BOOK III

THE LITTLE LION

I

Hamilton's body succumbed to the climax of Trenton and Princeton upon

months of hardship and exposure, and he was in hospital for a week with

a rheumatic fever. But Troup, whose exchange had been effected, was with

him most of the time, and his convalescence was made agreeable by many

charming women. He was not the only brilliant young man in the army, for

Troup, Fish, Burr, Marshall, were within a few months or, at most, a

year or two of his age, and there were many others; men had matured

early in that hot period before the Revolution, when small boys talked

politics, and even the women thought of little else; but Hamilton,

through no fault of his, had inspired his friends with the belief that

he was something higher than human, and they never tired of sounding his

praises. Moreover, Washington had not hesitated to say what he thought

of him, and the mere fact that he had won the affection of that austere

Chieftain was enough to give him celebrity. At all events, he was a

dazzling figure, and pretty women soothed many a weary hour. As for

Troup, who was unpleasantly anatomical, he had a fresh story for every

day of the horrors of the prison cattle-ship _Mentor_, where half the

prisoners had died of filth, starvation, and fever, from putrid water

and brutal treatment.

But never was there a more impatient invalid than Hamilton. He was

astonished and disgusted that his body should defy his mind, and at the

first moment possible he was up and about his duties with the army at

Morristown. Troup was ordered to join the army under Gates in the North.

Morristown was a natural fortress, a large fertile valley, protected by

precipitous hills and forests, yet with defiles known to the Americans,

through which they could retreat if necessary. It was within striking

distance of New Brunswick and Amboy, in which towns Washington kept the

British cooped up for months, not permitting them to cut a stick of

forest wood without fighting for it. "Here was seen," to quote Hamilton,

"the spectacle of a powerful army straitened within narrow limits by the

phantom of a military force, and never permitted to transgress those

limits with impunity; in which skill supplied the place of means, and

disposition was the substitute for an army."

Congress had invested Washington with such extraordinary powers after

the brilliant exploit at Trenton, that in Europe he was called "The

Dictator of America." Therein lay the sole cause of the ultimate victory

of the Revolutionists, and had the States been more generous, and less

jealous of delegating powers to Congress, he would have driven out the

British in short order.

Mrs. Washington had joined her General--she kept an eye on him--at

Freeman's Tavern, which had been converted into comfortable

headquarters, and he was happy in his military family: Colonel Harrison,

indefatigable and fearless, affectionately known as "Old Secretary";

Tench Tilghman of Maryland, young, accomplished, cheerful, devoted to

Washington and serving without pay, for his fortune was considerable;

Richard Kidder Meade, sprightly, enthusiastic, always willing to slave;

and John Fitzgerald,--all in an attitude of perpetual adoration. But he

lacked a secretary of the requisite ability, and as soon as he heard of

Hamilton's return to camp he sent for him.

Hamilton was feeling almost well, and he walked rapidly across the

village green to headquarters, delighted at the prospect of seeing

Washington again. He had acquired a military air and walked more erectly

than ever, for he was somewhat sensitive of his juvenile appearance. He

found Washington in a front room on the second floor. The General wore

his usual blue and buff, and looked less harassed and worn than when he

had last seen him. He rose and shook hands warmly with Hamilton, who

thanked him again for the messages he had received while in hospital.

"I would have had you brought here if there had been any place to make

you comfortable; and I am going to ask you to come and live with me

now--as my aide and secretary."

Hamilton sprang to his feet impetuously. "Oh, sir!" he exclaimed, "I

don't want to leave the regular line of promotion! I don't want to leave

my men. I'm much attached to them. And I'll not deny my ambition, sir; I

want opportunities to distinguish myself. I've already refused two

generals. This war will last for years. There is no reason in the world

why I should not be a general in three."

"No," said Washington, "there is none; there is every possibility of

your becoming one of the most brilliant figures on the revolutionary

battlefields. I admit that, and I understand your ambition.

Nevertheless, I think I can prove to you that there is another way in

which you can serve your country better. I know your uncompromising

sense of duty and your high patriotism, and I am sure you will accept my

invitation when I prove to you that while there are hundreds to fight

valorously, even brilliantly, there is scarcely a man I can get to write

my letters who can do more than punctuate properly or turn a sentence

neatly. You must know the inexpressible value of a brilliant

accomplished versatile secretary, with a brain capable of grasping every

question that arises--and you can imagine how many of that sort have

come my way. I have been driven nearly distracted, dictating,

explaining, revising--when I have so much else to think of. Besides the

constant correspondence with the Congress and the States, something else

is always turning up--to-day it is the exchange of prisoners, a most

important and delicate matter. Were you my secretary, you would also be

my brain: a word would be sufficient. I could trust you so implicitly

that if matters pressed I could confidently sign my name to whatever you

wrote without reading it over. There is no one else living of whom I can

say that. You are the most useful young man in America, and if you will

give your great brain to this country from this time on, she will be far

more grateful to you than if you merely continued to fight, splendidly

as you have done that. And _I_ need you--I have no words to tell you how

much."

"Sir," said Hamilton, deeply touched, "no human being could withstand

such an appeal, and your words of praise are glory enough. I will come

as soon as you say, and do the best I can."

"Come at once. The British persist in treating us as rebels. It is for

you, with your inspired pen, to force and coax them to regard us with

the respect an educated thinking people--not a horde of ignorant rebels,

as they imagine--deserve. If you do that, you will do a greater service

to your country than if you rose to be first in military rank. Here are

some notes. When you have finished, write to Congress and ask for the

rank of Lieutenant-Colonel; and move up here to-day, if possible. I

cannot tell you how happy I shall be to have you a member of my family."

Washington had won his point. A shrewd judge of men, he had calculated

upon Hamilton succumbing to an appeal to his sense of patriotic

duty--the strongest passion in his passionate nature. Much as he loved

Hamilton, he had no hesitation in using him, and our petted young hero

was to learn what work meant for the first time in his life. He wrote

most of the day, often half the night; but although he chafed angrily at

the confinement, beat many a tattoo on the floor with his heels, and

went for a hard ride more than once that he might keep his temper, the

result was that mass of correspondence, signed "George Washington,"

which raised the commander of the American forces so high in the

estimation of Europe, adding to his military renown the splendour of a

profound and luminous intellect.

There was, also, some correspondence with the Congress regarding the

disposition of his artillery men. He insisted upon definite provision

for them, and they were permitted to enlist in the Continental Army.

They loved him, and the final parting on March 18th, with cannon as

well as men!--made him ill for half a day.

Otherwise his life at Headquarters was very pleasant Tilghman and Meade

became two of the most congenial friends he ever made. The tavern was

comfortable, and he had a room to himself for a time. The dining room

reunions were agreeable in spite of their formality. Besides the amiable

military family, and the most motherly of women, who knit him stockings

and kept his wardrobe in order, there were frequent visitors. The

Livingston girls were spending the winter with their aunt, Lady

Sterling, and, with their beautiful cousin, the Lady Kitty Alexander,

often drove over to a five o'clock dinner or the more informal supper.

The Boudinots and Morgans, the generals in camp at Morristown and their

wives, and the more distinguished officers, were frequently dined at

Headquarters. Washington sat halfway in the table's length, with Mrs.

Washington opposite. Hamilton was placed at the head of the table on the

day of his arrival, a seat he retained while a member of the family. The

Chief encouraged him to talk, and it must be confessed that he talked

from the time he sat down till the meal finished. His ideas were always

on the rush, and talking was merely thinking aloud. As he expressed

himself with wit and elegance, and on subjects which interested them all

profoundly, illuminating everything he touched, old men and young would

lean forward and listen with respect to the wisdom of a young man who

was yet an infant in the eyes of the law. How he escaped being

insufferably spoiled can only be explained by the ceaseless activity of

his brain, and the fact that the essence of which prigs are made was not

in him. That he was utterly without commonplace conceit is indisputable,

for he was the idol of the family. Harrison christened him "The Little

Lion," a name his friends used for their aptest designation as long as

he lived, and assumed a paternal relation which finished only with the

older man's death. The Lady-in-chief made such a pet of him that he was

referred to in the irreverent Tory press as "Mrs. Washington's

Tom-cat."

"Alexander," said Kitty Livingston to him, one day, "have a care. You

are too fortunate. The jealous gods will smite you."

But Hamilton, thinking of those terrible months in the previous year, of

mental anxiety and physical hardship, when, in bitter weather, he had

often gone hungry and insufficiently clothed, and of his present arduous

duties, concluded there was a fine balance in his affairs which

doubtless would placate the gods.

II

In May and July there were illustrious additions to Washington's

family,--John Laurens and Lafayette. Both became the intimate friends of

Hamilton, the former one of the few passionate attachments of his life.

Although Hamilton was by no means indifferent to the affection he

inspired in nine-tenths of the people he met, he did not himself love

easily. He was too analytical, he saw people too precisely as they were,

and his acquaintance with human nature had made him too cynical to

permit the flood gates of his affections to open except under uncommon

stress. He dreaded disappointment. For Troup, Fish, Stevens, Meade, and

Tilghman he had a deep affection and served their interests ardently;

for Washington a contradictory budget of emotions, which were sometimes

to be headed "respectful affection," at others "irritated resentment,"

now and again a moment of adoration. While he could not pay sufficient

tribute to Washington's magnanimity and generosity, he had by now seen

him in too many tempers, had been ground too fine in his greedy machine,

to think on him always with unqualified enthusiasm. Lafayette,

brilliant, volatile, accomplished, bubbling with enthusiasm for the

cause of Liberty, and his own age within a few months, he liked

sincerely and always. There was no end to the favours he did him, and

Lafayette loved no one better in his long and various career. Women,

Hamilton fancied sharply and forgot quickly.

But Laurens, the "young Bayard of the Revolution," fresh from the

colleges and courts of Europe, a man so handsome that, we are told,

people experienced a certain shock when he entered the room, courtly,

accomplished to the highest degree, of flawless character, with a mind

as noble and elevated as it was intellectual, and burning with the most

elevated patriotism,--he took Hamilton by storm, capturing judgement as

well as heart, and loving him as ardently in return.

Like Hamilton, Laurens was of Huguenot descent; he was born in South

Carolina, of a distinguished family. Against the expressed wish of his

father he had returned to America, made his way to Headquarters and

offered his services to Washington, who immediately attached him to his

military household. The unhappiest of men, praying for death on every

battlefield, he lived long enough to distinguish himself by a bravery so

reckless, by such startling heroic feats, that he was, beyond all

question, the popular young hero of the Revolution. He worshipped

Washington as one might worship a demi-god, and risked his life for him

on two occasions. But Hamilton was the friend of his life; the bond

between them was romantic and chivalrous. Each burned to prove the

strength of his affection, to sacrifice himself for the other. Laurens

slaved at Washington's less important correspondence, and Hamilton's

turn came later. The age has passed for such friendships; but at that

time, when young men were nurtured on great ideas, when they were

sacrificing themselves in a sacred cause, and had seen next to nothing

of the frivolities of life, they were understandable enough.

Hamilton was obliged to share his room with both the young men, and they

slept on three little cots in a small space. When the nights were

insufferably hot they would go out and lie on the grass and talk until

they were in a condition to sleep anywhere. Hamilton would forecast the

next movement of the enemy; Laurens and Lafayette would tell all they

knew about military science in Europe; and then they would discuss the

future of the liberated country and the great ideals which must govern

her. And when men can be idealistic while fighting the Jersey mosquito,

it must be admitted that they are of the stuff to serve their country

well.

But all this delightful intercourse was interrupted in August.

Washington gave battle to the British at Brandywine, was defeated, and

in the following month surprised them at Germantown, and was defeated

again. Nevertheless, he had astonished the enemy with his strength and

courage so soon after a disastrous battle. To hold Philadelphia was

impossible, however, and the British established themselves in the

Capital of the colonies, making, as usual, no attempt to follow up their

victories.

Washington went into temporary quarters near the village of Whitemarsh.

His own were in a baronial hall at the head of a beautiful valley. Old

trees shaded the house, and a spring of pure water bubbled in a fountain

before the door. The men were encamped on the hills at the north.

There was a great hall through the centre of the mansion, and here

Washington held his audiences and councils of war. The house throughout

was of extreme elegance, and much to the taste of the younger members of

the family, particularly of Hamilton, who spent the greater part of his

leisure in the library. But his enjoyment of this uncommon luxury was

brief.

Washington must have reinforcements or his next engagement might be his

last. There was but one source from which he could obtain a considerable

supply, and that was from the army of Gates in the North. But Gates was

swollen with the victory of Saratoga and the capture of Burgoyne, and

was suspected to be in the thick of an intrigue to dethrone Washington

and have himself proclaimed Commander-in-chief. At the moment he was the

idol of the army, and of the northern and eastern States, for his

victories were tangible and brilliant, while Washington's surer

processes were little appreciated. Therefore to get troops from him

would be little less difficult than to get them from Lord Howe, short of

a positive command, and this prerogative Washington did not think it

politic to use. He called a council of war, and when it was over he

went to his private office and sent for Alexander Hamilton.

He looked haggard, as if from sleepless nights, and for a moment after

Hamilton entered the room, although he waved his hand at a chair, he

stared at him without speaking. Hamilton divined what was coming--he

attended all councils of war--and sat forward eagerly. The prospect of a

holiday from clerical work would alone have filled him with youth, and

he knew how great a service he might be able to render the cowering

Republic.

"Hamilton," said Washington, finally, "you are as much in my secret

thoughts as I am myself. If I attempted to deceive you, you would divine

what I withheld. It is a relief to speak frankly to you, I dare not

demand these troops from Gates, because there is more than a possibility

he would defy me, and that the Congress and a large part of the army

would sustain him. He has given sufficient evidence of his temper in

sending me no official notice of the battle of Saratoga. But unless I am

to meet with overwhelming disaster here, I must have reinforcements. It

may be possible to extract these by diplomacy, and I have selected you

for the mission, because I feel sure that you will not forget the issues

at stake for a moment, because you never lose your head, and because you

will neither be overawed by Gates's immediate splendour, nor will you

have any young desire to assert the authority which I give you as a last

resort. There is another point: If you find that Gates purposes to

employ his troops on some expedition, by the prosecution of which the

common cause will be more benefited than by their being sent down to

reinforce this army, you must suspend your consideration for me. God

knows I am tender of my reputation, and I have no wish to be disgraced,

but we are or should be fighting for a common cause and principle, and

should have little thought of individual glory. However, I do not

believe in the disinterestedness of Gates, nor in his efficiency on a

large scale. But I leave everything in your hands."

Hamilton stood up, his chest rising, and stared at his Chief.

"Sir," he said, after a moment, "do you appreciate that you are placing

your good name and your future in my hands?" For a moment he realized

that he was not yet of age.

"You are the only being to whom I can confide them, and who can save

this terrible situation."

"And you have the magnanimity to say that if Gates has a chance of other

victories to let him go unhindered?" He had one of his moments of

adoration and self-abnegation for this man, whose particular virtues, so

little called upon in ordinary affairs, gave him so lonely a place among

men.

Washington jerked his head. There was nothing more to say. Hamilton's

head dropped for a moment, as if he felt the weight of an iron helmet,

and his lips moved rapidly.

"Are you saying your prayers when your lips work like that?" asked

Washington, crossly.

Hamilton threw back his head with a gay laugh. His eyes were sparkling,

his nostrils dilating; his whole bearing was imperious and triumphant.

"Never mind that. I'll undertake this mission gladly, sir, and I think

I'll not fail. My old friend Troup is his aide. He will advise me of

many things. I'll bring you back those regiments, sir. One way or

another a thing can always be managed."

The light in Hamilton's face was reflected on Washington's. "You are my

good genius," he said shortly. "Take care of yourself. You will have to

ride hard, for there is no time to lose, but be careful not to take

cold. I shall give you orders in writing. Come back as soon as you can.

I believe I am not lacking in courage, but I always have most when you

are close by."

There is a print somewhere representing Hamilton setting forth on this

mission. He is mounted on a handsome white horse, and wears a long green

cloak, one end thrown over a shoulder. His three-cornered hat is pulled

low over his eyes. In the rear is an orderly.

He started on the 30th of October, riding hard through the torn desolate

country, toward Newburg on the Hudson. He was three days making the

distance, although he snatched but a few hours' rest at night, and but

a few moments for each meal. From Newburg he crossed to Fishkill and,

acting on his general instructions, ordered Putnam to despatch southward

three brigades; and on his own account despatched seven hundred Jersey

militia on the same expedition.

He then started hot and hard for Albany, a dangerous as well as

exhausting journey, for neither savage tribes nor redcoats could be far

in the distance. His mental anxiety by now wore as severely as the

physical strain. None knew better than he that his talents were not for

diplomacy. He was too impatient, too imperious, too direct for its

sinuous methods. On the other hand, he had a theory that a first-rate

mind could, for a given time, be bent in any direction the will

commanded, and he had acquired an admirable command of his temper. But

the responsibility was terrific, and he was half ill when he reached

Albany. He presented himself at General Gates's headquarters at once.

Gates, like Lee, was a soldier of fortune; and low-born, vain, weak, and

insanely ambitious. He had been advised of Hamilton's coming, and had no

intention of giving Washington an opportunity to rival his own

achievements and reëstablish himself with the army and the Congress. He

received Hamilton surrounded by several of his military family; and for

the first time our fortunate hero encountered in high places active

enmity and dislike. He had incurred widespread jealousy on account of

his influence over Washington, and for the important part he was playing

in national affairs. To the enemies of the Commander-in-chief he

represented that exalted personage, and was particularly obnoxious.

Never was a youth in a more difficult position.

"I cannot expose the finest arsenal in America," said Gates, pompously,

"to the possibility of destruction. Sir Henry Clinton may return at any

minute. Nor could I enterprise against Ticonderoga were my army

depleted. Nor can I leave the New England States open to the ravages and

the depredations of the enemy."

These statements made no impression on Hamilton, and he argued

brilliantly and convincingly for his object, but Gates was inflexible.

He would send one brigade and no more.

Hamilton retired, uneasy and dejected. Gates had an air of omnipotence,

and his officers had not concealed their scorn. He hesitated to use his

authority, for a bold defiance on the part of Gates might mean the

downfall of Washington, perhaps of the American cause. That Washington

was practically the American army, Hamilton firmly believed. If he fell,

it was more than likely that the whole tottering structure would

crumble.

Another reason inclined him not to press Gates too far. He had been able

to order seventy-seven hundred troops from Fishkill, which was more than

Washington had expected, although by no means so many as he needed. He

therefore wrote to the Chief at length, sent for Troup, and threw

himself on the bed; he was well-nigh worn out.

Troup was already in search of him, and met the messenger. Big and

bronzed, bursting with spirits, he seemed to electrify the very air of

the room he burst into without ceremony. Hamilton sat up and poured out

his troubles.

"You have an affinity for posts of danger," said Troup. "I believe you

to be walking over a powder-mine here. I am not in their confidence, for

they know what I think of Washington, but I believe there is a cabal on

foot, and that Gates may be in open rebellion any minute. But he's a

coward and a bully. Treat him as such. Press your point and get your

troops. He is but the tool of a faction, and I doubt if they could make

him act when it came to the point. He wants to make another grand coup

before striking. Look well into what regiment he gives you. Which are

you to have?"

"General Patterson's."

"I thought as much. It is the weakest of the three now here, consists of

but about six hundred rank and file fit for duty. There are two hundred

militia with it, whose time of service is so near expiring that they

will have dissolved ere you reach Headquarters."

Hamilton had sprung to his feet in a fury. He forgot his pains, and let

his temper fly with satisfaction in the exercise. "If that is the case,"

he cried, when he had finished his anathema of Gates, "I'll have the

men;" and he dashed at his writing materials. But he threw his pen aside

in a moment. "I'll wait till to-morrow for this. I must be master of

myself. Tell me of Saratoga. You distinguished yourself mightily, and no

one was more glad than I."

Troup talked while Hamilton rested. That evening he took him to call at

the Schuyler mansion, high on the hill.

Philip Schuyler was the great feudal lord of the North. He had served

the colonial cause in many ways, and at the outbreak of the Revolution

had been one of its hopes and props. But brilliant as his exploits had

been, the intrigues of Gates, after the fall of Ticonderoga, had been

successful, and he was deprived of the army of the North before the

battle of Saratoga. The day of exoneration came, but at present he was

living quietly at home, without bitterness. A man of the most exalted

character, he drew added strength from adversity, to be placed at the

service of the country the moment it was demanded. Mrs. Schuyler,

herself a great-granddaughter of the first patroon, Killian Van

Rensselaer, was a woman of strong character, an embodied type of all the

virtues of the Dutch pioneer housewife. She had a lively and turbulent

family of daughters, however, and did not pretend to manage them. The

spirit of our age is feeble and bourgeois when compared with the

independence and romantic temper of the stormy days of this Republic's

birth. Liberty was in the air; there was no talk but of freedom and

execration of tyrants; young officers had the run of every house, and

Clarissa Harlowe was the model for romantic young "females." Angelica

Schuyler, shortly before the battle of Saratoga, had run off with John

Barker Church, a young Englishman of distinguished connections, at

present masquerading under the name of Carter; a presumably fatal duel

having driven him from England. Subsequently, both Peggy and Cornelia

Schuyler climbed out of windows and eloped in a chaise and four,

although there was not an obstacle worth mentioning to union with the

youths of their choice. It will shock many good mothers of the present

day to learn that all these marriages were not only happy, but set with

the brilliance of wealth and fashion. When Hamilton was introduced to

the famous white hall of the Schuyler mansion on the hill, Cornelia and

Peggy were still free in all but fancy; Elizabeth, by far the best

behaved, was the hope of Mrs. Schuyler's well-regulated soul and one of

the belles of the Revolution. Hamilton was enchanted with her, although

his mind was too weighted for love. Her spirits were as high as his own,

and they talked and laughed until midnight as gaily as were Gates's army

marching south. But Hamilton was a philosopher; nothing could be done

before the morrow; he might as well be happy and forget. He had met many

clever and accomplished American women by this, and Lady Kitty Alexander

and Kitty and Susan Livingston were brilliant. He had also met Angelica

Church, or Mrs. Carter, as she was called, one of the cleverest and most

high-spirited women of her time. It had crossed his mind that had she

been free, he might have made a bold dash for so fascinating a creature,

but it seemed to him to-night that on the whole he preferred her sister.

"Betsey" Schuyler had been given every advantage of education,

accomplishment, and constant intercourse with the best society in the

land. She had skill and tact in the management of guests, and without;

being by any means a woman of brilliant parts, understood the questions

of the day; her brain was informed with shrewd common sense. Hamilton

concluded that she was quite clever enough, and was delighted with her

beauty, her charm of manner, and style. Her little figure was graceful

and distinguished, her complexion the honey and claret that artists

extol, and she had a pair of big black eyes which were alternately

roguish, modest, tender, sympathetic; there were times when they were

very lively, and even suggested a temper. She was bright without

attempting to be witty, but that she was deeply appreciative of wit

Hamilton had soothing cause to know. And he had learned from the

admiring Troup that she was as intrepid as she was wholly and daintily

feminine. Altogether, Hamilton's fate was sealed when he bent over her

hand that night, although he was far from suspecting it, so heavily did

duty press the moment he was alone in his rooms.

On the following morning he asked for an interview with General Schuyler

and several other military men whom he knew to be friendly to

Washington, and they confirmed the advice of Troup. In the afternoon he

wrote to Gates a letter that was peremptory, although dignified and

circumspect, demanding the addition of a superior brigade. He expressed

his indignation in no measured terms, and in more guarded phrases his

opinion of the flimsiness of the victorious General's arguments. Gates

sent the troops at once, and despatched a volume of explanation to

Washington.

Hamilton set out immediately for New Windsor, Troup bearing him company

the greater part of the way, for he was feeling very ill. But he forgot

his ailments when he arrived. To his fury he discovered that not a

regiment had gone south. Two of the brigades, which had received no pay

for eight months, had mutinied, and he was obliged to ask Governor

Clinton to borrow $5000, with which to pay them off. He had the

satisfaction of despatching them, wrote a peremptory letter to Putnam,

who had other plans brewing, another to Gates, asking for further

reinforcements, then went to bed in Governor Clinton's house with fever

and rheumatism. But he wrote to Washington, apprising him of a scheme

among the officers of the northern department to recover the city of New

York, and denouncing Putnam in the most emphatic terms. Two days later

he recovered sufficiently to proceed to Fishkill, where he wrested

troops from Putnam, and ascertained that heavy British reinforcements

had gone from that neighbourhood to Howe. He wrote at once to

Washington, advising him of his peril, and endeavoured to push on; but

his delicate frame would stand no more, and on the 15th he went to bed

in Mr. Kennedy's house in Peekskill, with so violent an attack of

rheumatism that to his bitter disgust he was obliged to resign himself

to weeks of inactivity. But he had the satisfaction to receive a letter

from Washington approving all that he had done. And in truth he had

saved the situation, and Washington never forgot it.

III

Hamilton rejoined the army at Valley Forge and soon recovered his health

and spirits. It was well that the spirits revived, for no one else

during that terrible winter could lay claim to any. The Headquarters

were in a small valley, shut in by high hills white with snow and black

with trees that looked like iron. The troops were starving and freezing

and dying a mile away, muttering and cursing, but believing in

Washington. On a hill beyond the pass Lafayette was comfortable in

quarters of his own, but bored and fearing the worst. Laurens chafed at

the inaction; he would have had a battle a day. As the winter wore on,

the family succumbed to the depressing influence of unrelieved monotony

and dread of the future, and only Hamilton knew to what depths of

anxiety Washington could descend. But despair had no part in Hamilton's

creed. He had perfect faith in the future, and announced it

persistently. He assumed the mission of keeping the family in good

cheer, and they gave him little time for his studies. As for Washington,

even when Hamilton was not at his desk, he made every excuse to demand

his presence in the private office; and Hamilton in his prayers

humorously thanked his Almighty for the gift of a cheerful disposition.

It may be imagined what a relief it was when he and Laurens, Meade, or

Tilghman raced each other up the icy gorge to Lafayette's, where they

were often jollier the night through than even a cheerful disposition

would warrant. Hamilton, although he had not much of a voice, learned

one camp-song, "The Drum," and this he sang with such rollicking abandon

that it fetched an explosive sigh of relief from the gloomiest breast.

There were other duties from which Hamilton fled to the house on the

hill for solace. Valley Forge harboured a heterogeneous collection of

foreigners, whose enthusiasm had impelled them to offer swords and

influence to the American cause: Steuben, Du Portail, De Noailles,

Custine, Fleury, Du Plessis, the three brothers Armand, Ternant,

Pulaski, and Kosciusko. They had a thousand wants, a thousand

grievances, and as Washington would not be bothered by them, their daily

recourse was Hamilton, whom they adored. To him they could lament in

voluble French; he knew the exact consolation to administer to each, and

when it was advisable he laid their afflictions before Washington or the

Congress. They bored him not a little, but he sympathized with them in

their Cimmerian exile, and it was necessary to keep them in the country

for the sake of the moral effect. But he congratulated himself on his

capacity for work.

"I used to wish that a hurricane would come and blow Cruger's store to

Hell," he said one day to Laurens, "but I cannot be sufficiently

thankful for that experience now. It made me as methodical as a machine,

gave my brain a system without which I never could cope with this mass

of work. I have this past week dried the tears of seven Frenchmen,

persuaded Steuben that he is not Europe, nor yet General Washington, and

without too much offending him, written a voluminous letter to Gates

calculated to make him feel what a contemptible and traitorous ass he

is, yet giving him no chance to run, blubbering, with it to the

Congress, and official letters _ad nauseum_. I wish to God I were out of

it all, and about to ride into battle at the head of a company of my

own."

"And how many widows have you consoled?" asked Laurens. He was huddled

in his cot, trying to keep warm.

"None," said Hamilton, with some gloom. "I haven't spoken to a woman for

three weeks."

It was a standing joke at Headquarters that Washington always sent

Hamilton to console the widows. This he did with such sympathy and tact,

such address and energy, that his friends had occasionally been forced

to extricate him from complications. But it was an accomplishment in

which he excelled as long as he lived.

"The Chief will never let you go," pursued Laurens. "And as there is no

one to take your place, you really should not wish it. Washington may be

the army, but you are Washington's brain, and of quite as much

importance. You should never forget--"

"Come out and coast. That will warm your blood," interrupted Hamilton.

His own sense of duty was not to be surpassed, but he had rebellious

moods, when preaching suggested fisticuffs.

Outside they met a messenger from Lafayette, begging them to repair to

his quarters at once. There they found him entertaining a party of

charming women from a neighbouring estate; and a half-hour later the

dignity and fashion of Washington's family might have been seen coasting

down a steep hill with three Philadelphian exiles, who were as

accomplished in many ways as they were satisfying to look upon.

It was one of those days when a swift freeze has come with a rain-storm.

Hamilton had stood at the window of the office for an hour, early in the

day, biting the end of his quill, and watching the water change to ice

as it struck the naked trees, casing every branch until, when the sun

came out, the valley was surrounded by a diamond forest, the most

radiant and dazzling of winter sights. The sun was still out, its light

flashed back from a million facets, the ground was hard and white, the

keen cold air awoke the blood, and the three young men forgot their

grumblings, and blessed the sex which has alleviated man's burdens so

oft and well.

IV

In June the military ardours of this distinguished young trio were

gratified to the point of temporary exhaustion. The British evacuated

Philadelphia on the 18th, and proceeded up the Delaware in New Jersey.

Captain Allan McLane had, as early as May 25th, reported to Washington

the enemy's intention to change their quarters for New York, and

Washington's desire was to crush them by a decisive blow. At a council

of war, however, it was decided merely to hang upon the skirts of the

retreating army and avoid an engagement. Lee was aggressive, almost

insulting, in counselling inaction, Washington, much embarrassed, but

hesitating to ignore the decisions of the council, followed the enemy by

a circuitous route, until he reached the neighbourhood of Princeton. The

British were in and about Allentown. Washington called another council

of war, and urged the propriety of forcing an engagement before the

enemy could reach the Heights of Monmouth. Again Lee overruled, being

sustained by the less competent generals, who were in the majority. As

soon as the council broke up, Hamilton sought out General Greene and led

him aside, Greene was white and dejected, but Hamilton's face was hot,

and his eyes were flashing.

"I believe that Lee is in the pay of the British or the Conway Cabal,"

he exclaimed. "I've always believed him ready at any minute to turn

traitor. It's a pity he wasn't left to rot in prison. Washington must

fight. His honour is at stake. If he lets the British walk off while we

sit and whistle, his influence with the army will be gone, Europe will

have no more of him, the Conway Cabal will have the excuse it's been

watching at keyholes for, and Gates will be Commander-in-chief

to-morrow. Will you come with me and persuade him to fight?"

"Yes," said Greene. "And I believe he will. You are like a sudden cold

wind on an August day. Come on."

They walked rapidly toward Washington's tent. He was sitting on his

camp-stool, but rose as they approached.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I anticipate the object of your visit. You wish

me to fight."

"Yes!" exclaimed Hamilton. "As much as you wish it yourself. Why should

you regard the councils of the traitorous and the timorous, who, for

aught you know, may be in the pay of the Cabal? If the British retreat

unmolested, the American army is disgraced. If Congress undertake to

manage it, the whole cause will be lost, and the British will be

stronger far than when we took up arms--"

"Enough," said Washington. "We fight"

He ordered a detachment of one thousand men, under General Wayne, to

join the troops nearest the enemy. Lafayette was given the command of

all the advance troops--Lee sulkily retiring in his favour--which

amounted to about four thousand. Hamilton was ordered to accompany him

and reconnoitre, carry messages between the divisions, and keep

Washington informed of the movements of the enemy. There was but a

chance that he would be able to fight, but the part assigned to him was

not the least dangerous and important at Washington's disposal. The

Chief moved forward with the main body of the army to Cranbury.

Clinton had no desire to fight, being encumbered with a train of

baggage-wagons and bathorses, which with his troops made a line on the

highroad twelve miles long. It being evident that the Americans intended

to give battle, he encamped in a strong position near Monmouth

Court-house, protected on nearly all sides by woods and marshes. His

line extended on the right about a mile and a half beyond the

Court-house, and on the left, along the road toward Allentown, for about

three miles.

This disposition compelled Washington to increase the advance corps, and

he ordered Lee to join Lafayette with two brigades. As senior officer,

Lee assumed command of the whole division, under orders to make the

first attack. Both Lafayette and Hamilton were annoyed and apprehensive

at this arrangement. "Washington is the shrewdest of men in his

estimates until it is a matter of personal menace," said Hamilton, "and

then he is as trusting as a country wench with a plausible villain. I

thought we had delivered him from this scoundrel, and now he has

deliberately placed his fortunes in his hands again. Mark you, Lee will

serve us some trick before the battle is over."

Hamilton had been galloping back and forth night and day between

Lafayette's division and Headquarters, wherever they happened to be,

and reconnoitring constantly. The weather was intensely hot, the soil so

sandy that his horse often floundered. He had not had a full night's

sleep since Washington announced his decision to give battle, and he

would have been worn out, had he not been too absorbed and anxious to

retain any consciousness of his body. Early on the morning of the 28th,

a forward movement being observed on the part of the enemy, Washington

immediately put the army in motion and sent word to Lee to press forward

and attack.

Lee looked uglier and dirtier than usual, and the very seat of his

breeches scowled as he rode forward leisurely. In a few moments he

halted, word having been brought him that the main body of the British

was advancing.

"If we could but court-martial him on the spot," groaned Lafayette,

whose delicate boyish face was crumpled with anxiety.

"He meditates treason!" exclaimed Hamilton. "It is writ all over him."

Having ascertained that the rumour was false, Lee consented to move on

again, and the division entered the forest, their advance covered from

the British on the plains beyond. For a time Lee manoeuvred so cleverly

that Hamilton and Lafayette permitted themselves to hope. Under cover of

the forest he formed a portion of his line for action, and with Wayne,

Hamilton, and others, rode forward to reconnoitre. Concluding that the

column of the British deploying on the right was only a covering party

of two thousand, he manoeuvred to cut them off from the main army. Wayne

was detached with seven hundred men to attack the covering party in the

rear. Lee, with a stronger force, was to gain its front by a road to the

left. Small detachments were concealed in the woods. At nine o'clock,

the Queen's dragoons being observed upon an eminence near the wood, Lee

ordered his light-horse to decoy them to the point where Wayne was

posted. The dragoons appeared to fall into the trap, but upon being

attacked from the wood, galloped off toward the main column. Wayne

started in pursuit; his artillery was raking them, and he had ordered a

charge at the point of the bayonet, when, to his amazement, he received

an order from Lee to make but a feint of attack and pursuit. He had no

choice but to obey, brilliant as might be the victory wrested from him.

Lee, meanwhile, dawdled about, although his troops were on one foot with

impatience.

Suddenly Sir Henry Clinton, learning that the Americans were marching in

force on both his flanks, with the design of capturing his baggage,

changed the front of his army by facing about in order to attack Wayne

with such deadly fire that the enemy on his flanks would be obliged to

fly to the succour of that small detachment. Lafayette immediately saw

the opportunity for victory in the rear of the enemy, and rode up to Lee

asking permission to make the attempt.

Lee swung his loose head about and scowled at the ardent young

Frenchman. "Sir," he replied witheringly, "you do not know British

soldiers. We cannot stand against them. We certainly shall be driven

back at first. We must be cautious."

"It may be so, General," replied Lafayette, who would have given much to

see that head rolling on the sands; "but British soldiers have been

beaten, and they may be again. At any rate, I am disposed to make the

trial."

Lee shrugged his shoulders, but as Lafayette sat immovable, his clear

hazel eyes interrogating and astonished, he reluctantly gave the Marquis

the order to wheel his column to the right and attack the enemy's left.

He simultaneously weakened Wayne's detachment and went off to

reconnoitre. He afterward claimed that he saw what looked to be the

approach of the entire army, and he ordered his right to fall back. The

brigades of Scott and Maxwell on the left were already moving forward

and approaching the right of the Royal forces, when they received an

order from Lee to reënter the wood. At the same time an order was sent

to Lafayette to fall back to the Court-house. With a face as flaming as

his unpowdered head, he obeyed. Upon reaching the Court-house he learned

that a general retreat had begun on the right, under the immediate

command of Lee. He had no choice but to follow.

Hamilton, hardly crediting that his worst fears were realized in this

unwarranted retreat, galloped over to Lee and urged that possession be

taken of a neighbouring hill that commanded the plain on which the enemy

were advancing. But Lee protested violently that the Americans had not a

chance against that solid phalanx, and Hamilton, now convinced that he

meditated the disgrace of the American arms, galloped with all speed in

search of Washington.

The retreat, by this, was a panic. The troops fled like an army of

terrified rabbits, with that reversion to the simplicity of their dumb

ancestors which induces the suspicion that all the manly virtues are

artificial. In times of panic man seems to exchange his soul for a tail.

These wretches trampled each other into the shifting sand, and crowded

many more into the morass. The heat was terrific. They ran with their

tongues hanging out, and many dropped dead.

Washington heard of the retreat before Hamilton found him. He was

pushing on to Lee's relief when a country-man brought him word of the

disgraceful rout. Washington refused to credit the report and spurred

forward. Halfway between the meeting-house and the morass he met the

head of the first retreating column. He commanded it to halt at once,

before the panic be communicated to the main army; then made for Lee.

Lee saw him coming and braced himself for the shock. But it was a

greater man than Lee who could stand the shock of Washington's temper.

He was fearfully roused. The noble gravity of his face had disappeared.

It was convulsed with rage.

"Sir," he thundered, "I desire to know what is the reason of this?

Whence arises this confusion and disorder?"

"Sir--" stammered Lee, "sir--" He braced himself, and added impudently:

"I thought it best not to beard the enemy in such a situation. It was

contrary to my opinion--"

"_Your_ opinion!" And then the Chief undammed a torrent of profanity

Washingtonian in its grandeur.

He wheeled and galloped to the rallying of the troops. At this moment

Hamilton rode up. He had ridden through the engagement without a hat. It

seemed to him that he could hear the bubbling of his brain, that the

very air blazed, and that the end of all things had come. That day of

Monmouth ever remained in his memory as the most awful and hopeless of

his life. An ordinary defeat was nothing. But the American arms branded

with cowardice, Washington ignobly deposed, inefficient commanders

floundering for a few months before the Americans were become the

laughing-stock of Europe,--the whole vision was so hideous, and the day

so hopeless in the light of those cowardly hordes, that he galloped

through the rain of British bullets, praying for death; he had lost all

sense of separate existence from the shattered American cause. He did

not perceive that Washington had reached the column, and resolved to

make one more appeal to Lee, he rode up to that withered culprit and

exclaimed passionately:--

"I will stay with you, my dear General, and die with you! Let us all die

here, rather than retreat!"

Lee made no reply. His brain felt as if a hot blast had swept it.

"At least send a detachment to the succour of the artillery," said

Hamilton, with quick suspicion. And Lee ordered Colonel Livingston to

advance.

At the same moment some one told Hamilton that Washington was in the

rear, rallying the troops. He spurred his horse and found that the

General had rallied the regiments of Ramsay and Stewart, after a rebuke

under which they still trembled, and was ordering Oswald to hasten his

cannon to the eminence which his aide had suggested to Lee. Hamilton

himself was in time to intercept two retreating brigades. He succeeded

in rallying them, formed them along a fence at hand, and ordered them to

charge at the point of the bayonet. He placed himself at their head, and

they made a brilliant dash upon the enemy. But his part was soon over.

His horse was shot under him, and as he struck the ground he was

overcome by the shock and the heat, and immediately carried from the

field. But the retreat was suspended, order restored, and although the

battle raged all day, the British gained no advantage. The troops were

so demoralized by the torrid heat that at sunset both Commanders were

obliged to cease hostilities; and Washington, who had been in the saddle

since daybreak, threw himself under a tree to sleep, confident of a

victory on the morrow.

"I had a feeling as if my very soul were exploding," said Hamilton to

Laurens, as they bathed their heads in a stream in the woods, with the

bodies of dead and living huddled on every side of them. "I had a

hideous vision of Washington and the rest of us in a huge battle

picture, in which a redcoat stood on every squirming variety of

continental uniform, while a screeching eagle flew off with the

Declaration of Independence. But after all, there is something

magnificent in so absolutely identifying yourself with a cause that you

go down to its depths of agony and fly to its heights of exaltation. I

was mad to die when the day--and with it the whole Cause--seemed lost.

Patriotism surely is the master passion. Nothing else can annihilate the

ego."

Laurens, who had performed prodigies of valour, sighed heavily. "I felt

as you did while the engagement lasted," he replied. "But I went into

the battle with exultation, for death this time seemed inevitable. And

the only result is a headache. What humiliation!"

"You are morbid, my dear," said Hamilton, tenderly. "You cannot persuade

me that at the age of twenty-five naught remains but death--no matter

what mistakes one may have made. There is always the public career--for

which you are eminently fitted. I would begin life over again twenty

times if necessary."

"Yes, because you happen to be a man of genius. I am merely a man of

parts. There are many such. Not only is my life ruined, but every day I

despair anew of ever attaining that high ideal of character I have set

for myself. I want nothing short of perfection," he said passionately.

"Could I attain that, I should be content to live, no matter how

wretched. But I fall daily. My passions control me, my hatreds, my

impulses of the moment. When a man's very soul aches for a purity which

it is in man to attain if he will, and when he is daily reminded that he

is but a whimperer at the feet of the statue, the world is no place for

him."

"Laurens," said Hamilton, warmly, "you refine on the refinements of

sensibility. You have brooded until you no longer are normal and capable

of logic. Compare your life with that of most men, and hope. You are but

twenty-five, and you have won a deathless glory, by a valour and

brilliancy on these battlefields that no one else has approached. Your

brain and accomplishments are such that the country looks to you as one

of its future guides. Your character is that of a Bayard. It is your

passions alone, my dear, which save you from being a prig. Passion is

the furnace that makes greatness possible. If, when the mental energies

are resting, it darts out tongues of flame that strike in the wrong

place, I do not believe that the Almighty, who made us, counts them as

sins. They are natural outlets, and we should burst without them. If one

of those tongues of flame was the cause of your undoing, God knows you

have paid in kind. As a rule no one is the worse, while most are better.

A certain degree of perfection we can attain, but absolute

perfection--go into a wilderness like Mohammed and fast. There is no

other way, and even then you merely would have visions; you would not be

yourself."

Laurens laughed. "It is not easy to be morbid when you are by. Acquit me

for the rest of the night. And it is time we slept. There will be hot

work to-morrow. How grandly the Chief rallied! There is a man!"

"He was in a blazing temper," remarked Hamilton. "Lee and Ramsay and

Stewart were like to have died of fright. I wish to God he'd strung the

first to a gibbet!"

They sought out Washington and lay down beside him. The American army

slept as though its soul had withdrawn to another realm where repose is

undisturbed. Not so the British army. Sir Henry Clinton did not share

Washington's serene confidence in the morrow. He withdrew his weary army

in the night, and was miles away when the dawn broke.

Once Washington awoke, raised himself on his elbow, and listened

intently. But he could hear nothing but the deep breathing of his weary

army. The stars were brilliant. He glanced about his immediate vicinity

with a flicker of amusement and pleasure in his eyes. The young men of

his household were crowded close about him; he had nearly planted his

elbow on Hamilton's profile. Laurens, Tilghman, Meade, even Lafayette,

were there, and they barely had left him room to turn over. He knew that

these worshipping young enthusiasts were all ready and eager to die for

him, and that in spite of his rigid formality they were quite aware of

his weak spot, and did not hesitate to manifest their affection. For a

moment the loneliest man on earth felt as warmly companioned as if he

were raising a family of rollicking boys; then he gently lifted Hamilton

out of the way, and slept again. He was bitterly disappointed next

morning; but to pursue the enemy in that frightful heat, over a sandy

country without water, and with his men but half refreshed, was out of

the question.

The rest of the year was uneventful, except for the court-martialling of

Lee and his duel with Laurens, who challenged him for his defamation of

Washington. Then came the eventful winter of 1779-80, when the army went

into quarters at Morristown, Washington and his military family taking

possession of a large house belonging to the Widow Ford.

V

"Alexander!" cried a musical but imperious voice.

Hamilton was walking in the depths of the wood, thinking out his

financial policy for the immediate relief of the country. He started and

faced about. Kitty Livingston sat on her horse, a charming picture in

the icy brilliance of the wood. He ran toward her, ripped off her

glove, kissed her hand, replaced the glove, then drew back and saluted.

"You are a saucy boy," said Miss Livingston, "and I've a mind to box

your ears. I've brought you up very badly; but upon my word, if you were

a few years older, I believe I'd marry you and keep you in order,

something no other woman will ever be able to do. But I've a piece of

news for you--my dear little brother. Betsey Schuyler is here."

Alexander, much to his annoyance, blushed vividly. "And how can you know

that I have ever even seen Miss Schuyler?" he asked, rather sulkily.

"_She_ told me all about it, my dear. And I inferred from the young

lady's manner that she lived but to renew the experience. She is down at

Surgeon-General Cochraine's. Mrs. Cochraine is her aunt. Seriously, I

want you to be a good little beau, and keep her here as long as

possible. She is a great addition to our society; for she is not only

one of the belles of the country, accomplished and experienced, but she

has an amazing fine character, and I am anxious to know her better. You

are still too young to marry, _mon enfant_, but you are so precocious

and Miss Schuyler is so charming--if you will marry at your absurd age,

you could not do better; for you'll get fine parents as well as a wife,

and I've never known a youth more in need of an entire family."

Hamilton laughed. "If I accumulate any more parents," he said, "I shall

share the fate of the cat. This morning Colonel Harrison--one of my

fathers--almost undressed me to see if my flannels were thick enough,

Mrs. Washington gave me a fearful scolding because I went out without a

muffler, and even the General is always darting edged glances at the

soles of my boots. Yesterday, Laurens, who is two-thirds English, tried

to force an umbrella into my hand, but at that I rebelled. If I marry,

it will be for the pleasure of taking care of someone else."

He escorted Miss Livingston out to the highroad, and returned to

Headquarters, his imagination dancing. He had by no means forgotten Miss

Schuyler. That merry roguish high-bred face had shone above many dark

horizons, illuminated many bitter winter nights at Valley Forge. He was

excited at the prospect of seeing her again, and hastened to arrange a

dinner, to which she must be bidden. The young men did as they chose

about entertaining, sure of Washington's approval.

"Ah, I know Miss Schuyler well," exclaimed Tilghman, when Hamilton

remarked that they should immediately show some attention to the

daughter of so illustrious a man as General Schuyler. "I've fetched and

carried for her--in fact I once had the honour to be despatched by her

mamma to buy her a pair of stays. I fell at her little feet immediately.

She has the most lively dark good-natured eyes I ever saw--Good God,

Hamilton, are you going to run me through?"

Hamilton for the moment was so convulsed with jealous rage that his very

fingers curved, and he controlled them from his friend's throat with an

effort. Tilghman's words brought him to his senses, and he laughed

heartily. "I was as jealous as Othello, if you'll have the truth, and

just why, I vow I don't know, for I met this young lady only once, and

that a year ago. I was much attracted, but it's not possible I'm in love

with her."

"It's love, my dear boy," said Tilghman, gravely. "Go and ask Steuben if

I am not right. Laurens and I will arrange the dinner. You attend to

your case immediately."

Hamilton, much concerned, repaired to the house of Baron Steuben. This

old courtier and rake was physician in ordinary to all the young men in

their numerous cardiacal complications. Hamilton found him in his little

study, smoking a huge meerschaum. His weather-beaten face grinned with

delight at the appearance of his favourite, but he shook his head

solemnly at the revelation.

"I fear this time you are shot, my dear little Hamilton," he said, with

much concern. "Have you told me all?"

"All that I can think of." Hamilton was sitting forward on the edge of

the chair in considerable dejection. He had not expected this

intrication, had hoped the Baron would puff it away.

"Has she a neat waist?"

Hamilton admitted, with some surprise, that her waist was exceptional.

"And her eyes?--I have heard of them--benevolent, yet sparkling;--and a

daughter of the Schuylers. Hamilton, believe me, there are worse things

than love."

"But I have affairs of the utmost moment on hand at present. I'm

revolving a whole financial system, and the correspondence grows heavier

every day. I've no time for love."

"My boy," said the former aide to the great Frederick, with emphasis,

"when you can work in the sun, why cling to the cold corner of a public

hearth? Your brain will spin the faster for the fire underneath. You

will write great words and be happy besides. Think of that. What a

combination! Mein Gott! You will be terribly in love, my son, but your

balance is so extraordinary that your brain will work on just the same.

Otherwise I would not dare give such counsel, for without you General

Washington would give up, and your poor old Steuben would not have money

for tobacco. Give me just one half-sovereign," he added coaxingly.

Hamilton examined the big tobacco pouch and found it two-thirds full.

"Not a penny," he said gaily. "The day after to-morrow I will buy you

some myself, but I know where that last sovereign went to."

Hamilton took care of the old spendthrift's money, and not only then but

as long as he lived. "The Secretary of the Treasury is my banker," said

Steuben, years after. "My Hamilton takes care of my money when he cannot

take care of his own."

Hamilton retired in some perturbation, and the result of much thinking

was that he spent an unconscionable time over his toilet on the evening

of the dinner. In his nervousness he tore one of his lace ruffles.

Laurens attempted to mend it, and the rent waxed. Hamilton was forced to

knock at Mrs. Washington's door and ask her to repair the injury. She

was already dressed, in a black lutestring, her hair flat and natural.

She looked approvingly at Hamilton, who, not excepting Laurens, was

always the most faultlessly dressed member of the family. To-night he

wore dark green velvet, fitting closely and exquisitely cut, white silk

stockings, and a profusion of delicate lace. His hair was worn in a

queue and powdered. It was not till some years later that he conformed

to the prevailing fashion and wore a wig.

Mrs. Washington mended the lace, retied the bow of his queue, kissed him

and told him to forget the cares of war and correspondence, and enjoy

himself. Hamilton retired, much comforted.

It was an imposing family which, a half-hour later, awaited the guests

in the drawing-room. Washington was in black velvet and silk stockings,

his best white wig spreading in two symmetrical wings. It was a cold

grave figure always, and threw an air of solemnity over every scene it

loomed upon, which only Hamilton's lively wit could dispel. Laurens wore

plum-coloured velvet and much lace, a magnificent court costume. His own

figure was no less majestic than Washington's, but his brown eyes and

full mouth were almost invariably smiling, despite the canker. He wore a

very close wig. Tilghman was in blue, the other men in more sober dress.

Lafayette some time since had departed for France, Hamilton having

suggested that the introduction of a French military force of six or

seven thousand troops would have a powerful effect upon the American

army and people.

Lady Sterling arrived with Lady Kitty--the bride of Colonel William Duer

since July--her undistinguished homeliness enhancing the smart

appearance of her daughter, who was one of the beauties of the time.

Lady Kitty had a long oval face, correct haughty little features, and a

general air of extreme high breeding. Her powdered hair was in a tower,

and she had the tiniest waist and stood upon the highest heels of all

the belles. She wore white satin over an immense hoop, a flounce of

Spanish lace and a rope of pearls. Kitty Livingston wore yellow which

outshone the light of the candles. Susan Boudinot and the other girls

were dressed more simply. Mr. Boudinot's eyes were as keen and as kind

as ever, his nose seemed longer, and the flesh was accumulating beneath

his chin.

The Cochraines and Miss Elizabeth Schuyler were the last to arrive. The

northern belle's wardrobe had been an object of much concern to the

young ladies now cut off from New York shops, and lamenting the

demoralized condition of those in Philadelphia. In Albany all things

were still possible. Miss Schuyler wore a pink brocade of the richest

and most delicate quality, and a bertha of Brussels lace. The pointed

bodice and large paniers made her waist look almost as small as Kitty

Duer's, and her feet were the tiniest in the world. She turned them in

and walked with a slight shuffle. Hamilton had never seen a motion so

adorable. Her hair was rolled out from her face on both sides as well as

above, and so thickly powdered that her eyes looked as black as General

Washington's coat, while her cheeks and lips were like red wine on pale

amber. She blushed as Hamilton bowed before her and offered his arm, and

then she felt his heart thump. As for Hamilton, he gave himself up for

lost the moment she entered the room, and with the admission, his

feelings concentrated with their usual fiery impetuosity. As it was too

soon for an outlet, they rushed to his eyes and camped there, to Miss

Schuyler's combined discomfort and delight.

For once Hamilton was content to listen, and Miss Schuyler was not loath

to entertain this handsome young aide, of whom all the world was

talking, and who had haunted her dreams for a year. She had read Milton,

Shenstone, and Dodsworth, "The Search after Happiness," by Hannah More,

the works of Madame de Genlis, the "Essay on Man," and Shakespeare's

lighter plays. Her learning was not oppressive, merely sufficient to

give distinction to her mind, and Hamilton was enchanted once more; but

he found her most interesting when relating personal anecdotes of

encounters with savage warriors in that dark northern land where she had

been born and bred, of hideous massacres of which her neighbours had

been the victims, of adventurous journeys she had taken with her father,

of painted chieftains they had been forced to entertain. She talked

with great spirit and no waste of words, and it was evident that she was

both sensible and heroic. Hamilton ate little and forgot that he was in

a company of twenty people. He was recalled by an abraded shin.

He turned with a jump and encountered Meade's agonized face thrust

across Susan Livingston, who sat between them.

"For God's sake, Hamilton, come forth and talk," said Meade, in a hoarse

whisper. "There hasn't been a word said above a mutter for

three-quarters of an hour. Tilghman gave out long ago. Unless you come

to the rescue we'll all be moaning in each other's arms in three

minutes."

Hamilton glanced about the table. Washington, looking like himself on a

monument, was making not a pretence to entertain poor Lady Sterling, who

was almost sniffling. Lord Sterling, having gratified, an hour since,

Mrs. Washington's polite interest in his health, was stifling yawn after

yawn, and his chubby little visage was oblong and crimson. Tilghman,

looking guilty and uncomfortable,--it was his duty to relieve Hamilton

at the table,--was flirting with Miss Boudinot. Lady Kitty and Baron

Steuben always managed to entertain each other. Laurens and Kitty

Livingston were sitting back and staring at each other as they had

stared many times before. The others were gazing at their plates or at

Hamilton. It was, indeed, a Headquarters dinner at the worst.

It has been remarked that Hamilton had a strong sense of duty. He felt

himself unable, even with the most charming girl on the continent beside

him, to resist the appeal of all those miserable eyes, and launched

forth at once upon the possibilities of Lafayette returning with an

army. Everybody responded, and he had many subjects of common interest

to discourse brilliantly upon until the long meal finished. Even

Washington gave him a grateful glance, and the others reattacked their

excellent food with a lost relish, now that the awful silence and sense

of personal failure were dispelled by their "bright particular star," as

the letters of the day from Morristown and the vicinity cleped our

hero. But with Miss Schuyler he had no further word that night, and he

retired with the conviction that there were times when there was no

satisfaction whatever in doing one's duty.

VI

But a few nights later there was a subscription ball in the commissary

storehouse, and Hamilton danced with Miss Schuyler no less than ten

times, to the merciless amusement of the family. The ball, the first of

any size since the war began, was a fine affair, and had been organized

by Tilghman, Meade, and several of the Frenchmen; they were determined

upon one gay season, at least. The walls were covered with flags and

holly; the women wore their most gorgeous brocades; feathers and jewels

were on becoming white wigs or on the towers of powdered hair. All the

foreigners were in full regimentals, Steuben, in particular, being half

covered with gold lace and orders; the music and supper were admirable.

Even Washington looked less careworn than usual, and as he stood apart

with Lord Sterling, General Knox, and General Greene, he shed no

perceptible chill. Miss Schuyler wore white, with a twist of black

velvet in her powdered hair and another about her throat, and would have

been the belle of the party had Hamilton permitted other attentions. But

she gave him all the dances he demanded, and although her bright manner

did not lapse toward sentiment for a moment, he went home so elated that

he sat scribbling poetry until Laurens pelted him with pillows and

extinguished the candle.

The next day there was a sleighing party to Lord Sterling's, and he

drove Miss Schuyler, her aunt, and the wife of General Knox through the

white and crystal and blue of a magnificent winter day. Mrs. Cochraine

made no secret of her pride in her niece's capture of Washington's

celebrated favourite, and assured him of a hearty welcome at her house

if he felt disposed to call. He promptly established the habit of

calling every evening.

But although he was seriously and passionately in love, and quite sure

that Miss Schuyler loved him in return, he hesitated for the first time

in his life before precipitating a desired consummation. That he had no

money did not worry him in the least, for he knew himself capable of

earning any amount, and that the Republic, when free, would bristle with

opportunities for young men of parts. But he was in honour bound to tell

her of the irregularity of his birth. And in what manner would she

regard a possible husband with whose children she never could discuss

their father's parents? She was twenty-two, a small woman-of-the-world,

not a romantic young miss incapable of reason. And the Schuylers? The

proudest family in America! Would they take him on what he had made of

himself, on the promise of his future, or would their family pride prove

stronger than their common sense? He had moments of frantic doubt and

depression, but fortunately there was no time for protracted periods of

lover's misery. Washington demanded him constantly for consultation upon

the best possible method of putting animation into the Congress and

extracting money for the wretched troops. He frequently accompanied the

General, as at Valley Forge, in his visits to the encampment on the

mountain, where the emaciated tattered wretches were hutting with all

possible speed against the severity of another winter. The snow was

already on the ground, and every prospect of a repetition of the horrors

of Valley Forge. The mere sight of Washington put heart into them, and

Hamilton's lively sallies rarely failed to elicit a smile in return.

It so happened that for a fortnight the correspondence with Congress,

the States, the Generals, and the British, in regard to the exchange of

prisoners, was so heavy, the consultations with Washington so frequent,

that Hamilton saw nothing of Miss Schuyler, and had little time for the

indulgence of pangs. When he emerged, however, his mind was the freer to

seek a solution of the problem which had tormented him, and he quickly

found it. He determined to write the truth to Miss Schuyler, and so save

the embarrassment he had dreaded for both. To think was to act. He

related the facts of his birth and of his ancestry in the briefest

possible manner, adding a description of his mother which would leave no

question of the place she held in his esteem. He then stated, with the

emphasis of which he was master, that he distractedly awaited his

dismissal, or Miss Schuyler's permission to declare what he had so

awkwardly concealed.

He sent the letter by an orderly, and attacked his correspondence with a

desire to put gunpowder on his quill. But Miss Schuyler was a

tender-hearted creature and had no intention that he should suffer. She

scrawled him a hasty summons to come to her at once, and bade the

orderly ride as for his life. Hamilton, hearing a horse coming up the

turnpike at runaway pace, glanced out of the window to see what neck was

in danger, then flung his quill to the floor and bolted. He was out of

the house before the orderly had dismounted, and secured possession of

the note. When he had returned to his office, which was in a log

extension at the back of the building, he locked the door and read what

he could of Miss Schuyler's illegible chirography. That it was a command

to wait upon her at once he managed to decipher, but no more at the

moment; and feeling as if the heavens had opened, he despatched a hasty

note, telling her that he could not leave his work before night, when he

would hasten with the pent-up assurances of a love which had been his

torment and delight for many weeks. And then he answered a summons to

Washington's office, and discussed a letter to the Congress as if there

were no such person in the world as Elizabeth Schuyler, as indeed for

the hour there was not, nor for the rest of the afternoon.

But at eight o'clock he presented himself at the Cochraine quarters, and

Miss Schuyler was alone in the drawing-room. It was some time before

they arrived at the question which had weighed so heavily on Hamilton's

mind. When, however, they came down to conversation, Miss Schuyler

remarked:--

"I am sure that it will make no difference with my dear father, who is

the most just and sensible of men. I had never thought of your parentage

at all. I should have said you had leapt down from the abode of the

gods, for you are much too remarkable to have been merely born. But if

he should object--why, we'll run away."

Her eyes danced at the prospect, and Hamilton, who had vowed that

nothing should induce him to enter a family where he was not welcome,

was by now so hopelessly in love that he was ready to order the chaise

and four at once. He remained until Mrs. Cochraine sent him home, then

walked up the hill toward Headquarters, keeping to the road by instinct,

for he was deep in a reverie on the happiness of the past hours. His

dreams were cruelly shattered by the pressure of a bayonet against his

breast.

"What?" he demanded. "Oh, the countersign." He racked his memory. It had

fled, terrified, from his brain under the rush of that evening's

emotions.

"I can't remember it," he said haughtily; "but you know who I am. Let me

pass." The sentry stood like a fate.

"This is ridiculous!" cried Hamilton, angrily, then the absurdity of the

situation overcame him, and he laughed. Once more he searched his brain

for the countersign, which he remembered having given to little Ford

just after dinner. Mrs. Ford and her son retained two rooms in the

house, and Hamilton frequently gave the youngster the word, that he

might play in the village after dark. Suddenly he saw him approaching.

He darted down the road, secured the password, and returned in triumph

to the sentry.

"Sir," exclaimed the soldier, in dismay, "is this quite regular? Will

you give me your word, sir, that it is all right?"

"I vow that no harm shall come to you," said Hamilton. "Shoulder your

musket." And there the incident ended, so far as the soldier was

concerned, but young Ford carried the story to Headquarters, and it was

long before Hamilton heard the last of it.

There was no sleep in him that night. He went to his office and laboured

for hours over a verse which should adequately express the love

consuming him, and then he awoke Laurens and talked into that

sympathetic ear until it was time to break the ice and freshen himself

for work.

His work that day was of a vastly different character from the

impassioned trifle of the night before. He obtained exemption from other

duty, and ordered luncheon and dinner brought to his office. One of the

most remarkable examples of Hamilton's mature genius at this age of

twenty-three is his long and elaborate letter to Robert Morris on the

financial condition of the country, written during the earliest period

of his love for Elizabeth Schuyler. As passionate and impatient as he

was tender, alive in every part of his nature to the joy of a real

affection and to the prospect of a lasting happiness, he yet was able

for twelve hours at a time to shut his impending bride in the remotest

cupboard of his mind, nor heed her sighs. But there was an older love

than Elizabeth Schuyler: a ragged poverty-stricken creature by this,

cowering before dangers within and without, raving mad at times,

imbecile at others, filling her shattered body with patent nostrums, yet

throughout her long course of futilities and absurdities making a

desperate attempt to shade the battered lamp of liberty from the fatal

draught. Her name was the United States of America, and never was there

a more satiric misnomer. If the States chose to obey the requisitions of

the Congress, they obeyed them; but as a rule they did not. There was no

power in the land to enforce obedience; and they hated each other. As

the Congress had demonstrated its inefficiency to the most inactive in

public affairs, the contempt of the States is hardly to be wondered at.

It is not too much to say that troops were recruited by Washington's

influence alone, and kept from mutiny by his immortal magnetism. The

finances of the Revolution were in such a desperate condition that Sir

Henry Clinton built his hopes of success--now he had discovered that no

victory gave him a permanent advantage--upon the dissolution of the

American army, possibly an internal war. With depreciated bills in

circulation amounting to one hundred and sixty millions of dollars, a

public debt of nearly forty millions in foreign and domestic loans, the

Congress had, in March, ordered a new emission of bills; the result had

been a season of crazy speculation and the expiring gasp of public

credit. In addition to an unpaid army, assurances had been given to the

French minister that not less than twenty-five thousand men should be

ready for the next campaign; and how to force the States to recruit

them, and how to pay them when in the field, was the present question

between Headquarters and Congress.

From the time that Hamilton's mind had turned to finance, in his

nineteenth year, he had devoted the greater part of his leisure to the

study and thought of it. Books on the subject were few in those days;

the science of political economy was unborn, so far as Hamilton was

concerned, for Adam Smith's "Wealth of Nations," published in 1776, had

not made its way to America. He assimilated all the data there was to be

found, then poured it into the crucible of his creative faculty, and

gradually evolved the great scheme of finance which is the locomotive of

the United States to-day. During many long winter evenings he had talked

his ideas over with Washington, and it was with the Chief's full

approval that he finally went to work on the letter embodying his scheme

for the immediate relief of the country. It was addressed to Robert

Morris, the Financier of the Revolution.

The first part of the letter was an essay on inflated and depreciated

currency, applied personally, the argument based on the three following

points: There having been no money in the country, Congress had been

unable to avoid the issuance of paper money. The only way to obtain and

retire this immense amount of depreciated paper money was to obtain real

money. Real money could be obtained in one way only,--by a foreign loan.

He then elaborately disposed of the proposed insane methods of applying

this projected loan which were agitating the Congress. But he was an

architect and builder as well as an iconoclast, and having shown the

futility of every financial idea ever conceived by Congress, he

proceeded to the remedy. His scheme, then as ever, was a National Bank,

to be called The Bank of the United States; the capital to be a foreign

loan of two millions sterling.

This letter, even in its details, in the knowledge of human nature it

betrays, and in its scheme to combine public and private capital that

the wealthy men of the country should, in their own interests, be

compelled to support the government, reads like an easy example in

arithmetic to-day; but a hundred and twenty years ago it was so bold and

advanced that Morris dared to adopt several of its suggestions in part

only, and founded the bank of Pennsylvania on the greater plan, by way

of experiment. No one but Hamilton could carry out his own theories.

Hamilton, who often had odd little attacks of modesty, signed the

letter, James Montague; address, Morristown. He read it to Washington

before posting.

The Chief, whose men were aching, sighed heavily.

"They will pick a few crumbs out of it," he said. "But they will not

make a law of it in toto; the millennium is not yet come. But if it

gives them one idea we should be thankful, it being a long and weary

time since they have experienced that phenomenon. If it does not, I

doubt if these men fight another battle. I wonder if posterity will ever

realize the indifference of their three million ancestors to the war

which gave them their independence--if we accomplish that end. I ask for

soldiers and am treated much as if I had asked for my neighbour's wife.

I ask for money to keep them from starving and freezing and am made to

feel like an importunate beggar."

"I had a letter from Hugh Knox not so long since," said Hamilton, in his

lightest tone; for Washington was on the verge of one of his attacks of

infuriated depression, which were picturesque but wearing. "He

undertakes to play the prophet, and he is an uncommon clever man, sir:

he says that you were created for the express purpose of delivering

America, to do it single-handed, if necessary, and that my proud destiny

is to be your biographer. The first I indorse, so does every thinking

man in the country. But for the second--alas! I am not equal to a post

of such exalted honour."

Washington smiled. "No one knows better than your old Chief that your

destiny is no such ha'penny affair as that. But at least you wouldn't

make an ass of me. God knows what is in store for me at the hands of

scribblers."

"You lend yourself fatally well to marble and stone, sir," said

Hamilton, mischievously. "I fear your biographers will conceive

themselves writing at the feet of a New World Sphinx, and that its

frozen granite loneliness will petrify their image of you."

"I like the prospect! I am unhappily conscious of my power to chill an

assemblage, but the cold formality of my manner is a safeguard, as you

know. My nature is one of extremes; if I did not encase myself, I should

be ramming every man's absurd opinions down his throat, and letting my

cursed temper fly at each of the provocations which constantly beset me.

I have not the happy gift of compromise; but I am not unhuman, and I

like not the prospect of going down to posterity a wooden figurehead

upon some emblematic battle-ship. Perhaps, my boy, you, who best know

me, will be moved by charity to be my biographer, after all."

"I'll make it the business of my old age, sir; I pledge you my word, and

no one loves you better nor can do you such justice as I. When my work

in the National Family is done, then shall I retire with my literary

love, an old and pleasant love; and what higher subject for my pen?"

He spoke in a tone of badinage, for he was bent on screwing up

Washington's spirits, but he made his promise in good faith,

nevertheless, and Washington looked at him with deep affection.

"My mind is certainly easier," he said, in a tone that was almost light.

"Go now and post your letter, and give your evening to Miss Schuyler.

Present my compliments to her."

"I became engaged to her last night, sir."

"Ah! had you forgotten to tell me?"

"No, sir; I have but just remembered it."

Washington laughed heartily. "Mind you never tell her that," he said.

"Women love the lie that saves their pride, but never an unflattering

truth. You have learned your lesson young,--to put a tempting face aside

when duty demands every faculty; it is a lesson which takes most men

longest to learn. I could tell you some amusing stories of rough and

tumbles in my mind between the divine image of the hour and some affair

of highest moment. But to a brain like yours all things are possible."

He rose, and took Hamilton's hand and shook it warmly.

"God bless you," he said. "Your future unrolls to my vision, brilliant

and happy. I deeply wish that it may be so."

VII

The letter from General Schuyler, giving his consent to the engagement,

has not been preserved; but some time after he had occasion to write

Hamilton a business letter, in which the following passage occurs:--