The trend of thought, the unmeasured achievement of activities looking to human amelioration, during the fifty intervening years, must be taken into the account before uncharitable judgment upon what has been declared the indifference of Douglas to the question of abstract right involved in the memorable discussion. It must be remembered that the world has moved apace, and that a mighty gulf separates us from that eventful period, in which practical statesmen were compelled to deal with institutions as then existing. And not to be forgotten are the words of the great interpreter of the human heart,

"But know thou this, that men are as the time is."

The great debates between Douglas and Lincoln—the like of which we shall not hear again—had ended and passed to the domain of history. To the inquiry, "Which of the participants was the victor?" there can be no absolute answer. Judged by the immediate result, the former; by consequence more remote and far-reaching, the latter. Within three years from the first meeting at Ottawa, Mr. Lincoln —having been elected and inaugurated President—was upon the threshold of mighty events which are now the masterful theme of history; and his great antagonist in the now historic debates had passed from earthly scenes.

It has been said that Douglas was ambitious.

"If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath he answered it."

We may well believe that, with like honorable ambition to the two great popular leaders of different periods—Clay and Blaine —his goal was the Presidency.

In the last three national conventions of his party preceding his death, he was presented by the Illinois delegation to be named for the great office. The last of these—the Charleston convention of 1860—is now historic. It assembled amid intense party passion, and after a turbulent session that seemed the omen of its approaching doom, adjourned to a later day to Baltimore. Senator Douglas there received the almost solid vote of the Northern, and a portion of that of the Border States, but the hostility of the extreme Southern leaders to his candidacy was implacable to the end. What had seemed inevitable from the beginning at length occurred, and the great historical party—which had administered the Government with brief intermissions from the inauguration of Jefferson—was hopelessly rent asunder. This startling event—and what it might portend— gave pause to thoughtful men of all parties. It was not a mere incident, but an epoch in history. Mr. Blaine, in his "Twenty Years of Congress," says:

"The situation was the cause of solicitude and even grief with thousands to whom the old party was peculiarly endeared. The traditions of Jefferson, of Madison, of Jackson, were devoutly treasured; and the splendid achievements of the American Democracy were recounted with the pride which attaches to an honorable family inheritance. The fact was recalled that the Republic had grown to its imperial dimensions under Democratic statesmanship. It was remembered that Louisiana had been acquired from France, Florida from Spain, the independent Republic of Texas annexed, and California, with its vast dependencies, and its myriad millions of treasure, ceded by Mexico, all under Democratic administrations, and in spite of the resistance of their opponents. That a party whose history was inwoven with the glory of the Republic should now come to its end in a quarrel over the status of the negro in a country where his labor was not wanted, was to many of its members as incomprehensible as it was sorrowful and exasperating. They might have restored the party to harmony, but at the very height of the factional contest, the representatives of both sections were hurried forward to the National Convention of 1860, with principle subordinated to passion, with judgment displaced by a desire for revenge."

The withdrawal from the Baltimore Convention of a large majority of the Southern delegates and a small following, led by Caleb Cushing and Benjamin F. Butler from the North, resulted in the immediate nomination by the requisite two-thirds vote of Senator Douglas as the Presidential candidate. The platform upon the question of slavery was in substance that contended for by the candidate in the debates with Lincoln. The Democratic party divided —Breckenridge receiving the support of the South—Douglas's candidacy was hopeless from the beginning. But his iron will, and courage, that knew no faltering, never appeared to better advantage than during that eventful canvass. Deserted by former political associates, he visited distant States and addressed immense audiences in defence of the platform upon which he had been nominated, and in advocacy of his own election. His speeches in Southern States were of the stormy incidents of a struggle that has scarcely known a parallel. Interrogated by a prominent citizen at Norfolk, Virginia, "If Lincoln be elected President, would the Southern States be justified in seceding from the Union?" Douglas replied, "I emphatically answer, No. The election of a man to the Presidency in conformity with the Constitution of the United States would not justify an attempt to dissolve the Union."

Defeated in his great ambition, broken in health, the sad witness of the unmistakable portents of the coming sectional strife—the few remaining months of his mortal life were enveloped in gloom. Partisan feeling vanished—his deep concern was now only for his country. Standing by the side of his successful rival—whose wondrous career was only opening, as his own was nearing its close —he bowed profound assent to the imperishable utterances of the inaugural address: "I am loath to close. We are not enemies but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection."

Yet later—immediately upon the firing of the fatal shot at Sumter that suddenly summoned millions from peaceful pursuits to arms— by invitation of the Illinois Legislature Douglas addressed his countrymen for the last time.

Broken with the storms of state, the fires of ambition forever extinguished, standing upon the threshold of the grave, his soul burdened with the calamities that had befallen his country, in tones of deepest pathos he declared:

"If war must come—if the bayonet must be used to maintain the Constitution—I can say before God, my conscience is clear. I have struggled long for a peaceful solution of the trouble. I deprecate war, but if it must come, I am with my country, and for my country, in every contingency, and under all circumstances. At all hazards our Government must be maintained, and the shortest pathway to peace is through the most stupendous preparation for war."

Who that heard the last public utterance that fell from his lips can forget his solemn invocation to all who had followed his political fortunes, until the banner had fallen from his hand,— to know only their country in its hour of peril?

The ordinary limit of human life unreached; his intellectual strength unabated; his loftiest aspirations unrealized; at the critical moment of his country's sorest need—he passed to the grave. What reflections and regrets may have been his in that hour of awful mystery, we may not know. In the words of another: "What blight and anguish met his agonized eyes, whose lips may tell? what brilliant broken plans, what bitter rending of sweet household ties, what sundering of strong manhood's friendships?"

In the light of what has been discussed, may we not believe that with his days prolonged, he would during the perilous years have been the safe counsellor—the rock—of the great President, in preserving the nation's life, and later in "binding up the nation's wounds."

Worthy of honored and enduring place in history, Stephen A. Douglas —statesman and patriot—lies buried within the great city whose stupendous development is so largely the result of his own wise forecast and endeavor,—by the majestic lake whose waves break near the base of his stately monument and chant his eternal requiem.



VIII THE FIRST POLITICAL TELEGRAM

SENATOR SILAS WRIGHT NOMINATED FOR VICE-PRESIDENT—WORD OF HIS NOMINATION SENT HIM BY THE MORSE TELEGRAPH—MORSE'S FIRST CONCEPTION OF AN ELECTRO-MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH—OBSTACLES TO THE CARRYING OUT OF HIS INVENTION—A BILL APPROPRIATING $30,000 TO TEST THE VALUE OF HIS TELEGRAPH—EARLIER FORMS OF TELEGRAPHIC INTERCOURSE—A EULOGY ON THE INVENTOR BY MR. GARFIELD—ANOTHER, BY MR. COX—THE FIRST MESSAGE THAT EVER PASSED OVER THE WIRE—DR. PRIME'S PRAISE OF MORSE AFTER HIS DEATH.

By all odds, the most venerable in appearance of the Representatives in the forty-sixth Congress, was Hendrick B. Wright of Pennsylvania. After a retirement of a third of a century, he had been returned to the seat he had honored while many of his present associates were in the cradle. Of massive build, stately bearing, lofty courtesy; neatly appareled in blue broadcloth, with brass buttons appropriately in evidence, he appeared indeed to belong to a past generation of statesmen.

"And thus he bore without abuse The grand old name of gentleman."

In one of the many conversations I held with him, he told me that he was the president of the Democratic National Convention which met in Baltimore in 1844. As will be remembered, a majority of the delegates to that convention were favorable to the renomination of Mr. Van Buren, but his recently published letter opposing the annexation of Texas had rendered him extremely obnoxious to a powerful minority of his own party. After a protracted struggle, Mr. Van Buren, under the operation of the "two-thirds rule," was defeated, and Mr. Polk nominated. The convention, anxious to placate the friends of the defeated candidate, then tendered the nomination for Vice-President to Senator Silas Wright, the close friend of Mr. Van Buren.

At the time the convention was in session, Samuel F. B. Morse was conducting in a room in the Capitol the electrical experiments which have since "given his name to the ages." Under an appropriation by Congress, a telegraph line had been recently constructed from Washington to Baltimore.

Immediately upon the nomination of Senator Wright, as mentioned, the president of the convention sent him by the Morse telegraph a brief message, the first of a political character that ever passed over the wire, advising him of his nomination, and requesting his acceptance. Two hours later he read to the convention a message from Senator Wright, then in Washington, peremptorily declining the nomination.

Upon the reading of this message to the convention, it was openly declared to be a hoax, not one member in twenty believing that a message could possibly have been received. The convention adjourned till the next day, first instructing its president to communicate with Senator Wright by letter. A special messenger, by hard riding and frequent change of horse, bore the letter of the convention to Wright in Washington, and returned with his reply by the time the convention had reassembled. As will be remembered, Wright persisting in his declination, George M. Dallas was nominated and duly elected.

Later, in conversation with the Hon. Alexander H. Stephens of Georgia, he told me that he was in the room of the Capitol set apart for the experiments which Mr. Morse wished to make, and distinctly remembered the fact of the transmission of the message to and from Senator Wright, as stated.

The incident mentioned recalls something of the obstacles encountered by Morse in the marvellous work with which his name is inseparably associated. He first conceived the idea of an electro-magnetic telegraph on shipboard on a homeward-bound voyage from Europe in 1832. Before landing from his long voyage, his plans for a series of experiments had been clearly thought out. Having constructed his first recording apparatus, his caveat for a patent was filed five years later; and in 1838, he applied to Congress for an appropriation to enable him to construct an experimental line from Washington to Baltimore in order to demonstrate the practicability of his invention. His proposal was at first treated with ridicule —even with contempt; and for more than three years no favorable action was taken by Congress. With abiding faith, however, in the merits of his invention, his zeal knew no abatement during years of poverty and discouragement. At length in the Twenty-seventh Congress, Representative Kennedy of Maryland—at a later day Secretary of the Navy—introduced a bill appropriating thirty thousand dollars "to test the value of Morse's Electro-Magnetic Telegraph," to be expended under the direction of the Secretary of the Treasury.

By the untiring efforts of Mr. Kennedy and other Representatives, the bill was finally brought before the House for consideration near the close of the session. In the light of events, the discussion that immediately preceded the vote is of interest, and in no small degree amusing, to this generation. On February twenty-first, 1843, Mr. Johnson of Tennessee wished to say a word upon the bill. As the present Congress had done much to encourage science, he did not wish to see the science of Mesmerism neglected and overlooked. He therefore proposed that one-half of the appropriation be given to Mr. Fisk to enable him to carry on experiments as well as Professor Morse. Mr. Houston thought that Millerism should also be included in the benefits of the appropriation. Mr. Stanley said he should have no objection to the appropriation for Mesmeric experiments provided the gentleman from Tennessee was the subject. Mr. Johnson said he should have no objection provided Mr. Stanley was the operator. Several gentlemen now called for the reading of the amendment, and it was read by the clerk as follows: "Provided that one-half of the said sum shall be appropriated for trying Mesmeric experiments under the direction of the Secretary of the Treasury."

Mr. Mason arose to a question of order. He maintained that the amendment was not bona fide, and that such amendments were calculated to injure the character of the House. He appealed to the Chair, the House being then in committee of the whole, to rule the amendment out of order.

The Chairman said that it was not for him to judge of the motives of members who offered amendments, and that he could not therefore undertake to pronounce the amendment not bona fide. Objection might be raised to it on the ground that it was not sufficiently analogous in character to the bill under consideration; but, in the opinion of the Chair, it would require a scientific analysis to determine how far the magnetism of mesmerism was analogous to that employed in telegraphs. He therefore ruled the amendment in order.

The amendment was rejected. The bill was subsequently reported favorably to the House, and two days later passed by the close vote of eighty-nine to eighty-three.

The bill then went to the Senate, and was placed upon the calendar. A large number of bills were ahead of it, and Mr. Morse was assured by a kindly Senator that there was no possible chance for its consideration. All hope seemed to forsake the great inventor, as, from his seat in the gallery, he was a gloomy witness of the waning hours of the session. Unable longer to endure the strain, he sought his humble dwelling an hour before final adjournment. On arising the next morning, a little girl, the daughter of a faithful friend, ran up to him with a message from her father, to the effect that in the hurry and confusion of the midnight hour, and just before the close of the session, the Senate had passed his bill, which immediately received the signature of the President.

With the sum thus appropriated at his command, Morse now earnestly resumed the experiments, which a few months later resulted so successfully. Referring to the homeward voyage from Europe, in 1832, his biographer says:

"One day Dr. Charles S. Jackson of Boston, a fellow passenger, described an experiment recently made in Paris by means of which electricity had been instantaneously transmitted through a great length of wire; to which Morse replied, 'If that be so, I see no reason why messages may not instantaneously be transmitted by electricity.'"

The key-note was struck, and before his ship reached New York the invention of the telegraph was virtually made, and even the essential features of the electro-magnetic transmitting and recording apparatus were sketched on paper. Of necessity, in reaching this result, Morse made use of the ideas and discoveries of many other minds. As stated by his biographer:

"Various forms of telegraphic intercourse had been devised before; electro-magnetism had been studied by savants for many years; Franklin even had experimented with the transmission of electricity through great lengths of wire. It was reserved for Morse to combine the results of many fragmentary and unsuccessful attempts, and put them, after many years of trial, to a practical use; and though his claims to the invention have been many times attacked in the press and in the courts, they have been triumphantly vindicated alike by the law and the verdict of the people, both at home and abroad. The Chief Justice of the United States in delivering the opinion of the Supreme Court in one of the Morse cases, said: 'It can make no difference whether the inventor derived his information from books or from conversation with men skilled in the science; and the fact that Morse sought and obtained the necessary information and counsel from the best sources and acted upon it, neither impairs his right as an inventor, nor detracts from his merits.'"

It will be remembered that soon after his first successful experiment, Morse was harassed by protracted litigation, and that many attempts were made to deprive him of the just rewards of his great invention. True, he had been preceded along the same lines by great discoveries. This fact no man recognized more unreservedly than himself. He was the inventor, his work, that of gathering up and applying the marvellous discoveries of others to the practical purposes of human life. As stated by Mr. Garfield:

"His to interpret to the world that subtle and mysterious element with which the thinkers of the human race had so long been occupied. As Franklin had exhibited the relation between lightning and the electric fluid, so Oersted exhibited the relation between magnetism and electricity. From 1820 to 1825, his discovery was further developed by Davy and Sturgeon of England, and Arago and Ampere of France. The electro-magnetic telegraph is the embodiment, I might say the incarnation, of many centuries of thought, of many generations of effort to elicit from Nature one of her deepest mysteries. No one man, no one century, could have achieved it. It is the child of the human race, the heir of all ages. How wonderful are the steps that led to its creation! The very name of this telegraphic instrument bears record of its history—Electric, Magnetic.

"The first, named from the bit of yellow amber whose qualities of attraction and repulsion were discovered by a Grecian philosopher twenty-four centuries ago, and the second, from Magnesia, the village of Asia Minor where first was found the lodestone, whose touch turned the needle forever toward the north. These were the earliest forms in which that subtle, all-pervading force revealed itself to men. In the childhood of the race men stood dumb in the presence of its more terrible manifestations. When it gleamed in the purple aurora, or shot dusky-red from the clouds, it was the eye-flash of an angry God before whom mortals quailed in helpless fear."

More than three centuries ago, Shakespeare put into the mouth of one of his creations the words,

"I'll put a girdle round about the earth In forty minutes."

The words spoken in jest were in the nature of a prophecy. After the passing of many generations, in a country unknown to the great bard, Morse, in the words of Mr. Cox, one of the most eloquent of his eulogists—

"Gave to the universal people the means of speedy and accurate intelligence, and so stormed at once the castles of the terrible Giant Doubt and Giant Despair. He has saved time, shortened the hours of toil, accumulated and intensified thought by the rapidity and terseness of electric messages. He has celebrated treaties. Go to the uttermost parts of the earth; go beneath the deep sea; to the land where snows are eternal, or to the tropical realms where the orange blooms in the air of mid-winter, and you will find this clicking, persistent, sleepless instrument ready to give its tireless wing to your purpose."

It was my good fortune to serve in the House of Representatives with Mr. Stephens of Georgia, and Mr. Wood of New York, both of whom more than a third of a century before had given their votes in favor of the appropriation that made it possible for Morse to prosecute experiments fraught with such stupendous blessing to our race. The member who reported back the bill from the Committee on Commerce, with favorable recommendations, and then supported it by an eloquent speech upon the floor of the House, was Robert C. Winthrop of Massachusetts. No public man I have ever known impressed me more favorably than did Mr. Winthrop. He had been the close friend of Everett, Choate, Webster, and Clay. He was the last survivor of as brilliant a coterie of party leaders and statesmen as our country has ever known. On a visit he made to the House of Representatives, of which he had many years before been the Speaker, business was at once suspended, and the members from all parts of the Great Hall gathered about him. In a letter to the Morse Memorial meeting in Boston, Mr. Winthrop stated that he was present in the Capitol while the first formal messages were passing along the magic cords between Washington and Baltimore. He referred to the declination read by Senator Wright in his presence, of the nomination to the Vice-Presidency tendered him, and added:

"All this gave us the most vivid impression, not only that a new kind of wire-pulling had entered into politics, but that a mysterious and marvellous power of the air had at length been subdued and trained to the service of mankind."

It is an interesting fact in this connection, to note that the little girl, Miss Ellsworth, who brought to Mr. Morse the joyful tidings of the passage of the bill on that early May morning in 1843, was rewarded by being requested by the great inventor to write the first message that ever passed over the wire. When she selected,

"What hath God wrought,"

words to find utterance by all tongues—she builded better than she knew, for in the words of Speaker Blaine:

"The little thread of wire placed as a timid experiment between the national capital and a neighboring city grew, and lengthened, and multiplied with almost the rapidity of the electric current that darted along its iron nerves, until, within his own lifetime, continent was bound to continent, hemisphere answered through ocean's depths to hemisphere, and an encircled globe dashed forth his eulogy in the unmatched eloquence of a grand achievement."

Words of praise, spoke by Dr. Prime, of the great inventor just after he had passed from the world, to which he left such a heritage, can never lose their interest:

"Morse in his coffin is a recollection never to fade. He lay like an ancient prophet or sage such as the old masters painted for Abraham, or Isaiah. His finely chiselled features, classical in their mould and majestic in repose, and heavy flowing beard; the death calm upon the brow that for eighty years had concealed a teeming brain, and that placid beauty that lingers upon the face of the righteous dead, as if the freed spirit had left a smile upon its forsaken home—these are the memories that remain of the most illustrious and honored private citizen that the New World has yet given to mankind."



IX ALONG THE BYPATHS OF HISTORY

THE WIDOW OF GEN. GAINES CLAIMS PROPERTY AT NEW ORLEANS WORTH $30,000,000—HER SUCCESS AFTER MUCH LITIGATION—THE WIDOW OF JOHN H. EATON, SECRETARY OF WAR—A CLOUD ON HER REPUTATION—HER HUSBAND A FRIEND OF GEN. JACKSON—A DUEL BETWEEN RANDOLPH AND CLAY—HOSTILITY OF THE LEADERS OF WASHINGTON SOCIETY TO MRS. EATON—SECRETARY EATON DISLIKED BY HIS COLLEAGUES—CONSEQUENT DISRUPTION OF JACKSON'S CABINET—MRS. EATON'S POVERTY IN HER OLD AGE.

Nearly a third of a century ago, as the guest in a Washington house, I had the opportunity of meeting Mrs. Gaines, the widow of General Edmund P. Gaines, a distinguished officer of the War of 1812, and Mrs. Eaton, the widow of the Hon. John H. Eaton of Tennessee, for a number of years a Senator from that State, and later Secretary of War during the administration of President Jackson. Their names suggested interesting events in our history, I gladly availed myself of the invitation to meet them.

I found Mrs. Gaines an old lady of small stature, with a profusion of curls, and gifted with rare powers of conversation. She spoke freely of her great lawsuits, one of which was then pending in the Supreme Court of the United States. As I listened, I thought of the wonderful career of the little woman before me. Few names, a half-century ago, were more familiar to the reading public than that of Myra Clark Gaines. She was born in New Orleans in the early days of the century; was the daughter of Daniel Clark, who died in 1813, the owner of a large portion of the land upon which the city of New Orleans was afterwards built. She was his only heir, and soon after attaining her majority, instituted a suit, or series of suits, for the recovery of her property. After years of litigation, the seriously controverted fact of her being the lawful heir of Daniel Clark was established, and the contest, which was to wear out two generations of lawyers, began in dead earnest. The value of the property involved in the litigation then exceeded thirty millions of dollars. At the time I saw her, she had just arrived from her home in New Orleans to be present at the argument of one of her suits in the Supreme Court. She had already received nearly six millions of dollars by successful litigation, and she assured me that she intended to live one hundred years longer, if necessary, to obtain her rights, and that she expected to recover every dollar to which she was rightfully entitled. The air of confidence with which she spoke, and the pluck manifested in her every word and motion, convinced me at once that the only possible question as to her ultimate success was that of time. And so indeed it proved, for,

"When like a clock worn out with eating time, The wheels of weary life at last stood still,"

numerous suits, in which she had been successful in the lower courts, were still pending in the higher.

She told me with apparent satisfaction, during the interview, that she could name over fifty lawyers who had been against her since the beginning of her contest, all of whom were now in their graves. Her litigation was the one absorbing thought of her life, her one topic of conversation.

General Gaines had died many years before, and her legal battles,— extending through several decades and against a host of adversaries, —she had, with courage unfaltering and patience that knew no shadow of weariness, prosecuted single-handed and alone.

In view of the enormous sums involved, the length of time consumed in the litigation, the number and ability of counsel engaged, and the antagonisms engendered, the records of our American courts will be searched in vain for a parallel to the once famous suit of Myra Clark Gaines against the city of New Orleans.

At the close of this interview, I was soon in conversation with the older of the two ladies. Mrs. Eaton was then near the close of an eventful life, one indeed without an approximate parallel in our history. Four score years ago, there were few persons in the village of Washington to whom "Peggy O'Neal" was a stranger. Her father was the proprietor of a well-known, old-style tavern on Pennsylvania Avenue, which, during the sessions of Congress, included among its guests many of the leading statesmen of that day. Of this number were Benton, Randolph, Eaton, Grundy, and others equally well known. The daughter, a girl of rare beauty, on account of her vivacity and grace soon became a great favorite with all. She was without question one of the belles of Washington.

It was difficult for me to realize that the care-worn face before me was that of the charming Peggy O'Neal of early Washington days. Distress, poverty, slander possibly, had measurably wrought the sad change, but after all,

"the surest poison is Time."

Traces of her former self still lingered, however, and her erect form and dignified mien would have challenged respect in any assembly.

While yet in her teens, she had married a purser in the Navy, who soon after died by his own hand, while on a cruise in the Mediterranean. A year or two after his death, with reputation somewhat clouded, she married the Honorable John H. Eaton, then a Senator from Tennessee. He was many years her senior, was one of the leading statesmen of the day, and had rendered brilliant service in the campaign which terminated so triumphantly at New Orleans. He was the devoted personal and political friend of General Jackson, his earliest biographer, and later his earnest advocate for the Presidency. Indeed, the movement having in view the election of "Old Hickory" was inaugurated by Major Eaton assisted by Amos Kendall and Francis P. Blair.

This was in 1824, before the days of national conventions. Eaton visited several of the States in the interest of his old commander, and secured the hearty co-operation of many of the most influential men. It was in large degree through his personal efforts that the Legislatures of Pennsylvania and Tennessee proposed the name of Andrew Jackson for the great office.

The Presidential contest of that year marked an epoch in our political history. It was at the close of the Monroe administration, "the era of good feeling." The struggle for supremacy which immediately followed was the precursor of an era of political strife which left its deep and lasting impress upon the country. Of the four candidates in the field, two were members of the outgoing Cabinet of President Monroe: John Quincy Adams, Secretary of State, and William H. Crawford, Secretary of the Treasury. The remaining candidates were Henry Clay, the eloquent and accomplished Speaker of the House of Representatives, and Andrew Jackson, "the hero of New Orleans." The candidates were all of the same party, that founded by Jefferson; the sun of the once powerful Federalists had set, and the Whig party was yet in the future.

No one of the candidates receiving a majority of the electoral vote, the election devolved upon the House of Representatives. Mr. Clay being the lowest upon the list, the choice by constitutional requirement was to be made from his three competitors. The influence of the Kentucky statesman was thrown to Mr. Adams, who was duly elected, receiving the votes of a bare majority of the States. The determining vote was given by the sole representative from Illinois, the able and brilliant Daniel P. Cook, a friend of Mr. Clay. The sad sequel was the defeat of Cook at the next Congressional election, his immediate retirement from public life, and early and lamented death.

Not less sad was the effect of the vote just given upon the political fortunes of Henry Clay. His high character and distinguished public services were scant protection against the clamor that immediately followed his acceptance of the office of Secretary of State tendered him by President Adams. "Bargain and Corruption" was the terrible slogan of his enemies in his later struggles for the Presidency and its echo scarcely died out with that generation.

In this connection, the bitter words spoken in the Senate by John Randolph will be recalled: "the coalition between the Puritan and the blackleg." The duel which followed, now historic, stands alone in the fierce conflicts of men. Whatever the faults of Randolph, let it be remembered to his eternal honor, that after receiving at short range the fire of Mr. Clay, he promptly discharged his own pistol in the air. Even after the lapse of eighty years how pleasing these words: "At which Mr. Clay, throwing down his own pistol, advanced with extended hand to Mr. Randolph, who taking his hand quietly remarked, 'You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay,' to which the latter exclaimed, 'Thank God the obligation is no greater!'"

Immediately upon the defeat of Jackson, his friends began the agitation which resulted in his overwhelming triumph over Adams, in 1828. Chief among his supporters in this, as in his former contest, was Major Eaton. The untiring devotion of Jackson to his friends is well known. It rarely found more striking illustration than in the selection of Eaton as Secretary of War, and in the zeal with which he sustained him through good and evil report alike, during later years.

When it became known that Senator Eaton was to hold a seat in the Cabinet of the new administration, the fashionable circles of the capital were deeply agitated, and protests earnest and vehement assailed the ears of the devoted President. The objections urged were not against Major Eaton, but against his beautiful and accomplished wife. Rumors of an exceedingly uncomplimentary character, that had measurably died out with time, were suddenly revived against Mrs. Eaton, and gathered force and volume with each passing day. It is hardly necessary to say that this hostility was, in the main, from her own sex. To all remonstrances and appeals, however, President Jackson turned a deaf ear. The kindness shown by the mother of Mrs. Eaton to the wife of the President during a former residence, and while he was a Senator, in Washington, had never been forgotten. It will be remembered that during the late Presidential contest not only had Jackson himself been the object of merciless attack, but even his invalid wife did not escape. Divorced from her first husband because of his cruel treatment, she had married Jackson, when he was a young lawyer in Nashville, many years before. As the result of the aspersions cast upon her, the once famous duel was evolved in which Charles Dickinson fell by the hand of Jackson in 1806.

After his election, but before his inauguration, Mrs. Jackson died, the victim of calumny as her husband always believed. A few days after he had turned away from that new-made grave, he was in the turmoil of politics at the national capital. With the past fresh in his memory, it is not strange that he espoused the cause of his faithful friend, and the daughter of the woman who had befriended one dearer to him than his own life. Thoroughly convinced of the innocence of Mrs. Eaton, he made her cause his own, and to the end he knew no variableness or shadow of turning.

The new administration was not far upon its tempestuous voyage before the trouble began. The relentless hostility of the leaders of Washington society against Mrs. Eaton was manifested in every possible way. Their doors were firmly closed against her. This, of itself, would have been of comparatively little moment, but serious consequences were to grow out of it. From private parlors and drawing-rooms the controversy soon reached the little coterie that constituted the official family of President Jackson. While this is almost forgotten history now, one chapter of Jackson's biography published soon after the events mentioned, was headed, "Mr. Van Buren calls upon Mrs. Eaton." As is well known, the creed in action of the most suave of our presidents was,

"The statues of our stately fortunes Are sculptured with the chisel, not the axe."

Mr. Van Buren was Secretary of State, and one of the most agreeable and politic of statesmen. He was in line of succession to the great office, and understood well the importance of maintaining his hold upon President Jackson. A widower himself, the call upon which so much stress was laid at the time subjected the Secretary of State to no embarrassment at home. Not so, however, with three of his colleagues in the Cabinet: Mr. Ingham, Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Branch of the Navy, and Mr. Berrien the Attorney-General. The wife of each of these gentlemen refused to return Mrs. Eaton's call, or to recognize her in any possible manner. No remonstrance on the part of the President could avail to secure even a formal exchange of courtesies on the part of these ladies. All this only intensified the determination on the part of the President to secure to the wife of the Secretary of War the social recognition to which he considered her justly entitled, but it would not avail; the purpose of the most resolute man on earth was powerless against a determination equal to his own. Never was more forcibly exemplified the truth of the old couplet:

"When a woman will, she will, you may depend on't, And when she won't, she won't, and there's an end on't."

As to how Mrs. Eaton meanwhile appeared to others, something may be gleaned from the statement of a distinguished gentleman who called at the home of the Secretary of War:

"I went to the house in the evening, and found assembled there a large company of gentlemen who paid assiduous court to the lady. Mrs. Eaton was not then the celebrated character she was destined ere long to be made. To me she seemed a strikingly beautiful and fascinating woman, all graciousness and vivacity—the life of the company."

That the discordant status of the households of the official advisers of the President was the topic of discussion among leading statesmen, may be inferred from the following extract from a letter written at the time by Daniel Webster:

"Mr. Van Buren has evidently, at this moment, quite the lead in influence and importance. He controls all the pages on the back stairs, and flatters what seems to be, at present, the Aaron's serpent among the President's desires, a settled purpose of making out of the lady of whom so much has been said, a person of reputation."

Of curious interest even now, is the closing sentence in Mr. Webster's letter, in which with prophetic ken he forecasts the effect of the Eaton controversy upon national politics: "It is odd enough, but too evident to be doubted, that the consequence of this dispute in the social and fashionable world is producing great political effects, and may very probably determine who shall be successor to the present chief magistrate."

As explanatory of the above quotation, it will be remembered that next to President Jackson, the two most prominent leaders of the dominant party were Vice-President Calhoun and Secretary of State Van Buren. The political forces were even then gathering around one or the other of these great leaders, and there was little question in official circles that the successor to Jackson would be either Van Buren or Calhoun. It was equally certain that the successful aspirant would be the one who had the good fortune to secure the powerful influence of Jackson. Chief among the friends of Calhoun were the Cabinet officers Ingham, Branch, and Berrien. The incumbent of the office of Postmaster-General—now for the first time a Cabinet office—was William T. Barry of Kentucky. He was the friend of Van Buren, and in the social controversy mentioned, he sided with the President and the Secretary of State as a champion of Mrs. Eaton. As to the views of the Vice-President upon the all-absorbing question, we have no information. Not being one of the official advisers of the President, he probably kept entirely aloof from a controversy no doubt in every way distasteful to him.

Meanwhile the relations between Secretary Eaton and his colleagues of the Treasury, Navy, and Department of Justice, became more and more unfriendly, until all communication other than of the most formal official character ceased. The soul of the President was vexed beyond endurance; and as under existing conditions harmony in his official family was impossible, he determined upon a reorganization of his Cabinet. To this end, the resignations of Van Buren, Eaton, and Barry were voluntarily tendered, and promptly accepted. A formal request from the President to Messrs. Ingham, Branch, and Berrien secured the resignation of these three official advisers; and thus was brought about what is known in our political history as "the disruption of Jackson's Cabinet."

The three gentlemen whose resignations had been voluntarily tendered, were, in modern political parlance, at once "taken care of." Mr. Van Buren was appointed minister to St. James, Barry to Madrid, and Eaton to the governorship of Florida Territory. No such good fortune, however, was in store for either Ingham, Branch, or Berrien. Each was, henceforth, persona non grata with President Jackson.

The end, however, was not yet. A publication by the retiring Secretary of the Treasury contained an uncomplimentary allusion to Mrs. Eaton, which resulted first in his receiving a challenge from her husband, and later in a street altercation.

The almost forgotten incidents just mentioned were rapidly leading up to matters of deep consequence. The true significance of the words of Webster last quoted will now appear. A rupture, never yet fully explained, now occurred between President Jackson and Mr. Calhoun. The intention of the former to secure to Mr. Van Buren the succession to the presidency was no longer a matter of doubt.

Van Buren, "the favorite," was meanwhile reposing upon no bed of roses. He was, in very truth, "in the thick of events." His confirmation as Minister was defeated by the casting vote of Vice-President Calhoun, after the formal presentation of his credentials to the Court to which he had been accredited. It was believed that this rejection would prove the death knell to Van Buren's Presidential hopes. But it was not so to be. His rejection aroused deep sympathy, secured his nomination upon the ticket with Jackson in 1832, and for four years he presided over the great body which had so lately rejected his nomination, and as is well known, four years later he was chosen to succeed Jackson as President. Unfortunately for Calhoun, one of the ablest and purest of statesmen, he had incurred the hostility of Jackson, and never attained the goal of his ambition.

During my interview with Mrs. Eaton I said to her, "Madam, you must have known General Jackson when he was President?" "Known General Jackson," she replied, "known General Jackson?" "Oh, yes," I said, "your husband was a member of his Cabinet and of course you must have known him. I would like to know what kind of a man General Jackson really was?" "What kind of a man," replied Mrs. Eaton in a manner and tone not easily forgotten. "What kind of a man—a god, sir, a god." The spirit of the past seemed over her, as with trembling voice and deep emotion she spoke of the man whose powerful and unfaltering friendship had been her stay and bulwark during the terrible ordeal through which she had passed.

Accompanying her that evening to the humble home provided for her by a distant relative, she remarked, "I have seen the time, sir, when I could have invited you to an elegant home." She then said that when Major Eaton died, he left for her an ample fortune but that some years later she unfortunately married a man younger than herself, who succeeded in getting her property into his hands and then cruelly deserted her.

Fiction indeed seems commonplace when contrasted with the story of real life such as this now penniless and forgotten woman had known. Once surrounded by all that wealth could give, herself one of the most beautiful and accomplished of women, her husband the incumbent of exalted official position,—now, wealth, beauty, and position vanished; the grave hiding all she loved; sitting in silence and desolation, the memories of the long past almost her sole companions. When in the tide of time has there been truer realization of the words of the great bard—

"The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, Good and ill together?"



X THE CODE OF HONOR

BLADENSBURG, A PLACE NOTORIOUS FOR DUELS—FRANKLIN'S OPINION OF DUELLING—NOTABLE MEN WHO FELL IN DUELS—FATAL DUEL BETWEEN COMMODORES BARRON AND DECATUR—THE LAST DUEL FOUGHT AT BLADENSBURG—ITS CAUSE A MERE PUNCTILIO—THE WRITER'S INTERVIEW WITH ONE OF THE SECONDS— A DUEL IN REVOLUTION DAYS—GEORGE WASHINGTON DISSUADES GEN. GREENE FROM ACCEPTING A CHALLENGE—GEN. CONWAY, FOR CONSPIRING AGAINST WASHINGTON, WOUNDED BY COL. CADWALLADER—GEN. CHARLES LEE, ANOTHER CONSPIRATOR, WOUNDED BY COL. LAURENS—DUEL BETWEEN CLINTON, "THE FATHER OF THE ERIE CANAL," AND MR. SWARTOUT—THREE NOTABLE REPLIES TO CHALLENGES—THE FATAL DUEL BETWEEN HAMILTON AND BURR —UNHAPPINESS OF BURR'S OLD AGE—DUEL BETWEEN SENATOR BRODERICK AND JUDGE TERRY—A HARMLESS DUEL BETWEEN SENATOR GWIN AND MR. McCORKLE—A MURDER UNDER THE GUISE OF A DUEL—DUELLING BY ILLINOISANS —LINCOLN'S INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE PRELIMINARIES OF HIS DUEL WITH SENATOR SHIELDS.

The very name "Bladensburg" is suggestive of pistol and bullet, savors indeed of human blood. It is associated with tragic events that during successive generations stirred emotions of indignation and horror that have not yet wholly died out from the memories of men. As the words "Baden-Baden" and "Monte Carlo" bring before us the gambler "steeped in the colors of his trade," so the mere mention of Bladensburg calls to mind the duellist, pistol in hand, standing in front of his slain antagonist.

Personal difficulties are now rarely if ever in this country adjusted by an appeal to "the code." The custom, now universally condemned as barbarous, was at an early day practically upheld by an almost omnipotent public opinion. As is well known, in many localities to have declined an invitation to "the field of honor" from one entitled to the designation of a "gentleman" would have entailed not only loss of social position, but to a public man would have been a bar to future political advancement. Thanks to a higher civilization, and possibly a more exalted estimate of the sacredness of human life, the code in all our American States is a thing of the past.

And yet, revolting as the custom now appears, it held its place as a recognized method for the settlement of personal controversies among "gentlemen," to a time within the memories of men still living. The code, a heritage from barbaric times, lingered till it had caused more than one bloody chapter to be written, until it had taken from the walks of life more than one of our most gifted American statesmen.

Truer words were never written than those of Franklin at the time when the code was appealed to for the settlement of every dispute pertaining to personal honor: "A duel decides nothing; the man appealing to it, makes himself judge in his own cause, condemns the offender without a jury, and undertakes himself to be the executioner." And yet, the startling record remains that in the State of New Jersey, one of the ablest and most brilliant of statesmen met death at the hands of an antagonist scarcely less gifted, who was at the time Vice-President of the United States. The survivor of an encounter equally tragic, occurring near the banks of the Cumberland in 1806, was a little more than a score of years later elevated to the Presidency. The valuable life of the Secretary of State during the administration of the younger Adams was saved only by his antagonist magnanimously refusing to return the fire which came within an ace of ending his own life. Thirteen years after the Clay and Randolph duel, a member of Congress from Maine perished in an encounter at Bladensburg with a representative from Kentucky. Sixty-six years ago, a challenge to mortal combat was accepted by one who in later years was twice elected to the Presidency. One of the signers of the Declaration of Independence fell in a duel with an officer of the Colonial army, soon after that great event. There are many yet living who read the startling telegram from the Pacific coast that a Senator from California had fallen in a duel with the Chief Justice of that State, and sad as it is, this dreadful recital might be much farther extended.

While a member of Congress many years ago, in company with Representatives Knott and McKenzie of Kentucky I spent some hours upon the historic duelling ground at Bladensburg, a Maryland village of a few hundred inhabitants, six miles from the city of Washington. Governor Knott pointed out the exact spot where Barron and Decatur stood in the memorable duel in 1820, in which the latter was killed. It is impossible to read the account of this fatal meeting even after the lapse of more than four score years, without a feeling of profound regret for the sad fate of one of the most gallant of all the brave officers the American Navy has known. It was truly said of Decatur: "He was one of the most chivalric men of any age or country." He was one of the little band of naval commanders who by heroic exploits at sea did so much to redeem the American name from the humiliation and disgrace caused by incompetent generalship upon land, in our second war with Great Britain. His encounters with the enemy were of frequent occurrence, and in each instance added new laurels to our little navy. If Commodore Decatur had rendered no other service to his country, that of the destruction of the Algerine pirates would alone entitle him to a place among its benefactors. His skill and daring when in command of our little fleet upon the Mediterranean destroyed forever the power of "the common enemy of mankind," avenged the insult to our flag, and secured for the American name an honored place among the nations of the world.

The tragic death of Decatur—recalling so much of gallant service— has cast a spell about his name. It belongs in the list of immortals, with the names of Sir Walter Raleigh, Captain Lawrence, Lord Nelson, and Oliver Hazard Perry. Cities and counties without number throughout our entire country have been given the honored name of Decatur.

Commodore Barron, too, had known much active service. For an alleged official delinquency, he had been court-martialed near the close of the War of 1812, and sentenced to a suspension of five years from his command. Smarting under this humiliation, he was bitter in his denunciation of all who were in any way concerned in what he regarded an act of flagrant injustice to himself. Chief among the officers who had incurred his displeasure was Commodore Decatur. A protracted and at length hostile correspondence ensued between the two, and this correspondence resulted at length in a challenge from Barron, accepted by Decatur. The latter had repeatedly declared that he bore no personal hostility toward Barron. Before going to the fatal field he told his friend William Wirt—then the Attorney-General of the United States—that he did not wish to meet Barron, and that the duel was forced upon him. When he received the challenge, he assured a brother officer that nothing could induce him to take the life of Barron. In connection with this sad affair, Mr. Wirt—who was untiring in his efforts to effect a reconciliation—has left the record of a conversation with Decatur in which the latter declared his hostility to the practice of duelling, but that he was "controlled by the omnipotence of public sentiment." "Fighting," said he, "is my profession, and it would be impossible for me to keep my station and preserve my respectability without showing myself ready at all times to answer the call of any one who bore the name of gentleman."

The hostile meeting between Barron and Decatur occurred at the place already mentioned, March 22, 1820. The distance was eight paces, the weapons, pistols. Decatur's second was Captain Bainbridge, at a later day a distinguished admiral in our navy. As they took their places at the deadly range, Barron said, "I hope on meeting in another world we will be better friends than in this." To which Decatur replied, "I have never been your enemy, sir." At the word both pistols were discharged, making but a single report. Both combatants fell. Decatur was supported a short distance, and sank down near his antagonist, who was severely—and as it was then supposed, mortally—wounded. Mr. Wirt says:

"What then occurred reminded me of the closing scenes of the tragedy between Hamlet and Laertes. Barron proposed that they should make friends before they met in another world. Decatur said he had never been his enemy, that he freely forgave him his death, but he could not forgive those who had stimulated him to seek his life. Barron then said: 'Would to God you had said that much yesterday.'"

Thus they parted in peace. Decatur knew he was to die, and his only regret was that he had not died in the service of his country.

The last duel fought at Bladensburg was in 1838, between Jonathan Cilley and William J. Graves. The former was at the time a Representative in Congress from Maine, and the latter from Kentucky. In its main features, this duel is without a parallel. It was fought upon a pure technicality. The parties to it never exchanged an unkind word, and were in fact, almost up to the day of the fatal meeting, comparative strangers to each other.

Briefly related, the fatal meeting between Cilley and Graves came about in this wise. In a speech in the House, Mr. Cilley in replying to an editorial in The New York Courier and Inquirer, criticised severely the conduct of its proprietor, James Watson Webb, a noted Whig editor of that day. At this, the latter, being deeply offended and failing to obtain a retraction by Cilley of the offensive words, challenged him to mortal combat. The bearer of this challenge was William J. Graves, a prominent Whig member of the House. Mr. Cilley in his letter to Mr. Graves, in which he declined to receive the challenge of Webb, said: "I decline to receive it because I choose to be drawn into no controversy with him. I neither affirm nor deny anything in regard to his character, but I now repeat what I have said to you, that I intended by the refusal no disrespect to you."

This letter was considered unsatisfactory by Graves, and he immediately sent by his colleague Mr. Menifee, a note to Cilley then in his seat in the House, saying: "In declining to receive Colonel Webb's communication, you do not disclaim any exception to him personally as a gentleman. I have, therefore, to inquire whether you declined to receive his communication on the ground of any personal exception to him as a gentleman or a man of honor." Mr. Cilley declining to give the categorical answer demanded, was immediately challenged by Graves. The challenge was borne by Mr. Wise, a Representative from Virginia. On the same evening, Mr. Jones—then a delegate and later a Senator from Iowa—as the second of Cilley, handed the note of acceptance of the latter to Graves. Bladensburg was designated as the place of meeting, rifles the weapons, the distance eight yards, the rifles to be held horizontally at arm's length down, to be cocked and triggers set, the words to be, "Gentlemen, are you ready?" Some delay was occasioned by the difficulty in procuring a suitable rifle for Mr. Graves. This was at length obviated, as will appear from the following note of Mr. Jones to Mr. Wise: "I have the honor to inform you that I have in my possession an excellent rifle, in good order, which is at the service of Mr. Graves." With every courtesy proper to the occasion rigidly observed, the rifle mentioned, "through the politeness of Dr. Duncan," was sent to Mr. Graves, and the hostile meeting occurred at the designated time, February 24, 1838.

From the report of a special committee of the House of Representatives at a later day appointed to investigate this affair, it appears that Mr. Graves was accompanied to the ground by his second, Mr. Wise, Mr. Crittenden, and Mr. Menifee, two of his colleagues, and Dr. Foltz his surgeon. The attendants of Mr. Cilley were his second, Mr. Jones, Representative Bynum of North Carolina, and Colonel Schoenberg, and Dr. Duncan as his surgeon. The Committee's report then continues in these words:

"Shortly after three o'clock P. M. the parties exchanged shots according to the terms of meeting. Mr. Cilley fired first before he had fully elevated his piece, and Mr. Graves one or two seconds afterwards. Both missed. It is to the credit of both the seconds and to the other gentlemen in attendance, than an earnest desire was then manifested to have the affair terminated, as will appear from the report already mentioned."

Mr. Jones now inquired of Mr. Wise whether Mr. Graves was satisfied, to which Mr. Wise replied: "These gentlemen have come here without animosity toward each other; they are fighting merely upon a point of honor. Cannot Mr. Cilley assign some reason for not receiving at Mr. Graves's hands Colonel Webb's communication, or make some disclaimer which will relive Mr. Graves from his position?" Mr. Jones replied: "While the challenge is impending, Mr. Cilley can make no explanation." Mr. Wise said: "The exchange of shots suspends the challenge, and the challenge is suspended for explanation." Mr. Jones thereupon went to Mr. Cilley, and after returning said:

"I am authorized by my friend Mr. Cilley to say, that in declining to receive the note from Mr. Graves purporting to come from Colonel Webb, he meant no disrespect to Mr. Graves because he entertained for him then as he does now, the highest respect and the most kind feeling; but that he declined to receive the note because he chose not to be drawn into any controversy with Colonel Webb."

The above not being satisfactory to Mr. Graves, and Mr. Cilley declining to make further concession, the challenge was renewed and the parties resumed their positions and again exchanged shots. Mr. Graves fired first, before he had fully elevated his piece; Mr. Cilley about two seconds afterwards. They both missed, although the witnesses then thought from the motions and appearance of Mr. Graves that he was hit. The latter immediately and peremptorily demanded another shot.

The challenge was here again, for the time, withdrawn and another unsuccessful attempt made by the seconds to effect an adjustment. In the light of what was so soon to follow, it is painful to read that all this came about and continued to the bloody end, because Mr. Cilley in substance refused to disclaim that his declination of Webb's challenge was for the reason that he did not consider him a gentleman. His repeated assurance that in doing so, he intended no disrespect to the bearer of the challenge, for whom he entertained the most kindly feelings, strangely enough to us was deemed insufficient.

The challenge being renewed, the parties, after due observance of the formalities as before, confronted each other for the third and last time. And now closes the official report: "the rifles being loaded, the parties resumed their stations, and fired the third time very near together. Mr. Cilley was shot through the body. He dropped his rifle, beckoned to some one near him, and said, 'I am shot,' put both his hands to his wound, fell, and in two or three minutes expired."

What a commentary all this upon "the code of honor"! Upon what appears the shadow of a technicality even, two young men of recognized ability, chosen representatives of the people, confronted each other in continued combat, until death closed the scene, and neither had the slightest feeling of hostility toward the other! This duel, so utterly groundless in its inception and bloody in its termination, was the last fought in Bladensburg. Intense excitement followed the death of the lamented Cilley and public sentiment was deeply aroused against the horrible custom of duelling. But the public sentiment that existed at the time must be taken into account before a too ready condemnation of one of the actors in this fearful tragedy. In announcing the death of Mr. Cilley to the Senate, Mr. Williams of Maine said: "In accepting the call, he did nothing more than he believed indispensable to avoid disgrace to himself, his family, and his constituents."

While the presiding officer of the Senate, a gentleman of small stature and advanced age called upon me and introduced himself as George W. Jones, former Senator from Iowa. I have rarely met a more interesting man. He was then ninety-two years of age, apparently in perfect health, and as active as if, for his exclusive benefit, the hands had been turned back three decades upon the dial. He had been a delegate from the Territory embracing the present States of Iowa and Wisconsin, in the twenty-fifth Congress, when the sessions of the House were held in the Old Hall. Upon the admission of Iowa as a State, he was chosen a Senator, a position he held by successive elections for many years. As delegate, he had been the associate of John Quincy Adams, and as a Senator the contemporary of Benton, Wright, Douglas, Cass, Seward, Preston, Clay, Calhoun, and Webster. He had personally known some of the men whose public life reached back to the establishment of the Government. He had taken part in the discussion of great questions that have left a deep impress upon history. As I listened to his description of the men I have named, and of the momentous events with which their names are associated, he seemed indeed the sole connecting link between the present and the long past.

But what interested me most deeply in the almost forgotten old man before me, was the fact that he was the second of the unfortunate Cilley upon the ill-fated day at Bladensburg. The conversation at length turned to that event, and strangely enough, he manifested no suggestion of embarrassment at its mention. He spoke in the highest terms of Mr. Cilley, as a gentleman of lofty character, of unfaltering courage, of rare gifts, and of splendid promise. It was evident that the passing years had not dimmed his memory of the tragic event, nor lessened his regret at the sad ending of an affair with which his own name is inseparably associated.

The first duel between men of prominence in this country, was that of Gwinett and McIntosh. The fact that one of the parties, Button Gwinett, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence gives it historic interest. He was one of the three delegates from Georgia in the second Continental Congress, and an earnest champion of independence. Six years before, he had emigrated from England, purchased a large tract of land, and devoted himself to agricultural pursuits. Less is known of him, probably, than of any of the signers of the Declaration.

In 1777, he became involved in a bitter personal quarrel with General McIntosh, an officer of the Revolution. Deeply offended at his conduct, Gwinett challenged him to mortal combat. They fought with pistols at a distance of twelve feet, and Gwinett was killed. He is buried at Augusta, Georgia, with his two colleagues in the Continental Congress.

It is now an almost forgotten fact that, but for the wise counsel of his superior officer, Nathaniel Greene, next to Washington the ablest of the American generals, would have been a party to a duel at a time when his services were so greatly in demand. Soon after his transfer to the southern army, Greene was challenged by a captain of his command. Fearing that a declination upon his part would be misunderstood by his brother officers, Greene wrote General Washington a full account of the transaction, concluding: "If I thought my honor or reputation would suffer in the opinion of the world, and more especially with the military gentlemen, I value life too little to hesitate a moment to accept the challenge." The answer of one of the wisest of men possibly saved to our little army one whose loss would have been disastrous to his country at that critical moment. Said Washington:

"I give it as my decided opinion, that your honor and reputation will stand not only perfectly acquitted for the non-acceptance of his challenge, but that your prudence and judgment would have been condemned by accepting it; because if a commanding officer is amenable to private calls for the discharge of his public duty, he has a dagger always at his heart, and can turn neither to the right nor to the left without meeting its point."

The timely words of Washington had the desired effect, and very probably saved General Greene to a brilliant career of usefulness and glory.

One of the most interesting incidents of our Revolutionary history, is what is known as "The Conway Cabal," the attempt to displace Washington from the supreme command and substitute General Horatio Gates in his stead. The latter was then in high favor as the hero of Saratoga and the capturer of the invading army of Burgoyne. In this connection, the prophetic words of the deeply embittered General Charles Lee will be recalled. On his way to take command of the southern army to which he had just been assigned, Gates called upon Lee, then in disgrace and retirement at his home. Both were Englishmen, had known service together in the British army, and were at the time owners of neighboring plantations in what is now Jefferson County, West Virginia. When parting, Lee significantly remarked to this old comrade, "Gates, your Northern laurels will soon be turned into Southern willows." The disastrous defeat at Camden soon thereafter terminated the military career of Gates no less effectually than the timely "curse" of Washington had terminated that of Lee upon his disgraceful retreat at the battle of Monmouth.

The result of the "Cabal" above mentioned was a challenge from Colonel Cadwallader to General Conway, whose name has come down to us associated with the conspiracy to supersede Washington by Gates. In an encounter which immediately followed, Conway was seriously wounded. Believing his wound to be mortal, he called for pen and paper and did much to retrieve his reputation by writing the following letter to Washington:

"SIR: I find myself just able to hold my pen during a few moments and take this opportunity of expressing my sincere grief for having written, said, or done anything disagreeable to Your Excellency. My career will soon be over, therefore justice and truth prompt me to declare my last sentiments. You are in my eyes the great and good man. May you long enjoy the love, esteem, and veneration of these States whose liberties you have asserted by your virtues."

Conway eventually recovered, entered the army of France, and died in its service.

General Charles Lee was indeed a soldier of fortune. A native of England, he held a commission in the British army, and later in that of the King of Italy. As the result of a duel in which he slew an Italian officer, he fled to America, and tendered his services to the Continental Congress just at the beginning of the struggle for independence. He was placed second in command to Washington and was not without supporters for the coveted position of Commander-in-chief. He was from the beginning the enemy of Washington, and deeply resented the fact that his position was subordinate to that of the younger and less experienced officer, for whose ability he expressed great contempt. He was a friend of Gates and one of the chief conspirators in the Conway Cabal. His military career closed at the battle of Monmouth, and from letters that have come to light there is little doubt that he was then in treasonable correspondence with the enemy.

After being deprived of his command at Monmouth, he was challenged by Colonel John Laurens, one of the aides of the Commander-in-chief, because of his denunciation of Washington. The challenge was accepted, and the parties fought with pistols in a retired spot near Philadelphia. Additional interest attaches to this duel from the fact that Colonel Alexander Hamilton of Washington's staff, was the second for Laurens.

At the first fire Lee was wounded, and then, through the interposition of Hamilton the affair terminated. The gratifying narrative has come down to us that, "upon the whole, we think it a piece of justice to the two gentlemen to declare that, after they met, their conduct was strongly marked with all the politeness, generosity, coolness, and firmness, that ought to characterize a transaction of this nature."

The last years of Lee's life were spent at his Virginia plantation. He died in an obscure boarding-house in Philadelphia, in 1782. Upon a visit I made to his Virginia home some years ago, I was shown a certified copy of his will, which contained this remarkable provision:

"It is my will, that I shall not be buried within one mile of any churchyard, or of any Presbyterian or Anabaptist church, for the reason that as I have kept a great deal of bad company in this world, I do not wish to do so in the next."

This country has known few abler or more eminent men than DeWitt Clinton. He was successively Mayor of the city of New York, Governor of that State, a Senator in Congress, and in 1812 an unsuccessful candidate for the Presidency against Mr. Madison. Distinguished as a lawyer and statesman, he is even better known as "the Father of the Erie Canal." His biographer says:

"After undergoing constant, unremitting, and factious resistance, he had the felicity of being borne, in October, 1825, in a barge on the artificial river—which he seemed to all to have constructed —from Lake Erie to the Bay of New York, while bells were rung, and cannon saluted him at every stage of that imposing progress."

In 1803, while in the Senate, Clinton accepted a challenge from General Dayton, a Senator from New Jersey. The ground of the challenge was words spoken by the former in debate. Before the hostile meeting, however, through the interposition of friends a satisfactory explanation upon the part of Clinton resulted in a peaceable adjustment, and the restoration of friendly relations between the two Senators.

An "affair of honor" in which Clinton was engaged one year earlier, was not quite so easily adjusted. This was with a noted politician of that day, John Swartout of New York. The latter was the friend of Aaron Burr, the political and personal enemy of Clinton. Swartout was the challenging party, and the hostile meeting occurred near the city of New York. On the ground, after the parties had been placed in position, Clinton is said to have expressed regret that Burr—the real principal in the controversy—was not before him. History might have run in a different channel had such been the fact.

Three pistol shots were exchanged without effect, at the end of each the second of Clinton demanding of Swartout, "Are you satisfied, sir?" to which the answer was, "I am not." To this, at the third exchange, was added, "neither shall I be until that apology is made which I have demanded of Mr. Clinton." Mr. Clinton declined to sign a paper presented, but declared that he had no animosity against Mr. Swartout, and would willingly shake hands and agree to meet on the score of former friendship. This being unsatisfactory, the fourth shot was promptly exchanged. Fortune, heretofore reluctant to decide between her favorites, now leaned toward the challenged party—Mr. Swartout being struck just below the knee. In reply to the inquiry, "Are you satisfied, sir?" standing erect while the surgeon kneeling beside him removed the ball, he answered, "I am not; proceed." The fifth shot being exchanged, Mr. Swartout's other leg was the recipient of his antagonist's bullet. The voice of the wounded man being still for war, Mr. Clinton here threw down his pistol, declaring he would fight no longer, and immediately retired from the ground. The second of the remaining belligerent now advised his principal to retire also and have his wounds dressed, which certainly seemed reasonable under all the circumstances.

An answer to a challenge that might well stand for a model for all time, was that given during the administration of the older Adams by Mr. Thatcher of Massachusetts, to Blount of North Carolina. The challenge grew out of a heated debate in the House. In reply, Thatcher said in substance, that being a husband and father, his family had an interest in his life, and that he could not think of accepting the invitation without the consent of his wife, that he would immediately consult her, and if successful in obtaining her permission, he would meet Mr. Blount with pleasure. Whereupon Fisher Ames, one of the great men of the day, wittily remarked to a bachelor colleague, "Behold now the advantage of having a wife— God preserve us all from gunpowder!"

The reply of Thatcher was read in the House, causing much merriment and leaving his adversary—

"Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burden of some merry song."

It is hardly necessary to add that at last accounts the consent of Mrs. Thatcher had not been obtained.

It is scarcely remembered that Lord Byron, angered by a bitter criticism, once challenged the poet Southey. Accepting the challenge conditionally, Southey added:

"In affairs of this kind, the participants ought to meet on equal terms. But to establish the equality between you and me there are two things that ought to be done, and a third may also be necessary before I meet you on the field. First, you must marry and have four children—all girls. Second, you must prove that the greater part of the provision which you make for them depends upon you life, and you must be under bond for four thousand pounds not to be hanged, commit suicide, nor be killed in a duel, which are the conditions upon which I have insured my life for the benefit of my wife and daughters. Third, you must convert me to infidelity. We can then meet on equal terms, and your challenge will be cheerfully accepted."

Since the writing of the letters of Junius, nothing probably has appeared equal in invective to the correspondence seventy years ago between Daniel O'Connell and Benjamin Disraeli. The former was at the time a distinguished member of Parliament, and an orator without a peer. Disraeli, at first a supporter of the policy of the great Liberator, had joined the ranks of his enemies, and was unsparing in his denunciation of O'Connell and his party. In his reply O'Connell, after charging his assailant with ingratitude and treachery, concluded as follows:

"I cannot divest my mind of the belief that if your genealogy were traced, it would be found that you are the lineal descendant and true heir-at-law of the impenitent thief who atoned for his crimes upon the cross."

The challenge from Disraeli, which immediately followed, was treated by O'Connell with supreme contempt.

The duel between Hamilton and Burr is of perennial interest to the American people. Both were men of great distinction and splendid talents. Both had been soldiers during the Revolutionary War, and Hamilton was the confidential friend and for a time chief-of-staff of Washington. Burr had been a Senator from New York, and was at the time of the duel Vice-President of the United States. He was one of the recognized leaders of the dominant party, and by many considered the probable successor of Jefferson in the great office. Whatever hopes he might have had for the Presidency were destroyed by his alleged attempt to defeat Jefferson and secure his own elevation by the House of Representatives in 1801. His hostility to Hamilton had its beginning in the opposition of the latter to Burr's aspirations to the Presidency. Differing widely, as Hamilton did, with Jefferson upon important questions then pending, he nevertheless preferred the latter to Burr, and his influence eventually turned the scales—after a protracted struggle —in favor of Jefferson.

The valuable service just mentioned was one of the many rendered by Hamilton. He was the earnest advocate of the adoption of the Federal Constitution, and his papers during that pivotal struggle have justly given him high place in the list of American statesmen. He was the first Secretary of the Treasury, and possibly no man possessed in larger degree the confidence of Washington.

Aaron Burr was the grandson of the great New England minister, Jonathan Edwards, whose only daughter, Edith, was the wife of the Reverend Aaron Burr, an eminent Presbyterian clergyman and President of Princeton College. From all that is known of this gentleman, there can be no doubt that his ability and piety were unquestioned. Edith, his wife, was a woman of rare gifts and one of the loveliest of her sex. The pathetic reference to her in the funeral sermon over Hamilton will be remembered: "If there be tears in Heaven, a pious mother looks down upon this scene and weeps."

Hamilton and Burr were both citizens of New York, the latter, of Albany, the former, of New York City. At the time of the challenge Hamilton held no public office, but was engaged in a lucrative practice of the law. Burr was near the expiration of his term as Vice-President, and was a prospective candidate for Governor of New York. This candidacy was the immediate cause of the correspondence which resulted in the fatal encounter. Four letters passed between Burr and Hamilton prior to the formal challenge. The first was from Burr, and bears date June 18, 1804. In it attention is directed to a published letter of Dr. Cooper containing the words, "General Hamilton and Judge Kent have declared in substance that they look upon Mr. Burr to be a dangerous man, and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government. And I could detail to you a still more deplorable opinion which General Hamilton has expressed of Mr. Burr."

It was to the last sentence that the attention of Hamilton was especially directed by Mr. Van Ness, the bearer of the letter, which closed with the demand upon the part of Burr of "a prompt and unqualified acknowledgment or denial, of the use of any expression which would warrant the assertion of Dr. Cooper."

In his reply the next day Hamilton said:

"I cannot reconcile it with propriety to make the acknowledgment or denial you desire. I will add that I deem it inadmissable on principle to consent to be interrogated as to the justness of the inferences which may be drawn from others, from whatever I may have said of a political opponent in the course of fifteen years' competition. I stand ready to avow, or disavow promptly and explicitly, any precise or definite opinion which I may be charged with having declared of any gentleman. More than this cannot be fitly expected from me; and especially it cannot be reasonably expected that I shall enter into an explanation upon a basis so vague as that which you have adopted. I trust on more reflection, you will see the matter in the same light with me. If not, I can only regret the circumstance, and must abide the consequences."

The immediate response of Burr to the above, after repeating his former demand, contained the following:

"Political opposition can never absolve gentlemen from the necessity of a rigid adherence to the laws of honor and the rules of decorum. I neither claim such privilege, nor indulge it in others."

Hamilton's reply being unsatisfactory, the formal challenge of Burr was soon thereafter handed to him by W. P. Van Ness. The last named was the second of Burr, and Nathaniel Pendleton was the friend of Hamilton.

Some days elapsed after the formal acceptance of the challenge before the fatal meeting. That Hamilton was anxious to avoid the conflict, clearly appears from a perusal of the many publications that immediately followed. A paper he prepared explanatory in character, the second of Burr declined to receive, on the ground that he considered the correspondence closed by the acceptance of the challenge.

It touches our sympathies deeply even after the lapse of a century to read the letter written by Hamilton to his wife to be delivered in the event of his death, in which he states that he has endeavored by all honorable means to avoid the duel which probably he would not survive. He begs her forgiveness for the pain his death would cause her, and entreats her to bear her sorrows as one who has placed a firm reliance on a kind Providence.

A few days before his death, he and Burr were guests at a dimmer given by the Cincinnati Society, of which both were members. Few persons were aware of what was pending, but it was observed that Hamilton "entered with glee into all the gayety of a convivial party, and even sang an old military song." Burr, upon the contrary, was "silent, gloomy, and remained apart."

In his will, written July 9, Hamilton expressed deep regret that his death will prevent the full payment of his debts. He expresses the hope that his children will, in time, make up to his creditors all that may be due them. After tenderly committing to his children the care of their mother, he says, "in all situations you are charged to bear in mind, that she has been to you the most devoted and best of mothers."

The last paper that came from his pen was evidently intended as his vindication to posterity, his appeal to time. In this he says:

"I was certainly desirous of avoiding this interview, for the most cogent reasons. My religious and moral principles are strongly opposed to duelling, and it would give me pain to be obliged 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 am conscious of no ill-will to Colonel Burr distinct from political opposition, which I trust has proceeded from pure and upright motives. Lastly, I shall hazard much and shall possibly gain nothing by the issue of the interview. But it was impossible for me to avoid it."

He candidly admits that his criticisms of Colonel Burr have been severe. He says:

"And on different occasions, I—in common with many others—have made very unfavorable criticisms of the private character of this gentleman. It is not my design to fix any odium on the conduct of Colonel Burr in this case. He may have supposed himself under the necessity of acting as he has done. I hope the grounds of his proceeding have been such as to satisfy his own conscience. I trust, at the same time, that the world will do me the justice to believe that I have not censured him on light grounds, nor from unworthy inducements."

How strangely in the light of history sounds the following: "It is my ardent wish that he, by his future conduct, may show himself worthy of all confidence and esteem, and prove an ornament and blessing to the country."

That some lingering apprehension existed in the mind of General Hamilton that his criticisms of Colonel Burr might not have been altogether generous, appears from the following:

"As well because it is possible that I may have injured Colonel Burr, however convinced myself that my opinions and declarations have been well-founded, as from my general principles and temper in relation to similar affairs, I have resolved, if our interview is conducted in the usual manner, and it please God to give me the opportunity, to reserve and throw away my first fire; and I have thought even of reserving my second fire, and thus giving to Colonel Burr a double opportunity to pause and to reflect."

And then, before laying down his pen for the last time, he struck the keynote to the conduct of many brave men who, like himself, reluctantly accepted a call to "the field of honor." These are his closing words:

"To those who with me, abhorring the practice of duelling, may think that I ought under no account to have added to the number of bad examples, I answer, that my relative situation as well in public as in private enforcing all the considerations which constitute what men of the world denominate honor imposed on me a peculiar necessity not to decline the call. The ability to be in future useful, whether in arresting mischief or effecting good in this crisis of our public affairs which seemed likely to happen, would probably be inseparable from a conformity with public prejudice in this particular."

At seven o'clock in the morning of July 11, 1804, at Weehawken, New Jersey, the fatal meeting took place. After the usual formal salutation, the parties were placed in position by their seconds, ten paces apart, the pistols placed in their hands, and the word being given both fired. General Hamilton instantly fell. The statement subsequently given out by the seconds is as follows:

"Colonel Burr then advanced toward General Hamilton with a manner and gesture that appeared to be expressive of regret, but without speaking turned about and withdrew, being urged from the field by his friends. No further communication took place between the principals, and the barge that carried Colonel Burr immediately returned to the city. We conceive it proper to add that the conduct of the parties in this interview was perfectly proper as suited the occasion."

The surgeon in attendance states that after Hamilton was borne to the barge he observed, "Pendleton knows that I did not intend to fire at him." As they approached the shore he said, "Let Mrs. Hamilton be immediately sent for; let the event be gradually broken to her, but give her hopes." His physician adds:

"During the night his mind retained its usual strength and composure. The great source of his anxiety seemed to be in his sympathy with his half-distracted wife and children. 'My beloved wife and children' was his often used expression, but his fortitude triumphed over his situation, dreadful as it was. Once, indeed, at the sight of his children, seven in number, brought to his bedside together, his utterance forsook him. To his wife he said in a firm voice but with a pathetic and impressive manner, 'Remember, my Eliza, that you are a Christian.' His words and the tone in which they were uttered, will never be effaced from my memory."

After indescribable agony, death came at two o'clock of the day succeeding the duel. Thus, at the age of forty-seven, perished Alexander Hamilton, a great man in any country or time. Cities and counties bear his name in almost every American State. The story of his wondrous life and tragic death will never lose its pathetic interest. His unswerving devotion to the country of his adoption, his untiring efforts in the establishment of the national Government, and his friendship for Washington, which knew no abatement, have given Hamilton honored and enduring place in American history.

As to Burr, the proverb found instant verification that "in duels the victor is always the victim." Had he, instead of Hamilton, fallen on that ill-fated July morning, how changed their possible places in history. A halo has gathered about the name of Hamilton. Monuments have been erected to his memory, his statue has been given high place in the Capitol. The hour of his fall was that of his exaltation.

The self-same hour witnessed the ruin of his antagonist. From the fatal field, unharmed in body, he turned away, henceforth to the followed by the execrations of his countrymen. Past services were forgotten, brilliant talents availed nothing. His desperate attempt to found a rival government by the partial dismemberment of the one he had helped to establish was thwarted, and after years of poverty and misfortune abroad, he returned to die in neglect and obscurity in his own country. As was truly said: "He was the last of his race; there was no kindred hand to smooth his couch, or wipe the death-damp from his brow. No banners drooped over his bier; no melancholy music floated upon the reluctant air."