Mountain life -- Tennessee -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The gavel sounded now and again. Someone, with a pious view of making bad
worse, was calling attention to the anti-dueling legislation. Another
reminded Mr. Kinsard of his “sacred obligations” to his constituents,
to the people of Tennessee, to the House, all of which seemed to have
escaped him for the moment. Kinsard’s colleague had sprung forward,
recovered the somewhat ridiculous glove, and, crumpling it up, put it
into his own pocket. He succeeded in attracting the attention of the
chair and of the House. He wished—he spoke in a labored way, with a pause
between each phrase, and a rising inflection—to remark that the House was
disposed to take a great deal on trust. The gentleman had not given any
challenge. Did a member ask what that glove meant, then? Why, defiance!
Dueling was with a _deadly_ weapon; _deadly_ weapon was of the essence of
the offense. The gentleman might have preferred to have a round or two
at fisticuffs, or, perhaps, simply to engage in debate. (Derisive cries
and laughter.) Defiance only! It was a breach of all the proprieties
to mention the anti-dueling laws in this connection. Too much taken
for granted, Mr. Speaker. If I should be heard to say to a man that I
would see him before dinner, it would be highly preposterous to have me
arrested. We might be going to kill each other, it is true, but then,
again, we might be only going to “smile.”
The speaker sat listening gravely, much wishing to further the acceptance
of this view, for he considered the demonstration mere boyish wrath and
folly. He made strong efforts for the adjustment of the difficulty.
Harshaw rose presently, and begged to call attention to the fact that he
had named no names, had given no intimation as to identity. He had spoken
indefinitely, and the gentleman had insisted upon revealing himself. He
would say that he desired to provoke no quarrel; he had no ill-will to
the gentleman in question. He begged to withdraw what he had said, and he
tendered his apologies.
Kinsard, under the pressure that was brought to bear, could hardly do
less than accept them, and thus, it seemed at the time, the matter ended.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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