Fortunately, bloody metaphors, rather than duelling pistols are taken out nowadays when politicians are sacked, insulted or moved, writes Michael Moffatt.
There was a lot of talk recently about Charlie McCreevy being shafted, stabbed in the back or sacrificed on the altar of political necessity, while Bertie Ahern was said to have "an axe in his luggage". And McCreevy certainly experienced the modern version of the duel when he was kicked, punched and called a traitor and a Judas at Leinster House after the attempt to depose Charles Haughey in 1982.
Indeed, if duels were still in vogue, many top politicians would probably be looking for satisfaction at dawn. William Pitt and the Duke of Wellington, while each was a British prime minister, and George Canning when foreign secretary, fought duels over political rows; and Robert Peel would have fought a duel with Daniel O'Connell had O'Connell not been arrested en route to the match.
Discretion was an essential element of duelling if the authorities were not to be alerted, but O'Connell's duels had a degree of farce about them. His fight with Peel in 1815 became so public that O'Connell was twice arrested, once when his wife informed on him. It reached a stage where, to ensure privacy, the two had to arrange to shoot it out in Ostend. At that point O'Connell was arrested a second time and warned that if Peel was shot, he, O'Connell, would be hanged.
The same ridiculous publicity surrounded his dispute that same year with the Dublin Corporation politician John D'Esterre. The farce, however, turned to tragedy when D'Esterre died from the wound he received in the duel.
For Pitt, the call for satisfaction came when he was trying to rush a Bill through Parliament and he accused George Tierney, MP of trying to obstruct the defence of the country. As often happened in those duels, no blood was spilt. Honour was satisfied when they both fired and missed; but the affair did Pitt no harm, giving his reputation a little tinge of the heroic.
It was not the first time politics turned physical for Pitt. Twenty years earlier, rowdy Whig supporters had attacked his carriage in the street and Pitt's great rival, Charles James Fox, was accused of being behind the attack. Fox, with great panache, replied that he could not have been involved since he was in bed with his mistress at the time. He even offered the lady's sworn corroboration. That had a bit more style to it than the uncontactable John Major's excuse that he was having problems with a wisdom tooth, when Mrs Thatcher was looking for his support in 1990.
Fox himself had to fight a duel because of a garbled newspaper report of what he said about another politician, William Adam. Fox said, quite reasonably, that he could not be expected to apologise for everything written in the papers. Adam, however, insisted on a published apology. Fox, not the type to grovel, refused, but escaped with a flesh wound when the two fired at each other in London's Hyde Park. The moral of that story is that fat men made bigger targets and were more likely to be shot than thin ones.
The remarkable thing about George Canning's duel with Lord Castlereagh in 1809, during the Napoleonic wars, was that both men were members of the Cabinet. Canning was manipulating things behind the scenes to get Castlereagh fired as Secretary for War. Castlereagh, outraged that Canning was acting in such a fashion while appearing to support him, demanded a defence of his honour. Canning, being a practical man, wrote changes to his will and a tender letter to his wife, before setting off for Putney Heath. They each missed with their first shot. Negotiations then took place about a settlement, but failed; so they fired again. This time Canning was shot in the thigh. His relief is clear from the fact that he was able to joke afterwards about the damage to his "nankeen trowsers".
O'Connell's victory in the Clare election of 1828 led indirectly to Wellington's duel with the Earl of Winchilsea. The election convinced Wellington that it was time for a change in the law to allow Catholics to sit in Parliament. Winchilsea criticised him viciously in the Lords and in public letters, accusing him of wanting to introduce popery into every department of state. The Duke, thought not considered a good shot with a pistol, called for satisfaction.
They faced each other in the early morning of March 21st, 1829 in Battersea. Winchilsea had probably decided by then that it might not be a good idea to shoot a prime minister who was also the hero of Waterloo. Wellington deliberately shot wide when he realised Winchilsea was not raising his pistol. Winchilsea's second then read a placatory note intended to end the row, but Wellington did not accept it until the note contained an actual apology.
There were two interesting aspects to the affair. This duel over Catholic emancipation was precipitated by the election victory of O'Connell, who had killed a pro-emancipation Protestant politician, D'Esterre. And with historical appropriateness, the man who was on hand in case Wellington needed medical assistance was called Dr John Hume.