Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 August 1895 — A BLOODLESS DUEL. [ARTICLE]

A BLOODLESS DUEL.

THE ONE BETWEEN RANDOLPH AND CLAY. After Emptying Their Revolvers the Hew the Great Virginian Made a Friend. The sanguinary encounter between Jackson and Dickinson finds a curious contrast in the picturesque meeting of Henry Clay and John Randolph, of Roanoke. Clay and Randolph were easily the leading orators of the land. Clay surpassed in beauty of tone, grace of person and a charm of magnetic manner, likened by some who knew both, to that gift of making and rivetting friends possessed by Blaine in our day. Randolph, on the other hand, had a repellent manner—a kind of lashing attitude, as if Congress were a plantation gang of refractory slaves and he their overseer. His voice too, was very shrill and piercing, a cross of squeak and shriek . But in bitterness of wit, in subtle ingenuity of insult, in the Hebrew prophet rapture of rhetorical invective, in fertility of intellectual resources, the result of a sholarship wider than most men then acquired, he was far above his rival. The cause of this duel, like the majority of those fought at that period, wa9 political. Randolph was a kind of Southern mugwump—a man self centered and liable to vote on any side of q question. He was nominally of the same party as Clay, a Whig, but he rarely missed a chance to air his superb contempt for party ties. “Hamilton, I have made up my mind to receive Clay’s fire without returning it. Nothing shall induce me to harm a hair of his head. I cannot make his wife a widow and his children orphans.” Hamilton naturally expostulated with his principal for such a decision, and went away to communicate it, as in duty bound, to the other second, Colonel Tatnall. The latter said, emphatically: ‘‘Mr. Randolph, if you persist in your absurd purpose, you must choose some other second. I’ll be double-damned, sir, if I go out with any man who is bent on committing suicide.” • “Well, Tatnall,” said Randolph, coaxingly, as the colonel rose to go, “I promise you one thing. If I see the devil in Clay’s eye and feel that he means to take my life I may change my mind.” When the duelists arrived that afternoon on the ground the sun was just setting behind the blue hills of Randolph’s native State, the river was murmuring its placid song and all the pleasant noises of a rural evening were beginning. Glancing at his tali opponent, for Clay, like Jackson, was a man unusually slender and lofty in figure, Randolph remarked to Hamilton: , “Clay is calm, but not vindictive. I hold to my purpose in any event.’ Randolph, always very eccentric in his personal attire, had been driven in his chariot to this meeting in a long dressing gown. What a queer figure he must have cut as he stood with the last rays of the setting sun lighting up his flowered and embroidered robe! Just before the word was given, his pistol, which he held muzzle downward, went off. Whereupon General Jesup, Clay’s chief second, angrily shouted: “If that occurs again I will take my principal away from the field.” “Nay, nay,” said Clay, bowing courteously, “I am sure it was an accident.” Randolph bowed in return. The pistol was reloaded. The word was again given. Clay’s bullet whistled through one of the folds of Randolph’s dressing gown. Randolph quietly raised his pistol, looked Clay in the face for a moment and then fired it above his hoad. Clay, greatly affected, with swimming eyes and a trembling voice, rushed forward and, seizing Randolph in his arms, exclaimed : “I trust in God, my dear sir, that you are untouched. After what has happened, I would not harm you for a thousand worlds.” Randolph returned the embrace, and thus the belligerents parted,Clay remounting his horse and galloping back to Washington. The whole country was overjoyed at the escape of both of these men from any fatal effects, for Clay was in the high noOn of that glorious popularity which, even though he lost the Presidency, can never be said to have reached a sunset, while Randolph, though not loved, was immensely admired as an intellectual giant and a man of rare personal character. He died seven years later; ahd just before this event, as he was driving through Washington on liis way to Philadelphia, in a chariot drawn by four blooded horses, each of a different color, he partly rose from the pillows that propped him and directed his course to be diverted to the Senate.

There his servant laid the sick man on a sofa, and presently it so happened that Clay began to speak. As the sound of his old opponent’s oratory roused the feeble, failing senses of Randolph, he cried : “Raise me up! Quick, raise me up! I wish to hear that matchless voice ofice more.’’ This period in American history is noted for many singular duels and attempts at dueling. In New Orleans Pauline Prue and Hippolyte l’hrouet fought at “The Oaks,” placed back to back at five paces, with agreement to turn and fire on the word. Both were killed. In 1823 Colonel Graves challenged Captain Lacy, of Virginia, to draw lots as to which should make a choice of two cups, one containing water and the other poison. Captain Lacy refused. In 1880 Lanusse and Marigny met at Xew Orleans, and after firing the charges of two pistols, attacked each other with their swords. Both were severely wounded, and Marigny died while being carried from the field. A still more savage duel occurred in the same year near Philadelphia, between two doctors, Jeffries and Smith. They were placed at eight >aces. The first fire was a mutual niss. At the second Smith was wounded a the arm. Then they advanced two laces, and at the third fire Jeffries •calved a bullot in the thierh. They

again advanced and at the fourth fire both fell. When Jeffries was informed that Smith was dead, he said quietly: “Then lam willing to die, too,” and almost immediately followed. In 1885 the legislative assembly of Mississippi enacted the singular law for the discouragement of the duello, that in event of fatal result to one the survivor should pay all the debts of the victim. For public opinion he had the unconcealed disdain of an oriental potentate; for the opinion of John Randolph a profound respect. That he made a bow to himself every time he happened to glance at a looking glass, as one satirist remarks, is by no means improbable— at least, is quite possible. He plunged into debate at every opportunity. As the strong man delights to exercise his thews and sinews, the man of rare mental powers is nearly always tempted to exhibit them—to be an intellectual gladiator. He had shaken and snapped the whiplash of his tongue over Clay’s back years before, when Clay was championing the war of 1812, to which Randolph was opposed. But when the election of 1824 was thrown into the House of Representatives and Henry Clay, fearing the preponderance of the soldier over the civilian in our national scheme of government, threw all his influence into the scale against General Andrew Jackson and in favor of Adams, the rage of Randolph broke all bounds. When the great Virginian fulminated his dreadful billingsgate through the august Senate men who loved Harry Clay shivered. They knew he would send a challenge, and he was an indifferent marksman, while Randolph was accounted one of the best, if not the very best, in Virginia. Tho night before the duel General Hamilton called on Randolph and found him in & calm mood, quite disposed to be communicative and somewhat senti-mental-remorseful, perhaps, for his conduct toward Clay. After awhile Randolph said: