A Duel at Carisbrooke Castle

A Duel at Carisbrooke Castle#

If every pub has its story, I’ve found that one good way of sharing them — or at least, that one good way of me finding them — is to put them on the wall. And so it was, that one Tuesday evening, at the Wheatsheaf Hotel in Newport, as I was scanning the walls in search of inspiration for a tale to tell at the weekly open mic session there, that I came across the following:

Which is to say….

The Wheatsheaf Duel

An argument that started here in the Wheatsheaf between two soldiers called Lieutenant John Blundell who was the landlord’s son-in- law and ensign Edward Mcguire.

Mcguire accused Blundell of being a coward and as a matter of honour Blundell challenged Mcguire to a duel which took place at Carisbrooke Castle on the 9 July 1813.

Blundell’s pistol exploded as Mcguire fatally wounded him with a shot to the shoulder. His colleagues carried him back to the Wheatsheaf where his wife Anne tendered to him but to no avail as he died two day’s later on the 11 July 1813.

Here’s my firzt attempt at retelling this tale as a historical tale.

The Wheatsheaf Duel

If you happen to scan your eyes over the wall opposite the bar in the Wheatsheaf Hotel in Newport, on the Isle of Wight, you might notice a framed print that relates the tale of an argument that started in that very place in July 1813. The argument was between two soldiers — Lieutenant John Blundell, the Landlord’s son-in-law, and the lower ranked ensign Edward McGuire. He’d apparently accused Blundell of being a coward, a charge against a man;s honour that could not be ignored, and which led to a duel at Carisbrooke Castle. Blundell’s pistol exploded and he was fatally wounded with a shot to shoulder. He was brought back to the Wheatsheaf where his wife Anne tended to him, but to no avail, and he died a couple of days later.

Such is the tale that hangs on the on the wall. But whenever I see such things, I always like to check. Now if you’re into duels, there’s a two volume work from the 1840s called “The History of Duelling” — you can find in the Internet Archive, archive.org, which has thousands of scans of books going back to whenever — which records duels throughout the ages, or at least, up to 1841; but the reference there is even briefer than the description on the wall here. It does give a time for the duel — 2.30 in the afternoon — although the newspaper reports at the time suggest the duel took place early in the morning.

So what actually happened? A subscription to the British Newspaper Archive is one of the best presents I’ve ever bought myself, so here’s the tale based on what I can remember, or perhaps, misremember, from what I found in the papers of the time, the sort of thing that might have been talked about in the pub, then passed, as the “folk truth” of what happened. Because remember, stories are what’s left when the facts are forgotten.

The Wheatsheaf was quite an important pub in the town at the time (this is 1813, remember). Auctions were held there via the local auctioneers — Pittis’s — and the inn was a departure point for carriage and boat transits over to Portsmouth operated by a character who also had a pub in Ryde that was the departure point of the Royal Mail coach back to Newport, presumably after receiving the mail from Portsmouth via the passage operated by him. The pickup point in Portsmouth, the Quebec Tavern, has a role to play in another duelling tale — the last duel in Britain in which an Englishman died, which took place in the 1840s in Gosport, but that’s another story, a Solent Tale, for another day.

A couple of months before, Lieutenant Blundell, the son of a London merchant, was married, in Newport, to a recent widow, Mrs. Ann Monro, daughter of a notable chap from Portsmouth, Henry White, who would soon become Mayor there. She had previously married another soldier, Captain Monro, just eighteen months before, but he had died in active service just three or four months after their wedding.

A few weeks after his wedding to Mrs Monro, it appears that Lieut. Blundell took a young officer of his corps, to a cottage in Niton, to dine with him. Another soldier, Ensign M’Guire, an Irishman, who was stationed with Lieut. Blundell, seemed to take offence at this appearance of favouritism. (M’Guire may or may not have been the person who gave Blundell’s wife, Ann Monro, away. Various names are confused in the original reports.) Blundell made light of M’Guire’s comments, which wound M’Guire up so much that he wrote to the officers of the Blundell’s Regiment, calling him a rascal and a ruffian. The officers took this up with Blundell, and said that in their opinion, in return for this slight on his honor, he must fight M’Guire (who was from another regiment). Blundell thought this was a bit extreme, and seems to have tried to make arrangements to go up to London as a face saving way of getting out of a fight, but, at last, he had to relent and made a written challenge to M’Guire.

Presumably aware of the impending fight, Blundell’s wife Ann was distraught. She’d already lost one husband and didn’t want to lose another. So on Thursday, 8th of July, about eight in the evening, the Rev. Jon Barwis, a Magistrate living in Niton, (perhaps where Blundell had gone to dine?) was informed by Mrs. White, Ann’s mother, Blundell’s mother-in-law, that Blundell wished to see him; he went to her about dusk, then went to the White Lion (which was at Coppins Bridge, just near where the Church on the roundabout is now), and asked the landlord for Mr. McGuire, who was aged 28. They paced backwards and forwards outside the inn for a while, in conversation with each other. Based on information he’d received, the reverend wanted M’Guire to keep the peace. McGuire replied that he was a peaceable man, but he’d been ill used: Blundell had raised a report that he had supplied McGuire with clothes, and he’d been dishonoured too. Now, at that time, duelling had a strange relationship with the law. There was still a right to issue a trial by battle in the law courts (and there’s a story for another day about the last time such a challenge was issued a few years later), but in the case of duelling, if there was a fatality, then it was murder, and everyone involved in the duel, principals and seconds alike, was guilty. The magistrate warned M’Guire again, and asked him to give his word and honour that he would go back to the barracks and not fight Blundell; McGuire said he would go back to the barracks, and he wouldn’t challenge Blundell. The Reverend went back in to the White Lion and sent a message for Blundell to come and see him: he waited a considerable time, and: nothing. So went to where Blundell was staying, perhaps to the Red Lion, just round the corner from the Wheatsheaf, where he saw Blundell eating and drinking along with a couple of others, Lieut. Dillon, aged 26, and another Irishman, O’Brien, aged 17. He chatted privately to Blundell for a few minutes, then spoke to the others, saying he feared they were up to no good, and that he was a magistrate, and that he came to keep the peace; if they were planning a duel, he would bind them over. Blundell then said, that in certain situations, gentlemen in the army were obliged to fight duels; and Dillon replied that if any officer in his regiment refused to fight, he should feel it his duty to inform the commanding officer. The others agreed. The reverend repeated that he’s have no fighting, and asked if there was any alternative? But Dillon said some situations demanded a fight. “There must be no fighting.” To which he got the reply: “there will be no fighting in your district”. The officers returned to their food and drink and the reverend left them to it.

The following morning, a servant to Gilchrist who was stationed in Parkhurst Barracks, was ordered to take a case to Newport a case, although he didn’t know what was in it. From there, he went with Gilchrist, to Carisbrook Castle. They were joined shortly after by M’Guire, Gilchrist having the dubious honour of being M’Guire’s second. Blundell and a Mr. Heming also turned up; they then proceeded round to the back of the Castle, where Heming (Blundell’s second) measured out 12 or 13 paces. Blundell’s second asked Gilchrist, M’Guire’s second, for a pistol, who replied, “if you have it, it shall be without my consent; it’s not my wish they should be used today.” Blundell then asked his second to get one of his own guns, and the pistol was produced and loaded. The seconds stepped back about 15 or 20 yards, and Blundell’s second gave the word, “make ready, present, fire,”—or, “make ready, fire.” Blundell and M’Guire both fired together. Blundell stood his ground, and handed his pistol to Heming, his second, who said it was burst. Blundell asked Gilchrist if he could borrow another, as he wished to have another shot. Both seconds spoke with Blundell, and then with M’Guire, and both M’Guire’s pistols were reloaded. M’Guire and Blundell each took one, and Blundell’s second gave the word again. This time when they fired, Blundell fell. The other three came up to him and Blundell said—“My dear M’Guire, I am dying, but I forgive you from my heart and soul.” Gilchrist shook hands with him, and said—“Are you satisfied that we have behaved as Gentlemen to-day?” and he replied, “Yes, my dear Gilchrist, I die in peace with you all.” Gilchrist’s servant was then sent to get a Doctor; when he returned, the others had gone.

Blundell was brought in blanket from Carisbrooke Castle, back here, to the Wheat Sheaf Inn, where his wife would tend to him. The ball had entered sideways into the right shoulder, crossed his back, taking a part of the vertebrae, broken a rib, and lodged near the arm-pit. An Adjutant from the Army Depot was sent to inquire into the circumstances, getting there late afternoon, and asked who the seconds were. Blundell told him. saying he was mortally wounded, and that he and M‘Guire had had an altercation, that it hadn’t been his wish to fight if he could help it, he didn’t owe M’Guire any animosity, but he had been compelled to do it by O’Brien and Dillon.

Blundell’s father-in-law, Henry White, also spoke with him the next day, the Saturday, when Blundell said he had received a wound, which he supposed to be mortal; it wasn’t his fault, it was a malicious business, that he couldn’t help it, that he never wanted to fight, and that O’Brien and Dillon had compelled him to do it.

Blundell died later that day, or maybe the next.

On Monday and Tuesday an Inquest was held; the Jury returned a verdict of Wilful Murder against Ensign Maguire, as a principal in the first degree; and Gilchrist and Hemming, as principals in the second degree; a couple of others were also mentioned as accessories before the fact.

The case was passed up to the Summer Assizes at Winchester. All the charged parties, except for Heming, Blundell’s second, offered themselves up for trial at the Assizes.

All four were convicted of murder, and despite receiving good characters, the mandated sentence of death was passed on them; this was then respited till later that month, and then again till the next month. The affair had caused so much interest and anxiety throughout the army, that the Commander in Chief had made a special military case to the Prince Regent for clemency. Following a full consideration of all the circumstances, the three soldiers were pardoned. The two duellists had been deemed the least guilty; Dillon was declared incapable of serving his Majesty again, for not having used the influence of his superior rank over inexperienced minds, for conciliating rather than inflaming the parties involved. The other two, O’Brien and Gilchrist, were dismissed from the army although they would be able to return.

Another year on, June 1814, and Mrs. Blundell, previously, Mrs. Monro, née White, was to marry again. (It was a big time for the family. Her father, who was coming to the end of his year’s term as Mayor of Portsmouth, was also knighted by the Prince Regent a month later.) How long Ann White’s third marriage lasted, I can’t say — maybe there’s another story there? — but the story still isn’t quite finished.

Let’s skip forward, to 1817.

A transportation ship, the Larkins, arrives at Portsmouth on her way to Botany Bay. The Mate of the Captivity, one of the convict service ships used to put convicts under sentence of transportation on board the Larkins, had heard a rumour that on board the vessel, one of the convicts was actually Gilchrist, the man who had been engaged in a duel a few years before, and who had had been found guilty of murder. Back in the dock yard, whilst chatting to one of the proprietors of the Hampshire Telegraph, he repeated the rumour just as he heard it. Even though the Larkins hadn’t yet sailed, the newspaperman didn’t go on board to check — what would the point be? — but accepted the information at face value and ran the story soon after, by which time the Larkins had set sail.

The story mentioned that among the convicts being transported to New South Wales by the Larkins, was Gilchrist, previously tried and convicted at Winchester Assizes for the foul murder of Lieut. Blundell, in a duel at Newport,and who had afterwards received a transmuted sentence. He had lived a life of great moral turpitude and was in the process of being banished from Britain for the crime of forgery.

The story was widely copied in the morning papers around the country, including the London papers, over the next few days. But it wasn’t actually true, because Gilchrist was living his best life in London and very much not being transported for forgery or anything other crime. Gilchrist was not happy, as you might expect. A friend of the proprietor of The Military Register took Gilchrist to see him, at which point Gilchrist, who was almost in a state of madness from the agitation of his wounded feelings, showed the publisher the article, as well as a letter from the judge in the original murder trial stating that Gilchrist had unavoidably been involved as a second in a duel, which had been a fair duel, and he had never been charged, let alone convicted, of any other offence, let alone “forgery”. There had never been any ‘transmuted sentence’ — he’d received an absolute pardon — so what he could do about such a libel? The publisher of The Military Register then assured him that the owners of the Hampshire Telegraph would do the right thing by admitting to their mistake and making good, then immediately republished the defamatory statement, along with a list of rebuttals and a statement that Gilchrist was in his office with him right now.

And then, silence. Nothing, for five weeks or so. The Military Register article appeared to go unnoticed.

The result was that Gilchrist then took the proprietors of the Hampshire Telegraph to court asking for 3000l. in damages (about £150,000 today). As with such cases today, the case generated considerable interest, and when proceedings began, the Court was crowded at early doors by an expectant audience.

Gilchrist’s counsel made a simple case: the libel had been published, and widely syndicated, to the detriment of Gilchrist’s character, and the defence knew what had been published was untrue. He didn’t care whether the motive for publishing the article was from malice or neglect, but no man was to go forth armed with a loaded blunderbuss, either wilfully or carelessly discharging the contents against the innocent and inoffensive. His client was an honourable man, of high character, so what in the name of God could be the motive for making such a foul and atrocious a libel? Yes there’d been a duel, and yes a man had died, and yes, people were charged, but Gilchrist was unavoidably dragged into it and was no “foul murderer” — even the original judge from the original trial said he’d behaved honourably — and he’d afterwards received a full pardon. As to him being on board a transportation ship — pure nonsense. They could at least have shouted over to the ship — it still hadn’t sailed — to check the story, but that was too much effort for them, they just ran with the rumour. And a forger? Where were the reports of that case? If it was in the public interest to publish that the Gilchrist was being transported, wouldn’t it also have been in the papers that he was on trial for forgery? He believed in a free press, of course he did, of course it was important to hold public figures and public measures, to account, but that didn’t mean they should line their pockets by selling scandal, rumour, libel and lies, particularly when applied to private individuals. The Press was indeed one of the greatest blessings ever known, if rightly exercised; but if it deviated from public praise or public censure, and descended into slander or malignant attack upon private character, simply for sordid monetary gain, then it became a curse and not a blessing. Even though the proprietors of the Hampshire Telegraph knew from the Military Review within a couple of days of the story being published, that it was lies, it took them another five weeks before they published their retraction. (Not surprisingly, the defence objected that what the other papers had done was nothing to do with them.) The “evidence” of Gilchrist being on board the Larkins was a just a second hand rumour, which had then been published as a fact. No editor should let his arrows fly so loosely, due caution was necessary by the public press in matters relating to private individuals, and no apology could repair the damage to reputation it could cause.

After the libel was read out, the defence counsel said he had the painful duty of fully admitting the article was without foundation, and that as there was no defence they could make, all the defence counsel could do was offer mitigation against the size of the damages claimed. Two convicts who had been sentenced to transportation at Horsham for forgery gave feigned names when they were on board, and for some reason — who knows why — Gilchrist’s was one of them, and this was implicitly believed on board the convict ships. The publishing of the libel was an involuntary error, and the defendants should be tried on what they did next. They had been proprietors of the Hampshire Telegraph for many years, and this was the first time they’d ever been called in such a case. For a considerable time after the paragraph was published, they’d had no reason to doubt its truth; but eventually, a friend called and showed them a paragraph in The Military. Register, stating there was no foundation whatever for the claims made against Mr. Gilchrist, who was at that time was apparently sat at the very elbow of the writer. They tried to write to Gilchrist as soon as they heard this news, but as they didn’t know his address, they sent their letter to the proprietor of The Military Register, who obviously had been in contact with him, offering to make an apology, and publish any retraction or statement he cared to dictate. But they didn’t get any answer. So a few days later they wrote again, repeating the offer, and then heard, for the first time, that Gilchrist thought an apology should have been published soon after the time they’d libelled him and he wouldn’t accept one now. So what could the proprietor of the Hampshire Telegraph do? (What they actually had done was publish a retraction after a London newspaper that had run the original story had picked up on the Military Register a month or so after it had been published and run their own retraction.) Admittedly, a paragraph had gone afloat stating that he was a convict on a voyage to Botany Bay, but would his friends believed that, when they could see him at the very same time moving around London in honourable society? And it was extraordinary that he’d taken so long to seek redress. As it was, they accepted damages should be paid, but it should also be remembered they weren’t a London paper, but just a little provincial newspaper with limited circulation and limited means. If the trial had been held in Hampshire rather than London, they would have benefited from a Jury more likely to know of the previous prudence and high character of the Hampshire Telegraph, and surely the current jury would be mindful of that. A monetary payout surely offered no real sense of compensation to the wounded feelings of a British Officer, but if nothing but money, would do, then the Jury would estimate the amount according to the situation of the defendants, and the sense they had shown in seeking to redress the mistake they’d unwittingly made.

It didn’t take long for the Jury to come to their decision. After a short consultation, they returned a verdict for Gilchrist and awarded 500 pounds in damages (about £25,000 today).

And there the tale does come to an end.

Checking volume II of J. G. Millingen’s The history of duelling, published in 1841, which itemises duels in Great Britain and Ireland up to 1841, we find the following scant description of the event.

Needless to say, my next stop was the British Newspaper Archive to see what the local newspapers of the time had to say about the affair.

Introducing the Wheatsheaf#

The Wheatsheaf Hotel is one of the few surviving pubs of old Newport. It must have been a sizeable inn even in the early 1800s, acting as a location for local auctions, amongst other things.

A town plan from the mid-19th century shows the preponderance of pubs around St Thomas’ square and the site (at the time) of the new Church there, built in the early 1850s on the site of the previous one.

Ordnance Survey town plan of central Newport, Isle of Wight, circa 1860, via National Library of Scotland

The Wheatsheaf also appears to have been a departure point for transits over to Portsmouth, via passage provided by Mr James Beazley. His new pub in Ryde in 1811, (the Bugle), also seems to have been the departure point of the Royal Mail coach to Newport, presumably after receiving the mail from Portsmouth via the passage operated by Beazley.

The Quebec Hotel in Portsmouth features in the tale of another Solent duel, in 1845, but that is another story for another day…

A Duel Near Carisbrooke#

The first news of the duel, which took place on Friday, July 9th, 1813, started to appear a couple of days after the event. In the initial reports, the duel had not proved immediately fatal.

Lieutenant Blundell was just recently married, in Newport, to a widow, Mrs. Monro, although no mention is made of M’Gregor having given the bride away.

Mrs. Monro’s previous husband had also been an officer in the British Army, killed in the line of duty a year before. So perhaps M’Gregor was a family friend, or had served with Captain Monro?

It seems that Mrs. (Ann) Monro’s first marriage had also been short lived.

Regarding the duel, Drakard’s Stamford News commented wryly on the affair.

Although the Hampshire Telegraph — or to give it its full name, the Hampshire Telegraph and Sussex Chronicle; or, Portsmouth and Chichester Advertiser — did not pick up on the news of the duel that week, it did manage to report on another incident involving a military man:

News was often slow to travel, and relative times of “seven days ago” (se’nnight) in newspaper reports could often end up meaning a date between seven and fourteen days previously, depending on the date on which the report was written, or typeset, and not necessarily from the date it was published. So from the following report which appeared a couple of weeks after the event, we might infer that Lieutenant Blundell, wounded in the duel, had succumbed to his injuries and died a couple of days after the event, on Sunday, July 18th, 1813.

A report in the Morning Chronicle a couple of days before the Cambridge Chronicle report was a little more forthcoming in naming the several parties identified as being responsible for the “Wilful Murder” of Lieutenant Blundell. That those involved had absconded was also noted.

The case was passed up to the Summer Assizes at Winchester, which ran from Tuesday, July 27th, to Saturday, July 31st, 1813. All the charged parties, except for Heming, Lieutenant Blundell’s second, offered themselves up for trial.

Or maybe the trial took place on the first day of the Assizes, Tuesday, July 27th, 1813, which would suggest the men had turned themselves in on the Friday before the Assizes started, July 23rd, 1813.

A few more details of what had prompted the duel appeared in the Hampshire Chronicle report of events at those sessions.

M’Guire had been the other party in the duel, with Gilchrist as his second. Heming had been second to the deceased, Blundell.

A more comprehensive report of the trial appeared in the Morning Chronicle. The implication was that Gilchrist, M’Guire’s second, had been reluctant on the day of the duel that it should take place, and that Blundell had also sought to avoid the duel by going up to London. But several other members of the soldiery had forced him into the encounter.

The Norfolk Chronicle made no bones about who they thought might have provoked the duel.

A report that appeared in several locations, including the Saint James’s Chronicle and the London Courier and Evening Gazette, repeated verbatim much of the text that also appeared in the Star (London) report, but also included further detail about what had happened on the evening of Thursday, July 8th, 1813, the night before the duel, as well as the character witness testimony, or lack of it.

In particular, Blundell’s mother-in-law appears to have got wind of trouble between Blundell and M’Guire, and called on a magistrate, Rev. Jon Barwis of Niton, to intercede. He finds M’Guire at the White Lion, at the corner of Barton Road and Coppins Bridge, next to where the Church on the roundabout is today, and gets him to agree that he will not issue a challenge to Blundell. He then summons Blundell, but on Blundell not turning up, Barwis seeks him out, where Blundell is in the company of Dillon and O’Brien. Blundell appears to have claimed that in some situations a duel was necessary, and Dillon implied that it might also be expected. On trying to deter the men from fighting, the response seems to be that if there is fighting, it won’t take place in his jurisdiction.

On the morning of Friday the 9th, Gilchrist’s servant took a box into Newport from the barracks at Parkhurst, and then on to Carisbrook Castle, with Gilchrist and M’Guire, where they were then joined by Blundell and Hemming. Hemming asked Gilchrist for a pistol, which appears to have been denied, and then Blundell instructed Hemming to get one of his own. Stood at a distance of 12 or 13 paces, both men took a shot on Hemming’s word, but Blundell’s pistol appeared to fail, and so he requested use of one of Gilchrist’s. The seconds approached each of the duellists in turn, and each was then given a loaded gun of Gilchrist’s. On firing, Blundell was hit.

Although a death penalty had been passed on those involved, the execution, which would otherwise have taken place on the Monday, August 2nd, 1813, at Portchester Castle, was put on hold for two and a half weeks.

For the Sussex Advertiser, it seems as if they thought the ultimate sentence should have been carried out, to act as a deterrent to future challenges of a similar kind being made.

However, the establishment saw things differently, and the men were pardoned.

A report in the Hampshire Chronicle describes how the case had been treated within the corridors of Whitehall.

Honour was one thing, but common sense should also prevail.

For his part in inflicting the fatal shot on Blundell, M’Guire would lose his position in the army.

Another year on, and Mrs. Blundell, previously, Mrs. Monro, née White, was to marry again, whilst her father was coming to the end of his year’s term as Mayor of Portsmouth,

A few days later, Henry White would be knighted.

For how long Ann White’s third marriage lasted, I cannot say. But the story still doesn’t quite end there, because a few years later, the name of Gilchrist, once of the 101st Regiment, crops up again.

This paragraph was widely reported in other newspapers starting the following morning. The claims made in the article were challenged in The Military Register a few days later, on August 6th, 1817, but it seems that the refutation went largely unnoticed for almost a month.

Once printed in the Star, the matter was quickly addressed by the Hampshire Telegraph.

But Gilchrist was not happy, and sought redress, in the form of damages for libel, in the Courts.

The New Times (London) gave a rather more extensive report of the damages trial, explaining the detail of the claimed libel as made by the plaintiff’s counsel, as well further mitigation claimed by the defence.

And there the tale does come to an end.