Affairs of Honor

Duels, or “affairs of honor,” were common in nineteenth century Louisiana because a man’s reputation meant everything. If one gentleman called into question another’s honesty, integrity or bravery, an apology was immediately demanded.

If the aggrieved party was not satisfied, a challenge was issued. The challenge was usually accepted, even by those who did not believe in dueling, because to decline could be interpreted as cowardice.

Once the challenge was accepted, the two duelists picked a relative or good friend to be their “seconds.” One of the primary duties of a second was actually to avoid the duel. Often, after the initial anger had passed, the seconds were able to work out an apology or explanation that satisfied the challenger and the matter was dropped. If not, the seconds arranged the duel and chose a neutral party to direct the proceedings.

Traditionally, the challenged party had the right to choose the weapons, place, time, and details of the duel. During the eighteenth century, swords were often used because of French and Spanish influences, but pistols generally replaced them by the nineteenth century.

Despite what is portrayed in movies, duelists rarely stood back-to-back to take ten steps, turn and fire. While the details could vary, typically the men faced one another at an agreed upon distance with pistols in hand, ready to fire at a given signal.

If no one was hit after shots were exchanged, the men could shake hands and agree that honor had been satisfied and the duel was over. However, a duelist could also insist that they keep firing until someone was hit.

Public figures, such as politicians, newspaper editors, and judges, were often dragged into affairs of honor. Even William C. C. Claiborne, Louisiana’s first governor, fought a duel against a political rival in 1807 and was shot in the thigh.

Vidalia Judge Barnabus G. Tenney was killed in an 1841 duel with Charles N. Rowley. Mrs. Rowley, the daughter of Judge Tenney’s business partner, had sued her husband for divorce in Tenney’s court and won the judgment. Furious at the judge, Rowley issued a challenge. Judge Tenney’s friends advised him to ignore it because Tenney’s reputation was such that no one would think the less of him, but the judge felt duty bound to face Rowley.

Each man was armed with a rifle, two pistols and a bowie knife. They faced each other at sixty paces and at a given signal were to begin shooting and walking towards one another. If no one was hit by gunfire, they were to fight to the death with their knives.

Witnesses reported that Rowley took a few steps before firing his rifle, hitting Tenney in the chest. Tenney collapsed and muttered, “I am dying. Good bye.” Tenney, who never stepped forward, had told friends that he was going to allow Rowley one shot, thinking that he would miss and be satisfied.

In 1874, politics led to a duel in St. James Parish after a dispute among Republican Party delegates at a parish convention ended in a wild melee. Oddly, Dr. Charles Gray, who served in the legislature, and D. J. Richard, a deputy sheriff, were not even involved in the convention. They inserted themselves into the dispute afterwards and things quickly got out of hand.

Gray and Richard met at the appointed time armed with six shooters. The two men were to stand fifteen paces apart, right sides facing each other, and open fire at the given signal. Both missed the first shot and agreed to a second. They missed that time, as well, and the seconds argued that honor had been satisfied and the duel could end. Dr. Gray, however, insisted that the men continue to shoot until one or both were hit. On the third shot, both men were struck under their right arm pit. Dr Gray died immediately and Richard followed a minute or two later.

One of the most ludicrous affairs of honor in Louisiana history occurred in 1817. Bernard Marigny and James Humble served in the Louisiana legislature representing New Orleans and Catahoula Parish, respectively. Marigny belonged to one of the state’s oldest and most prestigious families; Humble was a huge seven-foot-tall blacksmith.

During the legislative session, Humble criticized one of Marigny’s speeches, causing the prickly Marigny to take offense and challenge Humble to a duel. Humble told his friends that he knew nothing about dueling and would not accept the challenge but changed his mind when his friends pointed out that he would be branded a coward if he did so. Humble’s friends also explained that since he was the challenged party, he had the right to choose the weapons and place.

Humble accepted Marigny’s challenge and chose six feet of Lake Pontchartrain water, armed with sledge-hammers. Marigny stood about five feet, eight inches tall. The proud Creole had a good laugh and apologized, declaring that he could not possibly fight a man with such a great sense of humor. The two went on to become good friends.

Dr. Terry L. Jones is a professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe. For an autographed copy of “Louisiana Pastimes,” a collection of the author’s stories, send $25 to Terry L. Jones, P.O Box 1581, West Monroe, LA 71294.