He felt a pain in his chest that was as cold and as unforgiving as the abomination that laid in his open palmed hand. The single-shot flintlock pistol rested in his palm as a corpse rests in a casket; a sense of calm and peace that covers up the turmoil of what is happening. Philip Hamilton directed his caramel eyes down toward the pistol that his father had loaned him. He sat in the darkness as a storm raged outside of his bedroom window. He sat at his desk scrutinizing the tool by faint candlelight. He watched as the flame's glow outlined every curve and crevice in the weapon. Philip's deft fingers absently stroked the smooth barrel.
Philip found it hard to believe that such a beautiful piece of artwork could take a life. But, believe it he did. Philip knew that the masterpiece that laid in his now trembling hands was as unforgiving as the storm that raged outside. Philip slammed the gun down on the desktop and threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. God, he couldn't bear to look at the gun. He couldn't let himself admire it when it could take a life in a matter of hours. When it could take his life in a matter of hours. He stared at the ceiling just letting his silent tears roll down his freckled cheeks. Philip didn't want to duel George Eaker. He didn't want to kill a man, he knew that, just as his father had told him, he would be crushed under the weight of guilt. On the other hand, he didn't want to die either. Philip knew that even if he aimed toward the sky there was still a chance of him getting shot. But, if he aimed at Eaker, there would be a greater chance of getting shot. Either way, death would only be a few paces away. Philip sighed. He wished that he had never challenged Eaker to a duel. Philip's fist came crashing down on his desktop next to the gun. Damn his rashness and his pride. Philip wiped furiously at his eyes trying to staunch the now gushing flow of tears that poured from deep within his heart.
When he brought the news of his duel to his father, Philip was hoping for his father to get angry. He wanted Alexander to scream at him and throw things at him and forbid him from throwing away his life. He wanted his father to give up his petty pride and tell his son that his life was more valuable than avenging public slander. He wanted his father to save him. He wanted nothing more than for his father to get him out. After Alexander had agreed with the idea of the duel, Philip acquiesced to wanting his father to be his second. If Alexander was his second, he could use his silver tongue to convince everyone that the duel was a bad idea. Hamilton could save Philip. But instead of having his father backing him, Philip had David Jones, a friend of his fathers. Philip wanted to scream. He was in this alone. He thought that he would be ready for this. He thought that he was old enough to handle himself. He thought that he could be a man when in reality he was a child in a big and confusing world.
He glanced down at the gun that laid on his desk. Sorrow swelled in his chest as his brain sifted through all the scenarios that could happen. In his mind's eye, he saw Eaker falling to the ground, he saw himself dying, he saw bullets flying, and narrow misses. He ran a shaking hand through his unruly curls as he leaned back in his chair. His shining eyes roved over the pistol taking in the details again and again in a morbid fascination.
Eventually, his eyes strayed to the pocket watch that laid open in his desk. It was almost dawn. It was time to go. Philip rose from his chair and began to pull on his boots and coat. Though his face was as stoic and as set as a statue's, twin tracks of water shone in the candlelight. As he walked out of his room, Philip swept the gun off of the table and into the gun case. Philip walked silently through the halls, refusing to look at the doors that belonged to his sisters and brothers. The only door that he spared a glance to was the one that led to his parent's bedroom. He knew that his mother was sleeping soundly with no knowledge of the hell that her son was about to endure. It brought him some consolation to know that his mother was a peace. He turned toward the doors and took a breath. With dry eyes, he pushed open the heavy oak doors and strode down the dark streets toward the Hudson River. Philip walked with his head held high toward New Jersey. Toward life and death. Toward the hardest action in his life. Just as the storm had passed over the town, Philip hoped that his own figurative storm would blow over just as quickly and as painlessly. As Philip Hamilton boarded the boat to New Jersey, only one thought was on his mind:
I'm doing this for you; I'll make you proud, Pop…
So, I absolutely LOVE Philip and I just had to write some good angsty stuff cause...*shrug*... well because. So, fun fact, the pistols that Alexander Hamilton used were the same ones that his son Philip had used in his duel. So you probably knew that fact, but did you know that those pistols were used by another member of the Hamfam? The pistols originally belonged to John Church (Angelica Schuyler's husband). Now get this, these pistols were used by John Church in the same spot that Philip and Alexander Hamilton dueled. The same pistols were used in the same spot by 3 members of the same family! So we also know that George Eaker dueled with Philip and Aaron Burr dueled with Hamilton, but who dueled with Church? WELL LET ME TELL YOU! It was none other than our favorite southern democratic republican! That's right! Aaron Burr was the opponent in two of the three Hamfam duels! (Aaron was shot by Church, and was only inches away from dying, but as you can guess, he healed up fine). So... yeah. That was my fun facts and I hope you liked them and the story. Please Review!
