Chapter Twenty Six
John Laurens
"Are you afraid?" Hamilton asked, running each of John's fingers through his hand in turn, as though he was examining them for defects.
It was the morning of the battle. John would have to report to Washington's quarters in an hour, just before the sun rose. Already, it was shaping up to be a warm day. Warm, humid air clung to John's skin like a burdensome lover. Cicadas called to one another in the woods surrounding the camp.
"Yes." John admitted. "I am afraid."
Hamilton nodded, digesting this bit of information.
"I wish that I could take to the field with you." He said at last. This was not a new sentiment for him to express. He had been moping around camp as the battle drew nearer. Whenever the battle was mentioned at meals, he would withdraw to his quarters immediately.
"Hmm. I am glad that you will be safe by General Washington's side." John professed. "It will be one less thing for me to worry about during the battle."
Hamilton smiled at John ironically.
"I daresay my proximity to Washington will not make me safer. The man seems to invite bullets. He once said during the French Indian war that he never heard a sound so charming as the whistle of a bullet." He replied with a chuckle. "Perhaps he will lead us into the thick of the fighting for the joy of it."
John groaned, throwing his right arm over his arms. He was smiling, but it was not a response to Hamilton's statement. He found that he smiled most of the time, now that he was reunited with Hamilton. He had forgotten how happy he was capable of being.
"I am going to have to shackle you to your desk myself, aren't I?" He wondered.
"You wouldn't dare." Hamilton responded. He removed John's arm from his face and planted a kiss to his lips.
"No, I wouldn't." John admitted, lifting his head a bit to encourage Hamilton to kiss him again. Hamilton obliged. "But I do wish that I could keep you in a padded box until the war is over, to keep you safe. I don't know what I would do if…"
He swallowed hard. He had tried to avoid thinking about the idea of Hamilton getting injured, or worse, in battle. He tried to avoid thinking about the night that he and Washington had believed Hamilton to be dead; the lifeless way that he, himself, had felt. He did not know that he could survive Hamilton's death.
"John." Hamilton fixed him with a warm smile. "All will be well. No harm will befall me; not today, and not as long as this damned war lasts. I will preserve myself for you."
John nodded. He tried to smile, but he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. He could not put into words the way he feared losing Hamilton. He might have been capable of bearing the burden, had he never returned to camp. Since he had returned, he had been given the opportunity to enjoy a life with Hamilton that he wished to keep. He had been given the opportunity to dream about a life with Hamilton after the war.
"Let us talk no more of it." Hamilton advised. He propped himself up on his elbows, his hair spilling over his face and into his eyes. "Let us talk about what we might do once the war has ended."
John smiled. He had learned to like the way that Hamilton discussed their post-war life. He liked the presumption that they would both survive the war. He liked that Hamilton believed they would love each other for the rest of their lives. He hoped that Hamilton was correct.
"What shall we do?" John asked.
He wished that Hamilton would write him an entire book which told the story of their post-war lives. He wished to read such a story continually until the war ended. He wished to be swept up in such a fantasy.
"I was thinking…" Hamilton started with a bit of an apprehension.
"You are always thinking." John interrupted playfully. He rolled into Hamilton, burying his face in Hamilton's warm neck. There was a freckle just below the line where his neck met his chin. He kissed the freckle, loving it all the more for being a part of Hamilton.
Hamilton chuckled, turning his head a bit to look at John. His apprehension had evaporated.
"I hoped that you might consider moving to New York." He continued, still smiling. "We could purchase estates beside one another. Perhaps we could start a law firm of our own. In the evenings, we could stroll through the gardens together. I know how much you enjoy gardens."
"I do enjoy gardens." John hummed. He considered Hamilton's suggestion for a moment. "What type of law would we practice?"
Hamilton grinned, then turned his head to look at the ceiling.
"Murders." He replied. "Conspiracies. We would be famous for the remarkable cases we litigated."
"I was rather thinking divorces and debtors." John said.
He should have known that he would think too small for Hamilton's imagination. The universe itself was less expansive than Hamilton's mind.
Hamilton laughed. "Would that not be an irony? I can picture us now, handling unhappy marriages and accusing others of adultery and unfairness towards their wives. No one would suspect a thing."
His words might have bothered John, if he had not said them in a tone that was so utterly Hamilton that it only made John laugh.
"I don't care what sort of law we practice." John professed, still laughing. "I don't care for law, anyway. I will live only for the moments in which we are alone and unburdened by others."
"Those moments will be more common than not." Hamilton promised him. "For we will share an office, and we need only cross our yard to visit one another. We could train a dog to carry messages to one another in its collar."
Only Hamilton would consider something so absurd as a dog as their courier.
"And if the dog was intercepted by one of our wives?" John could not resist asking.
"Then we shall blame the children and wonder at our wives believing that we would do something so foolish as train a dog to be our courier." Hamilton replied, as though it were a perfectly obvious answer.
John shook his head, laughing.
"Will you do it? Do you believe you can convince your wife to move to New York?" Hamilton pressed, his voice dropping into a more serious register.
"Yes." John would have done anything for Hamilton. "I will make known my intentions to move to New York once the war has ended."
Hamilton beamed. He turned his head enough to kiss John. It was a forceful kiss, but undeniably one of happiness. Hamilton was pleased that he had gotten his way. He never seemed to tire of getting his way, no matter how often John yielded.
After a moment, John pressed his hand to Hamilton's shoulder, pushing him away.
"I should prepare to meet with General Washington and the others." He said regretfully.
"As should I." Hamilton conceded with a sigh.
He hoisted himself up first. Both of them knew that John would not move until Hamilton did. Hamilton cared more about his job and its duties than John did. Hamilton cared more about the importance of punctuality than John did. John would have traded all the time in the world for five more minutes in Hamilton's arms.
As Hamilton began to dress himself for the occasion of a battle, John climbed out of bed. He watched Hamilton dress as he haphazardly reached for his breeches. Hamilton glanced over his shoulder and noticed John's distraction. He had the nerve to grin.
"What are the odds, do you think, of General Lee being captured again?" He wondered.
Lee had been captured by the British earlier in the war. They had kept him in captivity for some time before his release could be brokered. They had caught him outside of a whorehouse at the time of the capture.
John rolled his eyes.
"I do not believe we will be so lucky." He said.
"No," Hamilton agreed with a sigh. "Me, neither."
John was ready first. He spent less time on his appearance than Hamilton did. Hamilton was always the best dressed person at camp, with the only other possible contender being Washington. John did not understand how Hamilton managed to care for his appearance so deeply with so many other problems presenting themselves.
"I should go." He said, glancing in the direction of the doorknob.
Hamilton looked away from the mirror. He had been pulling his hair into a careful ponytail.
"You look good." He approved.
John smiled, unable to deny the pleasure he received from such a compliment.
"I am certain that you will look better." He responded. It was not flattery, but the truth. Hamilton always looked better than he did. John found that he did not mind. He did not spend any time looking at himself, but spent a large amount of his time looking at Hamilton.
Hamilton chuckled, then returned his attention to the mirror. He would not deny John's words. He was too vain to refuse a compliment.
"Good luck today." He said as John gripped the doorknob.
John paused. He had not realized that this would be his last opportunity to speak to Hamilton before the battle.
"You, too." He replied. His throat suddenly felt clogged. "I...I love you, Hamilton."
Hamilton smiled at John as though he had said something unexpected.
"I love you, too." He said without hesitation.
John gave himself a few more seconds to memorize Hamilton. He took in the amused smile which caused a single dimple to appear on his right cheek. He took in the sparkle in his beautiful eyes. He took in the way that his heart shuddered whenever Hamilton blinked, those long eyelashes brushing against his freckled cheeks.
Once he had satisfied himself, he forced himself to walk out of the door. He crossed the field towards Washington's office. He gulped down the humid morning air, reassuring himself that all would be well.
Alexander Hamilton
Washington paced in front of the horses. As he moved back and forth, he bit his thumbnail. It was the first time that he had demonstrated such anxiety so publicly.
Of course, Alexander had witnessed this anxiety privately. Washington was deeply troubled by almost all of the news from Congress, as well as the cumulative weight of all of the lost battles so far. However, Lee had taken longer than anticipated to send a messenger to Washington. Washington was holding back the rest of his forces - John's forces included - until Lee sent the messenger alerting Washington to the opportune moment.
Alexander risked a glance in John's direction. John was quietly handsome, sitting atop his horse and watching Washington with a gravity that was out of character for him. Every so often, he would glance off in the direction of his forces, waiting for his command to join the fight. Alexander wondered if John was impatient to join the battle. Alexander was.
Suddenly, a lower ranking officer rode towards them. Half of his face was caked in blood. The source of the blood seemed to be his ear. Alexander looked over his shoulder to see if he would be joined by any other soldiers.
"Your Excellency!" The officer hastily slid off of his horse and bowed low in front of Washington.
Washington waved off this show of respect - though Alexander knew he would have been vexed if it had not occurred - then folded his arms across his chest, waiting for the officer's words.
"Your Excellency, General Lee has ordered a retreat!" The officer spluttered, his voice far too loud for propriety. He had likely been one of the artillery officers, standing close to the cannon. "It is one of complete chaos. No man knows where to run, the enlisted men are throwing themselves before the officers, and General Lee is among the first in line to escape. There was nothing I could do to dissuade him from his course of action."
"What?" Washington's voice resembled the angry growl of an animal, instead of a human's voice.
"What would you like me to do, sir?" The officer asked uncomfortably.
Washington's face was turning red. He was close to unleashing the temper that he worked so hard at keeping under wraps. Alexander could see that well enough. He knew that Washington's temper would do nothing to improve the situation.
"You are certain of the disorderly retreat?" Washington struggled to ask, his teeth gritted.
"Yes, sir." The officer began to look around nervously.
"Your Excellency," Alexander was risking Washington's wrath by redirecting his attention. "Perhaps you ought to send some men to rally the men back to the field? If you act swiftly, all may not be lost."
Washington turned to look at Alexander. Alexander did not shrink back, as most men did. He had survived Washington's wrath a number of times. He could survive it again.
"Yes." Washington murmured, his voice settling back into a one of thoughtfulness. There was still underlying anger, but Alexander's interruption had reminded him to control that anger. "That is...you are right. Hamilton…"
Alexander perked up. It was possible that Washington would give him the command. Under pressure and with few men he trusted, Washington might prefer Alexander take the lead in rallying the retreating men. He knew that Alexander was brave. He knew that Alexander would follow his orders until the end. There could be no better man for the job.
"Yes, sir?" He said. His voice was breathless with excitement. He sounded just as bad as Greene. He was sure that Knox was snickering at him from beside John.
"Have General Lafayette take the lead. Accompany him and do what you can to turn the men - and General Lee - back to the battle field." Washington instructed.
Alexander's heart sank. Washington had given the command to Lafayette. Once again, Washington had the opportunity to play favorites and he had chosen Lafayette. Lafayette always reaped the rewards of Washington's favor.
"Yes, sir." He grumbled.
Lafayette trotted his horse forward, then glanced over his shoulder. He was waiting for Alexander to follow him. Alexander did so, trying very hard to hide his displeasure. He knew that it was not Lafayette's fault that he received favors so often.
Lafayette called his men forward, then nodded to Alexander. They moved forward, towards the battlefield that Washington had scouted for the battle's purpose.
As they drew out of sight from Washington and the other officers, Lafayette pulled his horse closer to Alexander's. Alexander turned to look at him, fully expecting to receive instructions. He tried hard not to resent Lafayette for his command.
"I will cover ze rear if you would ride ahead of my men." Lafayette said, surprising Alexander with his generous grant. "I believe you have ze better skills for telling général Lee to fight ze battle."
Alexander nodded, scarcely believing his luck. To ride in front of the men would give Alexander the privilege of assessing the situation and issuing alternate commands if necessary. He would be the first to confront Lee about his disorderly retreat.
He rode to the front of the gaggle of men. He felt dangerously close to bursting with joy. This was his first taste of a command and he found that it suited him very well. He called out encouraging words to the men alongside of him. It seemed to him that the men seemed to step quicker after his words. He suspected that he would be a very good commander, were he given the chance.
At last, they reached the scene of utter chaos. Bloody men were fleeing from the better-dressed British forces. British soldiers were harassing the retreating men with bullets and cannons. In front of it all, Lee was whipping his horse, urging it to move faster. His face was one of fear and panic. It was repulsive to Alexander's concept of an ideal general.
"General Lee!" Alexander moved his horse in Lee's path, forcing the latter to stop. When Lee looked at him, still panic-stricken, Alexander straightened his posture.
"I will stay here with you, my dear General, and die with you!" He called, loud enough for the retreating men to hear. Alexander looked around him, at all of the men who would spare a glance in his direction. "Let us all die rather than retreat! We will die here on this spot!"
There were a few cheers from the men behind him. A few confused, retreating soldiers joined the ranks of the men headed towards the war. Lee blinked, looking around him in a panic.
As Alexander urged his horse onward, leading the men into a return to the battle, Lee had no choice but to be swept up in the crowd. There were some retreating men who Alexander could not turn around, but he led as many men as he could to make a stand against the British.
Once in the thick of the fighting, Alexander quickly became acutely aware of how warm the weather was. The sun seemed to beat down on Alexander as rifles were fired and cannons rolled around the field. Residual heat encased all of the soldiers on the field.
Despite the heat, Alexander fought to the best of his ability. He remained atop his horse, opting to utilize his bayonet over his rifle. There was scarcely room to point and fire a weapon without risking one's life.
"General Lee!" Washington's voice thundered out not long after Alexander had began fighting. It did not seem to Alexander that it had been very long, anyway.
Lee - who had remained close to Alexander since being forced back into the fight - glanced in Washington's direction and hesitated. Alexander guided his horse towards Washington, away from the fighting. He caught Lee's horse's reins in his hand and dragged Lee along.
"General Lee." Washington said again, his expression one of extreme displeasure.
"S-sir?" Lee looked at Washington with a head tilted forward in shame and eyes peering up. He looked like a naughty child who was expecting a severe rebuke. He would not be disappointed by these expectations.
"I desire to know, sir, what is the reason - whence arises this disorder and confusion?" Washington spluttered, anger causing his words to catch in his throat. His face was turning scarlet. He ignored the bullets which blew past them in the midst of the discussion.
Alexander longed to see Washington humble Lee, but he could not resist looking around the field for John. If Washington had descended upon the brawl, he must have sent John and the other commanders ahead of him. Much to Alexander's dismay, he could not find John among the soldiers.
He did see Burr, though. He could see Burr fighting furiously in the thick of the battle. Remarkably, Burr's usually rigid posture had slouched during the fighting. But Alexander had not brought Lee to Washington to watch Burr struggle through a battle. He returned his attention to the argument taking place.
"I believed it prudent...you told me this morning that, if I thought it necessary, I could order a retreat." Lee tried to justify himself.
"I told you that a retreat would only be palatable if it was the only course of action. Cowardice is no excuse for a retreat." Washington snarled.
"Excellency, it was not cowardice which prompted my order. We are outnumbered by a large margin, and my men were beginning to mutiny around me. You see now, how they run from confrontation. Was I meant to die alone on the battlefield?" Lee demanded.
"You will remain with General Lafayette across the field." Washington nodded to where Lafayette was stationed. Like Washington, Lafayette's position in the French court and noble status forced him to remain in a protected position throughout battles. The American militia could not run the risk of offending King Louis XVI with the death of a young nobleman.
Lee glowered at Alexander before nudging his horse's side, sending the beast trotting across the battlefield towards Lafayette. Washington turned to look at Alexander. His eyes roved over Alexander's whole body, sweeping for injuries or imperfections which had not existed when they had last spoken. Once he was satisfied with Alexander's health, he nodded toward Alexander. He then rode off towards the battle.
In riding towards the battle, Washington encountered several men who were retreating. Alexander could see Washington lashing at the men with his riding crop.
"Are these the men with which I am to defend America?" He shouted loud enough for all to hear.
Alexander reined in his horse, moving towards the battle again. With Washington present, he did not have to worry about making rallying speeches. He ignored the sweltering heat and charged into the thick of it again.
After too long, Alexander found himself fighting alongside of Burr. Burr looked as though the heat was getting to him, too. He swayed on his saddle as he fought off the British soldiers coming towards him in waves.
Alexander loosened his cravat in a moment of reprieve. He tried to ignore the heat of his bayonet in hand, the heat radiating off of his horse, and the sun beating down on his back. Men around him buckled under the heat, either fainting or perishing in large groups. Alexander did not allow their fate to unnerve him. He had greater willpower than they did. He would not let something so minor as a little extra warmth keep him from achieving glory.
Burr's horse bumped into Alexander's horse, just as the tide was turning in favor of the British. Alexander spared Burr an angry glare, wishing that he would put some distance between them.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed by the sound of a horse screaming. While there had been such screams all morning, this scream was louder. This scream was Alexander's horse. Before Alexander could think to save himself, his horse toppled over onto him. It had been shot.
Alexander struggled to scramble out from under the horse, hoping that no British weapons would find him while he was down. The struggle did nothing to improve the fatigue that the heat was causing. Hot blood soaked into Alexander's clothes.
"Hamilton!" Distantly, Alexander heard Burr's voice.
He looked around. He did not know if Burr was attempting to draw his attention to him, or if he was attempting to warn him against British attack. When he looked in Burr's direction, he saw that Burr was offering him a hand. Burr looked decidedly pale and was covered in sweat, but Alexander recognized that his chances of survival without Burr's help were smaller.
Alexander grabbed Burr's hand and pulled, hoping that Burr was strong enough to pull him out from under the horse. It was stifling being trapped beneath the massive beast.
Burr managed to drag Alexander out from under the horse, but his grip became unsteady as he attempted to help Alexander onto his own horse. Burr was panting with his mouth wide open, like a dog after a hunt. Alexander decided that, once he was atop Burr's horse, he would drop Burr off at the medic's tent before continuing with his fight.
He looked around, hoping that in the midst of his own personal turmoil, the militia had gotten the better of the British forces. It did not appear that way. Just as he was about to focus on climbing onto Burr's horse, he spotted John. Poor John looked terrified. He did not seem to enjoy the excitement of battles the way that Alexander did.
John looked in his direction. His eyes, which were widened with terror, softened somewhat. He looked like he wished to say something. Alexander wished to hear whatever John would tell him.
Alexander's attention was ripped from John when he felt Burr's grip slacken. He turned to see why Burr had ceased in his efforts to recover Alexander. Alexander hoped that Burr had not been stabbed while he was distracted. He suspected that Washington would use such a stabbing as a reason against giving Alexander a command in the future.
The moment that Alexander turned to look at Burr, Burr fell off of his horse and atop Alexander. His weight, combined with the momentum of the fall, caused a searing pain to shoot through his arm.
"Alex!" Alexander faintly heard John call his name as his vision went black.
