On a hot day in July, 1804, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr faced each other and raised their pistols in what was to become the most famous duel in American history. On a cool morning in March, 1805, two Harvard undergraduates did essentially the same thing, with the exception that their contest is scarcely remembered--even by Harvard historians.

Although the student appeal to arms occurred in March, the faculty was unaware of the event until May. By then alarming rumors were aboard, and the faculty decided to vote on the question, "Is it expedient for this government to institute an inquiry into the foundation of a report of a duel, said to have been fought lately between two students?" The "government" decided that the inquiry would indeed be interesting, if not expedient, and consequently charged its investigators to bring in the facts.

After some difficulty, and by unknown means, the faculty discovered that on the night of March 22 one Wainwright Foster had been guilty of conduct toward a certain George English which was "insulting and irritating in both words and actions." Foster, who seemed the aggressor, thereafter challenged English to a duel that same evening. As Mr. English was not one to go off half-cocked, he refused to defend his honor that evening, but promised to do so the next morning if Mr. Foster insisted. Foster was very insistent, and seconds were duly appointed--a Mr. Bullard and a Mr. Wallack.

As so often proves the case in duels, seconds are of inestimable value in preserving life and limb of the combatants. Neither Bullard nor Wallack desired to witness bloodshed the next morning, so they conceived the unsporting idea of loading the pistols with powder only. This plan they communicated to the ferocious Mr. Foster, who on reflection had lost much of his enthusiasm for the contest. Foster therefore heartily agreed to the boax, and we may suppose that he spent a much more restful night than did his unenlightened opponent.

The next morning found the two gentlemen and their seconds at the appointed place--a lonely wood east of Cambridge. After the preliminaries of loading the pistols, without shot, and of walking ten paces, Foster aimed directly at English, and English aimed directly into the air. As this produced no effect whatsoever, except a loud noise, a second exchange was ordered--by Foster. Again the aggressor aimed at English, and English again aimed straight upward.

English had no delusions about his quarry being overhead; his aiming procedure was among the best of nineteenth century dueling practices--the so-called delope. The act of firing into the air was simply a semi-honorable way of announcing "I'm scared to death, couldn't we possibly call this thing off?" English at last perceived, however, that Foster's honor would not be satisfied without being fired upon. Consequently, on the third exchange English levelled his bead and pulled the trigger. Foster fell dramatically to the ground, and English, thinking his opponent dead or wounded, left the field. Thereupon, Foster resurrected himself and proceeded back to Cambridge for the morning's classes.

Back in the days when such petty offenses as yawning in chapel brought students punishment, one could hardly expect the Faculty to look kindly on students' playing with pistols--loaded or not. Although the Harvard duel was a harmless one and actually amusing, the professors and tutors were irate. After "long and painful consideration" they solemnly admonished Foster, English, and the two benign seconds.

It is difficult to say whether the Faculty's declaration opposing dueling had any effect on that noble practice itself. At any rate, by 1805 the popularity of dueling in the United States was waning; in that year dueling at Harvard ceased.