Ouch! My sympathies! Take care.

Is that something like a gastropod or a cephalopod?

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Two duels of note, recalled from a history of dueling that I read many years ago:

The first duel—or duels—involved an actress named Antoinette de Maupin (if I remember her name correctly). The name has actually appeared in a couple of historical novels, and due to the incident I am about to describe, some regard her as a bit of a feminist icon, in her own somewhat smaller way, not unlike Boadica (or Boadicea) who killed a passel of Romans.

Mademoiselle de Maupin was attending a party, and a number of "gentlemen" began making rude and suggestive remarks about her. And to her. This was during an era when actresses were not regarded very highly. When none of the other "gentlemen" present rose to her defense, she blew her cool and called the mouthy ones out. It took a bit of tongue-lashing and an insult or two of her own before they caught on that she was serious, and realized that if they didn't respond to her challenge, not only was their honor on the line, but their manhood as well. So she borrowed a sword and they went out through the French doors into the garden.

They squared off, and she took them on one at a time. She fought about six bouts altogother and won them all. I don't recall how many of them she killed, but it was at least three and perhaps more. And she left those she didn't kill much the worse for the experience. Having "taken out the garbage," she handed the sword back to its owner with thanks and returned to the party. People tended to be very polite to her from then on.

It seems that one of her lovers had been a fencing master, and he had taught her the art of the sword. She proved to be quite an adept pupil.

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Two men faced each other at ten paces, raised their pistols, and fired simultaneously. On this occasion at least, they were both crack-shots. They hit each other right between the eyes. And knocked each other cold!

They both awoke some hours later in separate beds, with splitting headaches and bruises on their faces that made them look like a pair of raccoons.

It seems that the two combatants were absolutely resolved to kill each other and would not be dissuaded by their seconds. So the seconds of both, having concluded that the argument was completely trivial and that these two twits had moved the dubious art of nincompoopery to an entirely new level, conspired a bit and loaded the two pistols with minuscule amounts of powder, assuming that neither ball would even make the full ten paces. But they did, and with sufficient impulse left over to deliver a chastising wallop to the two principles. It worked out even better than the seconds had anticipated. The two antagonists decided that honor (or something) had been satisfied, and decided to drop the matter.

Don Firth