Now, when a man chose his second, he placed his life entirely in his hands. It became at once my duty to examine certain details. The challenged party had the right to name the weapons, and I knew Tompkins to be an expert swordsman. I asked my man about his saber experience. He admitted that he had some knowledge of carving ham, but as to carving anything else he was as ignorant as a child. I tried him at pistol practice and found that, with extra good luck, at ten paces he could hit a barn. To go into a duel under such conditions was downright madness. I told Rubery that I could not suffer him to be a chopping-block for a Yankee or to be coolly potted while he was shooting at the sun. I advised him that he must take time to practice with swords and pistols. But the Englishman would not be denied. I never saw a man so determined. He said he would rather die a thousand times than survive an unresented public insult. Having no alternative, I carried Rubery’s challenge to Tompkins at Fort Point. Lieutenant Tompkins referred me to his friend, Quartermaster Judson, whom I met without delay. I found he had little stomach for the duel, not because he or his principal were afraid, but because they dreaded dismissal from the service. He admitted that his principal was in the wrong and asked if there were any reasonable terms to adjust the difference. I told him I was instructed by my principal to accept nothing but a written retraction of the offensive language. “That is out of the question,” said Judson. “We are wasting time. Let us proceed to details.” “Proceeding to details” was quite a formal function in the code. Arrangements for the slaughter of a couple of human beings were always discussed over a bottle of wine, in a spirit of friendly benevolence. Judson produced the refreshments, filled my glass, handed it to me standing, left his own unfilled and sat down. Now, in Southwestern Kentucky, where I was raised, gentlemen always drank together. To offer wine or corn juice to an equal and not partake yourself was an almost unpardonable affront. You might do that without offense to an humble dependent, but not to one of the same social rank. I had determined that the duel should not take place and was watching for any chance to spar for time. This seemed to offer an “opening.” Of course, Judson had not the most remote idea of being discourteous. But I assumed to think otherwise. I looked as indignant as possible, dashed the glass on the floor, slapped my hat on my head and left the apartment before the astonished quartermaster had time to catch his breath. A few hours later my second, Captain Fluson, a famous duelist, waited on Judson with my challenge.