, and dared them to molest him: at the same time he condescended to inform them, that his friend’s sword was drawn in consequence of his having lost his scabbard. The watch, therefore, very respectfully withdrew, apologising for the breach of privilege, of which they had involuntarily been guilty.

About 12 o’clock the unfortunate Montford, who was returning from the theatre, fell in with this worthy couple. Lord Mohun, it appears, approached him in a very cordial manner, and went so far as to embrace him; when Montford asked him what he possibly could be doing in the street at that advanced hour of the night. His lordship replied, “I suppose you have heard of the lady?” To which Montford answered: “I hope my wife (who was also a performer) has given your Lordship no offence?”—“No,” said Lord Mohun, “it is Mrs. Bracegirdle I mean.” To which Montford observed: “Mrs. Bracegirdle, my Lord, is no concern of mine; but I hope your Lordship does not countenance the conduct of Mr. Hall.”

Upon this, Captain Hall came forward; and exclaiming “This is not a time to discuss such matters,” ran Montford through the body; although it was asserted during the trial, that several passes had taken place between the parties before the fatal wound had been inflicted. This circumstance, however, was by no means clearly proved. A cry of murder was raised, the watch rushed in; but the assassin had fled. Lord Mohun surrendered himself, observing, that he hoped that Hall had made his escape, as he was well satisfied to be hanged for him; and he further avowed, that to facilitate his escape he had changed coats with him.

It appeared upon the trial, that Hall had expressed his wish to marry Mrs. Bracegirdle, and conceived that the rivalry of Montford was the only obstacle to the success of his suit; he repeatedly swore, that he would get rid of him some way or other; and it was to effect this purpose that he and Lord Mohun had exchanged coats and hats in the scene-room of the theatre. That the assassination of their victim had been coolly premeditated, there could not be the slightest doubt. Hall had spoken to Mrs. Knight, of Drury Lane Theatre, telling her, that he was certain that Mrs. Bracegirdle detested him in consequence of her attachment to Montford, and at the same time requested her, as an intimate friend of Mrs. Bracegirdle, to give her a letter. This proposal Mrs. Knight very properly declined, observing, that she had already too many enemies to increase their number. “What enemies?” replied Hall. “Do you mean Montford? I shall find a way to rid you of him speedily. Subsequently, in the presence of a Mrs. Sandys, Hall had sworn that he would stab Montford if he resisted; and at the same time Lord Mohun declared that he would stand by him. Hall, it also appeared, had borrowed a brace of pistols from a Captain Leister, to accomplish his purpose. And further, when Hall seemed to doubt the resolution of his lordship, and observed at the tavern, that he was ruined, unless Lord Mohun attended at the theatre to assist him by 6 o’clock, Lord Mohun replied, “Upon my soul and honour I will be there!”

Notwithstanding this evidence, Lord Mohun was acquitted of the charge of having been accessory to the murder. The only circumstance in his favour was the question whether Hall had stabbed Montford when unprepared, or whether the unfortunate man had defended himself. It was proved that his sword had been broken. Howbeit, little doubt could exist as to the culpability of Lord Mohun, in having coolly and deliberately planned the act of violence against Mrs. Bracegirdle, with a determination to rid themselves of her supposed paramour any how; and we cannot but marvel at his peers allowing him to escape unpunished. It was the baseness and profligacy of this man that confirmed the general belief that the Duke of Hamilton had been foully murdered by M’Carthy, Mohun’s second and friend, no doubt as worthy as his former companion Hall.

William Montford was an actor of considerable merit, and was also a successful dramatic writer. He was only thirty-three years of age when he met with this untimely end. Cibber speaks of him in the following terms:—“He was tall in person, well made, fair, and of an agreeable aspect. His voice full, clear, and melodious. In tragedy, he was the most affecting lover within my memory. His addresses had a resistless recommendation, from the very tone of his voice, which gave his words such softness that, as Dryden says,

Like flocks of feather’d snow,

They melted as they fell!

It was to be expected, that such worthless ruffians as Mohun and Hall should have been anxious to remove the rivalry of a person so likely to please Mrs. Bracegirdle, although the intimacy between her and Montford was such, as to leave those acquainted with the parties firmly convinced that no improper intercourse existed between them. From her walk in the drama, they constantly performed together, and a strict intimacy had not only arisen between them, but between Mrs. Bracegirdle and Mrs. Montford.

In 1662 a meeting took place between Mr. Jermyn, nephew to the Earl of St. Alban’s, and afterwards himself Lord Jermyn, and Colonel Giles Rawlins on the one side; and Captain Thomas Howard, brother to Lord Carlisle, and a friend on the other. Mr. Jermyn was severely wounded, and his second killed. They fought in the old Pall Mall, St. James’s. Mr. Jermyn, the challenged party, was entirely ignorant of the nature of the offence he had given, nor could he induce his antagonist to inform him. Captain Howard was supposed to have worn a coat of mail under his dress.

The records of Parliament notice a challenge sent to Lord Chancellor Clarendon by Lord Ossory, son of the Duke of Ormond, for injurious words made use of in the House of Lords, on the debate upon a bill for prohibiting the importation of Irish cattle into England. The Chancellor submitted the message to the House. This bill was intended to protect English agriculture and the landed interest, and was chiefly supported by Buckingham, Ashley, and Lauderdale; and in its provisions its framers appeared to have lost sight of the fact, that if the Irish were deprived of the means of selling their principal commodities, it was not in their power to apply the produce of the sale to the purchase of English goods. Buckingham supported it with all his powers; and indulging both in his national animosity towards Ireland and his present enmity to the Duke of Ormond, maintained with much vehemence, that no one could oppose it who had not an Irish interest and an Irish intellect. Lord Ossory immediately sent him a challenge, which Buckingham evaded, on the pretext that he had mistaken the place and hour of the rendezvous, during which time his opponent was apprehended.

This Bill led to much violent recrimination, and also to personal conflict, Buckingham having had a scuffle with the Marquis of Dorchester, who tore off a handful of his hair, while the Duke pulled off his periwig.

Pepys, in his notes, alludes to the sad prevalence of duels about this period, which he states to be “a kind of emblem of the general complexion of the whole kingdom” at the time; and he relates, in the following terms, the meeting that took place between Sir H. Bellasses and Mr. Porter in 1667:—“They two dined yesterday at Sir Robert Carr’s, where, it seems, people do drink high, all that come. It happened that these two, the greatest friends in the world, were talking together, and Sir H. Bellasses talked a little louder than ordinary to Tom Porter, giving him some advice. Some of the company standing by said, ‘What! are they quarrelling, that they talk so high?’ Sir H. Bellasses hearing it, said, ‘No, I would have you know, I never quarrel, but I strike; take that as a rule of mine!’—‘How?’ said Tom Porter, ‘strike! I would I could see the man in England that durst give me a blow?’ With that Sir H. Bellasses did give him a box on the ear; and so they were going out to fight, but were hindered. And by and by Tom Porter went out; and meeting Dryden the poet, told him of the business, and that he was resolved to fight Sir H. Bellasses presently, for he knew, if he did not, they would be friends to-morrow, and then the blow would rest upon him; and he desires Dryden to let him have his boy to bring him notice which way Sir H. Bellasses goes. By and by he is informed, that Sir H. Bellasses’s coach was coming; so Tom Porter went down out of the coffee-room, where he stayed for the tidings, and stopped the coach, and bade Sir H. Bellasses come out. ‘Why,’ said Sir H. Bellasses, “you will not hurt me coming out, will you?’—‘No,’ says Tom Porter. So out he went, and both drew. And Sir H. Bellasses having drawn and flung away the scabbard, Tom Porter asked him, whether he was ready. The other answered, he was; and they fell to fight, some of their acquaintances by. They wounded one another; and Sir H. Bellasses so much, that it is feared he will die. And finding himself severely wounded, he called to Tom Porter, and kissed him, and bade him shift for himself; ‘for,’ says he, ‘Tom, thou hast hurt me; but I will make shift to stand on my legs till thou mayest withdraw, and the world not take notice of thee; for I would not have thee troubled for what thou hast done.’ And so, whether he did fly or not, I cannot tell; but Tom Porter showed Sir H. Bellasses that he was wounded too; and they are both ill, but Sir H. Bellasses to the life. And this is fine example! and Sir H. Bellasses a parliament man too; and both of them extraordinary friends” Bellasses only lived a few days, and Pepys, in noticing his death, adds: “It is pretty to see how the world talk of them, as a couple of fools, that killed one another out of love.” This deed took place in Covent Garden.

About the same period a duel took place between the Earl of Shrewsbury and the Duke of Buckingham. The latter, it appears, had debauched Lady Shrewsbury, the daughter of the Earl of Cardigan, and was challenged by her husband. The King, who had been apprised of the intended meeting, commanded the Duke of Albemarle to secure Buckingham, and confine him to his house. Albemarle, by all accounts, wilfully neglected the royal command; and the meeting took place. The Duke was attended by Captain Holman and Sir J. Jenkins; and Lord Shrewsbury was accompanied by Sir J. Talbot, a gentleman of the Privy Chamber, and Lord Bernard Howard, son of the Earl of Arundel. The parties met at Barnes Elms. According to the custom of the day, the seconds also engaged each other. The combat on both sides was long and desperate. Buckingham ran Lord Shrewsbury through the body; Sir John Talbot was severely wounded in both arms, and Jenkins was left dead on the field. Buckingham and the other seconds were only slightly wounded. It was reported, that during this murderous conflict Lady Shrewsbury, in a page’s attire, was holding Buckingham’s horse in a neighbouring thicket, to facilitate his escape in the event of his having killed her husband. Such a circumstance is very possible, as showing the profligacy of the times, since it was reported, and generally believed, that Lady Shrewsbury had not only been most anxious that the meeting should take place, but actually slept the same night with her paramour in the very shirt stained with the blood from the wound he had received as her champion.

The King, by proclamation, pardoned all parties concerned in the death of Sir J. Jenkins, but declared his determination not to extend his gracious mercy to future offenders. After this duel Buckingham, patronised by Lady Castlemaine, openly took Lady Shrewsbury to live with him in his own house; and when the Duchess ventured to expostulate on such a line of conduct, adding, that it was out of the question that she and his mistress should live under the same roof, he quietly replied, “That is also my opinion, madam, and I have therefore ordered your coach to carry you to your father.” Buckingham and Lady Shrewsbury afterwards lived together at Clifden.

Clifden’s proud alcove,

The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love.

After the death of the Earl of Shrewsbury this worthy pair dissipated the estate of the young earl; when the matter was brought before the House of Lords, and an award was made that the Duke should not converse or cohabit with the Countess in future, and that each should enter into a security to the King’s Majesty in the sum of 10,000l. for that purpose.

Sir William Coventry, a commissioner of the treasury, having been obliged by the vexation he had experienced from Buckingham, to resign his office, sent him a challenge, which was carried by Captain Holmes, one of the favourite’s creatures, to the King, who immediately committed Coventry to the Tower.

The following anecdote fully illustrates the profligacy and venality of that period:—

“Gondemar was at this period one of the most dissolute and fashionable characters. He was then Spanish ambassador at our Court, and lived at Ely House, in Holborn, and his passage to Court was ordinarily through Drury-lane, Covent-garden being then an inclosed field. His gallantry was so renowned and sought for, that it is stated as he passed by, ladies would show themselves at their balconies to “present him their civilities” as he was carried in a litter, his infirmities being such that he could neither walk nor ride. One day passing by the Lady Jacob’s house in Drury Lane, she exposed herself for a salutation; he was not wanting to her, but she, moving nothing but her mouth, gaped wide open upon him. He wondered at the Lady’s incivility, but thought it might be haply a yawning fit that took her at that time; for trial whereof, the next day he finds her in the same place; his courtesies were again accosted with no better expression than an extended mouth. Whereupon he sent a gentleman to her, to let her know that the ladies of England were more gracious to him than to encounter his respects with such affront. She answered that it was true that he had purchased some of their favours at a dear rate, and she had a mouth to be stopped as well as others! Gondemar finding the cause of the emotion of her mouth, sent her a present as an antidote, which cured her of the distemper.”

Buckingham’s marriage was an act of reparation of his profligacy. He had seduced the only daughter of the Earl of Rutland, and carried her to his lodgings at Whitehall. After having kept her there for some time he returned her to her father, who intimated to the royal favourite, “that he had too much of the gentleman to suffer such an indignity, and if he did not marry his daughter immediately, to restore her honour, no power should protect him from his just revenge.” She was heiress to a considerable fortune, and Buckingham complied with the Earl’s injunction.

In 1661, a quarrel arose in London between several ambassadors, which proved likely to lead to serious consequences. Philip IV. of Spain had sent the Baron de Batteville to London, where the Comte d’Estrade was ambassador for France. The Comte de Brabe, the Swedish ambassador, had made his first entry in town, when a dispute arose amongst these ministers regarding precedence, each being anxious to take the lead of the other. The Baron de Batteville had cut the traces of the carriage of the French ambassador, and when the domestics of the latter sought to retaliate, they found that chains had been used instead of ordinary traces. The King of France recalled his minister, and the Spanish monarch sent the Comte de Fuentes to Paris to apologize for the conduct of his ambassador. A duel had been expected, as the Comte d’Estrade had been engaged in the hostile meeting between the Duc de Guise and the Comte de Coligny, and was considered a very punctilious person in such matters; but the parties very wisely had referred the affair to their respective courts.

At this period the pit of the theatre became the constant arena of quarrels that led to duels. The young bloods of the day made it a point to go to the playhouse, for the mere purpose of insulting females, and getting themselves involved in disputes that might increase their fashionable popularity. In 1720, Mrs. Oldfield, a celebrated actress, was performing in “The Scornful Lady,” when Beau Fielding (the Orlando the Fair of the Tatler) insulted a barrister of the name of Fulwood, by pushing rudely against him. Fulwood expostulated with some degree of violence, upon which Fielding laid his hand upon his sword. The pugnacious lawyer drew, and gave his antagonist a severe wound in the body. Beau Fielding, who was then a man of above fifty years of age, came forward, and uncovering his breast, showed his bleeding wound to the public, to excite the compassion of the fair sex; but, to his no small disappointment, a burst of laughter broke forth from the audience. Fulwood, emboldened by his success with Fielding, repaired to Lincoln’s-inn-fields Theatre, where he picked up another quarrel with a Captain Cusack, and then demanded satisfaction. They went into the fields, and the lawyer was professionally despatched by the soldier, and left dead on the ground.

Ball-rooms, masquerades, theatres, the open streets, the public walks, bagnios, and coffee-houses, now became constant scenes of strife and bloodshed; Covent-garden and Lincoln’s-inn-fields became the rendezvous for deciding points of honour; and at all hours of the night the clashing of swords might be heard by the peaceable citizens returning home, at the risk of being insulted and ill treated by the pretty fellows, and the beaux of the day. The system of duelling pervaded all classes, and even physicians were wont to decide their professional altercations at the point of the sword. Doctors Mead and Woodward fought under the gate of Gresham College; the latter slipped his foot and fell. “Take your life,” exclaimed Dr. Mead. “Any thing but your physic,” replied the prostrate Woodward.

Dr. Williams and Dr. Bennet, who had grossly abused each other in print on matters relating to their profession, had recourse to blows, when Dr. Bennet proposed a meeting to decide the business like gentlemen. This proposal being rejected by Dr. Williams, Dr. Bennet went the next morning to his house, and rapped at his door; Williams, on opening it, discharged a pistol, loaded with swan-shot, in the other’s breast. The wounded doctor retired across the way towards a friend’s house, being pursued by Williams, who, very near the door, fired a second pistol at him, and, whilst Bennet was endeavouring to draw his sword, which had been pacifically adhering fast to the scabbard, Williams ran him through the body. Bennet, although in this dismal condition, was able to draw his rapier; and praying to God to invigorate him to avenge his wrongs, he gave Williams a home thrust, which entered the upper part of his breast and came out at the shoulder blade, the sword snapping and part of it remaining in the wound. Williams in retreating to his house fell down dead, and Bennet lived but four hours after.

In the same year a duel was fought at Kinsale, in Ireland, which originated from Ensign Sawyer, of O’Farrell’s regiment, having beaten the servant of an officer of the same corps, for giving a slighting answer to his wife. His master, Captain Wrey, had permitted his servant to obtain a warrant for the assault, which the Ensign hearing of, before he could be served with it, challenged the Captain to fight him on the spot. The Captain, after having in vain remonstrated with him upon the impropriety of his conduct, accompanied him to some distance out of town, to gain some time for persuasion; when the Ensign on a sudden drew his sword, and at the first onset wounded the Captain in the left breast; at the second pass, in the left arm, but on the third lounge the Captain ran him through the body, by which he expired in two hours, first owning himself the aggressor, and giving the Captain a kiss as a last farewell.

A fatal duel took place the same year between a Mr. Paul and a Mr. Dalton. They had passed the evening together in the company of some ladies, to one of whom Mr. Dalton was on the point of being married. A quarrel arose, and they parted in anger, especially Mr. Paul, who immediately after went to Mr. Dalton’s lodgings, and not finding him at home, sent a message to him at a tavern, where he understood he was spending the evening. Mr. Dalton, upon reading it, hastened home, and in a few minutes after entered the room where Mr. Paul was waiting for him. The servant, soon after hearing a noise like fencing, ran up stairs; but before he could enter the room, heard the street-door shut; the candles were out, and Mr. Paul had fled. He found his master expiring, having a wound in the upper part of his left breast. Upon this occasion the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of wilful murder. Mr. Paul never submitted to his trial, and was outlawed.

While personal meetings were then frequent, and often carried on in the most dishonourable manner, general frays were not uncommon. In 1717, after a levee, a large party of gentlemen were assembled at the Royal Chocolate-house, in St. James’s-street. Disputes at hazard produced a quarrel, which became general throughout the room; a mêlée ensued, and as they all fought with swords, three of the party were mortally wounded. The affray was only terminated by the interference of a party of the Guards; who, as entreaties and commands were of no avail, knocked the most pugnacious of the combatants down with the but-end of their muskets. A footman of one of the party (a Colonel Cunningham), who was greatly attached to his master, rushed through the drawn swords; and seizing him round the waist, actually carried him away.

In 1720, at twelve at night, about one hundred gentlemen were engaged in a riot in Windmill-street with swords and canes, when several of the party were desperately wounded. The watchmen sought to interfere, but were knocked down and barbarously ill-treated. At last a patrole of Horse Guards came up; and finding the rioters obstinate, rode through them, cutting at them with their swords. Some were killed, and several of them were so desperately wounded that fears of their recovery were entertained. The quarrel had begun between two chairmen. Such was the state of society in London, and of its police, at that period.

A week after this outrageous breach of the peace, a Captain Fitzgerald, and three young men, met a lady in the Strand, returning from St. James’s in a sedan-chair. They stopped the chairmen, and brutally attempted to force the lady out. The chairmen opposed them; then they drew their swords, and demolished the vehicle. The watchmen interfered, and one of them was run through the body, and immediately expired.

Clubs were formed of those desperadoes, who assumed the name of the “Bold Bucks,” and the “Hell-fires.” “Blind and Bold Love” was the motto of the former association, the members of which, according to a contemporary writer, “attempt females of their own species promiscuously. Their own sisters fear their violence, and fly their privacies.” Atheism was an indispensable qualification for admission into their society, and their favourite dish for supper, at the taverns they haunted, was called “A Holy Ghost Pie;” but their chief house of rendezvous was a tavern near Somerset House, where they usually assembled during Divine service with a loud band of music.

Their excesses became so notorious, and proved such a public grievance, that in 1721, a Royal proclamation was issued to suppress those clubs, and about the same time a check was put to duelling by the sentence of death passed on a Major Oneby, who thought it advisable to baulk the executioner and the public curiosity by committing suicide.

The following are the particulars of this very important case:—Major Oneby was indicted in the year 1726, for the murder of Mr. Gower, and a special verdict was found, stating that the prisoner being in company with the deceased, and three other persons, at a tavern, in a friendly manner, after some time began playing at hazard; when Rich, one of the company, asked if any one would set him three half crowns; whereupon the deceased, in a jocular manner, laid down three halfpence, telling Rich he had set him three pieces, and the prisoner at the same time set Rich three half crowns, and lost them to him. Immediately after which, the prisoner, in an angry manner, turned about to the deceased and said, “It was an impertinent thing to set down halfpence, and that he was an impertinent puppy for so doing;” to which the deceased answered, “whoever called him so was a rascal.” Thereupon the prisoner took up a bottle, and with great force threw it at the deceased’s head, but did not hit him, the bottle only brushing some of the powder out of his hair. The deceased, in return, immediately tossed a candlestick or bottle at the prisoner, which missed him; upon which they both rose up to fetch their swords, which were then hung up in the room, and the deceased drew his sword, but the prisoner was prevented drawing his by the company; the deceased thereupon threw away his sword, and the company interposing, they sat down again for the space of an hour.

At the expiration of that time, the deceased said to the prisoner, “We have had hot words, and you were the aggressor, but I think we may pass it over,” at the same time offering his hand to the prisoner, who made for answer, “No, d—n you, I will have your blood.”

After which, the reckoning being paid, all the company, with the exception of the prisoner, went out of the room to go home, and he called to the deceased, saying, “Young man, come back, I have something to say to you.” Whereupon the deceased returned into the room, and immediately the door was closed, and the rest of the company excluded; but they heard a clashing of swords, and the prisoner gave the deceased his mortal wound. It was also found that, on the breaking up of the company, the prisoner had his great coat thrown over his shoulders, and that he received three slight wounds in the fight; and that the deceased being asked upon his death-bed whether he had received his wounds in a manner amongst swordsmen called fair, answered “I think I did.” It was further found that after the throwing of the bottle, there was no reconciliation between the prisoner and the deceased.

Upon these facts all the judges were of opinion that the prisoner was guilty of murder; he having acted upon malice and deliberation, and not from sudden passion. The argument of the Chief Justice went to show, that after the door had been shut the parties were upon an equal footing in point of preparation before the fight began, in which the mortal wound was given. The main point then, on which the judgment turned, and so declared to be, was the evidence of express malice, after the interposition of the company, and the parties had all sat down again for an hour. Under these circumstances the Court were of opinion that the prisoner had had reasonable time for cooling; after which, upon an offer of reconciliation from the deceased, he had made use of that bitter and deliberate expression, “That he would have his blood;” and again, the prisoner remaining in the room after the rest of the company had retired, and calling back the deceased by the contemptuous appellation of “young man,” on pretence of having something to say to him, altogether showed such strong proof of deliberation and coolness, as precluded the presumption of passion having continued down to the time of the mortal stroke, and that there was no doubt but that he had compelled Gower to defend himself.

It was also about this period that Addison and Steele, in the Spectator and the Tatler, endeavoured to draw public attention to this subject, and used both the power of persuasion and raillery to discountenance the disgraceful practice. In No. 84 of the Spectator, Steele wrote an essay against duelling, and in the character of Spinamont he alluded to a meeting that had taken place between Sir Cholmondeley Dering and Mr. Thornhill, when the former was killed. Thornhill was acquitted of the charge of murder; but two months after, he was stabbed by two men on Turnham-green, who exclaimed as they struck him, “Remember Sir Cholmondeley Dering.”

In the 9th number of the Spectator, Addison commences his remarks on duelling by describing the “Hum-Drum and Mum Clubs,” and adds, “I cannot forbear mentioning a mischievous one that was erected in the reign of Charles II, I mean the club of duellists, in which none was to be admitted that had not fought his man. The president of it was said to have killed half a dozen in single combat; and as for the other members they took their seats according to the number of their slain. There was likewise a side-table for such as had only drawn blood, and shown a laudable ambition of taking the first opportunity to qualify themselves for the first table. This club, which consisted only of men of honour, did not continue long, most of the members being put to the sword, or hanged, a little after the institution.”

In a paper, No. 99, Addison relates the following anecdote:—“An English peer[^[5]] used to tell a pleasant story of a French gentleman who visited him very early one morning; and after great professions of respect, let him know that he had it in his power to oblige him, which in short amounted to this, that he believed he could tell his Lordship the person’s name who had jostled him as he came out of the Opera; but before he would proceed, he begged his Lordship that he would not deny him the honour of making him his second. The English Lord, to avoid being drawn into a very foolish affair, told him he was under particular engagements for his two next duels, to a couple of particular friends. Upon which the gentleman immediately withdrew, hoping his Lordship would not take it ill if he meddled no further in an affair from whence he himself was to reap no advantage.”

Steele himself, notwithstanding his efforts to discountenance duelling, was drawn into a quarrel that very nearly proved fatal. At that period he was an officer in the Coldstream Guards, when a brother officer communicated to him his intention of calling out a person who had offended him, but was dissuaded from this purpose by the powerful arguments of Steele. Some of the other officers of the regiment thought proper to spread a report that Steele had thus interfered in the affair to skreen the offender from a merited chastisement, thus compromising the honour of the person whom he had offended. A challenge was therefore sent to Steele. He sought in vain to avoid the meeting, but at last consented. Relying on his skill in swordsmanship, he felt persuaded that he could chastise the aggressor without endangering his life. The parties met, and Steele’s buckle breaking as he was tightening his shoe, he urged this accident to induce the challenger to desist, but to no purpose. Swords were crossed, Steele parried several lounges, till at last, in an attempt to disarm his antagonist, he ran him through the body. After lingering some time in a hopeless state, Steele was delighted to hear of his recovery.

Notwithstanding the vogue of duelling, in many instances, as in the case of Steele, persons who were challenged endeavoured to decline a meeting, and the following letter from an officer of the Guards to a gentleman who had called him out, is an illustration of the light in which private combat was even then viewed by men of real honour:—

“Sir,—I reckon it my peculiar happiness that I can produce the officers and soldiers who witnessed my behaviour at Fontenoy, as evidence of my courage. You may endeavour, if you please, to propagate my refusing your challenge, and brand me with cowardice; but I am fully convinced that nobody will believe me guilty, and every one will see that you are malicious. The cause in which we quarrelled was a trifle: the blood of a soldier should be reserved for nobler purposes. Love is blind, resentment mean, and taste capricious; and it ought to be considered that murder, though palliated by a false show of honour, is murder still, and calls for vengeance.”

During the administration of Sir Robert Walpole the practice of duelling was most fashionable, and of course frequently resorted to. In the following letter to Mann, we find an illustration of the manners of the day (1750).

“About ten days ago, at the new Lady Cobham’s assembly, Lord Hervey was leaning over a chair talking to some women, and holding his hat in his hand; Lord Cobham came up and spit in it—yes, spit in it—and then, with a loud laugh, turned to Nugent, and said ‘Pay me my wager.’ In short, he had laid a guinea that he committed this absurd brutality, and that it was not resented. Lord Hervey, with great temper and sense, asked if he had any further occasion for his hat. ‘Oh, I see you are angry.’ ‘Not very well pleased.’ Lord Cobham took the fatal hat and wiped it, and made a thousand foolish apologies, and wanted to pass it off as a joke. Next morning he rose with the sun, and went to visit Lord Hervey: he would not see him, but wrote to the spitter (or, as he is now called. Lord Gob’em), to say that he had grossly insulted him before company, but having involved Nugent in it, he desired to know to which he was to address himself for satisfaction. Lord Cobham made a most submissive answer, and begged pardon both in his own and Nugent’s name. Here it rested for a few days, till, the matter getting wind, Lord Hervey wrote again to insist upon an explicit apology under Lord Cobham’s own hand, with a rehearsal of the excuses that had been made to him. This too was complied with, and the fair conqueror showed all the letters. Nugent’s disgraces have not ended here. The night of his having declaimed so furiously against Lord Sandwich, he was standing by Lady Catherine Pelham at the masquerade, without his mask. She was telling him some history of a mad dog (which I believe she had bit herself). Young Leveson, the Duchess of Bedford’s brother, came up, without his mask too, and looking at Nugent, said, ‘I have seen a mad dog to-day, and a silly dog too.’ ‘I suppose, Mr. Leveson, you have been looking in the glass.’ ‘No, I see him now.’ Upon which they walked off together, but were prevented from fighting (if Nugent would have fought), and were reconciled at the sideboard. The former circumstance gave rise to a vulgar, but for a time, a fashionable saw, ‘We spit in his hat on Thursday, and wipe it off on Friday.’”

Walpole calls Lord Hervey “The fair conqueror,” from his great effeminacy, which induced Lord Cobham, better known as Earl Temple, to insult him in so gross a manner.

As the fashion of wearing swords gradually fell into desuetude, pistols were brought into play, and the fatal duel between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth was one of the last that took place with side-arms.

DUEL OF LORD BYRON AND MR. CHAWORTH, 1765.

On the 26th of January, 1765, Lord Byron and several other gentlemen dined together at the Star and Garter Tavern in Pall-mall. The party were chiefly from the county of Nottingham, assembled in a club, about seven in the evening. The conversation turned upon the subject of game; upon this occasion Mr. Chaworth had a warm argument with a gentleman seated next to him about the best manner of preserving game. Lord Byron joined the conversation, and gave as his opinion, that the best method was to take no care of it. Mr. Chaworth differed in opinion, and thought it more advisable to be strict with poachers. This drew on an altercation. Mr. Chaworth asserted that there was not a hare in that part of the county which was not preserved by him, or by Sir Charles Sedley. Upon which Lord Byron offered a bet of 100l. that he had more game on a manor or manors of his, than Mr. Chaworth had on any belonging to him. Mr. Chaworth accepted the wager, and made a memorandum of it. Lord Byron then observed, with some degree of warmth, and in a sarcastic manner, “Sir Charles Sedley’s manors! where are his manors!” To which Mr. Chaworth replied, with equal heat, “The manors of Hucknel and Nuttall.” To which Lord Byron replied, “I know no manors of Sir Charles Sedley.” Mr. Chaworth then observed that the manor of Nuttall was his, and that he had purchased it from his (Chaworth’s) family, and added, “If your Lordship wants any further information about his manors, Sir Charles Sedley lives in Dean-street, and your Lordship knows where to find me in Berkley-square.”

After this altercation the party remained together for about an hour in apparent good humour, and the conversation turned on various subjects. About eight o’clock Mr. Chaworth left the room, and asked a gentleman of the name of Douston, who was quitting it at the same time, whether he had observed the dispute between him and Lord Byron. This person replied, that he had heard part of it. On which Chaworth asked him if he thought he had gone far enough; to which Mr. D. replied that he thought he had gone too far, that it was altogether a silly business, and neither of them should think any more about it.

Shortly after Lord Byron left the room also, and met Mr. Chaworth, when he stated that he wished to speak with him. He then called a waiter, and asked if there were any room disengaged. The waiter then showed them to an unoccupied room, and went in with a candle, which was all the light, except a dull fire, that was in the apartment. Lord Byron asked Mr. Chaworth whether it was to him or to Sir Charles Sedley, that he was to have recourse on the disputed subject. Mr. Chaworth then replied that it was to him, and that if he had any thing further to say in the matter it might be advisable to shut the door, which he immediately did; when turning round, he perceived Lord Byron with his sword half drawn, who instantly exclaimed, “Draw!” Mr. Chaworth immediately complied, and at the first thrust his sword passed through Lord Byron’s waistcoat, and he thought he had wounded him, when Lord Byron shortened his sword, and gave him the fatal wound, observing at the same time that he had as much courage as any man in England. A struggle then took place between the parties, for when the waiter and the landlord entered the room they were grasped in each others arms, Mr. Chaworth holding his sword in his left hand, and Lord Byron having his in his right hand. Chaworth gave up his sword readily, but Lord Byron only surrendered his with reluctance. Hawkrup, the surgeon, was immediately sent for, and pronounced the wound to be mortal. The sword had entered about an inch on the left side of the naval, and passing obliquely upwards, had made its exit about five or six inches higher on the left side of the back, and in its passage had made a large opening in the bottom of the stomach, wounded one of the small intestines, and had passed through the diaphragm.

It appears that when the sword of Mr. Chaworth passed through the waistcoat of his antagonist, he expressed his apprehension that he had seriously wounded him. Now, under such an apprehension, it is probable that he was thrown off his guard, when Lord Byron immediately shortened his sword and ran him through the body, the unfortunate gentleman endeavouring to parry the thrust with his left hand, and seizing the gripe of his sword and struggling for it, still saying that he hoped his Lordship was not seriously hurt; it was then that Lord Byron exclaimed, “That he hoped he would acknowledge that he was as brave a man as any other in the kingdom.”

Writhing under the agonies of his wound, Chaworth several times declared, that although he well knew that he was in immediate danger of death, and pained and distressed as he then was, he had rather be in his present situation, than live under the misfortune of having killed another person; and when questioned on the nature of the quarrel, he expressed his conviction that it might have been easily made up. When asked by one of his relations, Mr. Leveriz, if the business had been fair, he remained silent. He only observed soon after, that when, after closing the door, he turned round, he perceived that Lord Byron’s sword was half drawn; knowing his man, he drew his own as quickly as he could, and had the first pass at him. He further added, that he did not believe that Lord Byron intended fighting him when they entered the room, but seeing him up by the door, with scarcely any light in the room, he believed he thought he had him at advantage.

Lord Byron, in his defence, stated that the deceased had treated him during the altercation “in a slighting and contemptuous manner,” stating that he had more game on five acres of his manor, than was on all his lordship’s estates. He further stated, that on leaving the club-room he met Chaworth on the stairs, who asked him “if he had any commands for him,” to which he replied, “I should be glad of an opportunity of speaking a few words to you.” The door being closed, Lord Byron asked him “How am I to take those words you used, as an intended affront from Sir Charles Sedley or yourself,” to which, according to the survivor’s statement, Chaworth replied, “Your Lordship may take them as you please, either as an affront or not, and I imagine this room is as fit a place as any other to decide the affair in.” Lord Byron admitted, that at the very moment when his antagonist received his mortal wound, he exclaimed, “I am afraid I have killed your Lordship!” while at the same time “he put his left hand to his belly, and Lord Byron observing that blood was flowing, expressed his fear that he had seriously wounded him, when he went to pull the bell for assistance, Mr. Chaworth saying, “My Lord, all I have to say is, that you have behaved like a gentleman.”

The House of Lords found William, Lord Byron, “not guilty of the felony of murder, but of manslaughter,” and his Lordship, claiming the benefit of the statute of Edward VI, was discharged, paying his fees.

This unfortunate duel leads to many important reflections. It appears that the parties were sober, that no previous ill-will existed between them; but that the vanity of both had been hurt by reflections on their manorial possessions; and the subject of game has ever been, and still continues to be, a sore one amongst country gentlemen. To fight without seconds has at all times been considered a murderous transaction; since no evidence can be produced to prove that the foulest treachery may not have been perpetrated. Chaworth declined (most probably from a high sense of honour) accusing his antagonist of foul play; but he at the same time, on his death-bed, also declined admitting that there had been fair play. Lord Byron stated, that having parried Mr. Chaworth’s first thrust, he made a second, which he also parried; and that then finding himself with his back against the table, with great disadvantage of light, he endeavoured to shift a little more to the right hand, which unavoidably brought him nearer to his antagonist, when they both made a thrust at the same time, Mr. C.’s sword passing against his ribs, and cutting his waistcoat and shirt for upwards of eight inches, and he supposes that it was then that Mr. C. received the unlucky wound.

It is impossible to form an opinion on this event, as to the fairness of the duel; it only tends to show, that any fatal meeting without seconds, should be visited with such severity as to prevent the probability of a recurrence.

In 1762, was fought the celebrated duel between Earl Talbot and John Wilkes. The dispute had originated in words used in the 12th number of the North Briton, on the 21st August, which conveyed reflections injurious to Earl Talbot, when Wilkes wrote the following letter to Colonel Berkeley (afterwards Lord Bottetourt):—

“Winchester, Sept. 30, 1762.

“Sir,

“Lord Talbot, by your message, has at last brought this most important question to the precise point where my first answer to his Lordship fixed it, if he preferred that. As you have only seen the two last letters, I must entreat you to cast your eye over those preceding; because I apprehend they will justify an observation or two I made this morning, when I had the honour of paying my respects to you at camp. Be assured, that if I am between heaven and earth, I will be on Tuesday evening at Telbury’s, the Red Lion, at Bagshot, and on Wednesday morning will play this duel with his Lordship.

“It is a real satisfaction to me that his Lordship is to be accompanied by a gentleman of Colonel Berkeley’s worth and honour.

“This will be delivered to you by my Adjutant, who attends me at Bagshot. I shall not bring any servant with me, from the fear of any of the parties being known. My pistols only, or his Lordship’s, at his option, shall decide this point.

“I beg the favour of you to return me the letters, as I mean to leave Winchester this evening. I have Lord Bruce’s leave of absence for ten days.

“I am, &c.

“John Wilkes.

“I hope we may make a partie quarrée for supper on Tuesday, at Bagshot.”

To this lively letter the following reply was sent:—

“Camp, near Winchester, Sept. 30, 1762.

“Sir,

“I have sent all the letters, and shall depend upon the pleasure of supping with you at Telbury’s, the Red Lion, at Bagshot, Tuesday evening. My servant will attend me, as the going alone would give room for suspicion; but you may depend upon his following your directions at Bagshot, and that he shall not be seen where you would not have him. I am much obliged by your favourable opinion, and am, &c.

“H. Berkeley.”

“To Colonel Wilkes.”

In a letter to Earl Temple, Wilkes gives the following account of this singular meeting:—

“Red Lion, at Bagshot,

”Tuesday, 10 at night, Oct. 5, 1762.

“My Lord,

“I had the honour of transmitting to your Lordship copies of seven letters which passed between Lord Talbot and me. As the affair is now over, I inclose an original letter of Colonel Berkeley’s, with a copy of mine previous to it, which fixed the particulars of our meeting, and therefore remained a secret, very sacredly kept by the four persons concerned.

“I came here at three this afternoon, and about five was told that Lord Talbot and Colonel Berkeley were in the house. Lord Talbot had been here at one, and was gone again, leaving a message, however, that he would soon return. I had continued in the room where I was at my first coming for fear of raising any suspicion. I sent a compliment to Colonel Berkeley, and that I wished to see him; he was so obliging as to come to me directly. I told him that I supposed we were to sup together with Lord Talbot, whom I was ready to attend as became a private gentleman, and that he and Mr. Harris (my Adjutant), as our seconds, would settle the business of the next morning, according to my letter to him from Winchester, and his answer. Berkeley said that his Lordship wished to finish the business immediately. I replied, that the appointment was to sup together that evening and to fight in the morning; that in consequence of such an arrangement, I had, like an idle man of pleasure, put off some business of real importance, which I meant to settle before I went to bed. I added, that I came from Medmenham Abbey, where the jovial monks of St. Francis had kept me up till four in the morning. That the world would therefore conclude that I was drunk, and form no favourable opinion of his Lordship from a duel at such a time; that it more became us both to take a cool hour of the next morning, and as early a one as was agreeable to his Lordship. Berkeley said that he had undertaken to bring us together, and as we were both now at Bagshot, he would leave us to settle our own business. He then asked me if I would go with him to his Lordship. I said I would any moment he pleased. We went directly, with my Adjutant.

“I found his Lordship in an agony of passion. He said that I had injured him; that he was not used to be injured or insulted. What did I mean? Did I, or did I not, write the North Briton of August the 21st, which affronted his honour? He would know; he insisted on a direct answer; here were his pistols. I replied, that he would soon use them; that I desired to know by what right his Lordship catechised me about a paper that did not bear my name; that I should never resolve the question to him till he made out the right of putting it; and that if I could have entertained any other idea, I was too well bred to have given his Lordship and Colonel Berkeley the trouble of coming to Bagshot. I observed that I was a private English gentleman, perfectly free and independent, which I held to be a character of the highest dignity; that I obeyed with pleasure a gracious sovereign, but would never submit to the arbitrary dictates of a fellow-subject, a lord steward of his household, my superior indeed in rank, fortune, and abilities, but my equal only in honour, courage, and liberty. His Lordship then asked me if I would fight him that evening. I said that I preferred the next morning, as it had been settled before, and gave my reasons. His Lordship replied that he insisted on finishing the affair immediately. I told him that I should very soon be ready; that I did not mean to quit him, but would absolutely first settle some important business relative to the education of my only daughter, whom I tenderly loved; that it would take up but very little time; and that I would immediately decide the affair in any way he chose, for I had brought both sword and pistols. I rang the bell for pen, ink, and paper, desiring his Lordship to conceal his pistols, that they might not be seen by the waiters. He soon after became half frantic, and used a thousand indecent expressions, that I should be hanged, damned, &c., &c. I said that I was not to be frightened, nor in the least affected by such violence; that God had given me a firmness and spirit equal to his Lordship’s, or any man’s; that cool courage should always mark me; and that it would be seen how well bottomed he was.

“After the waiter had brought pen, ink, and paper, I proposed that the door of the room should be locked, and not opened till our business was decided. His Lordship, on this proposition, became quite outrageous; declared that this was mere butchery, and that I was a wretch who sought his life. I reminded him that I came there on a point of honour to give his Lordship satisfaction; that I mentioned the circumstance of shutting the door only to prevent all possibility of interruption; and that I would, in every circumstance, be governed, not by the turbulence of the most violent temper I had ever seen, but by the calm determination of our two seconds, to whom I implicitly submitted. His Lordship then asked me if I would deny the paper. I answered that I would neither own nor deny it; if I survived, I would afterwards declare, but not before.

“Soon after he grew a little cooler, and in a soothing tone of voice, said, ‘I have never, I believe, offended Mr. Wilkes, why has he attacked me? He must be sorry to see me unhappy.’ I asked him upon what grounds his Lordship imputed the paper to me? That Mr. Wilkes would justify any paper to which he had put his name, and would equally assert the privilege of not giving any answer whatever about a paper to which he had not; that that was my undoubted right, which I was ready to seal with my blood.

“He then said he admired me exceedingly, really loved me, but I was an unaccountable animal—such parts! But would I kill him who had never offended me? &c., &c. We had after this a good deal of conversation about the Bucks’ Militia and the day his Lordship came to see me on Wycombe Heath, before I was colonel. He soon after flamed out again, and said to me, ‘You are a murderer, you want to kill me, but I am sure I shall kill you, I know I shall, by G—d! If you will fight, if you will kill me, I hope you will be hanged. I know you will.’ I asked if I was first to be killed and afterwards to be hanged? That I knew his Lordship fought me with the King’s pardon in his pocket, and I fought him with a halter about my neck. That I would fight him for all that, and if he fell I should not tarry here a moment for the tender mercies of such a ministry; but would directly proceed to the next stage, where my valet waited for me, from thence I would make the best of my way to France, as men of honour were sure of protection in that country. He then told me that I was an unbeliever, and wished to be killed. I could not help smiling at this, and observed that we did not meet at Bagshot to settle articles of faith, but points of honour; that, indeed, I had no fear of dying, but I enjoyed life as much as any man; that I am as little subject to be gloomy or even peevish, as any Englishman whatever; that I valued life and the fair enjoyments of it so much, I would never quit it with my own consent, except on a call of honour.

“I then wrote a letter to your Lordship, respecting the education of Miss Wilkes, and gave you my poor thanks for the steady friendship with which you have so many years honoured me. Colonel Berkeley took the care of the letter, and I have since desired him to send it to Stowe; for the sentiments of the head at such a moment are beyond all politics, and indeed everything else, except such virtue as Lord Temple’s.

“When I had sealed my letter, I told his Lordship I was entirely at his service, and I again desired that we might decide the affair in the room, because there could not be a possibility of interruption; but he was quite inexorable. He then asked me how many times we should fire. I said, that I left it to his choice. I had brought a flask of powder and a bag of bullets. Our seconds then charged the pistols which my Adjutant had brought. They were large horse-pistols. It was agreed that we should fire at the word of command, to be given by one of our seconds. They tossed up, and it fell to my Adjutant to give the word.

“We then left the room, and walked to a garden at some distance from the house. It was near seven, and the moon shone brightly. We stood about eight yards distant, and agreed not to turn round before we fired, but to continue facing each other. Harris gave the word. Both our fires were in very exact time, but neither took effect.

“I walked up immediately to his Lordship, and told him, that now I avowed the paper. His Lordship paid me the highest encomiums on my courage, and said, he would declare everywhere that I am the noblest fellow God had ever made. He then desired that we might now be good friends, and retire to the inn to drink a bottle of claret together, which we did with great good humour and much laugh.

“His Lordship afterwards went to Windsor, Colonel Berkeley and my Adjutant to Winchester, and I continue here until to-morrow morning, waiting the return of my valet, to whom I have sent a messenger. Berkeley told me he was grieved at his Lordship’s passion, and admired my coolness and courage beyond his farthest idea,—that was his expression.

“I am, my Lord, &c.

“John Wilkes.”

According to our modern notions of duelling, in this curious transaction one might be disposed to think that neither of the parties was particularly anxious to fight. That Wilkes should have wished to sup in company with the person whom he had offended, the night before the duel, would lead one to fancy that he contemplated the possibility of a reconciliation. On the other hand, Lord Talbot, by his conduct, which was most ungentlemanly and outrageous, seemed disposed to bully Wilkes into a concession; and both parties talked of killing, with a view to terrify each other. From the well-known character of Wilkes, no one could doubt his courage; but his refusing to acknowledge himself the writer of the offensive article, which he after the duel admitted to have been his, was a shallow act, that nothing could have justified but the insulting manner in which Lord Talbot put the question to him; and most assuredly his Lordship had the worst of the affair, since he was satisfied with a shot returned, although Wilkes acknowledged himself the writer of the insulting paragraph. The frequency of the duels that occurred in those days does not appear to have given them, generally speaking, a character of much delicacy or punctilious honour; and they seem to have been the result of fashion more than of feeling.

In 1763 Wilkes got involved in another duel, with Mr. Martin, Secretary to the Treasury. The North Briton, of which he was the editor, with its usual acrimony against the members of the administration, had introduced some characteristic sketches, supposed to allude to Samuel Martin, member of Parliament for Camelford, and Secretary to the Treasury, and afterwards the hero in Churchill’s poem, “The Duellist.” The following was the offensive paragraph:—

“The secretary of a certain board, and a very apt tool of ministerial persecution, who, with a snout worthy of a Portuguese inquisitor, is hourly looking out for carrion in office, to feed the maw of the insatiable vulture, imo, etiam in senatum venit, notat et designat unumquemque nostrûm, he marks us, and all our innocent families, for beggary and ruin. Neither the tenderness of age, nor the sacredness of sex, is spared by the cruel Scot.”

In a further number notice is again taken “of the most treacherous, base, selfish, mean, abject, low-lived, and dirty fellow, that ever wriggled himself into a secretaryship.”

In consequence of that paragraph, which Mr. Martin applied to himself, he made use of very insulting language in the House of Commons, when speaking of the North Briton, upon which Wilkes sent him the following letter;—

“Great George Street, Nov. 16, 1763.

“Sir,

“You complained yesterday before five hundred gentlemen, that you had been stabbed in the dark by the North Briton. But I believe you were not so much in the dark as you affected and chose to be. Was the complaint made before so many gentlemen on purpose that they might interpose? To cut off every pretence of this kind, as to the author, I whisper in your ear, that every passage of the North Briton in which you have been named or alluded to, was written by

“Your humble servant,

“John Wilkes.”

To this letter Mr. Martin returned the following answer:—

“Arlington Street, Nov. 16, 1763.

“Sir,

“As I said in the House of Commons yesterday, that the writer of the North Briton, who had stabbed me in the dark, was a cowardly as well as a malignant scoundrel, and your letter of this morning’s date acknowledges that every passage of the North Briton in which I have been named, or even alluded to, was written by yourself, I must take the liberty to repeat, that you are a malignant and infamous scoundrel, and that I desire to give you an opportunity of showing me whether the epithet cowardly was rightly applied or not. I desire that you may meet me in Hyde Park immediately, with a brace of pistols each, to determine our difference. I shall go to the ring in Hyde Park, with my pistols, so concealed that nobody may see them, and I will wait in expectation of you one hour. As I shall call on my way at your house to deliver this letter, I propose to go from thence directly to the ring in Hyde Park, from whence we may proceed, if it be necessary, to any more private place. And I mention that I shall wait an hour, in order to give you the full time to meet me.

“I am, sir, your humble servant,

“Samuel Martin.”

When the parties met in Hyde Park, they walked together a little while to avoid some company which seemed coming up to them. They brought each a pair of pistols. When they were alone, the first fire was from Mr. Martin’s pistol, which missed Mr. Wilkes. The pistol in Mr. Wilkes’s hand only flashed in the pan. The gentlemen then each took one of the remaining pistols. Mr. Wilkes missed, and the ball of Mr. Martin’s pistol lodged in Mr. Wilkes’s belly. He bled immediately very much. Mr. Martin came up, and desired to give him all the assistance in his power. Mr. Wilkes replied, that Mr. Martin had behaved like a man of honour; that he was killed; and insisted on Mr. Martin’s making his immediate escape, adding, that no person should know from him how the affair happened. Upon this they parted. Mr. Wilkes was carried home; but would not tell any circumstance of the case, till he found it was perfectly known. He only said to the surgeon, that it was an affair of honour.

The day following, Mr. Wilkes, imagining himself in great danger, returned to Mr. Martin his letter, that no evidence might appear against him, and insisted upon it, with his own relatives, that in case of his death, no trouble should be given to Mr. Martin, for he had behaved as a man of honour.

The ball was extracted by Mr. Graves, a surgeon. It had struck Mr. Wilkes’s coat-button, entered his belly half an inch below the navel, and sunk obliquely on the right side towards the groin; but it had not penetrated the cavity of the abdomen. It was extracted behind.

When he was able to write, he sent notice by letter to the Speaker of the House of Commons of the condition of his health; and on Friday, the 16th, the House made the following order:—“That Dr. Heberden, physician, and Mr. Cæsar Hawkins, one of His Majesty’s sergeant-surgeons, be desired to attend John Wilkes, Esq., to observe the progress of his cure; and that they, together with Dr. Brocklesby and Mr. Graves, do attend this House to report their opinion thereupon, on the 19th of January next, in case the said John Wilkes, Esq. be not then able to attend in his place.”

The order being sent to Dr. Heberden, by order of the Speaker, he sent it to Dr. Brocklesby, with a letter, desiring to know when he might attend Dr. Brocklesby to Mr. Wilkes. Dr. Brocklesby sent the order of the House and Dr. Heberden’s letter to Mr. Wilkes, who immediately showed his delicacy of feeling on the subject by sending a polite card to Dr. Heberden, saying, that he was well satisfied with the attention and skill of Dr. Brocklesby and Mr. Graves; that he did not wish to see Dr. Heberden for some weeks. He sent a similar card to Mr. Hawkins.[^[6]] Mr. Martin immediately proceeded to Paris; and on Mr. Wilkes’s arrival in that city, notes, and a friendly visit, were exchanged between them.

Mr. Martin’s conduct in this transaction had been highly honourable; but the public was so much exasperated at the danger to which Wilkes had been exposed, that no credit was given to the spirit which his antagonist had displayed. On the contrary, it was remarked, that Mr. Martin had taken no notice of the objectionable passage in the North Briton until about eight months after the publication, and that in so public and official a manner before the House, as almost to demand an interference. He was also accused of having during that period practised every day at a target, Sundays not excepted; and also with not having returned Mr. Wilkes’s letter till a month after the duel, with a view, as it was suggested, had Mr. Wilkes speedily recovered, of making use of it in evidence of his being concerned in the North Briton.

These were not the only instances of his life being perilled as a political and party editor. He had not been long in Paris, after his recovery, when a Scotch captain, of the name of Charles John Forbes, called him out, as the writer of several articles in the North Briton against the dignity of Scotland. Wilkes pleaded other engagements of the same nature, but expressed his willingness to give him satisfaction as soon as they were disposed of. The captain, in a wild manner, insisted upon an immediate meeting; but not being able to find a second, or any one to vouch for his being a gentleman, Wilkes declined accepting his request. This affair coming to the ear of the police, the parties were put upon their parole not to fight within the French dominions. Mr. Wilkes, upon this, offered to meet him in Flanders, or any country in Europe, Asia, Africa, or America, excepting the French territory. Soon after the return of Wilkes to London, Captain Forbes appeared there, with a view, as it was suspected, of fighting with him; but the ministry, upon getting notice of the arrival and intention of the Scotchman, very prudently caused it to be intimated to him, that his presence could not but be very disagreeable; upon which the doughty champion of Caledonia thought proper to leave the kingdom, and afterwards entered the Portuguese service a desperate adventurer.

In December 1763, another Scotchman, of the name of Alexander Dunn, obtained admission into Wilkes’s apartment; but being suspected of a design to assassinate him, he was immediately seized and searched, when a new large penknife was found in his pocket; which circumstance, coupled with a declaration which he had been heard to make, that he, and ten other sworn Scotch accomplices, had determined to cut Mr. Wilkes off, whatever might be the result, left little doubt of his intention. The papers found upon his person were laid before the House of Commons; but it was found upon further examination, that the man was deranged.

The duel of Wilkes with Lord Talbot was one of the first that occurred in the beginning of the reign of George III. Hostile meetings had now assumed a different character. Swords were no longer drawn in bagnios, taverns, and chocolate houses, on the spur of the moment, and public broils had ceased to become fashionable: since the wearing of side-arms had ceased to be customary, duels assumed a more regular and civilised form. The desperate conduct of the “bloods” and “bucks” of the day was no longer considered a proof of gentlemanlike bearing, and a man might be looked upon as fashionable without being what was called a hell-fire rake. The violence of party had now succeeded trifling dissentions and tavern quarrels; and political differences not unfrequently excited high feelings of animosity, which could only be tempered in the field: and in the following chapter we shall see that duels were but of too frequent occurrence during this momentous reign, a circumstance which we shall endeavour to account for.

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.

BETWEEN RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN AND MR. MATTHEWS.

When Mr. Sheridan became the avowed suitor of Miss Linley, the celebrated vocal performer, her father, the late composer, did not at first encourage his suit, and he had many rivals to overcome in his attempts to gain the lady’s affections. His perseverance, however, increased with the difficulties that presented themselves; and his courage and resolution in vindicating Miss Linley’s reputation from a calumnious report, which had been basely thrown out against her, obtained for him the fair prize for which he twice exposed his life.

Mr. Matthews, a gentleman, then well known in the fashionable circles at Bath, had caused a paragraph to be inserted in a public paper at that place, which tended to prejudice the character of this young lady, and Mr. Sheridan immediately applied for redress to the publisher, who gave up the writer’s name.

Mr. Matthews had, in the mean time, set out for London, and was closely followed by Mr. Sheridan. They met, and fought a duel with swords, at a tavern in Henrietta-street, Covent-garden. Mr. Sheridan’s second on the occasion was his brother, Charles Francis, afterwards Secretary at War in Ireland.

Great courage and skill were displayed on both sides; but Mr. Sheridan having succeeded in disarming his adversary, compelled him to sign a formal retractation of the paragraph which had been published.

Sheridan instantly returned to Bath; and thinking, very properly, that as the insult had been publicly given, the apology should have equal notoriety, caused it to be inserted in the same paper. Mr. Matthews soon heard of the circumstance; and irritated at his defeat, as well as at the use which his antagonist had made of his apology, determined to call upon Mr. Sheridan for satisfaction. A message was accordingly sent, and a meeting agreed upon.

Mr. Sheridan would have been fully justified, according to the most delicate punctilios of honour, in declining the call; but he silenced all the objections that were started by his friends, and the parties met on Kingsdown.

The victory was desperately contested, and after a discharge of pistols, they fought with swords. They were both wounded, and closing with each other, fell on the ground, where they continued to fight until they were separated. They received several cuts and contusions in this arduous struggle for life and honour, and a part of Matthews’s sword was actually broken off in Sheridan’s ear.

Miss Linley did not suffer the prowess of her champion to remain long unrewarded, and accompanied him on a matrimonial trip to the Continent. The ceremony was again performed on their return to England, with the consent of the lady’s parents.

BETWEEN LORD TOWNSHEND AND THE EARL OF BELLAMONT,
February 2, 1773.

This afternoon, the long-subsisting difference between Lord Townshend and the Earl of Bellamont was finally decided in Marylebone Fields, when the latter received a ball in the right side of his belly, near the groin.

They were armed with small swords, and a case of pistols; but it was agreed to use the latter first. Lord Townshend fired first, which gave the unfortunate wound, and Lord Bellamont discharged his pistol immediately after, without effect. The seconds were the Hon. Mr. Dillon for Lord Bellamont, and Lord Ligonier for Lord Townshend.

Lord Bellamont was immediately taken up and put into a chaise; but from the agony arising from his wound, he could not bear the motion. A chair was, therefore, immediately sent for to carry him to his lodging, where, on his arrival, he desired to be laid on his back. Mr. Bromfield and other surgeons were immediately called in, who endeavoured, but in vain, to extract the ball. His lordship ultimately recovered after great suffering.

BETWEEN MR. SCAWEN AND MR. FITZGERALD.
September 1, 1773.

This day a duel was fought between Mr. Scawen and Mr. Fitzgerald, near Lisle, in which neither of the gentlemen received any hurt. Mr. Fitzgerald fired two pistols, one by design and one by accident. Mr. Scawen fired one in the air, when making some slight apology for the cause of the duel, the parties were reconciled, and returned highly satisfied with the issue of the affair.

BETWEEN MR. WHATELY AND JOHN TEMPLE, ESQ.,
December 11, 1773.

A duel was fought in Hyde Park, between Mr. Whately, brother of Mr. Whately, late Secretary to the Treasury, and John Temple, Esq., Lieutenant-Governor of New Hampshire, when the former was dangerously wounded.

The cause of quarrel was—the discovery of the confidential letters written by Messrs. Hutchinson, Oliver, Paxton, &c. &c., which were lately laid before the Assembly at Boston, and have been since published in most of the London papers.

Soon after this duel was fought, the following information was given to the public by Doctor Franklin:—

“Finding that two gentlemen have been unfortunately engaged in a duel about a transaction and its circumstances, of which both of them are totally ignorant and innocent, I think it incumbent on me to declare (for the prevention of further mischief, as far as such a declaration may contribute to prevent it) that I alone am the person who obtained, and transmitted to Boston, the letters in question. Mr. Whately could not communicate them, because they were never in his possession; and, for the same reason, they could not be taken from him by Mr. Temple. They were not of the nature of private letters between friends. They were written by public officers to persons in public stations, on public affairs, and intended to produce public measures. They were, therefore, handed to other public persons, who might be influenced by them to produce those measures. Their tendency was to incense the mother-country against her colonies; and, by the steps recommended, to widen the breach, which they effected. The chief caution expressed with regard to privacy was, to keep their contents from the colony agents, who, the writers apprehended, might return them, or copies of them, to America. That apprehension was, it seems, well-founded; for the first agent who laid his hands on them, thought it his duty to transmit them to his constituents.

(Signed) “Benjamin Franklin,

“Agent for the House of Representatives

of the Massachussets Bay.”

BETWEEN CAPTAIN STONEY AND THE REV. MR. BATE.
January 13, 1777.

A rencontre happened at the Adelphi Tavern, in the Strand, between Captain Stoney and Mr. Bate, editor of the Morning Post.

The cause of quarrel arose from some offensive paragraphs that had appeared in the Morning Post, highly reflecting on the character of Lady Strathmore. After having discharged their pistols at each other without effect, they drew their swords; and Mr. Stoney received a wound in the breast and arm, and Mr. Bate one in the thigh. Mr. Bate’s sword bent, and slanted against the captain’s breast-bone, of which Mr. Bate apprising him, Captain Stoney called to him to straighten it; and, in the interim, while the sword was under his foot for that purpose, the door was burst open, or the death of one of the parties would most certainly have ensued. On the Saturday following Captain S. married the lady whom he had thus defended at the hazard of his own life.

BETWEEN COUNT RICE AND VISCOUNT DU BARRY.
Bath, November 23, 1778.

On Saturday, the 17th inst., Count Rice and Viscount du Barry, being together in the house of the latter, a question arose between them about which they disagreed; and in the heat of the dispute, upon an assertion of Count Rice, Viscount du Barry said, “Cela n’est pas vrai,” to which Count Rice immediately observed, “You probably do not observe the idea that expression conveys in the language you speak in, and that it admits but of one very disagreeable interpretation.” Upon which the other replied, “You may interpret it as you please.” This ungentlemanlike treatment having provoked the resentment of Count Rice, and Viscount du Barry offering no apology, they immediately sent for seconds, who did not quit them till they got to Claverton Down, where they remained, together with a surgeon, till daylight, when they took the field, each armed with two pistols and a sword. The ground being marked out by the seconds, the Viscount du Barry fired first, and lodged a ball in Count Rice’s thigh, which penetrated as far as the bone. Count Rice fired his pistol, and wounded the Viscount in the breast. He went back two or three steps, then came forward again, and both at the same time presented their pistols to each other. The pistols flashed together in the pan, though one only was discharged. They then threw away their pistols, and took to their swords. When Count Rice had advanced within a few yards of the Viscount, he saw him fall, and heard him cry out, “Je vous demande ma vie.” To which Count Rice answered, “Je vous la donne.” But in a few seconds the Viscount fell back and expired.

Count Rice was brought with difficulty to Bath, being dangerously wounded. But he afterwards recovered.

The coroner’s inquest sat on the Viscount’s body; and after a mature examination of the witnesses and the Viscount’s servant, brought in their verdict “Manslaughter.”

BETWEEN A LIEUT.-COLONEL AND A LIEUTENANT OF MILITIA.
August 25, 1779.

A duel was fought at Coxheath between a Lieutenant of militia and a Lieut.-Colonel, when the latter was shot in the left breast, and expired immediately. The deceased had charged the lieutenant with exciting his men to mutiny, of which he was honourably acquitted by a court-martial.

BETWEEN THE HON. CHAS. JAS. FOX AND MR. ADAM.
November 30, 1779.

Mr. Fox having in debate, one day in the preceding week, animadverted, with some degree of asperity, on a particular species of argument, frequently made use of by the friends of ministers, viz.:—“That bad as the ministry were, it was not certain that the nation would be at all bettered by taking their opponents”—a Mr. Adam, who had made use of that argument in the same debate, called on Mr. Fox, some days after, for an explanation.

The following letters passed on the above occasion:—

“St. Alban’s Tavern, Saturday, 4 o’clock, Afternoon.

“Mr. Adam presents his compliments to Mr. Fox, and begs leave to represent to him, that upon considering again and again what had passed between them last night, it is impossible for him to have his character cleared to the public without inserting the following paragraph in the newspapers:—We have authority to assure the public, that in a conversation that passed between Mr. Fox and Mr. Adam, in consequence of the debate in the House of Commons on Thursday last, Mr. Fox declared that however much his speech may have been misrepresented, he did not mean to throw any personal reflection upon Mr. Adam.

“Major Humberstone does me the honour of delivering this to you, and will bring your answer.

“To the Hon. Charles James Fox.”

“Sir, “I am very sorry it is utterly inconsistent with my ideas of propriety, to authorise the putting any thing into the newspapers, relative to a speech which, in my opinion, required no explanation. You, who heard the speech, must know, that it did convey no personal reflection upon you, unless you felt yourself in the predicament upon which I animadverted. The account of my speech in the newspapers is certainly incorrect, and certainly unauthorised by me; and therefore, with respect to them, I have nothing to say.

“Neither the conversation that passed at Brookes’s, nor this letter, is of a secret nature; and if you have any wish to relate the one, or to show the other, you are perfectly at liberty so to do.

I am, &c. &c.

“Chesterfield-street, half-past 2, Sunday, Nov. 28.

“To —— Adam, Esq.”

“Sir, “As you must be sensible that the speech printed in the newspapers reflects upon me personally, and as it is from them only that the public can have their information, it is evident that, unless that is contradicted by your authority in as public a manner as it was given, my character must be injured. Your refusal to do this entitles me to presume that you approve of the manner in which that speech has been given to the public, and justifies me in demanding the only satisfaction such an injury will admit of.

“Major Humberstone is empowered to settle all particulars; and the sooner this affair is brought to a conclusion, the more agreeable to me.

“I have the honour to be, &c. &c.

“To the Hon. Charles James Fox.”

In consequence of the above, the parties met, according to agreement, at eight o’clock in the morning. After the ground was measured out, at the distance of fourteen paces, Mr. Adam desired Mr. Fox to fire; to which Mr. Fox replied, “Sir, I have no quarrel with you, do you fire.” Mr. Adam then fired, and wounded Mr. Fox, which, we believe, was not at all perceived by Mr. Adam, as it was not distinctly seen by either of ourselves. Mr. Fox then fired, without effect. We then interfered, asking Mr. Adam if he was satisfied. Mr. Adam replied, “Will Mr. Fox declare he meant no personal attack upon my character?” Upon which Mr. Fox said, this was no place for apology, and desired him to go on. Mr. Adam fired his second pistol without effect. Mr. Fox fired his remaining pistol in the air; and then saying, as the affair was ended, he had no difficulty in declaring, he meant no more personal affront to Mr. Adam than he did to either of the other gentlemen present. Mr. Adam replied, “Sir, you have behaved like a man of honour.”

Mr. Fox then mentioned that he believed himself wounded; and upon his opening his waistcoat it was found it was so, but to all appearance slightly. The parties then separated, and Mr. Fox’s wound, on examination, was found not likely to produce any dangerous consequences.[^[7]]

BETWEEN COUNSELLOR R—— AND ——.
November, 1779.

A remarkable trial lately happened in the Court of King’s Bench, in Ireland. A Counsellor R— had fought a duel with a gentleman, and killed him. He traversed the indictment, and imagined the jury, as usual, would bring in their verdict of “manslaughter.” But the barrister found himself mistaken: they deemed the intentions of two men going out, premeditatedly, to fight, to be “malice aforethought;” and to the astonishment of the Court, brought the prisoner in “guilty,”—Death. The judges desired them to recommend him to the Bench as an object of mercy. They did it with reluctance.

BETWEEN THE EARL OF SHELBURNE AND COLONEL FULLARTON.
March 22, 1780.

Mr. Fullarton, member for Plympton, and late secretary to Lord Stormont, in his embassy to the Court of France, complained to the House of the ungentlemanlike behaviour of the Earl of Shelburne, who, he said, with all the aristocratic insolence that marks that nobleman’s character, had, in effect, dared to say, that he and his regiment were as ready to act against the liberties of England, as against her enemies. This occasioned some altercation between those who were the friends of each party; but being generally thought unparliamentary, it went at that time no farther.

However, on the 22d of March the parties had a meeting.

Lord Shelburne, with Lord Frederick Cavendish for his second, and Mr. Fullarton, with Lord Balcarras for his second, met at half-past five in Hyde Park, March 22, 1780. Lord Balcarras and Lord F. Cavendish proposed that both parties should obey the seconds. Lord Shelburne and Mr. Fullarton walked together, while Lord Balcarras and Lord F. Cavendish adjusted all ceremonials, and fixed on pistols as the proper weapons. When they came to the ground, Lord Shelburne told them that his pistols were already loaded, and offered to draw them, which was rejected by Lord Balcarras and Colonel Fullarton; upon which Lord Balcarras loaded Colonel Fullarton’s pistols. The seconds having agreed that twelve paces was a proper distance, the parties took their ground. Colonel Fullarton desired Lord Shelburne to fire, which his Lordship declined; and Colonel Fullarton was ordered by the seconds to fire. He fired and missed. Lord Shelburne returned it, and missed. Mr. Fullarton then fired his second pistol, and hit Lord Shelburne in the right groin, which his Lordship signified; upon which every body ran up, and the seconds interfered. Lord F. Cavendish offered to take the pistol from Lord Shelburne; but his Lordship refused to deliver it up, saying, “I have not fired that pistol.” Mr. Fullarton returned immediately to his ground, which he had left with a view of assisting his Lordship, and repeatedly desired his Lordship to fire at him. Lord Shelburne said, “Sure, sir, you do not think I would fire my pistol at you;” and fired it in the air. The parties and their seconds joined together. Lord Balcarras asked Lord Shelburne if he had any difficulty in declaring he meant nothing personal to Colonel Fullarton. His Lordship replied, “You know it has taken another course; this is no time for explanation.” His Lordship then said to Colonel Fullarton, “Although I am wounded, I am able to go on if you feel any resentment.” Colonel Fullarton said, “He hoped he was incapable of harbouring such a sentiment.” Lord F. Cavendish declared, that, from the character he had heard of Colonel Fullarton, he believed so. Colonel Fullarton said, “As your Lordship is wounded, and has fired in the air, it is impossible for me to go on.”

Lord Balcarras and Lord F. Cavendish immediately declared, “That the parties had ended the affair by behaving as men of the strictest honour.”

On hearing of the above affair, the following message was sent from the City:—

“The Committee of Common Council for corresponding with the committees appointed, or to be appointed, by the several counties, cities, and boroughs in this kingdom, anxious for the preservation of the valuable life of so true a friend of the people as the Earl of Shelburne, respectfully inquire after his Lordship’s safety, highly endangered in consequence of his upright and spirited conduct in Parliament.