1822: Don Martin and the Pirate

In May 1822, President Monroe of the USA recognized the independent Republic of Mexico, which included Texas. The age of the Texas filibusters was over. Of the few to survive those times, most had retreated to the comfortable intrigues and sophistication of New Orleans.

New Orleans of 1822 boasted, "many musicians, dancing, and fencing masters" among whom was the popular Dennis with his school on Bourbon Street. (From Paxton, New Orleans Directory and Register, 1822, p. 19).

Among the visitors to New Orleans was a Mexican noble, Don Martín De León. He had recently received a grant to develop a colony in Texas. While on this trip he met a man named Carlos Lazo aboard a pirate ship commanded by a Frenchman named Ramon La Fou.

Don Martín worked out a deal with La Fou and chartered his ship. Part of the bargain included delivering supplies for Don Martín to his new Texas Colony in return for the promise by Don Martín that he would obtain a pardon for the pirate from the Mexican government. Don Martin's supplies were loaded and sail was set for the mouth of the Rio Grande.

After they arrived at Brazos de Santiago, near Matamoros, Don Martín arranged to go ashore to negotiate a pardon for La Fou. He had to leave his son, Felix, aboard the pirate ship during his absence, as assurance of his good faith. Through the influence of Don Martín's friends, the promised pardon was secured for La Fou. Such were the beginnings of the De Leon Colony in Texas.

1823: Austin's Grant

On January 3, 1823, Stephen F. Austin received his grant from the Mexican government and began colonization in the region of the Brazos River.

1824: The Sword of Don Martin De Leon

Don Martin De Leon received full authority in 1824, to occupy any vacant land he should choose for the forty-one colonists he had named in his grant application. The general boundaries of the De León Colony were the Coleto Creek on the west, Mission Valley on the north, Lavaca River on the east and Matagorda Bay on the south. The town site of Victoria was laid out in one four-league area, with its streets, church, market and public squares. Don Martín De León's first house was built on the present site of St. Mary's Church and the Nazareth Convent.

Not that establishing a colony in the wilds of Texas was easy, or even safe.

The De Leon colonists depended on themselves for justice and protection. Their enemies were ruthless and were dealt with ruthlessly. One story from this era told of a Mexican named Corasco and his servants who were driving mules through that area to Louisiana. After crossing the Colorado, they were attacked and all murdered, with the exception of one servant, who escaped to a settlement of the colonists, badly wounded. The robbers with their bounty proceeded towards Louisiana, and while crossing the Brazos, were overtaken and all were instantly killed. The head of one of the robbers was cut off and set on a pole as a warning to like offenders.

The "Sword of Don Martín De León" was the basis for much conversation among the colonists in the early days.

There was a land dispute between Martín De León and his neighboring colonist, Green De Witt. It seems as though De Witt had over-stepped his bounds and was occupying part of the land originally allocated and included in the De León grant. The situation grew into a heated argument between the two. At one point, Don Martín, carrying his sword, and a troop from La Bahía journeyed to visit with De Witt, for the purpose of settling the land boundaries once and for all. Rumors swirled that Don Martín intended to behead De Witt and bring his head back to the De León Colony in Victoria, hanging on his saddle.

Fortunately for De Witt, Austin intervened and the matter was finally peacefully settled between the two Impresarios. There was no beheading, yet the famous "Sword of Don Martín," was from that day on recognized as a tangible part of the early history of Victoria.

[This famous historical sword was in the possession of the De León family throughout the years. Many years ago it was placed on exhibit at the old JD Mitchell School in Victoria, Texas. According to the De León family members and descendants, the sword and Don Martín's spurs were moved from the JD Mitchell School and placed on display at the Alamo in San Antonio. The sword and spurs like many of the prized family possessions have never been returned and after years of intensive search, they have yet to be located and found.]

1825: The Anglo Immigrants

Mexican jurisdiction over the Galveston port continued from 1824 until the Texas Revolution. Colonization had been organized under the Mexican empresario system, and it was Stephen F. Austin who in 1825 encouraged the Mexican government to establish a provisional port at Galveston and to build a customhouse with a garrison for protection. Since the island's sole importance was its proximity to the harbor, its customhouse and military posts controlled the area, but these arrangements eventually led to friction between Anglo settlers and Mexican authorities over the issue of land titles and other matters.

Those Anglo settlers were often a combative and fiery bunch, at that.

Wyly Martin had been a career soldier and an officer in the U. S. Army. He resigned his commission on July 21, 1823, reputedly because he killed a man in a duel. In 1825 he immigrated to Texas, where he was appointed alcalde of Stephen F. Austin's colony.

Dueling, whether with swords or pistols, was in its heyday in the American south at this time. Affairs of Honor were encouraged and fencing a practical pursuit. In 1825 the Marquis de Lafayette, hero of the American Revolution, visited New Orleans. When he did, he was entertained by, among others, Bernard Marigny, the state Representative and notorious duellist.

No less a personage than Andrew Jackson advocated training in swordplay, and urged training in foils for its value as a discipline. In a paper on military practice he remarked: "Fencing sharpens the eyesight, increases active power in general, tries the temper, and teaches decision in seizing occasions for acting offensively with effect, or defensively with coolness and resolution. A knowledge to fence with foils, even to exercise with sabre or broadsword, is deemed a necessary accomplishment for all military men of the higher class."

Bernard Marigny entertained Jackson, as well, during a visit to New Orleans two years later.

In November 1825, the last Spanish possession in Mexico, the fortress of San Juan de Ulúa, fell into the hands of the republic. The capture, however, did not put an end to the strife between the mother country and the new republic. From 1825 to 1828, Mexican ships raided Spanish commerce. Within Mexico there was a hatred of Spaniards and all things Spanish.

1826:

1827: Bowie and the Knife He Made Famous

In 1827 the Mexican government, pursuing its hatred of the Spanish, passed a national decree of expulsion. This deeply wounded the pride of Spain. The exiles, no doubt, exaggerated the far from ideal political and economic conditions back in Mexico. Spain now had reason to believe that a favorable moment had arrived to re-conquer her former domain. Not only were the Spaniards reckless in their attempt at re-conquest, but their actions showed that they were seriously misinformed as to the actual situation in Mexico. They were so eager to believe the reports of disorders, they convinced themselves the Mexicans were disgusted with their experiment in self-rule. The Spanish government grew to believe the mere presence of a Spanish force in their midst would cause the people to return to their old allegiance.

In 1827, the reputation of a future Texan was made. Jim Bowie's brother, Rezin, designed the first version of the Bowie knife in 1827 for Jim. It was a hunting knife with a straight, single-edged blade about nine inches long and one and a half inches wide. Jim, who was now about 30 years old was about to make the knife notorious in an affair known as the Vidalia Sandbar Duel.

Bowie had become involved in a controversy with Sheriff Norris Wright, and each held a grudge against the other. In 1827, both were spectators at an encounter on a sand strip in the Mississippi River across from Natchez. Each of the duel's principals had four seconds and a surgeon. A large crowd gathered on the sandbar, anxious for bloodletting. The duellists, however, settled their dispute without gunplay. This pleased none of the audience and a riot erupted. Men sought out their enemies and fell to working off old grudges.

Noah Smithwick, who claimed to have met Bowie later in Texas, wrote, "This tame ending of an affair which had promised to be an exciting event, all the parties having come up from Louisiana, bred dissatisfaction among the crowd, which brought on a general engagement; and, when the smoke of battle cleared, there were two dead men and two wounded. The details of the fight as I remember them were that General Cuney, with Jim Bowie as his second, personally challenged Colonel Crane; whereupon, Crane whipped out two pistols, discharging them simultaneously, killing Cuney and wounding Bowie, after which he turned and ran. Bowie drew his knife - all the weapon he had - and started in pursuit but fell, and before he could rise Major Wright rushed up and attempted to stab him with a sword cane. Bowie caught the cane and, jerking Wright toward him, with a tremendous sweep of his knife cleft him clear through the abdomen to the back-bone, the mangled bowels pouring out upon Bowie, who was sitting on the ground. Seeing the horrible fate that had befallen his friend, Alfred Blanchard, also armed with a sword cane, ran up to avenge him. Shooting out his long arm Bowie slashed Blanchard across the abdomen, disemboweling him."

Smithwick continued, "The blood christened weapon which had saved its owner's life twice within a few seconds, was an ordinary affair with a plain wooden handle, but when Bowie recovered from his wound he had the precious blade polished and set into an ivory handle mounted with silver; the scabbard also being silver mounted."

1828: Bowie in Texas

The following year Bowie moved to Texas. In San Felipe de Austin, blacksmith Noah Smithwick duplicated the knife for him--or made the claim, at least. "Not wishing to degrade it by ordinary use, he brought the knife to me in San Felipe to have a duplicate made. The blade was about ten inches long and two broad at the widest part. When it became known that I was making a genuine Bowie knife, there was a great demand for them, so I cut a pattern and started a factory, my jobs bringing all the way from $5.00 to $20.00, according to finish." The monstrous new weapon was a perfect multipurpose tool, useful not only for fighting but also for chopping wood, dressing out game, digging postholes, and, if necessary, paddling up a creek.

1829: The Spanish Invasion

The government of Mexico, in spite of all the rumors of invasion by Spain, did nothing to prepare for it. Consequently, when a Spanish force under General Isidoro Barradas did land, at Cabo Rojo near Tampico, on July 28, the government was totally unprepared to meet the invaders. President Guerrero called an extra session of congress, but the Spaniards had been on Mexican soil ten days before congress met.

For all the ineptitude of the Mexican government and its lack of support to independent forces rushing to oppose the French (including one force led by a young Santa Ana), the French made many more mistakes. Ultimately they capitulated to forces under Mier y Teran in September. The Spanish invasion was defeated.

Far more ominous for Mexico were the ambitions of many in the United States.

1830: The Bowie Knife Comes to Texas

April 6, 1830 marked a new low in relations between Texas and the government in Mexico, when Mexico forbade further emigration into Texas by settlers from the United States.

Around 1830 Bowie had another knife made by James Black in Washington, Arkansas, a town that served as a gateway to Texas. According to legend, that knife was even larger than the first, with a blade almost fourteen inches long and three inches wide. Somewhere along the way the shape had also become curved, clipped, and sharpened on the upper edge-perfect for performing deadly backstrokes and counter cuts. Jim Bowie became the lord of knife fighters, and his weapon, which historian T. R. Fehrenbach compares to the Roman short sword or the Japanese samurai sword, became popular fighting equipment in the 1830s throughout the South west of the Appalachians.

Yet, even in Bowie's own era, when knives on the frontier were pounded out of files or any other handy piece of metal, there was no standard model, nor is there a reliable record of what Bowie's own knife truly looked like.

Later in 1830, and back in Texas, Bowie got to illustrate its advantages and his own abilities. Three men hired to kill him attacked Bowie, who was never at a loss for adversaries. In the end, one man was almost beheaded, another was disemboweled and the third had his skull split open

The original Bowie knife was two inches wide and a quarter inch thick with the blade being about 12 inches long. The back of the blade had a soft metal inlaid to catch the opponent's blade during a scrape. Razor sharp was the top edge of the clip point. In order to protect the hand a brass quillon was in place.

Back in New Orleans, Bernard Marigny's fortunes began to ebb. His son, Gustave Marigny was killed in a duel. Nevertheless, his behavior still led, "many of his detractors to assume that dueling continued as his principal pastime until age unarmed him."

1831: The Texians

Bowie was probably the most eligible young bachelor to have walked into San Antonio in a generation. Perhaps, then, his betrothal to Ursula Veramendi was only a matter of time. She was the daughter of Don Juan Martin Veramendi, governor of the province of Texas and vice-governor of the Mexican State of Coahuila y Texas. Bowie led the governor's ranging parties against the Comanches, became a Mexican citizen and a Catholic, and married her on April 23, 1831.

Colorful as he was, Bowie was far from the only duelist in Mexican Texas.

Walker Baylor had been a cadet at West Point while Andrew Jackson was president. At he academy, he got into a quarrel with a cadet named Freeman. They settled their differences by a duel with naked bayonets. Walker, proving quicker at the art of fencing, punched more holes in Cadet Freeman than army regulations allowed and was dismissed. His father, Dr. John W. Baylor, was a friend of President Jackson. When the matter came to his attention he restored Walker and remarked that he did believe that fighting wasn't any drawback to a soldier. Walker merely showed his restoration order to the Commandant, then left for his home in Natchez, Mississippi. Before long he heard a cry from far-off Texas, for help in their upcoming revolution. He was soon on Texas soil.

Branch T. Archer arrived in Texas in 1831 and quickly joined a group in Brazoria agitating for independence from Mexico. Some sources suggest he left Virginia after participating in a duel in which his cousin was killed.

In his famous narrative of travels in America in 1831, de Toqueville expressed surprised at the savagery of American duels in which extralegal killing appeared to be the goal, in contrast to Continental duels in which participation itself satisfied honor.

In the American South, however, honor remained a major provocateur. Wrapped within a culture that prized honor and military service above most other considerations, combined with a belief that a show of courage helped keep the slaves subdued, made the South the major dueling ground of the United States.

1832: Anahuac and Velasco

While many of the Anglo colonists moving in Mexican Texas brought with them the Southern culture of dueling, they also brought with them the court of honor. Threatened duels between John W. Moore and J. G. Wright, and Wyly Martin and Thomas F. McKinney, never reached the dueling grounds. The Martin-McKinney misunderstanding was referred for settlement to a board of honor, consisting of Stephen F. Austin, Branch T. Archer, William H. Wharton, and Sam Houston, all influential men in colonial Texas and all well-verse in the Code.

No doubt the government in Mexico City did not completely trust the hordes of Americans who had settled amongst them. Then, too, the administration in Washington D. C. had given Mexico few reasons to feel at ease, especially after the arrival of Anthony Butler.

Butler was living in Mississippi in 1829 when his good friend President Andrew Jackson, appointed him as the United States' chargé d'affaires in Mexico City. Historian Justin H. Smith commented that Butler's only qualifications for the post "were an acquaintance with Texas and a strong desire to see the United States obtain it." He had been through bankruptcy more than once, spoke no Spanish, was ignorant of the forms of diplomacy, and "was personally a bully and a swashbuckler." Further, Smith maintained, Butler was "shamefully careless," unprincipled in his methods, and "openly scandalous in his conduct...In brief, he was a national disgrace."

Sam Houston wrote of Butler in 1832, "Such men as he is, would destroy a country, but take my word for it, he will never gain one!"

On June 26, 1832 , the Battle of Velasco opened. In an armed prelude to the Texas Revolution, the Battle of Velasco marked the first bloodshed in the then deteriorating relations between Texas and Mexico. In the conflict, Domingo de Ugartechea, the Mexican commander in charge of a fort at the town of Velasco, attempted to block attempts by the Texans to transport a cannon for possible use against Mexican forces at nearby Anahuac. After several days of fighting, the Texans under John Austin and Henry Smith prevailed when the Mexicans exhausted their ammunition.

Before the fighting ended, however, some 8-10 Texans were killed and another 12 wounded. Mexican losses were placed at 5 killed and about 15 wounded. Aylett Buckner, of the Magee, Mina and Long Expeditions, led a company of volunteers from the area of present Fayette and Matagorda counties at the battle and was killed.

Under the provisions of the truce, Ugartechea and his men were allowed to return to Mexico. Tensions later eased somewhat when Mexican officials dismissed the commander at Anahuac, who had been the primary cause for the Texan's frustration with Mexican authorities in the area.  

General Mier y Terán learned of the disturbances at Anahuac against Bradburn on June 25. He was then on his way to Croix, from which place he issued his final dispositions respecting Texas. He instructed Ugartechea to relieve Bradburn of his command, and asked Austin to use his influence to allay excitement. This was on June 29. As far as available material reveals, these were his last orders.

From Croix, the general proceeded to San Antonio de Padilla, where he established headquarters in the presidio of Aguaverde. He and his secretary, Colonel José María Díaz Noriega, selected for their living quarters the same rooms which Iturbide had occupied just before his execution in 1824.

The news from Texas only added to the sadness that had overtaken the commandant general. His soul was burdened with weariness, and "devoured by a fatal, diabolical idea."

On July 2, he walked around the village in deep contemplation. He made so many trips to the river near by that Colonel Noriega began to watch his movements closely. In the afternoon, he went to the tomb of Iturbide and stood for more than an hour before it. Returning to his quarters, he remarked to Noriega,  "Things are in a bad way: the political horizon is ever more cloudy, and the net result will be the loss of Texas. I would give my whole life if Mexico could appreciate the beauty and fertility of that land, but no one will think of it. The men there [Mexico City] have enough to think about in their own intrigues and
ambitions."

"But you, General," replied Noriega, "will probably receive the majority of votes for the presidency, and then you can remedy the evils that you fear."

"That," answered the general, "is an insane idea. Do you believe that in that palace they ever think of the liberty we have gained for them in the desert? Do you believe that that multitude of men who surround the government would allow a ray of truth to get through to the salon of the president? Do you believe that honor and good intentions are enough to calm this torrent of ambition and aspiration? Do you think that moderation and leniency would be enough to destroy the hatred of the factions, and, from those bands that irritate and destroy one another, form a nation of affectionate brothers and sincere republicans? I have seen many changes in my military and political life, and I have formed one certain and infallible opinion, and that is, that a man who governs a nation cannot leave his post without incurring the hatred and disapproval of his fellow-citizens. If he complies exactly with the law, they call him a tyrant; if he adopts a policy of leniency, they revile him with the name of imbecile. Each faction wants its own exclusive triumph; each man wants his conveniences and interests served; and it is impossible for the government to satisfy so many ambitions. As to the poor people, whom the modern publicists have christened the masses, they suffer patiently whatever extortions are inflicted upon them by the first magistrate down to the grotesque revenue officer; but these masses utter maledictions against the one in command, and these maledictions, like a poison, corrode the heart and fill all moments of life with gall. That is a president; that would be my fate, and I should see us, without being able to prevent it, lose Texas. Texas, which has cost me so much sleep and so much effort."

That night, at nine o'clock, the general retired. In about half an hour, Colonel Noriega heard a groan. He inquired if the general were ill. On being informed that all was well, he forgot the incident until the next day, when he discovered that the general had driven half an inch of a rapier between his ribs.

Doubtless Mier y Terán had rejected an impulse to take his own life, fearing in some way to throw blame on those who slept in the same house.

The next morning, July 3, the commandant general arose early and dressed carefully. He donned the uniform which he reserved for special occasions, put on the various insignia of his military career, and knotted a beautifully colored silk handkerchief to the collar of his blouse. He buckled on his sword, which he rarely wore, and went outside at seven o'clock. He gave a short turn about the plaza, and meeting a corporal of the presidial company of Aguaverde at the door of the barracks, he said, "If your general should die, what would you do?"

"Someone would replace you," replied the corporal with rustic simplicity.

This answer seemed to decide him, and making numerous detours so as not to be seen, he went behind a ruined wall in front of the old roofless church of San Antonio de Padilla. There he braced the handle of his sword against a stone, and put the point against his heart. He made a quick forward movement, and fell lifeless, pierced through by the sword. A short time later, he was missed, and General Ignacio Mora, second in command, instituted a search. The body was found, face upward, about ten o'clock that same morning; the left hand of the dead man was clenched in the collar of his military blouse and his right hand rested upon the blade of his sword. General Mora ordered the body removed to the salon of the old casa del congreso, across the plaza from the church.

That night, when the single, lonely bell of Padilla tolled for vespers, a livid corpse, covered with white linen, was stretched out in the flickering light of four candles in the salon where the Tamaulipas congress had decreed the death of Iturbide.The next morning, at eleven o'clock, General Mora conducted a
military funeral. Then the body was placed in the same tomb with the mortal remains of the former Emperor, Iturbide.

1833: To the First Blood

In 1833, the Comte de Chatauvillard, a member of the Paris Jockey Club, published his Essai sur le duel (Rules for the Duel). This volume established the premise that duels were to be fought only to first blood. Swords, less likely to cause a fatal wound, were preferred to pistols. From this system would develop what the 20^th Century would come to know as epee fencing.

1834: Baron von Roeder

The Mexican government grew increasingly concerned over the number of Anglo settlers from the United States. Their number had increased exponentially and their was no getting around the distinct difference in their culture and that of the Catholic-, Mediterranean-influenced background of Mexico's rulers.

Mexico did manage to induce emigration from Europe, as well. One of the more interesting colonists at this time was a Prussian Baron named Ludwig von Roeder. His story adds to the examination of the culture of the sword ion Texas. For his story, we will turn to no less august a source than the late J. Frank Dobie, the grandfather of all later Texas folklorists. The excerpt that follows comes from, Tales of Old-Time Texas (1955):

Ludwig Baron von Roeder of Prussia and his wife had nine sons, all over six feet tall--and all restless under military tyranny. In 1832 Sigismund, the wild one of the breed, fought a duel at the University of Breslau with the Prince of Prussia and killed him.

The fact that the duel was fair prevented the king from putting Sigismund to death but not from sentencing him to life imprisonment. After he had been in prison about a year, his father went to the king for audience.

"What do you want?" the king glared.

"You know what I want," the baron replied.

"No," the king bellowed, "I will not."

"Is there no condition at all?" the baron asked.

"Yes, one condition only. I will release your son if you and your family will leave Germany forever."

"How much time will you give us to leave?"

"One year."

The baron began at once to sell off his lands and other properties, keeping a few of his best hogs, chickens, horses, and cattle take to the new home. Mexico was at this time offering hospitality to foreigners, and the baron set his compass for Texas, then a part of Mexico. Several other Prussian families joined the von Roeders in preparation for emigrating. They chartered an English ship, and as the end of the year approached, loaded it with livestock, household gear, carts, buggies, tools, farm implements, clothing, food for a long voyage, plows and whisky stills. The day before they were to sail, a prison guard escorted Sigismund von Roeder to the ship.

It was headed for the mouth of the Brazos River, but a Gulf hurricane drove it to Galveston Island. There the first child of the colony was born. The Baroness von Roeder was troubled with insomnia, and she had her piano landed so that she could play it at night and keep others from sleeping. People danced to its music. In his capital at San Felipe de Austin on the Brazos, Stephen F. Austin heard of these Germans stranded on Galveston Island. He sent an agent offering them lands out of his wide grant. They investigated, saw the fertile soil and the great abundance of game, and brought their ship and its holdings to the mouth of the Brazos for unloading. They settled around Industry.

Frontier conditions were not conducive to making Sigismund von Roeder tamer. He learned to substitute Bowie knife for sword, but still wore his rapier. He rode and hunted with young men who slept with their guns and relied on them to enforce their democratic ideas. Some were hard gamblers, more were hard drinkers.

One morning about a dozen of the Sigismund von Roeder crowd assembled for a celebration at the plantation home of Benjamin Buckingham on the Brazos. It was not a mansion but was more ample than most of the log houses. The owner had just returned from Kentucky with a bride. She was beautiful and she was rare in that world of young men. They were making festival to honor her, but after the hard corn whisky began to flow free and she saw that an especial amount of it was flowing into her husband, she withdrew from the crowd. Soon the celebrants turned to cards. Benjamin Buckingham was foremost in turning a social game into one for stakes.

The stakes began low. As they rose, all players but Buckingham and von Roeder dropped out. Von Roeder was doing most of the winning. He proposed a limit to the bets, but Buckingham, growing more reckless with each deal, called for the sky. After he had lost all his money, he began betting his mules, horses, oxen, then his slaves. Every time he lost a unit of these chattels, he made out a bill of sale. His opponent stacked the bill of sale under a red brick made from valley earth.

At noon the onlookers ate beef and wild turkey, corn pones and greens, cooked by a slavewoman in the log kitchen out in the yard to the rear of the main house. The only pause made by the gamblers was for another drink. Paper slips representing buggy, wagon, plows, harness, race horses, saddles and other personal property piled up under the red brick. Buckingham's friends begged him to stop.

"I will not stop," he shouted in frenzy. "Luck will change directly. You will see."

"I'll quit when Buckingham says quit," von Roeder aid. As winner, according to the code, he was honor-bound to keep on playing, giving the loser a chance to win back until the loser cried a halt.

The shadows outside were long when Buckingham began to put up the deeds to his lands. Against the tract on which the house stood, von Roeder staked everything under the red brick. He won.

There was a pause and a bitter oath from Buckingham. In the fading light a white-haired Negro brought in candles, set them on the table, went out, brought in a blazing pine knot and lit them. Every eye was on von Roeder, but nobody was saying a word.

As the old slave withdrew, the bride entered and placed her hand on her husband's arm.

"Come, Benjamin," she said. "It is time to quit. You are tired out."

"And that ain't all," said one brazen young man.

"You mean I am broke?" Buckingham yelled.

While his bride waited in a silence intensified by every man present, he strode to a cabinet. He took a paper out of a drawer, walked back to the table, and laid it down between the candles.

"That," he said, "will cover everything under your brick."

Von Roeder spread the paper out. It was Buckingham's marriage license.

"Only with the lady's consent," he said.

Maybe there was bitterness in her smile, but it was a smile of assent.

Once more the cards were shuffled, dealt, played. It was a quick game. As von Roeder reached for this last document to add to the papers under the red brick, Buckingham reached for one of the pistols he wore and fired. He missed. As he raised the second pistol in his brace, von Roeder's sword pierced his heart.

It happened that an alcalde lived near. All agreed that nothing would be touched, which is still the legal practice in Mexico, until his arrival. That was within a short time.

The alcalde ruled that the killing was in self-defense. As the body of the dead man was borne out on a plank, the alcalde's voice rang in question:

"Do you, Barbara Buckingham, take this man, Sigismund von Roeder?"

In those days marriages in Texas were often made by contract. Von Roeder sold the plantation he had won and took the woman he had won and moved west. Descendants of the two are numerous in southwest Texas today.

It should noted that, while Mexican Texas had its share of colonists who were fleeing the results of duels back in Europe or America, relatively few duels were actually carried out in Texas. There were exceptions, of course, and other stories of duellists in this era are far more grisly than Mr. Dobie's tale.

A much grimmer incident occurred in 1834 in San Augustine, Texas. A man named Morrow sent a cartel to one Jack Fields, demanding satisfaction and offering Fields the choice of weapons. Fields replied he would meet Morrow on the morrow with two razors and that they would be as sharp as a hone could make them. Among those from the American South the insult was plain. Fields was daring Morrow to fight him with a weapon associated in the southerners' minds with fights between slaves.

Morrow was prepared to see the insult and raise Fields one, however. He arrived for the duel and assurred Fields that he would fight Fields with the razors, since Morrow would not wish to put Fields at a disadvantage by naming some weapon with which Fields would be unfamiliar.  The insult was plain. Slaves (and, in some regions, free men of color) were prohibited from carrying firearms and a sword was exclusively the weapon of gentlemen.

The remark drove Fields berserk. He attacked Morrow with a terrible ferocity. Within five minutes, both men were bleeding profusely. Their seconds, sickened at the sight, jump in to end the combat. Both men were given into the care of two doctors, who were there to specifically to care for any wounds incurred. The two doctors had brought all of their equipment with them, but to no use. Fields and Morrow were each slashed to such an extent that neither survived the duel by ten minutes.

The most significant pistol duel of this year occurred between William T. Austin and John A. Wharton. The causes were twofold: factional political frictions and a property dispute. Stephen F. Austin was in Mexico at the time. At a formal dinner back in Texas, Wharton made the toast, "The Austins; may their bones burn in hell." William T. Austin, who felt obligated to defend the family name, challenged Wharton. Because of his inexperience with the pistol, the challenger went into training under the guidance of that old filibuster, Col. Warren D. C. Hall. As a result, he wounded Wharton in the right arm, and the honor of both participants was deemed to have been satisfied.