“It occurred when you were a boy at school, sir; and although the facts would not read so condemnatory now, at that time there was not one voice to be heard on the side of mercy. The duel, if duel it could be called, took place after every one, save themselves, had left the table. The quarrel was an old grudge revived over the bottle. They fought without witnesses and with Heaven knows what inequality of weapons; and although Hamilton gave himself up——”
“He gave himself up?” interrupted my father.
“Yes, sir; in direct opposition to his friends' advice, he did so: but had he followed a different course,—had he even waited till the excitement had calmed down a little, till men began to talk more dispassionately on the subject, the result might have been different.”
“And what was the result?”
“I have already told you, sir,—a conviction.”
“And what followed?”
“He was hanged,—hanged in front of the old jail at Naas, where the regiment he once had served in was quartered. I don't know how or why this was done. Some said it was to show the people that there was no favoritism towards a man of rank and fortune. Some alleged it was to spare the feelings of his relatives, who were Carlow people.”
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed my father, passionately; “was there ever such an infamy!”
“The event happened as I tell you, sir. I believe I have the trial in the house; if I have not, Crowther will have it, for he was engaged in the defence, and one of those who endeavored to dissuade Hamilton from his resolution of surrender.”
“And who is Crowther?”