Chapter Two
It was Lafayette's night to sit guard. The perfect night for Alexander to escape.
Alexander waited for the camp to become the sleepy little ghost town that it morphed into between two and three in the morning every night when the wine ran dry and Washington snapped at enough soldiers to discourage any further fraternization. Once quiet fell over the camp, Alexander crept out of his small tent, slinging his makeshift knapsack over his shoulder as he approached his horse, Dew. Dew let out a nervous whinny before recognizing Alexander's scent.
"Easy, there," Alexander whispered, running a hand over Dew's flank before feeling for his bridle and saddle in the dark. Upon finding these things, he quickly saddled Dew and hoisted himself up on the horse with as little noise as possible. After doing so, he sat on the horse quietly, listening for anyone who might have been disrupted by his noise. He heard only the crackling of a dying fire.
Bolded by his success thus far, Alexander nudged Dew's ribs. The horse sprang forward, his hoofs making a distinct and loud noise against the frozen earth. Still, no one stirred. No one, that was, aside from the nervous Frenchman lying at the gate to the camp.
"Who's there?" Lafayette whispered frantically. "What's the passcode?"
"Do I need a passcode if I'm leaving the premises?" Alexander whispered back playfully.
"Hamilton!" Lafayette breathed in relief. "What are you doing up at this hour? If the General hears you -"
"He won't," Alexander assured Lafayette firmly. "Because you won't tell him about this until I'm long gone."
"What are you talking about?" Lafayette was suspicious now. "You couldn't be deserting…?"
"Never," Alexander said. "But I am leaving. I'm going to find the Redcoats across the river and ask them to negotiate for Laurens' release. We cannot let him be subject to torture in the Tower of London. Barring the inhumanity of it all - a difficult thing to do, mind you - he could give away critical information that could jeopardize the freedom of this country."
"The General told you not to." Lafayette reminded him.
"I respectfully decline to agree with the General's decision," Alexander remarked. "Now, will you let me pass, or will you wake the entire camp just to follow the General's loose orders?"
Lafayette was quiet for a moment, considering his options.
"Go." He finally said, quietly. "But I will tell the General tomorrow."
"You could tell him that I snuck past you through the woods," Alexander suggested. "Then he wouldn't blame you at all."
"I cannot lie to the General." Lafayette insisted stubbornly.
"He'll likely thrash you," Alexander warned him.
"I know." Lafayette agreed. "But I cannot lie to the General."
"Understood." Alexander admired Lafayette's dedication to Washington, even if he himself felt no such dedication. "I'll keep you in my prayers, sir."
"And you, Monsieur Hamilton," Lafayette said, his voice barely a whisper. "Godspeed."
Alexander did not wait for any further encouragement. He had already put himself at considerable risk in engaging in such a long conversation with Lafayette. He nudged Dew on and rode into the forest, looking ahead at the river he would have to cross to the Redcoats.
It was about an hour's ride. He used the moon to guide the way. Owls hooted their warning. Foxes and raccoons scuttled out of the way, not wanting to get caught up in Alexander's fool's errand. Even Dew nickered from time to time, as though protesting the entire journey. Alexander ignored all of the signs telling him to turn around. He was already perfectly aware of the amount of risk that was waiting ahead. The likelihood of him surviving the adventure was slim to none, but he was willing to risk worse odds still for John Laurens. Laurens would have risked it for him.
When he reached the enemy camp, the soldier guarding the camp leaped to attention.
"Attack! Attack! Sir, we're under attack!"
"I come in peace." Alexander protested, struggling to be heard over the frantic soldier's shouts. He was young, sixteen at most. At twenty-three, Alexander must have seemed like a formidable threat to this young man. "I've come to negotiate with your highest-ranking form of authority."
"Leo, what is the meaning of this?" A groggy officer materialized behind the young man. He then looked at Alexander, surveying his ragged uniform. "Who is this?"
"A rebel, sir." The boy, Leo, answered, clamoring for his gun.
Alexander held his hands up but didn't flinch back. He turned to look at the officer as he spoke. "Sir, I have come to negotiate an exchange; myself for a current prisoner in the Tower."
The officer groaned. "Another one?"
"Sir, the last prisoner that you accepted was a mistake. I'm much more valuable than -"
"I've heard enough." The officer sighed, yawning. "Leo, tie him up. We'll execute him in the morning."
"What?" Alexander's eyes widened with surprise. "But sir -"
The officer yawned and walk away. Leo, meanwhile, sprang into action. With shaky hands, he pulled his musket out of the sling on his back and struggled to point it at Alexander. Fortunately, Alexander was much better trained than Leo seemed to be. He pulled a pistol from the bag slung over his shoulder and fired it immediately. It struck Leo square in the chest. The boy dropped his musket and clutched his chest, blood beginning to seep out from between his fingers.
The officer whipped around at the sound of a pistol being fired. "Men!"
Alexander had overstayed his welcome. He turned and bolted for the forest, where Dew was patiently waiting for him. Behind him, he heard men yelling and shots being fired. Bullets whistled around him. Trees groaned as bullets scraped their bark clean off.
Alexander reached Dew, in the clearing. The horse whinnied and stomped anxiously as the shouting and firing got closer. Alexander placed one foot in the stirrup and launched himself up. In one swift motion, he landed atop Dew and kicked his sides, urging him forward. Dew surged forward obediently, galloping off away from the British camp.
It looked like they were going to make it for a moment.
But then, just as they reached the river necessary to cross to return to camp, Dew shrieked and bolted to the side. He began leaning to the side. No, not leaning - falling. Dew was falling. He'd been shot.
Alexander did not have the time to comprehend what was happening. He tumbled onto the frozen dirt, trying his best to avoid hitting his head. He didn't have time to recover. He caught a glimpse of poor Dew, writhing in agony and covered in blood, before wiping blood - possibly his own, possibly Dew's - off of his lower lip and diving into the river himself.
That was a mistake. That was a massive mistake.
The current swept him downstream, away from the sanctuary of camp. Away from the protection of George Washington. His heart pounded as he struggled to keep his head above water.
British soldiers were no longer Alexander Hamilton's biggest problem.
The shifting bodies and accented voices above, plus the sudden lurch of the ship, told John they had reached the port. Two guards, dressed the same as Eddy had been, came down to unlock the cell, bind his hands, and escort John to the top deck.
One of them John had punched in the face. He still had a bit of a bruise. John smirked at him. He death-glared back.
John wondered if he'd see Eddy as he was led up. He wasn't sure why. Eddy was just another guard he'd tormented. Nothing more.
Eddy was, in fact, standing at attention on the gangway leading down to the edge of the port. He made short eye contact with John as he was led off. John gave him some form of a smile.
The guards led John to a waiting carriage which transported them to the Tower of London.
Once they reached it, John surveyed the exterior of the prison he'd no doubt occupy for a long while. "Nice place you got here, fellas."
The guard he'd punched rolled his eyes. "Only the best for rebel trash like yourself," He muttered.
"Hey, buddy, I'm not trash."
"My name's not buddy. It's Reginald."
John stifled a laugh. "That's a nice name."
"Shut up!"
"You redcoats are too sensitive. Lighten up! You're just like Eddy."
"I and Eddy are nothing alike."
"Woah! Geez, sorry. 'Guess I struck a nerve." John laughed a little.
Reginald was infuriated. He took his bayonet and hit John upside the head, knocking him unconscious.
"Reggie! What was that for? He was just talking!" John almost could hear Eddy, who had apparently been nearby, ask worriedly.
"Shut your mouth, Edward. Get back to your post."
Then John truly blanked out. He didn't hear the rest of the argument.
He woke up inside the Tower of London.