The
commercial exchange of Dublin formed a place of execution; even
_suspected_ rebels were every day immolated as if _convicted_ on the
clearest evidence; and Lieutenant H----'s _pastime_ of hanging _on his
own back_ persons whose physiognomies he thought characteristic of
rebellion was (I am ashamed to say) the subject of jocularity instead of
punishment. What in other times he would himself have died for, as a
murderer, was laughed at as the manifestation of loyalty: never yet was
martial law so abused, or its enormities so hushed up as in Ireland.
Being a military officer, the lieutenant conceived he had a right to do
just what he thought proper, and to make the most of his time while
martial law was flourishing.
Once, when high in blood, he happened to meet _a suspicious-looking_
peasant from County Kildare, who could not satisfactorily account for
himself according to the lieutenant's notion of evidence; and having
nobody at hand to vouch for him, the lieutenant of course immediately
took for granted that he _must_ be a rebel strolling about, and
imagining the death of his Most Gracious Majesty.[7] He therefore, no
other _court of justice_ being at hand, considered that he had a right
to try the man by his _own opinion_; accordingly, after a brief
interrogation, he condemned him to die, and without further ceremony
proceeded to put his own sentence into immediate execution.
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