While looking through some old documents relating to the town of Sharon, I ran across a paper sign by John R. Cobb, the incoming mayor in the 1940s. It was a state law at the time that anyone seeking an elected office in South Carolina had to swear they had never participated in a duel. For the state to go to the length of printing a form and having every winning candidate swear to and sign it clearly shows that the state meant serious business. I found it intriguing and wanted to know what it was about dueling, other than it being an idiotic way of settling a dispute, that caused the state to go so far out of its way to squelch the practice.
The practice of dueling has a lengthy history, beginning in the Middle Ages when men of good breeding met each other face-to-face to settle their differences and keep their honor intact. Pity the younger generation who did not see those wonderful Hollywood productions of the 1950s that brought merry olde England to romantic life and the good guy’s sword or lance always found its evil target.
Eventually, dueling came to America where, surprising enough, the first duel took place in 1621 in the Massachusetts Colony — just one year after the arrival of the pilgrims. I guess in the early days of this country, we hadn’t had time to romanticize the honor thing since this duel was fought not by gentlemen but by two servants. And, it seemed to have lacked drama since both men, armed with swords, drew blood and walked off satisfied. Don’t expect to see this duel replayed in a Hollywood epic.
Both Benjamin Franklin and George Washington condemned the practice of dueling. Franklin called it a “murderous practice,” and our first president said it really decided nothing. Yet, by the turn of the 19th century, dueling had become part of the American culture and would continue to gain popularity for the following 30 years. Once challenged, there was little one could do. If you refused the challenge, you might find your name printed on a hand bill or in a newspaper, declaring him to be a coward.
Perhaps in hopes of taking barbarism out of dueling, a group of Irish codified the rules in 1777, calling them the Code Duello. About 60 years later, in 1838, Governor John Lyde Wilson of South Carolina published the “Code of Honor” as a means to regulate duels. Wilson was governor from 1822 to 1824 and was reputedly involved in several duels.
The most notorious duel in the US is the Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr incident in 1804, the outcome of personal and political differences beginning in 1791. Everything broke loose during that year’s New York gubernatorial race, and finally, the two men found themselves crossing the Hudson early one morning to a dueling field in New Jersey. At least 18 duels had been fought on those grounds between 1700 and 1845. Interestingly, Hamilton wrote on the night before that he was “strongly opposed” to the practice for both religious and political reasons. The outcome of this disagreement was that Hamilton was dead and Burr was indicted for murder by both New York and New Jersey, though acquitted.
Oddly enough, two years earlier, John Swartwout (Burr’s second in the Hamilton duel), challenged De Witt Clinton to a duel, accusing him of slandering his friend, Aaron Burr. The duel was a fiasco, with the men exchanging five rounds. Their seconds advised the men to reconcile, but both refused to surrender. Swartwout was wounded in the thigh and ankle, then Clinton refused to shoot a wounded man and walked off the field.
By the time of the Hamilton-Burr event, dueling was well ensconced in the American culture. Between 1798 and the start of the Civil War, the US Navy lost two-thirds as many officers on the dueling field as in combat.
Dueling declined in the North after the Hamilton-Burr duel but not in the South, where Sir Walter Scott’s novels held sway. Throughout the South, honor was so highly prized that a hot word could be spoken on Friday night, posted on Saturday, with death coming on Sunday. As late as 1864, American humorist Mark Twain and editor of the New York Sunday Mercury narrowly escaped a duel by apologizing to a fellow editor.
Another American favorite, Andrew Jackson, gained a reputation as a formidable duelist until his weapon misfired and he was wounded by Charles Dickinson in 1806. According to the rules, that should have ended the duel. But Jackson pulled the hammer back and coldly pulled the trigger, shooting his opponent between the eyes. Many judged Jackson as a cold-blooded murderer.
By 1850 the US Senate was a hotbed of emotions over the issue of slavery. Missouri senator Thomas H. Benton got into a heated argument with Mississippi senator Henry Foote. Benton, a bull of a man, charged up the isle toward the slightly built Foote, who then drew his pistol. “Let him fire!” shouted Benton. “Stand out of the way and let the assassin fire!” Fortunately, Foote did not fire, but the Senate was a seething morass of anger through the 1850s.
In May 1856 South Carolina senator Andrew Butler attacked Charles Sumner from Massachusetts while discussing whether Kansas should be admitted into the Union as a slave-holding state. Meanwhile, in the House of Representatives, Congressman Preston Brooks (Butler’s kin) was boiling mad at Sumner for slurring his kinsman, and when the Senate adjourned, he beat Sumner into a pulp with his cane.
Three years later, in 1856, Senator David Broderick of California, a power broker for the Democratic Party, was challenged to a duel by a pro-slavery advocate, California Chief Justice David Terry. They met outside the city limits of San Francisco. Broderick had the first shot, but his pistol misfired. Terry placed his bullet in Broderick’s chest, giving him the distinction of being the only US Senator killed in office. Terry was tried and acquitted of murder. In 1889 Terry was gunned down by Supreme Court Justice Stephen Field’s bodyguard, after Terry had confronted the justice in a train restaurant and slapped him.
But the duel that changed everything in South Carolina was between Colonel E.B.C. Cash of Chesterfield and his brother-in-law, Colonel William M. Shannon, of Camden. Both men served in the Civil War, and both were among the state’s aristocracy. Cash was known for his violent temper and Shannon for his questionable financial dealings, but both felt that they needed to defend their honor.
Their story leading up to the duel is indeed a tangled web of kinship and intrigue. The conflict began during the second week of September 1879 when Cash ordered the sheriff of Kershaw County to sell his sister’s land (the wife of Colonel Shannon). While looking through some legal papers, Cash saw a lawyer’s notation in the margin that he interpreted as accusing him of fraud. Although his friends tried to tell him that his brother-in-law did not mean it that way, Cash was not willing to let the insult go, saying, “I’d rather die than to submit to such an insult.”
Situations went from bad to worse until the men met on the field of honor near DuBose Bridge on July 6, 1880. Shannon fired first, wounding Cash, but within seconds, Cash fired. Shannon staggered, was caught by a friend, and died within five minutes. The public and the newspapers deplored Cash’s action, and for 10 days he defied the power of the state to arrest him. In time he was arraigned and charged with murder and came to trial in February 1881. Jurors were deadlocked, and the judge declared a mistrial. He was back in the courtroom later in the year and was acquitted.
One may wonder why South Carolina had no anti-dueling law before the Cash-Shannon duel. The truth is, the state had passed a strict law in 1812 making the practice illegal. Also, the 1868 constitution had a provision barring anyone involved in a duel from holding public office. Over time, law enforcement grew slack toward enforcing the law, but before Cash went to trial for the second time, the General Assembly had tightened the anti-dueling laws.
The old 1940s document with John R. Cobb’s signature, swearing that he had not been involved in a duel was a leftover from former times, long after dueling became irrelevant to society. We might imagine how puzzled the audience would be upon hearing James F. Byrnes in 1951 taking the oath of office of governor of the state and solemnly swearing that he had never been engaged in a duel.
J.L. West – Author
This article and many others found on the pages of Roots and Recall, were written by author J.L. West, for the YC Magazine and have been reprinted on R&R, with full permission – not for distribution or reprint!
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