Duels and other personal encounters were often unrestrained on the frontier. Fights were sometimes brutal: eyes were gouged out, noses and ears bitten off. Even contests between men of good social standing could become bloody. This brawl among twelve “gentlemen,” one of whom was James Bowie, seems to have begun as a duel between Dr. Thomas H. Maddox and Samuel L. Wells, a brother of the Governor of Louisiana. It degenerated into a wild knife and gun battle in which two were killed and two wounded. This celebrated affair gave Colonel Bowie’s knife its deadly reputation.
Robert A. Crain, Maddox’s second and fellow combatant, told the following story of the fight to General Joseph Walker in a letter dated October 3, 1827, reprinted in Robert Dabney Calhoun: “A History of Concordia Parish,” Louisiana Historical Quarterly, XV (1932), 638–42.
Dear Walker—
Yours of the 23rd of September, in reply to mine of the 19th previous, received last night, and will now proceed to give you a detailed account of the unfortunate occurrence of the 18th, to convince you that it was not my wish to meet those men. I said to Mr. Wells and his friend, McWhorter, in the presence of Dr. Denny, that there must not be permitted but three of a side on the ground. “You know that I cannot meet certain men that are on the other side of the river,” (this was at the steam saw mill where we met to make arrangements for the interview between Maddox and Wells). Wells said to me, “Sir, I know to whom you allude. They shall not be on the ground.” This I took as a pledge of his honor, but, to our astonishment, when we got on the ground, within eighty yards of the spot where the fight took place, there stood Jim Bowie, Sam Cuney and Jeff Wells. Dr. Maddox asked Dr. Cuney what they were doing there. He replied: “They will not approach any nearer.” The affair proceeded, and after two shots apiece, the matter was honorably settled to both, Sam Wells withdrawing his carte blanche and all offensive language previously applied to the Doctor. I will now remark for Sam Wells that his conduct seemed highly honorable and that of a gentleman. He proposed that we should go up to the willows and take a glass of wine. I observed immediately: “No, Mr. Wells, you know that I cannot meet certain gentlemen that are there, but let us go down the river to our friends” (who were during the fight at least a quarter of a mile off, but who were then approaching, as a servant had informed them of the result), “and drink and bury the hatchet.” “Agreed, sir,” said he; and after collecting the pistols that were used, a brace of which I gave to the boy, the others I held, one in each hand, well loaded, of course. We proceeded down the river, angling across the Sand Bar, and having Bowie, Cuney and Jeff Wells immediately at right angles from where we started under the willows. They started and ran down the hill and in a quick running walk intercepted us, or rather me. Drs. Denny and Maddox were some ten or fifteen steps ahead, Maddox entirely unarmed. Cuney remarked: “Now is the time to settle our affair,” I think, swearing at me at the same time, and commenced drawing his pistol. I drew away from him. Sam Wells got hold of him, and Dr. Cuney got immediately between me and his brother, so that I could not shoot at him then. Bowie, at the same time, was drawing his pistol. I drew away at him. I shot him through the body as he shot. I could not miss him, shooting not further than ten feet.… I wheeled and jumped six or eight steps across some little washes in the sand bar and faced Cuney. We fired at the same moment. His bullet cut the shirt and grazed the skin on my left arm. He fell. Jim Bowie was at that time within a few feet of me, with his big knife raised to lunge. I again wheeled and sprang a few steps, changed the butt of the pistol, and as he rushed upon me, I wheeled and threw the pistol at him, which struck him on the left side of the forehead, which circumstance alone saved me from his savage fury and big knife. At that moment, Major Wright and the two Blanchards rushed up. Bowie sheered off to a leaning stump, by which he took a stand. Wright and Bowie exchanged shots at about ten paces, without any chance of Wright hitting him, he behind the log, and the other exhausted by running at least a hundred yards. He shot poor Wright through the body, who exclaimed, “The damned rascal has killed me,” and then rushing upon Bowie with his sword cane, who caught him by the collar and plunged his knife into his bosom. At that moment Wright shot Bowie in the hip, who fell instantly. Wright wheeled, made a lunge at him, and fell over him dead. Hostilities then ceased. They say that I fired three pistols—I had but two. When I fired the first at Bowie, I dropped it to cock and use the other on Cuney, and when I threw the pistol at Bowie I was completely unarmed, without even a knife. They say we ran. Yesterday morning, upon receipt of your letter, I went in company with three other gentlemen to the ground, and I pledge my honor that the fight took place in an area of less than thirty yards square, as the blood where Cuney fell, and where Bowie and Wright fell, which is still there, proves. There could be little running in the small place. I set immediately about getting certificates, which shall be headed by a statement of my own and Maddox …”