Death by the Code

How America Embraced Europe's Dueling Tradition

Affairs of honor must be conducted coolly, courteously and steadily, as a contrary cause serves but to aggravate difficulties, and leads to results harsh, passionate and discreditable to men of true and deliberate courage.

-- Code Duello, 1777

It was a muggy July morning in 1804 when the vice president of the United States met one of its Founding Fathers on a "field of honor" outside New York City. They came to this wooded palisade overlooking the Hudson River to settle a dispute the way gentlemen had for generations -- in ritualized mortal combat, each man seeking to kill or maim the other. This was the way honor was restored in the "court of the last resort."

Alexander Hamilton, former treasury secretary, had publicly criticized his political nemesis, Vice President Aaron Burr, as, among other things, an "embryo Caesar" and "a friend to nothing but as suits his interest and ambition."

Burr, not surprisingly, had demanded satisfaction.

Hamilton spent the evening before the duel preparing for his very possible death at the hand of a far superior marksman. While settling his affairs, he penned a reasoned, five-point account of why he wished to avoid the ritual, citing his moral opposition to the practice and the detrimental effect his death would have on his family and creditors. He also noted that he bore no personal animosity, just political, toward Burr and concluded, "I shall hazard much and can possibly gain nothing."

Nonetheless, Hamilton was not about to refuse Burr's challenge. He was, after all, a man of pride and shrinking from a challenge was considered despicable cowardice by the standards of the time. It might even get a man "posted," a humiliating ordeal in which he might be declared something like "an unprincipled villain, a cur, a coward and a poltroon" in newspapers and other conspicuous public places.

Posting, in fact, was a uniquely American contribution to the Code Duello, an 18th century Irish formalization of the rigid etiquette surrounding honorable mortal combat.

Soon after dawn on July 11, Hamilton left his home in New York and was joined by two friends. One would be the attending surgeon; the other would serve as Hamilton's second, a role prescribed by the Code Duello. Each combatant was accompanied by a second who was to ensure that the duel was fought honestly and correctly, to negotiate its terms and, if necessary, shoot a principal who flouted the code.

The three men rowed across the Hudson to the dueling ground at Weehawken, N.J.

When Burr and William Van Ness, his second, saw Hamilton and his friends approaching, they straightened, removed their hats and saluted politely. Anything less would have been considered ungentlemanly.

The seconds made their arrangements, as prescribed by the code, measuring the distance between combatants -- 10 full paces, in this case -- and casting lots for choice of position. As the challenged party, under the code, Hamilton furnished the pistols.

After the seconds carefully loaded the pistols in each other's presence, Burr and Hamilton took their positions. The instant that the agreed-upon second called "Fire!", Burr pulled his trigger. Hamilton drew up convulsively, spun to the left and pitched forward on his face. At the same time, his right arm jerked upward, and his pistol discharged in the air. The bullet clipped a twig off a branch high over Burr's head.

While Hamilton lay mortally wounded, Burr was quickly ushered from the field.

A COMMON PRACTICE

That two of the most prominent people in the newly created United States of America would engage in such deadly and seemingly pointless recourse is stunning, yet it was hardly rare. Dueling usually evokes images of vaguely foppish aristocrats sputtering insults, slapping one another in the face with embroidered gloves, then drawing swords. America presumably had bid farewell to such conceits.

Yet deadly duels frequently were fought throughout this country -- from before its founding to well after the Civil War -- by some of its most esteemed citizens. Future presidents, members of Congress, judges and journalists, governors and generals often found themselves on bloody fields of honor, settling real and perceived attacks on their dignity.

So common was the practice, in fact, that numerous anti-dueling laws remain on the books. The Maine legislature is considering repealing a 160-year-old state law that levies a $100 fine for ridiculing someone who refuses to fight a duel when challenged, Reuter reports.

Indeed, both Burr and Hamilton had been engaged in other duels, as had many of those closest to them. Hamilton, for instance, once came close to dueling future president James Monroe and was mortally wounded on the same spot where his beloved son Philip had been killed only a short time previously.

Not that there wasn't deep opposition. "It is astonishing that the murderous practice of dueling ... should continue so long in vogue," Benjamin Franklin wrote.

"We are murderers, a nation of murderers," the Rev. Lyman Beecher, father of minister Henry Ward Beecher and author Harriet Beecher Stowe, once cried out.

Dueling, however, continued unabated, even after a massive public outcry about Hamilton's death and the gradual imposition of loosely enforced laws meant to curtail dueling throughout the nation.

This violent method of conflict resolution had its formal origins 1,500 ago in medieval Europe where disputes often were adjudicated by a process called "ordeal." A defendant, for example, might have to walk over hot coals. If he was innocent, the theory went, God would spare him the agony of blistered and burned feet, proving righteousness. Needless to say, "guilty" often was the overwhelming verdict.

Then, in 501, as an alternative form of judgment, the French region of Burgundy adopted a system long practiced by Germanic peoples: trial by single combat. Again, the presumption was that God would reward the righteous with victory.

From these trials by combat, which dramatically declined by the middle of the 17th century, rose the popularity of ritualized private dueling.

Even after the advent of conventional trials in the Middle Ages and condemnation of dueling by the pope in the 9th century, the practice continued, spreading from France and Italy and quickly sweeping Europe.

Fencing schools opened. Land, often accompanied by bleachers for admiring spectators, was set aside for duels. Knights and other duelists were celebrated in the works of Shakespeare and Dumas, and in the 16th and 17th centuries, the practice became a rite of passage for young gentlemen trying to make their mark on the world and impress the ladies.

These hostile encounters were so culturally ingrained, especially among the higher classes, that two of Europe's greatest monarchs came close to dueling in 1527.

Charles V, leader of the Holy Roman Empire, called Francis I of France "a stranger to honor and integrity becoming a gentleman" for breaking a treaty between them. With this gauntlet thrown down, Francis challenged Charles, who accepted. But the anticipated skirmish came to naught, bogged down in preliminary negotiations, as so often happened. Even the potential for a duel between such mighty men, however, lent a certain prestige to an already popular and bloody pastime.

Duels became so popular in France that King Charles IX banned them in 1566, on pain of death. Other European monarchs made similar decrees but to little avail. During the reign of Henry IV of France (1589-1610), for instance, an estimated 4,000 Frenchmen were killed in affairs of honor.

No nation took up dueling as vigorously and enthusiastically as Ireland. There, it was sport as well as a means of settling disputes. "No young fellow could finish his education until he had exchanged shots with some of his acquaintances," wrote Sir Jonah Barrington, judge of the High Court of Admiralty in Ireland from 1757-91 and a noted duelist in his youth. Barrington recorded 227 official duels during his administration.

The Code Duello was developed there in 1777 and became the set of rules that would govern nearly all American duelists. The code originally contained 26 provisions for all aspects of dignified and formal dueling. Firing in the air or purposely missing an opponent, for example, was strictly prohibited and seen as "children's play ... dishonorable on one side or the other."

Of course, dueling had been formalized since the 16th century and spread to the New World before formulation of the Code Duello, with the first recorded duel taking place soon after the Pilgrims arrived. But Americans eagerly adopted the code, adding variations such as posting. Americans also tended to favor pistols over swords, and many a well-heeled man owned an elaborately decorated set.

Dueling was popular throughout the country and was far more democratic than in Europe, where by the 18th century the practice generally was limited to gentlemen. From Dodge City to the Dueling Green of New Orleans, citizens enthusiastically killed one another with class.

Andrew Jackson, who would become president in 1829, was among dueling's most ardent enthusiasts. Sources vary as to exactly how many ritual combats the "Hero of New Orleans" actually participated in, either as a principal or a second, but the frequency by all accounts is astonishing.

Jackson was particularly sensitive about his beloved wife Rachel, a pipe-smoking frontier woman who had been married once before. The legality of her divorce was in question, making her a potential bigamist when she married Jackson.

Such marital limbo made her a target for many of Jackson's enemies, including Tennessee Gov. John Sevier.

"I know of no great service you have rendered to the country except taking at trip to Natchez with another man's wife!," Sevier snorted at Jackson in 1803.

"Great God!" Jackson bellowed. "Do you mention her sacred name?"

Blows and pistol shots were exchanged until the two men were separated. Jackson, however, wasn't satisfied and challenged Sevier to a formal duel. When the latter hedged, Jackson posted him:

"Know ye that I Andrew Jackson, do pronounce, publish, and declare to the world, that his excellency John Sevier ... is a base coward and poltroon. He will basely insult, but has not the courage to repair."

When they met later on the field, both shouted insults and profanities, and Jackson even rushed forward with a raised stick, threatening to cane Sevier. There was far too much anger for a gentlemanly duel, and both eventually withdrew.

Things would not be as amicable when a lawyer named Charles Dickinson cast aspersions on Jackson's wife. The two men met in 1806 on a field of honor, eight paces apart. Jackson wanted blood. "I'll take my time, aim deliberately and kill him if it's the last thing I do," he said.

Dickinson fired first, his bullet entering Jackson's chest and lodging near the heart where it would remain for the rest of his life.

Blood dripping into his shoes, Jackson raised his pistol at Dickinson, aimed and fired. The adversary fell where he stood and died soon after. "I'd have hit him," Jackson quipped, dismissing his own injury, "if he had shot me through the brain."

During the 19th century, hundreds of duels would be fought across the United States, where the practice lasted longest in the far West and South. Pistols were the most popular weapons. But in an 1827 knife duel in Mississippi, James Bowie elevated the "bowie knife" to national celebrity. Horrendous bloodshed in the Civil War helped to hasten dueling's demise. It virtually disappeared by the dawn of the 20th century.

Dueling left its distinctive mark on the nation's capital, which had its own semiofficial dueling ground in Bladensburg. The site was conveniently just across the border from the District of Columbia, where dueling would be made illegal in 1838. On this dark and bloody ground, scores of men lost their lives, albeit politely, during the 19th century.

Perhaps the most famous victim to fall there was naval hero Stephen Decatur, hailed as the conqueror of the Barbary pirates. The man who once proclaimed, "My country, may she always be right, but my country, right or wrong," was at the height of his fame when shot down by James Barron, an embittered fellow officer.

Barron's antagonism toward Decatur had begun with a disgraceful incident 13 years earlier when Barron commanded the frigate Chesapeake in an encounter with the British ship Leopold outside the Virginia capes.

The Chesapeake was so unprepared to defend itself that Barron was compelled to haul down its colors, submit to search and allow several of his seamen to be taken prisoner, all without a single cannon being fired. The encounter outraged Americans and was among the incidents that precipitated the War of 1812.

Barron was court-martialed and suspended, a humiliating ordeal presided over by Decatur. During the next several years, they exchanged lengthy, rancorous letters.

After Barron challenged Decatur, they finally met at the dueling field on the morning of March 22, 1820. After taking their positions, according to historical records, Barron told Decatur: "Sir, I hope, on meeting in another world, we shall be better friends than in this." Decatur, who reportedly intended only to wound Barron, told him: "I have never been your enemy, sir." They fired almost as one, and both fell, each believing himself to be dying.

Pooled in blood, their heads not 10 feet apart, they spoke in the strangely polite terms of their day:

"I am mortally wounded, at least I believe so," Decatur reportedly said. "I wish I had fallen in the service of my country." Making his peace, Barron begged forgiveness. "I freely forgive you my death," Decatur told him, "though I cannot forgive those who have stimulated you to seek my life."

Decatur was taken to his house on Lafayette Square, where he died that night. Barron lived to face the scorn of a nation plunged into grief over a fallen hero.

CLAY V. RANDOLPH

A less devastating duel occurred near Little Falls in Virginia in 1826 when Henry Clay, secretary of state, former senator and perennial presidential candidate, encountered Virginia Rep. John Randolph. Political differences brought them there.

As the formalities of the duel were being discussed, Randolph's pistol accidentally discharged. Clay politely dismissed the mishap, and the two took their positions at 10 paces.

"Fire!" came the call, and both promptly did so. Clay's shot hit the dirt near Randolph, and Randolph's shot struck a stump behind Clay.

Missouri Sen. Thomas Hart Benton, observing the proceedings, rushed forward to stop the duel while both men were still standing. Clay dismissed him with a wave of the hand, remarking, "This is child's play!" and demanding another fire.

They tried again. Clay's bullet hit the same spot as before, while Randolph raised his pistol and shot it into the sky. "I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay," he called, immediately going forward with outstretched hand. "Sir," he said, "I give you my hand."

Clay took Randolph's hand and shook it. "You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay," Randolph joked. One of Clay's bullets had passed through it.

"I am glad the debt is no greater," Clay responded.

Hamilton on His Last Duel:

* My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed it would ever give me pain to shed the blood of a fellow-creature in a private combat forbidden by the laws.

* My wife and children are extremely dear to me, and my life is of the utmost importance to them .

* I feel a sense of obligation toward my creditors, who, in case of accident to me, by the forced sale of my property, may be in some degree sufferers .

* I am conscious of no ill-will towards Colonel Burr distinct from political opposition, which, as I trust, has proceeded from pure and upright motives.

* I shall hazard much, and can possibly gain nothing, by the issue of the interview [the duel].

Articles appear as they were originally printed in The Washington Post and may not include subsequent corrections.