To the Creole, more than to any other source, may be traced the origin of dueling in the United States, and no city in the country has such a dueling history as New Orleans.  The American took the practice from the Latin and by the adoption of pistols made the duel a much more serious thing than it had previously been, when swords were employed and first blood usually constituted “satisfaction.”  Up to the time of the Civil War the man who refused a challenge became a sort of outcast, and I have been told that even to this day a duel is occasionally fought.  Governor Claiborne, first American governor of Louisiana, was a duelist, and his monument—­a family monument in the annex of the old Basin Street division of St. Louis cemetery—­bears upon one side an inscription in memory of his brother-in-law, Micajah Lewis, “who fell in a duel, January 14, 1804.”

Gayarre, in his history of Louisiana, tells a story of six young French noblemen who, one night, paired off and fought for no reason whatever save out of bravado.  Two of them were killed.

Two famous characters of New Orleans, about the middle of the last century, were Major Joe Howell, a brother-in-law of Jefferson Davis, and Major Henry, a dare-devil soldier of fortune who had filibustered in Nicaragua and fought in the Mexican War.  One day while drinking together they quarreled, and as a result a duel was arranged to take place the same afternoon.  Henry kept on drinking, but Howell went to sleep and slept until it was time to go to the dueling ground, when he took one cocktail, and departed.

Feeling that a duel over a disagreement the occasion for which neither contestant could remember, was the height of folly, friends intervened, and finally succeeded in getting Major Henry to say that the fight could be called off if Howell would apologize.

“For what?” he was asked.

“Don’t know and don’t care,” returned the old warrior.

As Howell would not apologize, navy revolvers were produced and the two faced each other, the understanding being that they should begin at ten paces with six barrels loaded, firing at will and advancing.  At the word “Fire!” both shot and missed, but Howell cocked his revolver with his right thumb and fired again immediately, wounding Henry in the arm.  Henry then fired and missed a second time, while Howell’s third shot struck his antagonist in the abdomen.  Wounded as he was, Henry managed to fire again, narrowly missing the other, who was not only a giant in size, but was a conspicuous mark, owing to the white clothing which he wore.  At this Howell advanced a step and took steady aim, and he would almost certainly have killed his opponent had not his own second reached out and thrown his pistol up, sending the shot wild.  This occurred after the other side has cried “Stop!”—­as it had been agreed should be done in case either man was badly wounded.  A foul was consequently claimed, the seconds drew their pistols, and a general battle was narrowly averted.  After many weeks Henry recovered.