Barbara Holland

From Gentlemen’s Blood:

“Depending on your viewpoint, the long epidemic of dueling was a judiciary supplement, an outlet for social tensions, or simply a bloody celebration of manly bad temper. It does seem to have been a useful safety valve for overheated testosterone, and some experts claim that in cultures where wife-beating is socially acceptable, men fight less among themselves, having satisfied the urge at home.

“There was much to like about the duel. It was a regulated way for one man to prevail over another when he felt the need to do so, and an improvement over the informal ambush, or sending out henchmen to break the enemy’s skull by night on the highway. In a single dramatic meeting, the duel settled questions of political and regional loyalty, land ownership and boundaries, job preferment, legislation, gambling debts, honesty, newspaper editorials, gossip, female chastity, genealogy, and personal courage…

“But the basic bread-and-butter duel was fought to cleanse one’s honor after an insult, real or fancied… Insults varied. You might make an offensive remark about a man’s hat, or his horse, or the shape of his nose, and he might send you a politely worded demand for an explanation, and you might send back a politely worded apology, he’d accept it, and that would be the end of the matter. (Unless he was from Gascony, in which case he might kill you if you just looked at his hat, or his horse.) Other insults, like ‘coward’ and ‘liar,’ called for bloodshed, not apologies. This challenge would leave no option, stating that if the offender failed to meet you, he himself was the cowardly, craven scum unfit to associate with gentlemen and you planned to shout it from the housetops. The offender had to accept or change his name and leave the country. Then the seconds hunkered down to arrange the details.”

“As a nation, America hit the ground running. Button Gwinnett’s signature on the Declaration of Independence was barely dry before he challenged General Lachlan McIntosh, who’d defeated him in the election for governor of Georgia. They fired pistols at twelve paces and Gwinnett was killed.”

Europeans fought for their honor; Americans fought for their politics. “In our early years a man’s political opinions were inseparable from the self, from personal character and reputation, and as central to his honor as a seventeenth-century Frenchman’s courage was to his. He called his opinions ‘principles,’ and was willing, almost eager, to die or kill for them.”

Newspaper editors, especially in the volatile south and far west, brandished their politics in print, put their pistols on when they dressed in the morning, and fought and died in droves. One California editor, pressed for time, posted a sign on his door, “Subscriptions received from 9 to 4, challenges from 11 to 12 only.” Letters to the editor were risky too, and Abe Lincoln turned out for a duel with cavalry sabers brought on by an anonymous letter he’d written about tax policies.

The duel filled a social need, died out only slowly, and resurfaced often: “In Hollywood, Barney Silva, co-owner of a chain of Los Angeles restaurants, experienced irreconcilable differences with jazz musician Jack Sorin over a lady. Resolving to do the thing up right, the two men marked off ten paces in Silva’s living room, wheeled, and fired at each other. Both died. It was 1959.”

“In October of 2002, when America’s relations with Iraq were sliding quickly toward war, the Iraqi vice president suggested settling the conflict with a double duel: ‘A president against a president and a vice-president against a vice-president, and a duel takes place, if they are serious, and in this way we are saving the American and the Iraqi people.’
“He seemed to be in earnest, and there were those who thought it might be a humane and inexpensive solution, but neither of the challenged Americans replied.

Still, it was a thought.”