"What's up, Raymond?" asked the lads as soon as they had gone below to the steerage where they swung their hammocks. "Did Bainbridge have a row, after all? What's going to happen?"

"Don't ask me," was the reply; "you know as much as I do." Raymond concluded that it was best to keep mum on the subject, and with this he tumbled into his hammock.

Bainbridge waited up on deck for half an hour. He had not the least idea what was going to be done with him. But he was grieving bitterly.

If he did not meet the Englishman, he was disgraced,--his name was known, "he owed it to the honor of the service"; for that was the way the code was established. But how could he have disobeyed the order of Decatur to proceed on board ship? That would have been impossible, also. Yet, strange to say, he did not regret his action, and he had not once felt a thrill of fear. True, Tyler was a noted man-killer, but that did not worry Bainbridge in the least. He may have been a fatalist, but that was not the only reason: he knew without bragging that he was a good shot.

Suddenly he heard some one approaching. He lifted his despondent head out of his hands. Was he going to be called into the cabin to take a rating from the fiery tongue of the Commodore. Could he stand that!

"Mr. Bainbridge."

"Yes, sir."

"Commodore Preble's orders are for me to go on sh.o.r.e to-morrow at seven thirty in the morning. By the way, you will go with me----"

"Oh, thank you, sir," interrupted the midshipman, his voice breaking; "thank you."

"I shall attend to everything, if you will allow me the honor."

Bainbridge put out his hand; Decatur took it without a word.

The next morning, on a narrow stretch of beach, there was a curious little gathering, or, better, two separate groups: one composed of five men talking together, and at a few paces' distance two silent figures.

The five men were conversing in whispers.

"Nevertheless, I intend doing it," said the tall slender man who was in the centre. "Do you see the b.u.t.ton at his throat? A Yankee more or less does not count."

"Are you ready, gentlemen?"

The others stepped back, and there stood two tall figures fronting one another: each held a long heavy pistol in the right hand. The faces of the men were pale, but the midshipman was just as cool as his experienced opponent; a determined gleam was in his light blue eyes.

The officer who had last spoken began counting, and then there came a flash and one report. The pistols had been discharged at the same instant.

Bainbridge reeled slightly, and pa.s.sed his hand about his throat.

"I am all right," he said calmly.

"Thank G.o.d! Then let's be off," was Decatur's sole return.

Lying on the sand was Tyler "the dead shot," the surgeon fumbling at his chest. Decatur and the midshipman raised their hats as they pa.s.sed by.

So much for the first duel; now for the sequel. In this modern day we can scarcely imagine the complaisant att.i.tude a.s.sumed by press and public towards such happenings as this. Were they less careful of human life, or did they view matters in such a different light that their perceptions were altogether blunted? No, not that exactly; many men fought duels who did not believe in the resort to arms at all. They were compelled to by the deluded custom of the times. Few men were _brave_ enough to refuse a challenge. But one thing, a man who was known to have figured on the field of honor, sooner or later found himself there again, and generally it was once too often.

The second duel to be told about here, has a slight connection with the first, and yet belongs more properly to history. Commodore William Bainbridge, who was one of Decatur's most intimate friends, was grateful indeed for the manner in which he had stood by his brother, and when Decatur stood in need of some one to do the same thing by him, it was but natural that he should turn to Bainbridge.

But now to get back to history: Stephen Decatur had, against his will, been one of the members of the court martial that had sentenced Commodore Barron to suspension from the navy for five years because of the affair of the _Chesapeake_ and the _Leopard_. Barron had gone abroad, and was in England when the War of 1812 was declared. His period of suspension ended shortly after the declaration, but he did not return to America until over a year had elapsed; and then presenting himself without explanation, he demanded the command of an important ship. Decatur used every effort to prevent his securing active employment, taking the ground, as he explained in a letter written to Barron himself, that the latter's conduct "had been such as to forever bar readmission into the service." He disclaimed any feeling of personal enmity, but was firm in his opposition. For years this was the state of affairs; the correspondence between Barron and Decatur grew more bitter and ironical, and at last it culminated thus:--

Writes Barron on the sixteenth of January, 1820, dated Norfolk:--

SIR: Your letter of the 29th ultimo, I have received. In it you say that you have now to inform me that you shall pay no further attention to any communications that I may make to you, other than a direct call to the field; in answer to which I have only to reply that whenever you will consent to meet me on fair and equal grounds, that is, such as two honorable men may consider just and proper, you are at liberty to view this as that call. The whole tenor of your conduct to me justifies this course of proceeding on my part. As for your charges and remarks, I regard them not, particularly your sympathy. You know no such feeling. I cannot be suspected of making the attempt to excite it.

I am, sir, yours, etc.,

JAMES BARRON.

To this, Decatur replied as follows:--

WASHINGTON, Jan. 24, 1820.

SIR: I have received your communication of the 16th, and am at a loss to know what your intention is. If you intend it as a challenge, I accept it, and refer you to my friend, Commodore Bainbridge, who is fully authorized to make any arrangements he pleases as regards weapons, mode, or distance.

Your obedient servant,

STEPHEN DECATUR.

And so the fatal meeting was arranged. Captain Elliot, Barron's representative, and Bainbridge chose Bladensburg, a beautiful spot within driving distance of the Capitol, as the duelling ground. Letters describing contemporary events give such vivid pictures of past scenes, that it is well to quote entire the letter of Samuel Hambleton, one of Decatur's closest friends, who was present. This letter was written shortly after the meeting had taken place.

WASHINGTON, March 22, 1820.

... This morning, agreeably to his request, I attended Commodore Bainbridge in a carriage to the Capitol hill, where I ordered breakfast at Beale's hotel for three persons. At the moment it was ready, Commodore Decatur, having walked from his own house, arrived and partook of it with us. As soon as it was over he proceeded in our carriage towards Bladensburg. At breakfast he mentioned that he had a paper with him that he wished to sign (meaning his will), but that it required three witnesses, and as it would not do to call in any third person for that purpose he would defer it until we arrived at the ground. He was quite cheerful, and did not appear to have any desire to take the life of his antagonist; indeed, he declared he would be very sorry to do so. On arriving at the valley half a mile short of Bladensburg we halted and found Captain Elliot standing in the road on the brow of the hill beyond us. Commodore Bainbridge and myself walked up and gave him the necessary information, when he returned to the village. In a short time Commodore Barron, Captain Elliot, his second, and Mr. Lattimer arrived on the ground, which was measured (eight long strides) and marked by Commodore Bainbridge nearly north and south, and the seconds proceeded to load. Commodore Bainbridge won the choice of stands, and his friend chose that to the north, being a few inches lower than the other.

On taking their stands, Commodore Bainbridge told them to observe that he should give the words quick--"Present; one, two, three,"

and they were not, at their peril, to fire before the word "one"

nor after the word "three" was p.r.o.nounced. Commodore Barron asked him if he had any objections to p.r.o.nouncing the words as he intended to give them. He said he had not, and did so.

Commodore Barron, about this moment, observed to his antagonist that he hoped, on meeting in another world, they would be better friends than they had been in this; to which Commodore Decatur replied, "I have never been your enemy, sir." Nothing further pa.s.sed between them previous to the firing. Soon after Commodore Bainbridge cautioned them to be ready, crossed over to the left of his friend, and gave the words of command precisely as before; and at the word "two" they both fired so nearly together that but one report was heard.

They both fell nearly at the same instant. Commodore Decatur was raised and supported a short distance, and sank down near to where Commodore Barron lay; and both appeared to think themselves mortally wounded. Commodore Barron declared that everything had been conducted in the most honorable manner, and told Commodore Decatur that he forgave him from the bottom of his heart. Soon after this, a number of gentlemen coming up, I went after our carriage and a.s.sisted in getting him into it; where, leaving him under the care of several of his intimate friends, Commodore Bainbridge and myself left the grounds, and, as before agreed to, embarked on board the tender of the _Columbus_ at the Navy Yard. It is due to Commodore Bainbridge to observe that he expressed his determination to lessen the danger to each by giving the words quick, with a hope that both might miss and that then their quarrel might be amicably settled.

SAMUEL HAMBLETON.

Commodore Bainbridge told of hearing the following conversation as Decatur and Barron lay beside each other bleeding on the ground.

"Barron," said the Commodore, "we both, I believe, are about to appear before our G.o.d. I am going to ask you one question. Answer it if you feel inclined.... Why did you not return to America upon the outbreak of hostilities with England?"

Barron was suffering great agony, but he turned and spoke clearly in a low tone. "Decatur, I will tell you what I expected never to tell a living man. I was in an English prison for debt!"

"Ah, Barron," returned Decatur, "had I known that, had any one of your brother-officers known it, the purse of the service would have been at your disposal, and you and I would not have been lying here to-day."

"Had I known you felt thus," answered Barron, "we would have no cause to be here."

Sad words these, sad unfortunate words, because they came too late.

Poor Decatur! he died at half past ten o'clock that night. When he was struck by the ball which lodged in his abdomen, he is said to have spoken thus, "I am hurt mortally, and wish that I had fallen in defence of my country." Yes, that was his great sorrow; he saw the uselessness of it all.

So much for the code duello, so much for false pride and extreme ideas of what should touch one's honor. Can we think that such things really happened, and so short a time ago! Have we not reason to rejoice that it is all over? That people no longer start at the sound of shots in shady lanes, run across tragedies on lawns or in tavern courtyards?

There is just another word or so to add that points a stronger moral and rounds up the chapter: Joseph Bainbridge fell also in a duel. He, alas, had many of them; but like all the rest, there was a last one.

The public mourned many times because good men were lost for causes in which the nation had no interest and that could have been pa.s.sed by with a wave of the hand. A sad history that of "the field of honor."