Albany, November 3, 1782.
Since we parted, my dear Marquis, at Yorktown, I have received three
letters from you; one written on your way to Boston, two from France.
I acknowledge that I have written to you only once; but the reason
has been, that I have been taught daily to expect your return. This I
should not have done from my own calculations; for I saw no prospect
but of an inactive campaign; and you had much better be intriguing for
your hobby-horse at Paris, than loitering away your time here. Yet they
seem to be convinced, at head quarters, that you were certainly coming
out; and by your letters it appears to have been your own expectation.
I imagine you have relinquished it by this time.
I have been employed for the last ten months in rocking the cradle
and studying the art of _fleecing_ my neighbors. I am now a grave
counsellor-at-law, and shall soon be a grave member of Congress. The
Legislature, at their last session, took it into their heads to name
me, pretty unanimously, one of their delegates.
I am going to throw away a few months more in public life, and then
retire a simple citizen and good _paterfamilias_. I set out for
Philadelphia in a few days. You see the disposition I am in. You are
condemned to run the race of ambition all your life. I am already
tired of the career, and dare to leave it. But you would not give a pin
for my letter unless politics or war made a part of it. You tell me
they are employed in building _a peace_: and other accounts say it is
nearly finished. I hope the work may meet with no interruptions. It is
necessary for America; especially if your army is taken from us, as we
are told will soon be the case. That was an essential _point d’appui_,
though money was the _primum mobile_ of our finances, which must now
lose the little activity lately given them. Our trade is prodigiously
cramped. These States are in no humor for continuing exertions. If the
war lasts, it must be carried on by external succors. I make no apology
for the inertness of this country: I detest it: but since it exists, I
am sorry to see other resources diminish.
Your Ministers ought to know best what they are doing; but if the war
goes on, and the removal of the army does not prove an unwise measure,
I renounce all future pretensions to judgment. I think, however, the
circumstances of the enemy oblige them to peace.
We have been hoping that they would abandon their posts in these
States. It no doubt was once in contemplation, but latter appearances
are rather ambiguous. I begin to suspect that if peace is not made,
New-York and Charleston, the former at least, will still be held.
There is no probability that I shall be one of the Commissioners of
Peace. It is a thing I do not desire myself, and which I imagine other
people will not desire.
Our army is now in excellent order, but small.
The temper we are in respecting the alliance, you will see from public
acts. There never was a time of greater unanimity on that point.
I wish I durst enter into a greater detail with you; but our cipher is
not fit for it, and I fear to trust it in another shape.
Is there any thing you wish on this side the water? You know the warmth
and sincerity of my attachment. Command me.
I have not been so happy as to see Mr. De Segur. The title of your
friend would have been a title to every thing in my power to manifest.
* * * * *
Yours _pour la vie_,
A. Hamilton.
P.S. I wrote a long letter to the Viscount De Noailles, whom I also
love. Has he received it? Is the worthy Gouvion well? Has he succeeded?
How is it with our friend Gimat? How is it with General Du Portail? All
those men are men of merit, and interest my best wishes.
Poor Laurens! He has fallen a sacrifice to his ardor in a trifling
skirmish in South Carolina. You know how truly I loved him, and will
judge how much I regret him.