My younger sister loved me more than I thought she would. Angelica was always there to laugh at any joke. She was there for me when Father released the Renoylds Pamphlet. She saw me crying, angry at what my Father had done. She convinced me not to lash out. Her warm smile constantly stopped me in my steps. Even when I was away at college I would write to her just to hear her responses.
It was because of how much I loved her that I couldn't tell her that I challenged George Eacker to a duel. I avoided her. If I allowed her to see how nervous I was than she would pick up on what was going to happen. I only told my Father what was going to happen. When I heard that neither my friend Price or Eacker had been injured in their own duels, my panic rose. That meant Eacker was alright to face me. I didn't want to go Weehawken. I'm only 19. I have so much to live for. I had to make my Father proud.
I had my plan. I didn't want to shoot. I was going to end this on my terms. I was going to show that as a gentleman I would put this disagreement behind us.
"Mr Eacker. How was the rest of your show?" I asked him politely. I was still my Mother's son. And good manners was something that she taught us.
"Let's skip the pleasantries, let's go." He retorted. I stood stunned. I was not prepared at all. Our seconds talked to each other. They both knew that George was stubborn. He would not step down from a duel, especially a duel with a Hamilton.
I paced farther away from Eacker. Maybe if I could keep walking I would be able to run away. Would that be against the rules?
"Stop" George's second called out. I turned to Eacker. My pistol was heavy in my hand. I couldn't bring myself to raise it. Maybe I would get through this without firing a bullet. Eacker looked just as nervous.
One moment I felt fine. The next, I felt a searing pain on my hip and right arm. My pistol fell out of my hand as I collapsed onto the ground. My mind raced with the thoughts of my sister and brothers. Father would be proud. I was defending his honour. The one thing he always taught me. I didn't notice being loaded onto the boat to get back to New York. I kept fading in and out of consciousness.
"Where is mother and father?" I asked to no one.
"Philip I am here" I heard my father.
"I did exactly as you said." I mumbled. "I held my head up high"
My father started to cry. Why was he the one crying? I was in immense pain. Thats when I realised. I had to be strong for him. It was the only way. If he thought I was weak in my dying breaths what would that say about him.
"Where is mother? And Angie?" I asked.
"Your mother is coming. Angie is staying with the others. You know we wouldn't put her through watching you in pain." Father responded. He had a point. Angie was too special to watch me.
"Is he going to survive this?" A demanding voice asked. Mother was here. Thank the Lord. A hushed voice answered her request. Everything was going quiet. Was this normal after being shot? Maybe Father would know.
Mother held onto my hand as soon as she arrived in the room. She was silently sobbing. Father rubbed her back. She told me that she loved me. I couldn't answer her. I was in too much pain. I needed to let her know that I loved her. That I loved Father. Anything. But it took too much effort.
With the little strength I had left I squeezed Mother's hand. The universal symbol of love. Before I closed my eyes for the last time I heard her scream in agony...