Chapter Eleven
"Sir," Alexander was hailed down in a little clearing with an expansive house and a small herd of deer walking about a little over an hour after he had rode from the farm with the violent woman. The man who was waving his hand was well-dressed and appeared to be a gentleman. "Are you Mr. Jefferson's man?"
Alexander smiled gratefully. Yes, this was the man that he had been looking for.
"Yes, sir. I -" Alexander moved to dismount the horse.
He blacked out immediately and fell right off the horse.
"Ugh," Alexander sat up, rubbing his head.
"There you are, boy." Mr. Jefferson's connection smiled down at Alexander in amusement as Alexander started to look around him. There wasn't much but clear skies and brackish water. They were on a ship, Alexander realized dimly. "We thought you were a goner."
"Not quite." Alexander tried to quirk as a smile as he staggered to his feet. "I apologize for my behavior. I encountered some violence on my journey, and -"
"I see that," The man chuckled, nodding down at Alexander's now-bandaged bicep. "Whoever it was, it looks like he got you pretty good."
"Yeah." Alexander rubbed at the bandage absent-mindedly. "So, er, are we…"
"Going straight for Britain, yes." The man smiled an awful lot. Alexander was not used to such cheerfulness. "William Bainbridge. Pleasure to meet you."
"Alexander Hamilton," Alexander looked around inquisitively. "How long do you think it'll take for us to reach England?"
"I'd say two weeks," Captain Bainbridge responded. "You might as well make yourself. According to Mr. Jefferson's letter, you were of great use to Mr. Hancock when you were aboard his vessel. I hope that you will be of such use to me, as well."
"Yes, sir." Alexander murmured, looking around ship curiously. "I would be glad to be of service."
"Very good." Captain Bainbridge approved. "In the meantime, perhaps you ought to get some rest. You were out for quite a time."
Alexander smiled at him gratefully. "Yes, sir."
"We're taking on water!" Alexander awoke to the sound of frantic sailors.
He had been aboard Captain Bainbridge's ship for a week and a half now. He was expecting to reach England any day now. It seemed that this expectation was not destined to be met, as he climbed out of his bunk and stepped into a few inches of water.
"Captain?" He charged up the steps to the main deck, looking around for Captain Bainbridge. "What's going on?"
"Hamilton!" Captain Bainbridge looked at Alexander with a panicked expression. "We got too close to the shore - we hit some rocks. We are going down, boy."
"What?" Alexander looked around in panic. "What should I do? Is there a way to patch the bottom of the boat to keep it afloat? How close are we to shore? Do you think that we can make it to a nearby island for a repair?"
Captain Bainbridge looked at Alexander oddly. "There is important patching equipment in the dingy. Could you get it for me?"
"Yes, sir." Alexander hurried over to the dingy, not thinking anything of the fact that Captain Bainbridge was following him.
He carefully crossed the gap between the ship and the dingy, glancing warily at the ropes holding the dingy above water. When he tumbled into the wooden dingy, he was surprised to see that there was nothing in it at all. He turned to look at Captain Bainbridge questioningly. Captain Bainbridge removed his sword grimly. Before Alexander could call out to him, to demand that he stop, Captain Bainbridge cut the ropes holding the dingy against the ship, sending it and Alexander into the churning waters below.
Alexander spluttered and choked as he was drenched in the frigid water knocked on board by the sheer force of his drop. He looked up at the ship that he had been forcibly removed from, seeing frantic crewmen scrambling. A few abandoned ship, jumping into the waters around him. One of the deserters noticed Alexander's dingy and tried to swim against the currents towards him.
"Help me!" The man screamed, his voice gurgling as water entered his lungs. He struggled to tread water, his lips already starting to turn that telling shade of blue. Alexander looked away, his stomach wrenching. "Please, help me!"
"Captain Bainbridge!" Alexander tried to get the Captain to return to the edge of the ship. "Captain Bainbridge!"
But it was too late. The ship creaked for a few more seconds before a loud groan and a short snap filled the air. The ship dropped into the sea within a matter of minutes, dragging the crewmen down with it. Alexander attempted to row towards the wreckage, hoping to save a few lives here and there, but as the ship plummeted, it created a tide that was too strong to fight against. Before long, Alexander was miles from where the ship sank. All of the men he had gotten to know during the journey were out of sight. He did not allow himself to consider what became of them. Instead, he focused on what was to become of him. He was stranded on a dingy in the middle of the ocean. He did not know where the nearest shore was, nor did he know what country was nearest. He had no food. He had no water. His clothes were damp, but the air was cold.
It was an all-around bad situation.
Alexander pulled the oars back into the dingy and settled against the bench. He doubted very much that he would ever make it to England.
They found him four days later, starved and on the cusp of insanity. He'd spent the past three days drinking salt water and screaming out for John despite the futility of it all. They gave him food, water, warm clothes, and a place to sleep. He hadn't slept soundly in the four days that he had spent on the water. They brought him to land.
It took him a week to fully recover. When he did, a man in a red coat entered the room he'd been given.
"How are you feeling today, sir?" The man asked, standing tall with his hands behind his back. He was a military man. A military man wearing a red coat. Alexander may have felt a bit hazy, but he was intelligible enough to recognize this.
"Good." He managed. "Thank you for the care that you have provided me. I'm not sure that I am capable of rewarding you for such an act of kindness."
"You could reward us plenty by giving us your name, sir." The man's expression remained stoic. "As well as telling us what it was that you were doing out at sea."
"Oh, I, uh…" Alexander hesitated. "My name is James."
"James?" The man echoed, arching a skeptical eyebrow. "James what?"
"James Quarterfield." Alexander lied, using the last name of one of the deceased soldiers from General Washington's forces. "Who are you?"
"Captain Lewis." The man, Captain Lewis, looked down at Alexander dismally. "What is your career, Mister Quarterfield? I understand that you are not a military man."
"Oh, uh, no, I'm a…" Alexander looked around the room for some clue as to what he might be. "I'm a poet."
"A poet?" Captain Lewis' mouth curved into a sneer. "Anything that I would have read?"
"Probably not. I'm not very good." Alexander remarked hastily.
"Right," It was obvious that Captain Lewis did not believe Alexander. That was potentially dangerous for Alexander.
"Pardon me, but could you tell me where we are?" Alexander tried to distract Captain Lewis. "I would like to let my family know that I am safe, if at all possible."
Captain Lewis looked Alexander over humorlessly. "London. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Quarterfield. I'll look into letting your family know that we have found you and that you are safe. Remind me, where is it that your family resides?"
Alexander's eyes widened. "Oh, uh…Essex. They're in a small town. It would be simpler for me to deliver the message to myself."
"Nonsense." Captain Lewis waved off Alexander's suggestion. "You're still recovering. I will have my men search for the Quarterfields in Essex. We have a population index. We should find your address in next to no time at all."
"Wonderful." Alexander smiled weakly.
Captain Lewis nodded and bowed before leaving the room. The moment that the door clicked close behind him, Alexander staggered to his feet. His limbs trembled - they still had not forgiven him for the four days that he spent on the dingy - but he determinedly made his way over to the window in the room. It wasn't very large, but it was just large enough. He forced the window open and squeezed himself through the opening that he had created. It turned out that he was on the second floor of whatever building that he was in - the ground looked so far down - but if he stayed, Captain Lewis would find out that he had lied about his identity. If the British officer found out that he was a rebel, well, he would die. Jumping down from the second floor was a safer bet.
Without another thought, Alexander allowed himself to flop out of the window. He hit the ground with a thud and a crack. The wind was knocked out of him - his chest ached. It was entirely possible that he had broken at least one of his ribs…maybe his wrist, too. Still, if he lingered, he would die.
He crept towards the street on the other side of the building. From the street, he could see a looming presence over London: the Tower. It appeared to be miles away, but Alexander needed to put some distance between himself and Captain Lewis, anyway.
It took half the day, but eventually, Alexander was standing right outside of the Tower. He looked up at it, surprised to find that tears were pricking at his eyes. After all that he had been through, he was finally here. He was this close to John.
And he had no idea how to get a single step closer.
For the first time since he had started this journey, he did not know what to do next.
Soon John was back in his good old cell. No one really visited him for some time until Reggie came by to scold him like he was a child who'd bullied another. "You are disgraceful, Laurens. Whatever you said to my son, now he won't talk to me at all. He's been shutting himself in his chamber and I'm really starting to worry-" he looked fearful.
"I didn't say anything but what I felt was correct," John replied simply. "He's a kid, he'll cool off."
"But he's not a kid. Not anymore. He's nearly a man, and he needs to know his place in this world and in this war-"
"He's an American whose family was taken from him by 'this war'. He's a victim of the conflict. And you don't think he knows that?" John felt oddly protective of the teen and he didn't quite know why. Perhaps a feeling of kinship.
"He's got family. He has me."
"You're not his family, you're a soldier who took him from his home and thinks you can form him into something he's not."
"He wants to be a soldier. You don't understand everything." Reggie crossed his arms.
"Maybe, but he doesn't dream about meeting your king…even if he believes in the crown," John pointed out. "Plus, would he really want to be part of the very thing that killed his parents?"
"Uh-grrrrr." Reggie gritted his teeth. "I do not like you."
"Of course you don't. I punched you in the face once and gave you a black eye. Hard to get on good terms after that."
Reggie stormed away from the cell.
Meanwhile there was a knock on Thomas' door. "What is it?" he asked angstily, putting his face in his pillow.
Eddy creaked open the door. "Hey, Thom."
Thomas looked and saw it was Eddy. "Did Reginald send you?" he asked bitterly.
"No, but he told me you haven't been talking...wanna tell me what's wrong?"
"I don't know who I am anymore…" Thomas put his face back in his pillow. His tone had softened.
"Who do you want to be?"
"I don't know that either…"
"Thomas is having an existential crisis," Eddy told Reggie later.
"Great...ugh, why do I even bother with him?" Reggie put his head down. "Shoulda just left him for the rebel scum to deal with…"
The two brothers talked for a little while longer.
Thomas, who'd snuck out of his room to get something to eat, heard this exchange. His eyes tearing up, he ran in the other direction. He didn't go to his room,though. He went into the Tower, and found John's cell.
"This is a surprise, Thommy," John commented as he looked at the boy from the floor of his cell. He'd been drawing.
Thomas was breathing heavily from the running.
"I thought you hated me," John continued, raising an eyebrow at him.
"...I don't," Thomas promised. "...I'm just really confused right now." He sighed.
"Kid, go back home," one of the guards said.
Thomas looked at the guard. "I can't. I don't have one." He glanced at John one more time before turning and leaving.
Eddy visited John a few days later. "How've you been since the hospital?" he asked.
"Just grand," John replied. He looked not grand. Sickly even.
"Are you okay? You look a bit pale…"
John coughed. "I'm fine."
"Alright, if you're sure...I can get Sherwood if you need," Eddy offered.
"I said I'm fine," John tried to convince him before coughing again and wiping his hand on his pants. A dark stain was now present.
"You're going to the doctor. Now."
John was sick for about a week. Eventually it passed but it left him a bit weak still and Eddy was worried.