Chapter Six
My dearest,
John,
Though I will never consider myself a seafaring man, I can proudly say that I have quite an aptitude for nautical life. Mr. Hancock told me so, himself. I now wake with the sailors every morning before dawn to raise the masts and perform calculations with a map. Perhaps the General might consider me for a position in the navy, if we ever get one.
I am terribly concerned that you are suffering, where you are. I know that I speak of pleasant things, like sailing and Mr. Hancock, but it is only to distract myself. In fact,
Alexander's letter was cut short as shouts and gunshots sounded overhead, above deck. Alexander quickly abandoned his journal, stashing it underneath a keg of salt, where it would be kept safe and dry. Most importantly, it would be kept out of the hands of an unwanted reader. He then grabbed his saber and surged up the rickety steps to the main deck, where the chaos appeared to be happening.
There were redcoats - dozens of them. All of the men, including Mr. Hancock, were fighting the forces with just as much grit and integrity as Washington's troops.
"Mr. Hamilton, so good of you to join us!" Mr. Hancock yelled over the din, his sword - which Alexander had thought was purely decorative until this moment - slicing through the abdomen of a British soldier.
Alexander smiled at Mr. Hancock before leaping into the action, stabbing just about anything and anyone that came his way, including one unfortunate soldier who crossed Alexander's path shortly after he had engaged in rather serious hand-to-hand combat with a British officer.
Alexander's heart thundered against his chest as he fought off soldier after soldier. He was no longer relying on the training so carefully given by General Washington. He was reacting solely on instinct, playing every part of the foot soldier that he had dreamt of being when the war began. This was what he had come to war for.
The clash lasted nearly thirty minutes, but to Alexander, it felt closer to five. When the last of the red coats was tossed overboard, only their empty vessel remained. Alexander wiped his brow with the crook of his elbow, accidentally spreading the blood that he had hoped to remove.
"Alright, men," Mr. Hancock's appearance was impeccable despite the fighting. There was not a drop of blood on his clothing, nor was there a hair out of place on his head. "Ready the ropes. This will be a difficult tow. Mr. Colbert, have you considered which men you would prefer for your crew?"
"Yes, sir." Mr. Hancock's right-hand man, referred to as a first-mate within the confines of the vessel, said. "I have selected my men. For such a ship, I will require twelve."
"Twelve?" Mr. Hancock's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He looked around the ship, taking note of each crew member that his eyes came across. "No, no, no. I cannot spare twelve men for a small ship like this one. I doubt the ship costs half of the wages that I would have to pay for such a crew. You may take eight."
"Yes, sir." The first-mate bowed respectfully before walking among the crew, selecting the men for a purpose that Alexander didn't altogether understand.
As the first-mate selected his eight men, Mr. Hancock turned to Alexander. "Mr. Hamilton, have you much experience with maps?"
"I have read a few books on the subject matter, sir," Alexander replied, his expression inquisitive. He wanted Mr. Hancock to explain himself before he asked any more questions.
"And how comfortable are you with a compass?"
"Not at all, sir," Alexander admitted, perplexed.
"Are you a quick study?" Mr. Hancock's eyes narrowed.
"Exceptionally so, sir," Alexander answered.
"Good," Mr. Hancock approved, not flinching as the crewmen threw lines across the water onto the British vessel and pulled it close.
Alexander was launched forward a few paces when the two ships collided. No one else appeared fazed; indeed, the eight crewmen selected by the first-mate jumped onto the British vessel while it was close. The first-mate joined them without a second glance.
"Mr. Hamilton," Mr. Hancock drew Alexander's attention away from the crew's possession of the British vessel. "You are now my first-mate. Go to Mr. Colbert's quarters and make yourself familiar with the equipment that you will be using from now on."
"Y-yes, sir!" Alexander answered shakily, unable to hide his surprise.
He hurried down to the quarters that belonged to the first-mate and set to work learning the ropes of his new position.
John sketched for hours. Faces, people, places. He drew those two guards outside his cell from the side. He drew the two brothers, Eddy and Reggie. He drew faces he remembered from back in America, his friends and family. And he drew Alex. He drew him wearing that sweet yet flirtatious grin that melted John every time he saw it. Seeing Alex's face again, even just on paper, brought up memories that felt far in the past. He realized how much he missed him, and that guilt about leaving without saying goodbye resurfaced and brought tears to his eyes.
He kept his tears quiet. He didn't want those guards thinking he was w was not the time.
He closed the notebook and held it to his chest as he sat up against the wall of the cell.
"Laurens? Are you alright?"
John looked up. It was Eddy. He quickly wiped the tears from his eyes. "Like I'm never not alright."
"You look like you were crying."
"I wasn't crying. What makes you think that?"
"John, it's okay if you're homesick. I get it sometimes."
"But you live here. Don't you?"
"Not in London. My home's miles from here, near the southern coast."
"Well, so is mine. Only it's across the ocean." John looked down at the notebook. "I guess I am a little homesick. But not for my home, exactly." Who was he kidding? Alex was home.
"Oh, you have someone in America?"
John's throat tightened. What was he doing? He couldn't say anything about him and Alex. Especially not to a Redcoat. Even if it was Eddy.
He decided to play it like any guy would. "Yeah, I have someone," he said calmly. It's not like he was lying.
"I'm sure they miss you as well."
He didn't say she.
"Anyone you're hoping to go home to, Eddy?" John asked, reflecting the question back.
"No, just my mum."
"Oh. Anyone you have your eye on, then?" He said it casually, like they were two friends talking about romance over a drink instead of on two sides of a prison cell door.
Eddy thought for a moment. He averted John's gaze when he said, "Maybe."
John raised and eyebrow and smirked. "Oh really?"
"I don't want to discuss it. Goodbye." Eddy walked on down the hallway.
John went back into the notebook and turned to the page where he'd sketched Eddy's face. He'd drawn him with a worried look on that, John had to admit, looked kind of cute in an Eddy sort of way.
He closed it again.