"That, general, is a matter in your own competence, and for your own
conscience," Hamilton said. "The men have simply, as I understand,
defended their property against marauders, and they are, as I conceive,
worthy of no punishment whatever. If you choose to sentence them to such
a punishment, it is your sentence, not mine. I thought it was your policy
to heal the breach between the two parties. It seems I was mistaken.
Personally, I protest against the execution of the sentence, beyond that
I am not called upon to go. An act of injustice or cruelty, performed by
a general upon prisoners, would not justify a soldier in imperilling the
success of the campaign by resisting the orders of his superior;
therefore, my duty to the king renders me unable to act; but I solemnly
protest, in my own name and that of the English officers under your
command, against the sentence, which I consider unjust in the extreme."

So saying, General Hamilton, with the English officers, left the
general's tent. If they hoped that the protest would have the effect of
preventing the barbarous sentence from being carried into execution, they
were mistaken. The fact that, to carry out his first intention would have
been absolutely unlawful, had caused Ginckle to abandon it, but this made
him only the more obstinate in carrying the second into execution.

The English officers stood talking, not far from his tent, in tones of
indignation and disgust at the brutal sentence, and then walked towards
their divisional camp. As they went, they saw a number of men standing
round a tree. Some Hessian soldiers, with much brutal laughter, were
reeving ropes over the arm of the tree, and, just as the officers came
along, six struggling forms were drawn up high above the heads of the
crowd.