A Knife Duel in Mexico

General J.O. Shelby

At the end of the Civil War, General J.O. Shelby, CSA, refused to surrender and instead led his army into Mexico. His story was told in Noted Guerrillas, or, The Warfare of the Border (1877), by John N. Edwards.

While Shelby's army was camped outside Lampasas, three of his men went to a fandango in town. One of the men, Crockett Ralston, a veteran of Quantrill's guerrillas, created an incident when he tried to snatch a kiss from a Mexican girl. Reaching for her face, he grabbed her sebosa, a garment which covers the head and upper body, and in pulling it off he exposed her bare breasts. This provoked a mob attack on the Americans, two of whom were wounded, though Crockett made it back to the camp unscathed.

The brother of the girl walked to the camp, approached Shelby, and pointed at Crockett. He said, "That man has outraged my sister. I could have killed him, but 1 did not. You Americans are brave, I know; will you be generous as well, and give me satisfaction?"

Shelby looked at Crockett, whose bronzed face, made sterner in the moonlight, had upon it a look of curiosity. He at least did not understand what was coming. "Does the Mexican speak the truth, Crockett?" was the question asked by the commander of his soldier.

"Partly; but I meant no harm to the woman. I am incapable of that. Drunk, I know I was, and reckless, but not willfully guilty, General."

Shelby regarded him coldly. His voice was so stern when he spoke again that the brave soldier hung his head:

"What business had you to lay your hands upon her at all? How often must I repeat to you that the man who does these things is no follower of mine ? Will you give her brother satisfaction?"

He drew his revolver almost joyfully and stood proudly up, facing his accuser. "No! no! not the pistol!" cried the Mexican; "I do not understand the pistol. The knife, Senor General; is the American afraid of the knife?"

He displayed as he spoke a keen, glittering knife, and held it up in the moonlight. It was white, and lithe, and shone in contrast with the dusky hand which grasped it.

Not a muscle of Crockett's face moved. He spoke almost gently as he turned to his General: "The knife, oh! well, so be it. Will some of you give me a knife?"

A knife was handed to him and a ring was made. About four hundred soldiers formed the outside circle of this ring. These, bearing torches in their hands, cast a red glare of light upon the arena, already flooded with the softer beaming of the moon. The ground under foot was as velvet. The moon not yet full, and the sky without a cloud, rose over all, calm and peaceful in the summer night. A hush as of expectancy fell upon the camp. Those who were asleep slept on; those who were awake seemed as under the influence of an intangible dream. Shelby did not forbid the fight. He knew it was a duel to the death, and some of the desperate spirit of the combatants passed into his own. He merely spoke to an aide: "Go for [Doctor] Tisdale. When the steel has finished, the surgeon may begin."

Both men stepped fearlessly into the arena. A third form was there, unseen, invisible, and even in his presence the traits of the two nations were uppermost. The Mexican made the sign of the cross, the American tightened his sabre belt. Both may have prayed, neither, however, audibly.

They had no seconds—perhaps none were needed. The Mexican took his stand about midway of the arena, and waited. Crockett grasped his knife firmly and advanced upon him. Of the two, he was taller by a head and physically the strongest. Constant familiarity with danger for four years had given him a confidence the Mexican may not have felt. He had been wounded three times, one of which wounds was scarcely healed. This took none of his manhood from him, however.

Neither spoke. The torches flared a little in the night wind, now beginning to rise, and the long grass rustled curtly under foot. Afterwards its green had become crimson.

Between them some twelve inches of space now intervened, the men had fallen back upon the right and the left for their commander to see, and he stood looking fixedly at the two as he would upon a line of battle. Never before had he gazed upon so strange a sight. That great circle of bronzed faces, eager and fierce in the flare of torches, had something monstrous yet grotesque about it. The civilization of the century had been rolled back, and they were in a Roman circus, looking down upon the arena, crowded with gladiators and jubilant with that strangest of war-cries: Morituri te salutant!

The attack was as the lightning's flash. The Mexican lowered his head, set his teeth hard, and struck fairly at Crockett's breast. The American made a half-face to the right, threw his left arm forward as a shield, gathered the deadly steel in his shoulder to the hilt and struck home. How pitiful! A great stream of blood spurted in his face. The tense form of the Mexican bent as a willow wand in the wind, swayed helplessly, and fell backward lifeless, the knife rising up as a terrible protest above the corpse. The man's heart was found.

Cover him up from sight! No need of Dr. Tisdale here. There was a wail of women on the still night air, a shudder of regret among the soldiers, a dead man on the grass, a sister broken-hearted and alone forevermore, and a freed spirit somewhere out in eternity with the unknown and the infinite.

Crockett was afterwards killed in a desperate night attack upon a hacienda. . . 

A Bedside Bowie Provides Reassurance

Lady Isabel Burton accompanied her husband, the famous Victorian explorer Sir Richard Francis Burton, on a journey through the backwoods of Brazil. One night they were obliged to stay at a remote ranch, where Isabel felt not at all safe. In her memoir of the adventure, she describes that night:

The owner of the ranch, one Jose Antonio d'Azevedo, was a character, and a very bad one--original in rudeness, independence, and suspicion. There was not a basin or any kind of cooking-pot, nor a fire nor hot water. There was, however, one bed (Jose's), and no amount of entreaty to let me rest my aching limbs on it would induce him to allow me to do so. I had almost to go on my knees to be allowed to swing my hammock, lest I should spoil his mud-and-stick walls; but after a glass of cognac from our stock and much flattering and coaxing, he did permit that, and gave us some beans and flour, rice and onions, to eat. Richard slept on a wooden table, I in the hammock, and the rest of our party with the mules on the ground round a fire. It was a bitterly cold night, and we got full of vermin. 

At about one in the morning I was aroused by a loud whispering, apparently close to my head, and a low growl from my dog underneath my hammock, and I could distinctly hear the old man say, "Pode facilmente matar a todas" ("It would be very easy to kill the whole lot"). 

I felt quite cold and weak with fright; but I stretched out my hand in the dark to where I knew my weapons were, and got hold of a bowie-knife and loaded revolver. I then whispered to Richard, and we got some matches and struck a light. There was no one in the room, and the whispering and laughing still went on as if the old man and his negroes were conversing and joking behind the thin partition wall. Nothing occurred. In the morning we thought he was only alluding to his chickens; yet, as we learnt afterwards, he did bear an ugly name.

Election Day Special: Governor With a Bowie Knife

What is up with that knife?! It looks like some giant custom folder.
Here are some snips from the news article:

Schwarzenegger posts knife-wielding tweet
July 21, 2009
STUDIO CITY, Calif. (KABC) -- Moments after announcing a budget deal and billions of dollars in program cuts, Governor Schwarzenegger sent out a knife-wielding tweet. The message left some Californians wondering what exactly the governor's message meant.

The 27-second video message was posted on Governor Arnold Schwarzeneger's Twitter page. In the video, the governor joked about autographing state cars slated for the auction block as a way to raise more money for cash-strapped California.

[ . . . ]

In response to Schwarzenegger's Twitter video, a spokesperson for the governor's office said, "I don't know why he is holding a knife. The message is in what he is saying, not what he is holding in his hand.

Video here.

Personally, I found the story endearing. If someone where to start videotaping me at my desk, I too might have to put away a bowie knife I happened to be fondling before getting down to business. Or, perhaps Schwarzenegger was pondering the antics of state legislators in 1850s California, who were known to pull bowie knives on each other during debate. Or perhaps he was reminiscing about those happy days when he was free to silence his opponents however he thought necessary. . .

By the way, Schwarzenegger also keeps his Conan sword in his office.

A Dimunitive Rebel Ponders Close-Quarters Combat

Nervous thoughts on bowie-knife fighting in the Civil War from Johnny Reb and Billy Yank (1904) by Alexander Hunter. The following section describes sentiment in Alexandria, Virginia, after a regiment was raised but before its first battle:

A popular fallacy existed: that a warrior's fitness was measured by his size. A brawny six-footer was the pride of the ladies, the admiration of the street gamins and the envy of his smaller companions. As he marched at the head of his company, his head towering above the others, his hat cocked in a defiant way, his features set in martial frown, he looked not unlike Mars leading mortals to battle.

In the bar-room the big man was always surrounded by a group of admirers, who listened to him with open-mouthed wonder; the big man knew what war was and he knew what he was going to do; he did not want ammunition, his weapon was the bayonet or bowie-knife—give him that! And here the big man looked so terribly blood-thirsty that the timid ones shuddered with absolute terror.

It was amusing to see the big man pat the young, slender boy on the shoulder and tell him to cheer up, that a year or so in camp would spread him out and then he could hope to be a fighter too; then the big man would roll up his sleeve and let us measure his arm and strike him in the breast.

The boys and little men were laughed at, they did not brag; a warlike sentiment from anything under five feet eight was derisively laughed down, and so they sensibly held their tongues. What availed a quiet voice where the hoarse tones from the big man completely drowned it? If the boy or small fellow spoke, he was squelched. "Wonder what he will do when we close with them Yankees with bayonets and bowie-knives, where will he be then?" At that the big man would give his mustache a ferocious pull, and walk off, leaving the smaller soldier utterly extinguished.

After the First Manassas, when Southern troops charging with bowie knives were said to have caused a Union rout, the belief in the conclusiveness of hand-to-hand combat seemed to have been confirmed.

[T]he volunteer, discussing in his barracks the future, expressed the honestly felt desire to meet the foe in combat; a foe he had come to despise; a foe he felt certain would never stand long enough to look him in the face. Imaginative battles were rather of the "Iliad" order--a few rounds, then a rush of cold steel, and all was over. It was agreed that Company A should go into action with each man carrying a revolver in his belt and a bowie-knife in his bootleg; it would look decidedly war-like and unique, we thought, to see the handle protruding from the leggins. The pistols were intended for close quarters, and when each chamber should have done its deadly work, the bowie, conveniently carried between the teeth, would be expected to step in and carve up the foe. Thus we sat in earnest conclave, day after day, fighting our coming battles. We mapped out our program to suit our untutored fancy. The most harmless fellow amongst us, who would have hesitated to kill a fly, talked by the hour of bayonet charges, until the blood in our veins ran cold.

There was one little fellow, a private named Hunter, who grew meditative as the discussions waxed more thrilling, and spent many a sleepless night communing with himself. This bowie-knife business might be a very good thing, he thought, for immense fellows like Raymond Fairfax, or for one of those big Irishmen, but for a sixteen-year-old soldier of ninety-seven pounds fighting weight, it might not prove so very amusing after all. In a tight place, when cold steel was letting out blood, might it not be advisable, after having stood up to the fight like a man, to drop down on the ground for a little while and pretend to be dead? The big "Bowie-knife" would hardly stop to stab such a little corpse. A boy in battle, he continued to reason, could discharge firearms with the biggest, and do damage enough; having this advantage besides, there would be so little of him to hit; but as for an advance, --who would be hurt, the big blue? Not he! And making up his mind that until he had grown bigger, the question of cowardice would not be involved; and his anticipations of the future assumed a brighter aspect.

Happy Halloween

Michael Myers avec butcher knife in "Halloween." Note that he holds it in the classic "Psycho" grip. When using a reverse grip, the more sophisticated knife fighter keeps the edge facing outward.

What do butcher knives have to do with bowie knives? Well, in every eyewitness account of the Sandbar Fight in which James Bowie made his name, his knife is described as a butcher knife. Keep in mind that while today we don't use a butcher knife for much more than slicing up a roast, in the 1820s and 1830s a butcher knife would be used to slaughter and dress game or lifestock, and thus had to be heavy enough to break up bones and joints. We even read of men carrying a butcher knife in a "case"--a sheath. So what was called a butcher knife was often a large sheath knife, intended to be worn on the belt.

The Sandbar Fight was publicized nationwide, and within a year or two the term "Bowie knife" came into common use to describe a large knife carried primarily as a weapon.

L. Vincent Poupard gave his thoughts on the "Symbolism of a Knife as a Weapon in Horror Movies and Horror Literature." Among his suggestions as to why the knife is so often seen as the weapon of the monster or maniac are:

--It produces a copious amount of blood.
--It is a weapon associated with human sacrifice, and thus has a ritualistic element.
--It has phallic symbolism, as it penetrates the body. Villains prefer a big knife.

Another reason was given by the Joker in "The Dark Knight Returns": "Do you want to know why I use a knife? Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the... little emotions."

The Gaucho and His Knife

American knife technique was strongly influenced by techniques practiced south of the border. Argentinian gauchos often carried a long fighting knife called a facon. Ernest William White presents a fanciful view of the skills of the gaucho in Cameos from the Silver-land (1881).

Amongst his special powers however must be early enumerated, skill with the knife, by the aid of which he is more than a match for an Englishman with his revolver: of course the latter is unaware of the mode of attack, and this is the great source of danger. Formerly the Gaucho was afraid of the revolver, but not so now; perhaps the knife is up his sleeve and whilst addressing his victim with great politeness, it is allowed to run down into the hand and, before a revolver can be levelled, is plunged with lightning stroke into the heart of his adversary, no mistake is made, the aim is always deadly; sometimes the knife reposes in his long riding boot, and stooping down apparently to arrange that, is suddenly withdrawn and launched on its fatal mission; at others resting with the hilt on the curved middle finger and the blade along the forearm ready to be darted point first, and at a distance of ten yards it is winged with certain death. In fact it would take a good swordsman with his favourite weapon to obtain an advantage over a Gaucho with his facon; when they fight, they cover the left arm with two or three folds of the poncho, allowing the ends to hang down and form a shield which, kept in perpetual motion, effectually screens them and dazzles the eyes of their adversary, and so it is very difficult to see or get near them; they are stupendously quick with the arm and wrist but clumsy on the lower limbs: yet take his knife from him and the gaucho is helpless for business, pleasure or attack. With equal facility the Gaucho manages the bolas and the lasso and at the distance of thirty yards blunders are seldom committed; these instruments in his hands are really formidable, so that a European, whether on horseback or on foot, and engaged in a deadly struggle with him, is to a great degree helpless: if again in treachery a Gaucho hides behind a rock or tree for the passing traveller, his doom is pretty well sealed; his horse entangled with the bolas or himself with the lasso, there is no escape except perhaps by the instant severing of the latter with a very sharp knife, which many keep for the purpose.

Cane, Bowie Knife and Revolver Featured in NYC Dust-Up

One could be forgiven for thinking all bowie knife fights occurred in the South and West, but in fact New York City had its fair share. The following report is from the Los Angeles Times, May 15, 1885

Revolver and Bowie Knife

In the Hands of Two Desperate Men--They Do Some Damage.

New York, May 14. About 8:30 tonight an altercation occurred between Larry O'Brien, a well-known broker and politician, and George Truman, a sporting character, belonging to Chicago. The former was probably fatally stabbed, and the latter was shot twice. The affray was the outcome of a quarrel to-night. O'Brien met Truman on the corner of Broadway and Twenty-seventh streets and accused him of attempted blackmail. The remark enraged Truman, who gave utterance to some strong language. His remarks so exasperated O'Brien that he lifted his cane and struck the other man a heavy blow on the head. Without warning Truman drew a murderous-looking bowie-knife and plunged it into his opponent's abdomen, inflicting a gash eight inches long. A policeman immediately arrested Truman, and while in the custody of the officer a pistol shot was heard and a bullet from O'Brien's revolver lodged in the prisoner's back. He broke away from the officer and a second bullet from the same source lodged in Truman's left shoulder. Both men were taken to the Twenty-Ninth Precinct Police Station, and thence removed to the New York hospital. The excitement in the locality was intense. The cause of the quarrel is said to be an attempt on the part of Truman to blackmail a Wall street friend of O'Brien's. The friend is supposed to be Mr. Kelly of the firm of Kelly & Bliss, bookmakers. A charge of felonious assault was made against both men at the station house. The knife used has a blade a foot long and an inch and a quarter wide. O'Brien declined to take an anesthetic while his wound was being sewed up, and both men indulged in recriminations while their wounds were being dressed in the same ward in the hospital. To-night both men were resting quietly, but the result of the injuries is likely to be fatal in each case.

 The weapons appeared to grow as the story moved West. The New York Times described the knife as having a seven-inch blade, about an inch wide. The revolver was described as "an ornamented lady's pistol of light caliber."

Also, though the article states "the result of the injuries is likely to be fatal in each case," both men made a full recovery from their injuries and declined to press charges.