Included in the buildings which burned that fateful January night in 1820 was an unassuming wooden storage building on Bay Street. Out of its ashes, a beautiful hotel was commissioned by Jane and Eleazer Early. Designed as a Regency Style hotel, many believe that the structure was designed by noted English architect William Jay. It is worth speculating, given its later reputation, that a structure borne of such abject anguish could very well be tainted with the turmoil which surrounded Savannah during that difficult time period.
The former City Hotel.
The Hotel
Once completed, the City Hotel became the nerve-center of the recovering city in many respects. At one time, the downstairs was leased to both the Bank of the United States and the Postal Service. The hotel was visited by War of 1812 hero General Winfield Scott, Revolutionary War hero Marquis de Lafayette, and naturalist/ornithologist John James Audubon, who ended up staying almost six months after his boat was damaged in a storm. A famous painting, Cerveau’s 1837 View of Savannah, depicts the City Hotel as if it were practically center stage in the downtown, and rightly so. Located on what was then the busiest street in Savannah, the bar and wine cellar quickly gained a good reputation amongst cultivated businessmen. In the painting, Cerveau shows us how the hotel looked during that time period, with a now-missing double cast-iron porch (probably scavenged for scrap during World War II), and several gentlemen lounging casually around the entrance. Again, Cerveau’s inclusion of these figures was no accident. These young men depicted in his painting were almost certainly his attempt to portray the so-called ‘Sporting Crowd’, a group of wealthy gentlemen who gambled in the early part of the 19th century. The elegant hotel was full of men who wagered on sports, drank liquor, and packed guns. Often times the haze of alcohol, coupled with the rising monetary losses would result in duels, which during that period were called ‘affairs of honor.’ Any insult, however slight, might lead to an unwary fellow facing down an armed opponent, a contest which could prove deadly to one or both. So the City Hotel was connected to the social, commercial, political and moral condition of Savannah at that time.
Pistols for Two, Coffee for One
Southerners in general and Savannahians in particular were downright civilized about how they went about killing each other in duels. The time-honored principles of behavior, called the Code Duello, or Duelist’s Code, were strictly-adhered to in the Deep South. Many of these guidelines were written down in a wonderful book called Savannah Duels and Duellists: 1733-1877, by Thomas Gamble. For instance, you wouldn’t just shoot your antagonist out on the street. To do that would be dishonorable, and would be considered the actions of an assassin. If a man felt his reputation was being assailed, he would issue a challenge to the offender in writing; a letter calling his potential adversary such things as a scoundrel, a lying rascal or a scallywag. Essentially he would list his grievance. This letter would be not only delivered to the challenged man, but could be nailed up around town for all to see, or even printed in the local newspaper, a custom known as ‘posting.’ The recipient of this letter demanding satisfaction would then have two options: either apologize or accept the challenge. In the latter case the challenged could pick the time of the duel and the weapons. This complicated back-and-forth in writing was conducted by the best friends of the two antagonizing parties, who served as assistants known as ‘Seconds.’ These friends were important, because if the duelist was unable to fight the duel for whatever reason, the Second could be called on to fight the duel in his place. And you thought notes were just for schoolyard crushes! This elaborate ritual was often referred to as “pistols for two, and coffee for one,” meaning that it was entirely possible that one of the prospective combatants would not be around to enjoy a post-duel beverage.
The Seconds also took charge of the weapons, usually dueling pistols, which were generally kept in a velvet-lined case. Further, the Seconds had to agree upon a set of conditions and rules during the duel, such as when the affair of honor had been concluded—meaning that they would determine in advance whether this would be a fight to the first spillage of blood, or a bitter contest to the death. The duels often originated at the City Hotel bar, but paradoxically often ended across the river on the South Carolina shore because, paradoxically, duels were illegal in Savannah.
One such affair of honor did originate at the City Hotel but never took place. A man with poor eyesight was challenged to a duel at the bar, and accepted. Under the Code, he was able to pick the location of the duel, so he announced that the duel would be fought at an unusual spot: the nearest convenient table next to the bar at the hotel. When the challenger questioned the choice of location, the man with poor eyesight pointed out that he was at a distinct disadvantage at ten or twenty paces since he was so nearsighted, and was simply making sure they had an equal footing. The challenger, seeing that the duel would kill them both, quickly apologized, and the planned duel was abruptly cancelled. The man with defective eyesight had won some hard-earned respect.
“...Stark appeared at the top of the stairs...”
Bad Blood
Reconciliation was not the case in 1832, however. This particular case was unusual in that the affair of honor both began and ended at the City Hotel. A prominent and well-liked local doctor, Philip Minis (pronounced minus), had a deep disagreement with a man named James Stark. Yet as white-hot as their anger towards each other blazed, it is largely unknown what spurred the difficulties between the pair. The somewhat hazy description existing in the City Records is: “Prior to this there had been antagonism existing between the two men, which only needed intensifying to furnish the climax of a challenge.” According to historian Colin Young, the two had been in a local military unit together, an organization known as the Republican Blues, but the nature of their trouble, if it stretches back that far, is not readily apparent. Even though this is an oft-recounted tale, there is so much we don’t know. It is not an easy story to tell for this and other reasons. Like most historical events, it is told from a certain point of view which is clearly biased. The chief witness and voice in this story is Dr. Richard Arnold, an old friend of the Minis family (as well as three-time Savannah mayor).
The ‘intensifying’ so obliquely referred to consisted of Stark accusing Dr. Minis of cheating at Quoits, a horseshoes-like game involving tossing a ring or disc onto a peg. This took place in the Spring of 1832. Stark also took some verbal potshots against Minis, saying that he was “not worth the powder and shot it would take to kill him.” Stark went on to call the good doctor several unprintable insults, all relating to Dr. Minis’ Jewish ancestry.
Stark repeated all of these slurs at Luddington’s bar room, and heaped on even more vitriol. Someone found Minis and told him that his antagonist was saying some very disparaging things, and so Minis entered Luddington’s and sat near Stark and waited for a reaction. However, the abuse stopped immediately once the doctor entered within earshot. It was suggested by some that Stark had offered an apology some time later, but Stark claimed it never happened. Dr. Minis, as per the complex social code which existed at the time, had no other choice but to send Stark a letter demanding either an explanation or “that satisfaction [dueling] which one gentleman should afford one another,” a thinly veiled reference to bloodshed. Stark’s reply in writing was chillingly blunt, and implied that Minis should demand a duel, because Stark refused to apologize.
Prelude on the 9th
The confrontation was badly bungled from the start. In his reply to Minis’ challenge, James Stark demanded to fight at five o’clock that same afternoon, which would have been a violation of the Code Duello (one night must transpire between the challenge and the actual duel to give the Seconds a chance to negotiate, or for cooler heads to prevail). Stark also wanted to fight with rifles, which would be an extremely unusual weapon for a duel. Minis claimed that his rifle was at the gunsmiths. However, Dr. Minis offered to fight at a later date—whether this
meant with rifles is open to conjecture. One must remember that the two were very familiar with each other’s weapon preference because they had been in the same military unit, so that may have some bearing on this particular point. Minis’ Second, a man named Spalding, delivered this news to Stark and his respective Second, Mr. Wayne. Stark said that Minis’ objections carried no weight, and the duel would go off as planned at 5 p.m. on August 9th with or without Minis.
Imagine the scene: James Jones Stark and his friend Mr. Wayne then took a boat over to the South Carolina dueling ground. There they proceeded to have their promised duel against Dr. Minis—the fact that Minis wasn’t there to oppose Stark did not dissuade them in the slightest. Stark and Wayne simply fired their rifles into the air with a flourish, returned to downtown Savannah, and claimed victory! The two men then ran into one another near Bay Street later that day, with Stark using abusive language and Minis standing his ground. Somehow the two men managed to restrain from violence on the 9th of August. The 10th, however, was a new day.
Day of Destiny
The morning of August 10th brought unwarranted and unexpected indignities for Dr. Minis. The good doctor, although he had showed nothing but restraint and a respect for the Code Duello (for a duel’s conditions to be binding, the two Seconds must agree, which did not occur in this instance), was being openly laughed at as a coward by many Savannahians. Minis and his Second, Spalding, knew where to find Stark. They walked together to the City Hotel and adjourned to the bar, and sent word to Stark and Wayne that they were there and wished to have a drink with them and discuss the matter.
One must ponder that mercurial moment and what it meant for Phillip Minis. I have thought about it many times while on tour, and tried to put myself in his place. I imagine him sitting nervously at the bar, a pistol concealed in his waistcoat. He was locked into a collision course with destiny, and an outcome which could only be bloody. But would that blood be his own? Trembling hands would be wrapped tightly around his drink. The crowd, who knew full well the trouble between the two men, would have probably grown silent as Stark appeared at the top of the stairs. As Stark descended, eyes blazing, Minis probably stood to meet him. The good doctor knew this would be the only opportunity to salvage his unfairly tarnished honor.
Minis raised his glass and in a loud voice called out: “I proclaim James Jones Stark a coward!” Stark said nothing; instead pushed a hand into his waistcoat’s vest pocket, and advanced quickly down the stairs. Minis, assuming that Stark was reaching for a pistol, produced his own firearm and fired. His aim was deadly accurate: the bullet struck Stark in the chest, then passed through the body and lodged in a door to the kitchen. Stark slumped to the floor at the foot of the stairs, dead. Pandemonium broke out at the City Hotel.
Dr. Richard Arnold, a short distance away, heard the shot and knew immediately what had transpired: either Stark or Minis was lying stricken at the City Hotel, the victim of a gunshot. He rushed to the scene at a dead run and found absolute bedlam; Stark’s body was prone on the floor, and the crowd was attempting to disarm Minis, who threatened to fire into the mass of people in the hotel bar. It was Arnold, among others, who persuaded him to give up his pistol and accompany him to his office to await the authorities. Stark’s body held no weapon: the good doctor had unknowingly shot an unarmed man. Was this a case of self-defense, or just a good old-fashioned murder?
The case went to trial, and the jury took only two hours to make their decision: Dr. Phillip Minis was acquitted of all charges. The now-deceased James Stark’s egregious actions certainly influenced the outcome of the case, since any reasonable man would assume that he meant to do violence by reaching into his coat.
Though the accepted view of Stark was one of a raging anti-Semitic, it has been pointed out to me that it is commonplace within ethnicities to call one another abusive ethnic slurs. For instance, you might hear ‘cracker’ or ‘redneck’ affectionately tossed around at my own family reunion. And the Republican Blues military unit to which the two men had both previously belonged was considered to have a predominantly Jewish composition (according to Colin Young, somewhat affectionately nicknamed The Republican Jews by its members). No records of Stark’s lineage have yet come to light. So while this assumption of anti-Semitism might be an easy explanation for the trouble between these men, Stark may simply be guilty of offending polite conversation, and not the violent anti-Jewish slant that these words seem to imply. Again, this is not an easy story to tell correctly and fairly. Besides, wouldn’t this story take on a whole new context if Minis had actually been cheating at Quoits?
A Bloody Reputation
The duel between Stark and Minis was just one occurrence involving violence at the City Hotel. Brutal circumstances seem to be drawn to the building. But one instance in the compilation of abuses stands out, from a New York Times column which ran in November 29th, 1860. The story is reproduced below:
Recent Lynchings of New-York Men.
Narrative of the sufferers.
Among the passengers by the steamer Alabama from Savannah was Mr. James Sinclair, a native and lifetime resident of this City. The account which he gives of his reception and treatment by the hospitable citizens of Savannah is interesting, as showing the fraternal feeling evinced from them towards all people who have the misfortune of hailing from New-York.
The statement of Mr. Sinclair is as follows:
My name is James Sinclair, and I was born in this City. Having a brother in Augusta, Ga., and being out of employment, I went to Savannah on the 8th of November, intending to go on to Augusta in hopes of obtaining work in my regular line of carpentry. I took up my temporary lodging at the City Hotel in Savannah. While there, numerous inquiries were made concerning me and my business, which not being satisfactorily answered, eventuated in an order from the Vigilance Committee commanding my immediate departure from the city. This order did not commend itself to my idea of propriety, and I declined obeying. A few hours subsequently a man came into the hotel and desired a few moments private conversation with me. Confidingly I followed him, and upon my stepping to the sidewalk, his treachery became apparent. About thirty men surrounded me—each man drew a revolver and each man drew a bowie knife—each man vehemently demanded my company, and each man made it his duty to see that I complied with the [illegible] demand. Powerless and indignant, I was dragged along the street. On the way to the place of torture, I was constantly assailed by the most blasphemous and obscene epithets, the mob dwelling particularly on the fact that I was a New-York Yankee. Quids of tobacco were thrown in my eyes, blinding my sight and causing intense pain. My efforts to relieve my eyes brought blows from the butt of a pistol and threats of instant death.
They took me though the city streets, on and on, until we reached the City Park. There they ordered me to undress, and as I did not deem it desirable to obey their indelicate suggestion, they one and severally forcibly removed my coat, my pants, and even my underclothing. In vain did I appeal to the Police, both mounted and on foot; they dared not interfere, and indeed, just prior to our arrival at the Park, one of them told me, he would not do it for his right arm. I then appealed, again and again, to the leaders of the gang, who were, to all external appearance, gentlemen, to know why they were thus dealing with me, and the only and unvarying replies would be that I had tampered with slaves—a charge utterly unfounded and incapable of proof. Having torn my clothes from my body, they compelled me first to kneel, and then forced me to lie upon the ground—my face being turned downwards—whereupon they lashed me with exceeding severity with a cat-o’-nine-tails—bruising the skin, lacerating the flesh, and causing sensations such as I had never before experienced. This treatment was varied by an occasional kick in the face by a heavy boot, or a rap on the head with the butt-end of a pistol. After they had finished the castigation they permitted me to put on my torn and tattered garments, and then told me to run for my life, that they would give me ten y
ards start, after which they should fire upon me. I started—I ran—they pointed their revolvers and shouted—I jumped a fence—and they yelled with rage. Frantic with pain, with head half-turned and body sore, I returned by sidepaths to the hotel, the proprietor of which told me it would not be safe for me to remain, or well for him to retain me.
The unfortunate Mr. Sinclair then went to Captain Schenck of the Alabama, and asked permission to pay his fare early so he could be safe from the marauding mob aboard the ship. But the captain declined, stating that the rabble might “tear his ship to pieces.” It is understating the facts to say that even from that point Sinclair had difficulty getting back to New York City. This was clearly not an example of Southern Hospitality at its finest.
The article then goes on to detail other outrageous abuses of Northerners, all of whom had something in common: they suffered these abuses while staying at the City Hotel in Savannah. One must wonder at this point, given the repetition of location, whether the setting for all of these stories is significant.
Haunted Savannah: America's Most Spectral City Page 4