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I understand several expressions have escaped you, in their
nature personal and highly injurious to my reputation. The exceptionable
language imputed to you may be briefly and substantially comprised
in the following statements: That you have avowed the opinion that I
was a rogue—that you have ascribed to me the infernal disposition to
commit murder to prevent the exposition of my sinister designs, and
through me have stigmatized those citizen soldiers who compose the
military corps of our country. No person can be more sensible of the
pernicious tendency of such cruel and undeserved reflections in their
application to public men, or private individuals than yourself; nor is any
man more competent to determine the just reparation to which they
establish a fair claim. Under these impressions I have no hesitation to
appeal to your justice, your magnanimity and your gallantry, to prescribe
the manner of redress, being persuaded your decision will comport with
the feelings of a man of honor—that you will be found equally prompt
to assert a right or repair a wrong. I transmit this letter through the
post-office, and shall expect your answer by such a channel as you may
deem proper.

Several months ago I was informed of your having said that you
were acquainted with what had passed in the grand jury room at Richmond
last spring, and that you declared a determination to challenge me.
I am to consider your letter of the last night by mail as the execution of
that avowed purpose, and through the same channel I return you my

answer. Whatever may have been the expressions used by me in regard
to your character, they were the result of deliberate opinion, founded on
the most authoritative evidence, the greater part of which my country imposed
upon me, to weigh and decide upon; they were such as to my
knowledge and to yours have been delivered by the first men in the Union,
and probably by a full moiety of the American people.

In you, sir, I recognize no right to hold me accountable for my public
or private opinion of your character that would not subject me to an equal
claim from Colonel Burr or Sergeant Dubbough. I cannot descend to
your level. This is my final answer.

It was Saturday, the first of April, towards noon, the Senate not being
that day in session, that Mr. Randolph came to my room at Brown's
hotel, and (without explaining the reason of the question) asked me if I
was a blood-relation of Mr. Clay? I answered that I was; and he immediately
replied that that put an end to a request which he had wished to
make of me; and then went on to tell me that he had just received a
challenge from Mr. Clay, had accepted it, was ready to go out, and would
apply to Colonel Tatnall to be his second. Before leaving, he told me
he would make my bosom the depository of a secret which he should
commit to no other person: it was that he did not intend to fire at Mr.
Clay. He told it to me because he wanted a witness of his intention, and
did not mean to tell it to his second or anybody else; and enjoined inviolable
secrecy until the duel was over. This was the first notice I had of
the affair. The circumstances of the delivery of the challenge, I had from
General Jesup, Mr. Clay's second, and they were so perfectly characteristic
of Mr. Randolph that I give them in detail, and in the General's own
words:

"I was unable to see Mr. Randolph until the morning of the first of
April, when I called on him for the purpose of delivering the note. Previous
to presenting it, however, I thought it proper to ascertain from Mr.
Randolph himself, whether the information which Mr. Clay had received—
that he considered himself personally responsible for the attack on him—
was correct. I accordingly informed Mr. Randolph that I was the bearer
of a message from Mr. Clay in consequence of an attack which he had
made upon his private as well as public character in the Senate; that I
was aware no one had the right to question him out of the Senate for anything
said in debate, unless he chose voluntarily to waive his privileges
as a member of that body. Mr. Randolph replied, that the constitution
did protect him, but he would never shield himself under such a subterfuge
as the pleading of the privilege as a Senator from Virginia; that he
did hold himself accountable to Mr. Clay; but he said that gentleman
had first two pledges to redeem: one that he had bound himself to fight
any member of the House of Representatives who should acknowledge

himself the author of a certain publication in a Philadelphia paper; and
the other, that he stood pledged to establish certain facts in regard to a
great man, whom he would not name; but he added he could receive no
verbal message from Mr. Clay—that any message from him must be in
writing. I replied that I was not authorized by Mr. Clay to enter into or
receive any verbal explanations—that the inquiries I had made were for
my own satisfaction and upon my own responsibility—that the only message
of which I was the bearer was in writing. I then presented the note
and remarked that I knew nothing of Mr. Clay's pledges: but that if
they existed as he (Mr. Randolph) understood them, and he was aware of
them when he made the attack complained of, he could not avail himself
of them—that by making the attack I thought he had waived them himself.
He said he had not the remotest intention of taking advantage of
the pledges referred to; that he had mentioned them merely to remind
me that he was waiving his privilege, not only as a Senator from Virginia,
but as a private gentleman; that he was ready to respond to Mr. Clay,
and would be obliged to me if I would bear his note in reply; and that he
would in the course of the day look out for a friend. I declined being the
bearer of the note, but informed him my only reason for declining was
that I thought he owed it to himself to consult his friends before taking
so important a step. He seized my hand, saying, `You are right, sir. I
thank you for the suggestion; but as you do not take my note, you must
not be impatient if you should not hear from me to-day. I now think of
only two friends, and there are circumstances connected with one of them
which may deprive me of his services, and the other is in bad health—he
was sick yesterday, and may not be out to-day.' I assured him that any
reasonable time which he might find necessary to take would be satisfactory.
I took leave of him; and it is due to his memory to say that his
bearing was, throughout the interview, that of a high-toned, chivalrous
gentleman of the old school."

These were the circumstances of the delivery of the challenge, and the
only thing necessary to give them their character, is to recollect that with
this prompt acceptance and positive refusal to explain, and this extra cut
about the two pledges, there was a perfect determination not to fire at Mr.
Clay. That determination rested on two grounds: first, an entire unwillingness
to hurt Mr. Clay; and next, a conviction that to return the fire
would be to answer, and would be an implied acknowledgment of Mr.
Clay's right to make him answer. This he would not do, neither by implication

nor in words. He denied the right of any person to question
him out of the Senate for words spoken within it. He took a distinction
between man and senator. As a senator he had a constitutional immunity,
given for a wise purpose, and which he would neither surrender nor
compromise; as individual, he was ready to give satisfaction for what was
deemed an injury. He would receive, but not return a fire. It was as
much as to say, Mr. Clay may fire at me for what has offended him; I will
not by returning the fire admit his right to do so. This was a subtle distinction,
and that in case of life and death, and not very clear to the common
intellect; but to Mr. Randolph both clear and convincing. His
allusion to the "two pledges unredeemed," which he might have plead
in bar to Mr. Clay's challenge, and would not, was another sarcastic cut
at Mr. Adams and Mr. Clay, while rendering satisfaction for cuts already
given. The "member of the House" was Mr. George Cremer, of Pennsylvania,
who, at the time of the Presidential election in the House of
Representatives, had avowed himself to be the author of an anonymous
publication, the writer of which Mr. Clay had threatened to call to account
if he would avow himself, and did not. The "great man" was
President Adams, with whom Mr. Clay had had a newspaper controversy,
involving a question of fact, which had been postponed. The cause of
this sarcastic cut, and of all the keen personality in the Panama speech,
was the belief that the president and secretary, the latter especially,
encouraged the newspapers in their interest to attack him, which they did
incessantly, and he chose to overlook the editors and retaliate upon the
instigators, as he believed them to be. This he did to his heart's content
in that speech, and to their great annoyance, as the coming of the challenge
proved. The "two friends" alluded to were Colonel Tatnall and
myself, and the circumstances which might disqualify one of the two were
those of my relationship to Mrs. Clay, of which he did not know the
degree, and whether of affinity or consanguinity—considering the first no
obstacle, the other a complete bar to my appearing as his second—holding
as he did, with the tenacity of an Indian, to the obligations of blood,
and laying but little stress on marriage connections. His affable reception
and courteous demeanor to General Jesup were, according to his own high
breeding, and the decorum which belonged to such occasions. A duel in
the circle to which he belonged was "an affair of honor," and high
honor, according to its code, must pervade every part of it. General Jesup
had come upon an unplesant business. Mr. Randolph determined to put
him at his ease, and did it so effectually as to charm him into admiration.
The whole plan of his conduct, down to contingent details, was cast in
his mind instantly, as if by intuition, and never departed from. The
acceptance, the refusal to explain, the determination not to fire, the first
and second choice of a friend, and the circumstances which might disqualify
one and delay the other, the additional cut, and the resolve to fall,
if he fell, on the soil of Virginia, was all to his mind a single emanation,
the flash of an instant. He needed no consultations, no deliberation to
arrive at all these important conclusions. I dwell upon these small circumstances,
because they are characteristic, and show the man, a man
who belongs to history, and had his own history, and should be known as
he was. That character can only be shown in his own conduct, his own
words and acts; and the duel with Mr. Clay illustrates it at many points.
It is in that point of view that I dwell upon circumstances which might
seem trivial, but which are not so, being illustrative of character and significant
to their smallest particulars.

The acceptance of the challenge was in keeping with the whole proceeding—prompt
in the agreement to meet, exact in protesting against the
right to call him out, clear in the waiver of his constitutional privilege,
brief and cogent in presenting the case as one of some reprehension—the
case of a member of an administration challenging a senator for words
spoken in debate of that administration, and all in brief, terse, and superlatively
decorous language. It runs thus:

"Mr. Randolph accepts the challenge of Mr. Clay. At the same time
he protests against the right of any minister of the Executive Government
of the United States to hold him responsible for words spoken in
debate as a senator from Virginia in crimination of such minister, or the
administration under which he shall have taken office. Colonel Tatnall,
of Georgia, the bearer of this letter, is authorized to arrange with General
Jesup (the bearer of Mr. Clay's challenge) the terms of the meeting to
which Mr. Randolph is invited by that note."

The protest which Mr. Randolph entered against the right of Mr. Clay
to challenge him, led to an explanation between their mutual friends on
that delicate point—a point which concerned the independence of debate,
the privileges of the Senate, the immunity of a member, and the sanctity
of the constitution. It was a point which Mr. Clay felt; and the explanation
which was had between the mutual friends presented an excuse, if
not a justification, for his proceeding. He had been informed that Mr.

Randolph, in his speech, had avowed his responsibility to Mr. Clay, and
waived his privilege—a thing which, if it had been done, would have
been a defiance, and stood for an invitation to Mr. Clay to send a challenge.
Mr. Randolph, through Colonel Tatnall, disavowed that imputed
avowal, and confined his waiver of privilege to the time of the delivery
of the challenge, and in answer to an inquiry before it was delivered.

The following are the communications between the respective seconds
on this point:

"In regard to the protest with which Mr. Randolph's note concludes, it
is due to Mr. Clay to say that he had been informed Mr. Randolph
did, and would, hold himself responsible to him for any observations he
might make in relation to him; and that I (General Jesup) distinctly understood
from Mr. Randolph, before I delivered the note of Mr. Clay,
that he waived his privilege as a Senator."

To this Colonel Tatnall replied:

"As this expression (did and would hold himself responsible, &c.) may
be construed to mean that Mr. Randolph had given this information not
only before called upon, but in such a manner as to throw out to Mr. Clay
something like an invitation to make such a call, I have, on the part of
Mr. Randolph, to disavow any disposition, when expressing his readiness
to waive his privilege as a Senator from Virginia, to invite, in any case, a
call upon him for personal satisfaction. The concluding paragraph of
your note, I presume, is intended to show merely that you did not present
a note, such as that of Mr. Clay to Mr. Randolph, until you had ascertained
his willingness to waive his privilege as a senator. This, I infer,
as it was in your recollection that the expression of such a readiness on
the part of Mr. Randolph was in reply to an inquiry on that point made
by yourself."

Thus an irritating circumstance in the affair was virtually negatived,
and its offensive import wholly disavowed. For my part, I do not believe
that Mr. Randolph used such language in his speech. I have no recollection
of having heard it. The published report of the speech as taken
down by the reporters and not revised by the speaker, contains nothing
of it. Such gasconade was foreign to Mr. Randolph's character. The
occasion was not one in which these sort of defiances are thrown out,
which are either to purchase a cheap reputation when it is known they
will be despised, or to get an advantage in extracting a challenge when
there is a design to kill. Mr. Randolph had none of these views with respect

to Mr. Clay. He had no desire to fight him, or to hurt him, or to
gain cheap character by appearing to bully him. He was above all that,
and had settled accounts with him in his speech, and wanted no more. I
do not believe it was said; but there was a part of the speech which might
have received a wrong application, and led to the erroneous report; a part
which applied to a quoted speech in Mr. Adams's Panama message, which
he condemned and denounced, and dared the President and his friends to
defend. His words were, as reported unrevised: "Here I plant my foot;
here I fling defiance right into his (the President's) teeth; here I throw
the gauntlet to him and the bravest of his compeers to come forward and
defend these lines," &c. A very palpable defiance this, but very different
from a summons to personal combat, and from what was related to Mr.
Clay. It was an unfortunate report, doubtless the effect of indistinct apprehension,
and the more to be regretted as, after having been a main
cause inducing the challenge, the disavowal could not stop it.

Thus the argument for the meeting was absolute, and, according to the
expectation of the principals, the meeting itself would be immediately,
but their seconds, from the most laudable feelings, determined to delay it,
with the hope to prevent it, and did keep it off a week, admitting me to a
participation in the good work, as being already privy to the affair, and
friendly to both parties. The challenge stated no specific ground of
offence, specified no exceptionable words. It was peremptory and general
for an "unprovoked attack on his (Mr. Clay's) character;" and it dispensed
with explanations, by alleging that the notoriety and indisputable
existence of the injury superseded the necessity for them. Of course this
demand was bottomed on a report of the words spoken—a verbal report,
the full daily publication of the debates having not then begun—and that
verbal report was of a character greatly to exasperate Mr. Clay. It stated
that in the course of the debate Mr. Randolph said:

"That a letter from General Salazar, the Mexican minister at Washington,
submitted by the executive to the Senate, bore the ear-mark of having
been manufactured or forged by the secretary of state, and denounced the
administration as a corrupt coalition between the Puritan and black-leg;
and added at the same time that he (Mr. Randolph) held himself personally
responsible for all that he had said."

This was the report to Mr. Clay, and upon which he gave the absolute
challenge, and received the absolute acceptance, which shut out all inquiry
between the principals into the causes of the quarrel. The seconds

determined to open it, and to attempt an accommodation, or a peaceable
determination of the difficulty. In consequence, General Jesup stated the
complaint in a note to Colonel Tatnall thus:

"The injury of which Mr. Clay complains consists in this, that Mr. Randolph
has charged him with having forged or manufactured a paper connected
with the Panama mission; also, that he has applied to him in
debate the epithet of black-leg. The explanation which I consider necessary
is, that Mr. Randolph declared that he had no intention of charging
Mr. Clay, either in his public or private capacity, with forging or falsifying
any paper, or misrepresenting any fact; and also that the term blackleg
was not intended to apply to him."

To this exposition of the grounds of the complaint Colonel Tatnall
answered:

"Mr. Randolph informs me that the words used by him in debate were
as follows: `That I thought it would be in my power to show evidence,
sufficiently presumptive, to satisfy a Charlotte (county) jury that this invitation
was manufactured here—that Salazar's letter struck me as bearing
a strong likeness in point of style to the other papers. I did not undertake
to prove this, but expressed my suspicion that the fact was so. I
applied to the administration the epithet, Puritanic, diplomatic, blacklegged
administration.' "

In this answer Mr. Randolph remained upon his original ground of
refusing to answer out of the Senate for words spoken within it. In other
respects the statement of the words actually spoken greatly ameliorated
the offensive report, the coarse and insulting words, "forging and falsifying,"
being disavowed, as in fact they were not used, and were not to
be found in the published report. The speech was a bitter philippic, and
intended to be so, taking for its point the alleged coalition between Mr.
Clay and Mr. Adams with respect to the election, and their efforts to get
up a question contrary to our policy of non-entanglement with foreign
nations in sending ministers to the Congress of the American States of
Spanish origin at the Isthmus of Panama. I heard it all, and, though
sharp and cutting, I think it might have been heard, had he been present,
without any manifestation of resentment by Mr. Clay. The part which
he took so seriously to heart, that of having the Panama invitations manufactured
in his office was, to my mind, nothing more than attributing to
him a diplomatic superiority, which enabled him to obtain from the South
American ministers the invitations that he wanted, and not at all that they

were spurious fabrications. As to the expression, "black-leg and Puritan,"
it was merely a sarcasm to strike by antithesis, and which, being
without foundation, might have been disregarded. I presented these
views to the parties, and if they had come from Mr. Randolph they might
have been sufficient, but he was inexorable, and would not authorize a
word to be said beyond what he had written.

All hope of accommodation having vanished, the seconds proceeded to
arrange for the duel. The afternoon of Saturday, the 8th of April, was
fixed upon for the time; the right bank of the Potomac, within the State
of Virginia, above the Little Falls bridge, was the place; pistols, the weapons;
distance, ten paces; each party to be attended by two seconds and
a surgeon, and myself at liberty to attend as a mutual friend. There was
to be no practicing with pistols, and there was none; and the words,
"one," "two," "three," "stop," after the word "fire," were, by agreement
between the seconds, and for the humane purpose of reducing the result
as near as possible to chance, to be given out in quick succession. The
Virginia side of the Potomac was taken at the instance of Mr. Randolph.
He went out as a Virginia senator, refusing to compromise that character,
and, if he fell in defence of its rights, Virginia soil was to him the chosen
ground to receive his blood. There was a statute of the State against
duelling within her limits; but, as he merely went to receive a fire, without
returning it, he deemed that no fighting, and consequently no breach
of the statute. This reason for choosing Virginia could only be explained
to me, as I alone was the depository of his secret.

The week's delay which the seconds had contrived was about expiring.
It was Friday evening, or rather night, when I went to see Mr. Clay for
the last time before the duel. There had been some alienation between us
since the time of the Presidential election in the House of Representatives,
and I wished to give evidence that there was nothing personal in it.
The family were in the parlor—company present—and some of it staid
late. The youngest child, I believe, James, went to sleep on the sofa—a
circumstance which availed me for a purpose the next day. Mrs. Clay
was, as always since the death of her daughter, a picture of desolation, but
calm and conversable, and without the slightest apparent consciousness of
the impending event. When all were gone, and she had also left the
parlor, I did what I came for, and said to Mr. Clay, that, notwithstanding
our late political differences, my personal feelings towards him were the
same as formerly, and that, in whatever concerned his life and honor, my

best wishes were with him. He expressed his gratification at the visit and
the declaration, and said it was what he would have expected of me. We
parted at midnight.

Saturday, the 8th of April, the day for the duel, had come, and almost
the hour. It was noon, and the meeting was to take place at 4½ o'clock.
I had gone to see Mr. Randolph before the hour, and for a purpose; and
besides, it was so far on the way, as he lived half-way to Georgetown, and
we had to pass through that place to cross the Potomac into Virginia at
the Little Falls bridge. I had heard nothing from him on the point of
not returning the fire since the first communication to that effect, eight
days before. I had no reason to doubt the steadiness of his determination,
but felt a desire to have fresh assurance of it after so many days'
delay, and so near approach of the trying moment. I knew it would
not do to ask him the question—any question which would imply a
doubt of his word. His sensitive feelings would be hurt and annoyed
at it. So I fell upon a scheme to get at the inquiry without seeming
to make it. I told him of my visit to Mr. Clay the night before—
of the late sitting—the child asleep—the unconscious tranquility of
Mrs. Clay; and added, I could not help reflecting how different all
that might be the next night. He understood me perfectly, and immediately
said, with a quietude of look and expression which seemed
to rebuke an unworthy doubt, "I shall do nothing to disturb the
sleep of the child or the repose of the mother;" and went on with his
employment (his seconds being engaged in their preparations in a different
room), which was making codicils to his will, all in the way of
remembrance to his friends; the bequests slight in value, but invaluable
in tenderness of feeling, and beauty of expression, and always appropriate
to the receiver. To Mr. Macon he gave some English shillings, to keep
the game when he played whist. His namesake, John Randolph Bryan,
then at school in Baltimore, and since married to his niece, had been sent
for to see him, but sent off before the hour of going out, to save the boy
from a possible shock at seeing him brought back. He wanted some
gold—that coin not being then in circulation, and only to be obtained by
favor or purchase—and sent his faithful man, Johnny, to the United States
Branch Bank to get a few pieces, American being the kind asked for.
Johnny returned without the gold, and delivered the excuse that the bank
had none. Instantly Mr. Randolph's clear silver-toned voice was heard
above its natural pitch, exclaiming, "Their name is legion; and they are

liars from the beginning. Johnny, bring me my horse." His own saddle
horse was brought him—for he never rode Johnny's, nor Johnny his,
though both, and all his hundred horses, were of the finest English
blood—and rode off to the bank down Pennsylvania avenue, now Corcoran
& Riggs's—Johnny following, as always, forty paces behind. Arrived
at the bank, this scene, according to my informant, took place:

Mr. Randolph asked for the state of his account, was shown it, and
found to be some four thousand dollars in his favor. He asked for it.
The teller took up packages of bills, and civilly asked in what sized notes
he would have it. I want money, said Mr. Randolph, putting emphasis
on the word, and at that time it required a bold man to intimate that United
States bank notes were not money. The teller beginning to understand
him, and willing to make sure, said inquiringly, you want silver? I want
my money was the reply. Then the teller, lifting boxes to the counter,
said politely, "Have you a cart, Mr. Randolph, to put it in?" "That is
my business, sir," said he. By that time the attention of the cashier (Mr.
Richard Smith) was attracted to what was going on, who came up, and
understanding the question and its cause, told Mr. Randolph "there was
a mistake in the answer given to his servant; that they had gold, and that
he should have what he wanted."

In fact he had only applied for a few pieces, which he wanted for a
special purpose. This brought about a compromise. The pieces of gold
were received, the cart and the silver dispensed with; but the account in
bank was closed, and a check taken for the amount on New York. He
returned and delivered me a sealed paper, which I was to open if he was
killed—give back to him if he was not; also an open slip, which I was
to read before I got to the ground. This slip was a request to feel in his
left breeches pocket, if he was killed, and find so many pieces of gold—I
believe nine—take three for myself, and give the same number to Tatnall
and Hamilton each, to make seals to wear in remembrance of him. We
were all three at Mr. Randolph's lodgings then, and soon set out, Mr.
Randolph and his seconds in a carriage, I following him on horseback.

I have already said that the count was to be quick after giving the word
fire, and for a reason which could not be told to the principals. To Mr.
Randolph, who did not mean to fire, and who, though agreeing to be shot
at, had no desire to be hit, this rapidity of counting out the time, and
quick arrival at the command "stop," presented no objection. With Mr.
Clay it was different; with him it was all a real transaction, and gave

rise to some proposal for more deliberateness in counting off the time,
which being communicated to Colonel Tatnall, and by him to Mr. Randolph,
had an ill effect upon his feelings, and aided by an untoward accident
on the ground, unsettled for a moment the noble determination which
he had formed not to fire at Mr. Clay. I now give the words of General
Jesup:

"When I repeated to Mr. Clay the `word' in the manner in which it
would be given, he expressed some apprehension that as he was not accustomed
to the use of the pistol, he might not be able to fire within the
time, and for that reason alone desired that it might be prolonged. I
mentioned to Colonel Tatnall the desire of Mr. Clay. He replied: `If
you insist upon it the time must be prolonged, but I should very much
regret it.' I informed him that I did not insist upon prolonging the time,
and I was sure Mr. Clay would acquiesce. The original agreement was
carried out."

I knew nothing of this until it was too late to speak with the seconds
or principals. I had crossed the little Falls bridge just after them, and
come to the place where the servants and carriages had stopped. I saw
none of the gentlemen, and supposed they had all gone to the spot where
the ground was being marked off, but on speaking to Johnny, Mr. Randolph,
who was still in his carriage, and heard my voice, looked out from
the window, and said to me: "Colonel, since I saw you, and since I have
been in this carriage, I have heard something which may make me change
my determination. Colonel Hamilton will give you a note which will
explain it." Colonel Hamilton was then in the carriage, and gave me
the note, in the course of the evening, of which Mr. Randolph spoke. I
readily comprehended that this possible change of determination related
to his firing; but the emphasis with which he pronounced the word
"may," clearly showed that his mind was undecided, and left it doubtful
whether he would fire or not. No further conversation took place between
us; the preparation for the duel was finished; the parties went to
their places; and I went forward to a piece of rising ground, from which
I could see what passed and hear what was said. The faithful Johnny
followed me close, speaking not a word, but evincing the deepest anxiety
for his beloved master. The place was a thick forest, and the immediate
spot a little depression or basin, in which the parties stood. The principals
saluted each other courteously as they took their stands. Colonel
Tatnall had won the choice of position, which gave to General Jesup the

delivery of the word. They stood on a line east and west, a small stump
just behind Mr. Clay; a low gravelly bank rose just behind Mr. Randolph.
This latter asked General Jesup to repeat the word as he would
give it; while in the act of doing so, and Mr. Randolph adjusting the but
of his pistol to his hand, the muzzle pointing downwards, and almost to
the ground, it fired. Instantly Mr. Randolph turned to Colonel Tatnall
and said: "I protested against that hair trigger." Colonel Tatnall took
blame to himself for having sprung the hair. Mr. Clay had not then
received his pistol. Senator Johnson, of Louisiana (Josiah), one of his
seconds, was carrying it to him, and still several steps from him. This
untimely fire, though clearly an accident, necessarily gave rise to some
remarks and a species of inquiry, which was conducted with the utmost
delicacy, but which in itself was of a nature to be inexpressibly painful
to a gentleman's feelings. Mr. Clay stopped it, with the generous remark
that the fire was clearly an accident, and it was so unanimously declared.
Another pistol was immediately furnished, and an exchange of shots took
place, and happily without effect upon the persons. Mr. Randolph's bullet
struck the stump behind Mr. Clay, and Mr. Clay's knocked up the
earth and gravel behind Mr. Randolph, and in a line with the level of his
hips, both bullets having gone so true and close, that it was a marvel how
they missed. The moment had come for me to interpose. I went in
among the parties and offered my mediation, but nothing could be done.
Mr. Clay said, with the wave of the hand, with which he was accustomed
to put away a trifle, "This is child's play," and required another fire.
Mr. Randolph also demanded another fire. The seconds were directed to
reload. While this was going on I prevailed on Mr. Randolph to walk
away from his post, and renewed to him, more pressingly than ever, my
importunities to yield to some accommodation, but I found him more
determined than I had ever seen him, and for the first time impatient,
and seemingly annoyed and dissatisfied at what I was doing. He was
indeed annoyed and dissatisfied. The accidental fire of his pistol preyed
upon his feelings. He was doubly chagrined at it, both as a circumstance
susceptible in itself of an unfair interpretation, and as having been the
immediate and controlling cause of his firing at Mr. Clay. He regretted
this fire the instant it was over. He felt that it had subjected him to imputations,
from which he knew himself to be free—a desire to kill Mr.
Clay, and a contempt for the laws of his beloved state, and the annoyances
which he felt at these vexatious circumstances, revived his original
determination, and decided him irrevocably to carry it out.

It was in this interval that he told me what he had heard since we
parted, and to which he alluded when he spoke to me from the window
of the carriage. It was to this effect: That he had been informed
by Colonel Tatnall that it was proposed to give out the words with more
deliberateness, so as to prolong the time for taking aim. This information
grated harshly upon his feelings. It unsettled his purpose, and
brought his mind to the inquiry (as he now told me, and I found it expressed
in the note which he had immediately written in pencil to apprise
me of his possible change,) whether, under these circumstances, he might
not "disable his adversary." This note is so characteristic, and such an
essential part of this affair, that I here give its very words, so far as relates
to this point. It ran thus:

"Information received from Colonel Tatnall since I got into the carriage
may induce me to change my mind, of not returning Mr. Clay's fire.
I seek not his death. I would not have his blood upon my hands—it will
not be upon my soul if I shed it in self-defence—for the world. He has
determined, by the use of a long, preparatory caution by words, to get
time to kill me. May I not, then, disable him? Yes, if I please."

It has been seen, by the statement of General Jesup, already given, that
this information was a misapprehension; that Mr. Clay had not applied
for a prolongation of time for the purpose of getting sure aim, but only to
enable his unused hand, long unfamiliar with the pistol, to fire within the
limited time; that there was no prolongation, in fact, either granted or
insisted upon; but he was in doubt, and General Jesup having won the
word, he was having him repeat it in the way he was to give it out, when
his finger touched the hair-trigger. How unfortunate that I did not know
of this in time to speak to General Jesup, when one word from him would
have set all right, and saved the imminent risks incurred. This inquiry,
"May I not disable him?" was still on Mr. Randolph's mind, and dependent
for its solution on the rising incidents of the moment, when the
accidental fire of his pistol gave the turn to his feelings which solved the
doubt. But he declared to me that he had not aimed at the life of Mr.
Clay; that he did not level as high as his knees—not higher than the
knee-band; "for it was no mercy to shoot a man in the knee," that his

only object was to disable him and spoil his aim. And then added, with
a beauty of expression and a depth of feeling which no studied oratory
can ever attain, and which I shall never forget, these impressive words:
"I would not have seen him fall mortally, or even doubtfully, wounded,
for all the land that is watered by the King of Floods and all his tributary
streams." He left me to resume his post, utterly refusing to explain out
of the Senate anything that he had said in it, and with the positive declaration
that he would not return the next fire. I withdrew a little way into
the woods, and kept my eyes fixed on Mr. Randolph, whom I knew to be
the only one in danger. I saw him receive the fire of Mr. Clay, saw the
gravel knocked up in the same place, saw Mr. Randolph raise his pistol—
discharge it in the air; heard him say, "I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay;"
and immediately advancing and offering his hand. He was met in the
same spirit. They met half-way, shook hands, Mr. Randolph saying,
jocosely, "You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay" (the bullet had passed through
the skirt of the coat, very near the hip)—to which Mr. Clay promptly and
happily replied, "I am glad the debt is no greater."

I had come up, and was prompt to proclaim what I had been obliged to
keep secret for eight days. The joy of all was extreme at this happy termination
of a most critical affair, and we immediately left with lighter
hearts than we brought. I stopped to sup with Mr. Randolph and his
friends—none of us wanted dinner that day—and had a characteristic
time of it. A runner came in from the bank to say that they had overpaid
him by mistake one hundred and thirty dollars that day. He answered:
"I believe it is your rule not to correct mistakes except at the
time, aud at your counter." And with that answer the runner had to
return. When gone, Mr. Randolph said: "I will pay it on Monday:
people must be honest if banks are not." He asked for the sealed paper
he had given me, opened it, took out a check for one thousand dollars,
drawn in my favor, and with which I was requested to have him carried
if killed to Virginia, and buried under his patrimonial oaks—not let him
be buried at Washington, with an hundred hacks after him. He took the
gold from his left breeches pocket, and said to us (Hamilton, Tatnall and
me): "Gentlemen, Clay's bad shooting shan't rob you of your seals. I
am going to London, and will have them made for you," which he did,
and most characteristically, so far as mine was concerned. He went to
the herald's office in London and inquired for the Benton family, of which
I had often told him there was none, as we only dated on that side from

my grandfather in North Carolina. But the name was found, and with it
a coat of arms—among the quarterings a lion rampant. That is the
family, said he; and had the arms engraved on the seal, the same which
I have since habitually worn; and added the motto: Factis non verbis,
of which he was afterwards accustomed to say the non should be changed
into et. But enough. I run into these details, not merely to relate an
event, but to show character, and if I have not done it, it is not for want
of material, but of ability to use it.

On Monday the parties exchanged cards, and social relations were formally
and courteously restored. It was about the last high-toned duel
that I have witnessed, and among the highest toned that I have ever
witnessed, and so happily conducted to a fortunate issue—a result due
to the noble character of the seconds as well as to the generous and
heroic spirit of the principals. Certainly duelling is bad, and has been
put down, but not quite so bad as its substitute—revolvers, bowie-knives,
blackguarding, and street-assassinations under the pretext of self-defence.