I Remember That Night, I Just Might (Rewind)
Chapter Ten: Counting Stars: Un, Deux, Trois
Abolitionists, crippled by a duel that killed a slaveholder or not, always had their connections.
John was no different. Procuring guns was easy. The free flow of them across the country in preparation for conflict in France made securing arms and ammunition quite an easy business. They worked first in South Carolina, John arming the slaves of his household and fanning outwards, using these people he grew up around as proxies to inspire war.
The taste of revolution was in the air again, and while Britain remained oblivious, so did the rest of America as they continued without even a hint of what was to happen.
The job was simple: secure southern lands and make demands to the government to allow freedom to all enslaved people. Other demands would be made later when the free men were in Congress. But for every white slave owner, he had a hundred slaves so the numbers favored them heavily.
If there was one thing John understood, it was war. And even in his later stages of life, it was still truly the only place he could operate at full capacity and without restraint and rationale.
Three years passed since he hatched this plan, and they were still struggling to maintain South Carolina.
But at 46 with a bad hip, John Laurens was nothing like the 23-year-old revolutionary he once was.
The Lieutenant Colonel whose brashness almost resulted in his demise at the Battle of Combahee River was supported as general of the Free Man's Rebellion. He would visit his outposts, teetering on a crutch to stoke the fires of something he so dearly loved.
But being on the sidelines, that never much was his style. It wouldn't be long before he would be in the heart of the battle with his men, struggling to inspire charges against the enemies.
It didn't matter if his enemy was no longer beached lobsters with tax fetishes, but the Continental Army.
As long as he was fighting, he was still John Laurens.
I may not live to see our glory…
That night, as John weaved his way through South Carolina's in crudely drawn trench lines amongst slaveholder and continental fire, Alexander Hamilton had a nightmare, one of a young freckled boy with bouncing curls; and for a moment, he wondered how much he thought of John that he should follow him to sleep.
But his unconscious awareness told him otherwise, that the young boy was not John, but Philip; and then his heart began to whimper and tears of pain years past healing sprung into his eyes.
His son, his first-born son, stood before him in a graduation gown, his soft dimpled cheeks dabbing into a smile reminiscent of his mother's.
"Philip," Alex choked, stretching.
But Philip slipped out of his grasp, evaporating. Desperately, he spun around on his heels, spotting an even younger boy—9 or 10 by a glanced estimate—playing a piano that his feet could not reach the pedals on. He was singing softly, but his heart already sang the tune before his ears even heard it.
Why does this feel so familiar?
"Un, deux, trois…"
Each number revealed something new, more memories that were never memories but real enough to be them. He could examine them, as the counting continued in the background.
Baby Philip taking his first steps; trying on his first suit; going to church; studying—yet his heart mourned the last one worse, the one of a young man poised with his pistol raised to the sky.
Duels were such a pointless thing, weren't they?
He expected something, though he didn't know what. A gunshot perhaps, the damning irony of being there for his son as he suffered another death drumming in his mind. But yet, they waited, the Philip on the piano counting one last time to ten and no further. Alex was too afraid to move.
Too afraid to lose this too.
But I will gladly join the fight.
"I'm not mad, pa," The dueling Philip said softly, his eyes drifting over to the man that let out a sob. "You loved him as you did me. He deserved a chance as much as I did.
The words made little comprehension in his head, only that his son, his precious son, was speaking to him. To him, that was enough.
"But I hope you won't be mad at me now…"
"No, no, Philip. I could never be mad at you. Never." Alex took a step forward, eager to embrace him and fearful all the same, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. "Philip, what is going on? Why do I feel as if— "
He stopped when his son shook his head. He went too far, overstepped his bounds, Philip would leave—
"I can't tell you, Pa. Not yet," He explained, "You will know when the time is right. So please, do not be angry."
And when our children tell our story…
"Philip…?"
"He has been living on borrowed time. My borrowed time. The nineteen years are up."
"I don't understand, Philip, please explain—"
His feet reacted before his brain did, carrying him three steps closer to Philip—but there was a gun now pointed at his chest, and through his widened eyes he saw the tears stream down his freckled face.
His own boy, the one who would blow them all away, was aiming to shoot him.
Alex felt like crying too, but only because he could do nothing but watch those tears fall to the ground.
"I'm sorry..." Philip whispered, "I'm so… so sorry… It might hurt…"
His hands shook, and his fingers fumbled uncertainly for the trigger. Alexander felt a rush of adrenaline belt through his veins, but he stayed still so he could take the shot, knowing something bigger was at play. His mouth ached to say words.
But Philip said them for him, "I love you", as he pulled the trigger, and everything fell to black.
They'll tell the story of tonight.
The Election of 1800: Thomas Jefferson, Aaron Burr, and John Adams ran for the presidency—presidency, resulting resulting resulting
Rewind.
The Rebellion of 1800: The Rebellion failed to gain traction in the states as the Continental Army began reclaiming lost land for the Union, crushing the insurgencies as they went.
SincerelyTay: I've noticed a trend in history where John Laurens seems to be the reason why shit goes down XD
The next chapter will be the final chapter. It'll be a little short and sweet and will conclude this alternate history. Hope you stick around to read it.
-Soul Spirit-