That affair of honor on Hicacal Point in July, 1898, just missed being notable as the 99th and last duel of our Navy. It also had the interesting international aspects, since the quarrel arose from criticism by a Spanish officer of methods pursued by our naval forces in the capture of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The challenger, the late Rear Admiral (then Lieutenant) Edwin A. Anderson was the embodiment of the highest type of Southern gentleman. His scrupulous rectitude and high ethical standards were combined with exemplary courtesy. That none exceeded his courage had been well proven only a few months earlier in the cable-cutting enterprise in open boats under heavy fire at close range near Cienfuegos.
Anderson was fully aware that giving a challenge to and participation in a duel were both forbidden by law and the basic “Articles” for the government of the Navy. But it suited his purpose to interpret these interdictions as applying “to the satisfaction of personal insults, and not ones directed at your country.” Unquestionably he was confronted with a sufficient provocation to warrant a liberal interpretation of the legal restraints. A taunt was thrown in his face with sinister implications, by a quotation from the Spanish Minister of Marine that “Better honor without ships than ships without honor.” Can the reader imagine a Southern gentleman taking that—law or no law?
Moreover the circumstances leading to the affront were amply indicative of premediated malicious intent. Following out naval victory off Santiago, July 3, 1898, the American Army pressed its attack on the city. On July 16 the Spanish general agreed to a protocol whose terms covered all military and naval forces in the vicinity, including those in and about Guantanamo Bay. Pending negotiation of a treat of peace there was to be an armistice during which the status quo respecting armed forces was to be preserved.
Immediately upon receipt of this news Captain McCalla, in command of our naval base at Guantanamo Bay, communicated it under a flag of truce to the commander of the Spanish gunboat Sandoval. Since early in the campaign, this tiny craft of only 100 tons had operated in the extensive shallow waters of the upper bay, protected by shoals as well as by mines in the narrows between the upper and lower bays. Her escape was cut off by McCalla’s forces, which had landed Marines and gained control of the lower bay which had then been used as a base for our fleet in its blockade of nearby Santiago.
Lieutenant Anderson met with a cold and stony reception from the haughty Spaniards when he boarded the Sandoval under flag of truce. They were incredulous of the news and suspicious of a “Yankee trick.” Anderson delivered a copy of the protocol terms and a formal notice from McCalla, on his flagship Marblehead, that the Captain of the Sandoval would be held responsible for the security of that vessel during the armistice. It was before the days of radio, and the Spaniards had no means of confirming the news of the protocol because a Cuban army was interposed between Guantanamo and Santiago. McCalla therefore offered water transportation to Santiago for Spanish officers so that they might confirm the news and receive instructions from their General at Santiago. This offer was accepted.
In the interregnum, while awaiting return of the Spanish officers sent to Santiago, Lieutenant Anderson on board the Marblehead received a message that the Captain of the Sandoval would like to confer with him again. Accordingly Anderson once more proceeded on board the gunboat, this time to be received with a show of courtesy which soon developed into subtle, studied insolence.
With “wretched taste” the Spanish officer was first critical of the burning of the ramshakle Cuban village at Fisherman’s Point. This had been ordered by Captain McCalla immediately after he had landed Marines there in the initial amphibious assault to capture Guantanamo Bay, more than a month previously. In reply Anderson patiently explained. The measure “was necessary on account of the reported presence of yellow fever in the village, and to prevent the consequent danger of contagion to our landing forces.”
The Spaniard claimed to have given a considerable sum of money to the poor people as compensation for the loss of their homes.
“I will double the amount of money you say you gave these poor people,” replied Anderson.
Shrugging this off, the gunboat captain switched to criticism of “the great expenditure of ammunition in unnecessary bombardments by the American Squadron.” It was true that McCalla had been lavish with gun fire from the ships in close support of our outnumbered troops ashore, but this was a military expedient amply justified by the circumstances. However, Anderson scarcely felt called upon to make any such explanation and rather jocularly said “it was simply target practice.”
Then the Spanish officer became provocatively personal in manner and words. “American honor is not the same as Spanish,” he remarked. “My Minister of Marine has said ‘Better honor without ships than ships without honor’.”
For high-spirited Anderson this was beyond the limits of tolerance.
“Sir,” said he, “if you think that Spanish honor is so superior to American, you may meet me at Hicacal Point tomorrow evening and we will put it to a test.”
The unmistakable challenge was accepted with stiff-legged alacrity. As a second, the gunboat captain named a Spanish artillery officer, then present. The latter proposed American Navy revolvers as weapons, Anderson to furnish them, which the American promptly agreed to.
The sandy wastes of Hicacal Point lay convenient to the anchorage of the American Squadron. Ashore the whole vicinity was under Spanish control, and 250 of their troops were known to be stationed there as a guard to prevent our sweeping of their under-water mines. Thus the scene designated by Anderson for the proposed duel afforded ample security against treachery for the Spanish officer. But to make this condition doubly certain Anderson “made it perfectly clear” that he would issue instructions that should he be killed or wounded, the Spaniard “would be permitted to go clear by our men.” With this final declaration Lieutenant Anderson haughtily departed forthwith.
Upon returning to the Marblehead Anderson kept the whole matter “top secret” from everyone except the officer who agreed to act as his second. This secrecy applied especially to Captain McCalla, because otherwise the Marblehead’s commanding officer would be placed in a most embarrassing position. For him to countenance the affair would make him responsible for a flat violation of law and Navy Regulations. Therefore McCalla would probably forbid the duel, which would defeat Anderson’s firmly determined purpose.1
It is not of record how Anderson contrived to slip ashore secretly from the Marblehead to keep his blood-letting appointment. Somehow he managed to surmount those difficulties, only to face an all night vigil alone on the deserted shore. He had been in doubt as to the propriety of taking along a second. In arranging the matter on board the Spanish gunboat, when the artillery officer was named by the Spaniard as his second, “there was nothing said about this artillery officer acting as mutual second,” wrote Anderson. “But as the time was limited and I did not wish to even chance a failure to be there at the appointed time, I got no second the first night.”
All night he waited alone, in dreary desolation. For company he had only the two revolvers which he had agreed to furnish, together with the glorious tropic stars and probably a moon. With relentless determination this vigil was vainly repeated on the two succeeding nights, but on these latter occasions Anderson took “a friend” ashore with him as a second.
Perhaps the Spanish gunboat captain had an alibi for his failure to appear to put Spanish honor to the test, as challenged. It will be recalled that McCalla had given transportation to Santiago for three Spanish officers, in order that they might confer with the Commanding General there and thus obtain confirmation of the surrender, and of the terms of the armistice. These three emissaries returned to Guantanamo on one of our transports during the evening of the duelling appointment. McCalla allowed them to go ashore almost immediately. As subsequent events proved, their confirmation of the general surrender news, or perhaps the anticipation of it, decided the higher command at Guantanamo Bay to scuttle the gunboat Sandoval. She was taken into deep water during darkness and there sunk in violation of the armistice terms before American authorities could take custody of her. On this treacherous mission her captain may have been too fully occupied to permit keeping his tryst with Anderson on the duelling ground. Some weeks later the vessel was raised by the officers and crew of the Marblehead and duly commissioned in the U. S. Navy, with Lieutenant Anderson in command.
Meanwhile, however, the redoubtable Anderson had shamed and disgraced his intended antagonist. After the abortive duelling episode the Sandoval's captain had “the audacity,” wrote Anderson, “to send word to me that he wanted to see his friend Mr. Anderson. I sent him word, by the Army officer who delivered the message, that I was coming ashore and that if he dared to speak to me I would slap his face.” Accordingly Anderson went ashore “with two of the Marblehead's officers and walked up to him while he was seated at a table in a cafe near the wharf. But he only rolled his eyes at me but he did not speak.”
Oldtimers about Guantanamo Bay will well recall the lone so-called café near the wharf, with its numerous tables and uniformed crowd of habitués imbibing many assortments of libations. In this public setting was the Spaniard shamed, even though avoiding having his face slapped. “I was informed by the cable operator at Caimanera,” wrote Anderson, “that our friend(?) had lost caste, and had been cut by all the other Spanish officers because of the facts leaking out, probably through his second.”
But for the Spaniard’s want of courage, or possibly his preoccupation with scuttling the Sandoval, that affair of honor on Hicacal Point would have been the 99th duel of record in our Navy. However several that are not of record are fairly well certain to have taken place. Not until 1862 was duelling forbidden by law, but the sharp decline of the practice to small proportions had begun several decades before that time. This reform came from within the service itself, prompted by sentiment against the barbarous custom. The last encounter of record was in 1850, between Lieutenant (“Lion-hearted”) Flusser and an unknown antagonist at Rio de Janeiro.
Hot-headed midshipmen were by far the most numerous principals in the duels of the Service. Many of them were very young, and in their adolescent world a trivial quarrel was often distorted into major proportions. One’s honor was easily affronted and one’s courage had to be well proven. Some of the juvenile origins of “pistols for two” were: a midshipman being censured by another for entering the mess-room with his cap on his head; one midshipman referring to another as a “boot-lick” and “curry-favorer”; one midshipman objecting to the opening of a scuttle by another; or a midshipman having sand sprinkled on a letter he was writing, and resenting the act by throwing ink on the new waistcoat of the offender.
Even among older officers trivialities were not unfrequently the origin of serious duels. An outstanding case of this occurred in 1800 when the afterwards famous Lieutenant Richard Somers challenged five or six officers to fight him in immediate succession—all on the same day—and they all accepted. This blood-thirsty affair began when Lieutenant Stephen Decatur good-humoredly called his warm friend Somers a “fool” within the hearing of the other five or six. Somers took no offense at the well-intentioned remark of his close chum. The others subsequently refused to drink wine with Somers, and when he asked for an explanation they told him it was because of his failure to resent Decatur’s insult. And so Somers challenged the whole lot.
As Somer’s second, Decatur attempted to compose the differences without a duel, but Somers would not agree, and insisted on carrying the matter through. The first antagonist wounded Somers in the right arm, and the next one wounded him in the thigh. Loss of blood so weakened Somers that he could not stand readily, and Decatur vainly tried to take his place to continue the fighting. Instead Somers fought the third duel from a sitting posture, supported by Decatur, and thus succeeded in wounding his opponent. The challenged party were now sufficiently convinced of Somer’s courage to make it possible to dispense with the two or three duels which were scheduled to follow, there and then.
Like Anderson’s affair at Hicacal Point in 1898, many duels resulted from disputes over the conduct of officers in warfare operations. Three such duels occurred in 1807 as an aftermath of the Chesapeake and Leopard incident. The embers of controversy over this disgrace to our Navy glowed for many years. It was the origin of the most celebrated of all of our duels—that between Commodores Decatur and Barron in 1820, when the former was killed on the famous duelling ground at Bladensburg, in the suburbs of Washington.
Another feud that raged for many years arose from the Battle of Lake Erie. The failure of the Niagara (Captain Elliot) to get into early action was afterwards severely criticised by Commodore O. H. Perry and many others. On this account two duels between junior officers were fought ashore soon after the fleet action. Nearly ten years later Perry died of yellow fever in the West Indies, to cheat the duelling ground of another victim, since he was scheduled to meet Elliot in an affair of honor upon returning to the United States.
Previously, in 1818, Perry had been a principal in one of the few duels between high ranking officers. While commanding the Frigate Java he had severely censured Captain Heath, the Marine Officer, and even struck him with his fist. Deeply regretting his loss of temper soon afterwards, Perry offered to apologize. But this Heath would not accept, and two years later sent a challenge which Perry accepted, waiving his rank.2 Previous to the meeting Perry declared in writing that he would not return the fire of his adversary, which he refrained from doing on the ground. His acceptance had been in a spirit of atonement for an inexcusable act. Heath fired alone and missed, whereupon Perry’s second (Decatur) stepped forward and explained his principal’s attitude, which sufficed to end the duel.
There were of course duels between officers of the Navy and persons outside the service, including foreign officers. At Malta, in 1803, Midshipman Joseph Bainbridge (brother of the Commodore) fought the Secretary of the British Governor. In this case the distance was only four paces, yet in the first exchange neither principal was hit. At the second fire Bainbridge escaped injury, while killing his opponent. After the War of 1812 much ill feeling lingered between American and British officers, causing many duels. There were two such in Chile and four at Gibraltar. At the latter place a vicious feud developed with officers of the shore garrison, lasting more than a year. The British General and the American Commodore vainly tried to suppress it. Towards the end it appeared that the young British bachelors, incensed at American success, had formed a combination to call out all the officers of the Guerriere. This rash of duels and challenges was cured only when the American Squadron changed its Mediterranean base to Port Mahon.
Pistols were the usual weapons in naval duels. As a general rule the opponents faced each other at the murderous distance of only ten paces, or about thirty feet. A hit at that range was fairly certain for a cool and skilful marksman. Because of his poor eyesight Commodore Barron suggested a closer distance for his affair with Decatur, and that duel was fought at eight paces. In the 1803 duel at Malta, because Midshipman Bainbridge was very young and unskilled, his second (Decatur) insisted on a distance of only four paces, knowing that the Englishman was expert. The latter’s second protested, saying, “This looks like murder, Sir.”
“No, sir,” replied Decatur, “this looks like death.” And so it turned out for the Englishman, while Bainbridge was unhurt. In 1811, in a duel near Norfolk between Midshipman Mercer and Mr. Roberts, they stood so close that their pistols almost touched. Both fell dead at the first exchange.
The shocking Barron-Decatur duel in 1820 seems to have started a decline of the practice among older officers. A corresponding tapering-off for younger hot-heads, however, was not apparent until after 1836. Experience ashore among civilians was similar, and there also followed from changed public sentiment rather than restrictive laws. Within the Navy the higher authorities adopted many measures to suppress duelling. As early as 1807 Lieutenants James Lawrence and Oliver Hazard Perry led a movement to establish a “Court of Honor” to adjust quarrels honorably.
Commodore Decatur, who was a principal in two duels and who served many times as a second in others, was also a leader in endeavoring to restrict the vicious custom. In 1809 he required a pledge from all midshipmen under his command that they would refer all disputes to him before giving or accepting a challenge. In this way he was able to adjust amicably many quarrels that otherwise were likely to end only in the duello. This plan worked so well that other naval commanders followed it for many years.
More vigorous methods were often used, also. An officer reported to be scheduled for participation in a duel was sometimes restricted to a ship or station in order to prevent his fulfilling his engagement. Various degrees of punishment, including dismissal, were inflicted on naval duellists even before there was any law or specific regulation against the practice. As early as 1830 President Jackson dismissed four naval officers for being concerned in a duel. After public sentiment against them had subsided, however, he reinstated them. Jackson looked with less disfavor upon duelling by Army and Naval officers, whose profession was fighting, than by civilians. In about 1850 President Taylor refused to reinstate two naval officers who had been dismissed for taking part in a duel.
At least two duels are said to have been fought between officers of the Confederate Navy during the Civil War. But respecting the Federal Navy, when the interdicting law of 1862 became effective there had been no duels for twelve or thirteen years previously. The reform against the barbarous custom had already taken place, from sentiment within the Navy itself. That affair of honor on Hicacal Point in 1898 almost broke this record. But it should be well remembered that the high-spirited Lieutenant Anderson was bent on avenging, not a mere personal affront, but an insult to our Navy and our Country.
A graduate of the Naval Academy in 1896, Commodore Knox has served in three wars. But he is best known to the Navy and the general public as a leading naval writer and historian. For many years he was in charge of the Office of Naval Records and Library, Navy Department. He was one of the founders of the Naval Historical Foundation, and until two years ago was its secretary. He has contributed scores of articles to the Proceedings and has twice won the Naval Institute’s Prize Essay Contest.
1. Ten years afterwards, the then Admiral McCalla heard rumors of the affairs and wrote Anderson asking for information. The account herein is taken largely from Anderson’s reply, which was fond among the personal papers of the late Admiral McCalla that have recently been given to the Naval Historical Foundation by his three surviving daughters. In his unpublished autobiography McCalla comments on the near-duel as follows: “It gives me pleasure to bear witness to Anderson’s perfect courage. He was entirely without fear; and this knowledge prompted me to select him frequently for most hazardous and difficult duty. While I could not have given my consent to a duel. While I could not have given my consent to a duel, under the circumstances, yet my admiration for the man who was willing to take such chances, in defending an official act of his captain, is extreme; and it prompts me now to make this public acknowledgment of my personal appreciation.”
2. The dueling code did not require acceptance of a challenge from a person of inferior rank or social status.