I, Eliza Hamilton

by Susan Holloway Scott

  Surprised, I stopped walking. “How are you done? You’re not resigning your commission, are you?”

  “No,” he said, though the way he said it made me think he’d considered it. “As you and I have planned, I’ll be leaving for New Windsor on Thursday, and you shall follow me soon after. I’ve given my word to return, and so I must.”

  I nodded with a certain relief, for this was indeed what we’d planned. He would go ahead by horseback to New Windsor in southern New York, the site of this year’s winter encampment, and I would follow by sleigh with a selection of our belongings.

  But he wasn’t done.

  “I’ve given my word to return,” he continued, “and so I must. But our marriage has changed me, Betsey. Having you as my wife has given me a fresh determination. I’m no longer content to sit idle and wait for others to determine my future.”

  “What shall you do instead?” I asked, hoping I kept the uneasiness from my voice.

  His voice, however, was filled with confidence and daring.

  “That shall be decided in time,” he said, his eyes glowing with his fervor. “Every indication points to the war ending this year. Before it does, before it’s too late, I must seize my opportunity on the field of glory.”

  “But if His Excellency—”

  “His Excellency is my general, but he is neither my friend, nor my ally,” he said with a coldness that shocked me. “I can no longer rely on His Excellency or any other man beyond myself. All I need is a field command, and this time I’ll find a way to get that.”

  My fingers tightened into the rough wool of his coat. I couldn’t hold him back, nor did I wish to. All I could do was pray he’d find wisdom to match his enthusiasm, and luck to support his ambition and preserve his life. Impulsively he bent to kiss me, and I tasted his determination hot as a fever.

  The wonderfully irresponsible romance of our courtship and honeymoon had ended, that was clear. Marriage and being Mrs. Hamilton were going to be much more challenging, and difficult, too. If I prayed for wisdom for my husband, I prayed for strength for myself.

  In the coming months, we’d need them both.

  CHAPTER 10

  New Windsor, New York

  February 1781

  The first lodging that Alexander and I shared together as husband and wife was also the smallest house in which I ever lived. New Windsor had been chosen as the site of this year’s winter encampment for its location on the Hudson River near the fort at West Point and not far from the city of New York, strategic advantages to an army. The benefits to those of us who followed the army were not as evident, and the word I heard most often to describe it was dreary—which it was. Unlike Morristown, the site of last winter’s encampment, New Windsor was scarcely more than a village, and as such lacked a sufficient number of agreeable houses for quartering officers. Even His Excellency was compelled to make his headquarters in William Ellison’s uncomfortably small farmhouse, as far removed from Mrs. Ford’s splendid house as could be.

  Our house was in the village, and consisted of a single room that served as kitchen, parlor, and bedchamber combined, with a ladder to a loft above, where our servants slept. Off in one corner of this room was an old Dutch box, or cupboard bed, such as was used since the days when New York was New Amsterdam. This style of bed was unfamiliar to Alexander, and vastly entertaining, too. Each night we’d climb into this bed and close its doors after us to create a snug, dark little room of our own. The doors made it much warmer than an English bed with drafty curtains, and much more intimate, as Alexander soon came to realize, and relish. But then marriage agreed with us both so much that we found delight in everything we did, so long as it was together.

  At the same time, I was surprised by how much I missed my family, especially my mother. I’d bid the most tearful farewell to her, for I wouldn’t see her again before she was once more brought to childbed. Because of her age, I feared for her and for the coming baby, too. In the years of her marriage to Papa, she’d lost seven children as infants (including a pair of twins and a set of triplets), an ominous pattern that I secretly dreaded for myself. Mamma, however, had only smiled serenely at my concerns, and said whatever came to pass would be God’s will, not mine, which made me pray even more fervently both for her safe deliverance and a child of my own.

  It was perhaps for this reason that I was especially grateful for the presence in camp of Lady Washington. She had shown great kindness toward me last winter, and she continued her favor now to the extent that I felt genuine friendship between us. I spent most afternoons in her company, and together we poured tea and entertained senior officers, their wives, and His Excellency’s other guests in the headquarters’ parlor. To be sure, this was a role I’d been well prepared to play, given how many diverse guests my parents had welcomed to our house over the years, but I believe it pleased Lady Washington to have another lady beside her to help share her responsibilities and make her guests at ease.

  It also pleased me to be near to Alexander during the day, with him at work beside His Excellency, and I in another room in the same house with Lady Washington. We seldom saw each other—Alexander’s duties were so various and pressing that he’d no unoccupied time to spend with me—but simply knowing he was near was a sufficient comfort to me.

  I only wished that Alexander could have said the same. After his recent disappointments in regard to promotions and opportunities, I’d been well aware of his unhappiness, particularly with His Excellency. This had only increased since he had returned to New Windsor.

  For various reasons, all the other aides-de-camp had left the General’s Family, and from a full staff of eleven aides, the number had now dwindled to one, and that one was Alexander. (Another aide-de-camp, Tench Tilghman, was still considered a member of the Family, but constant plagues of ill health often forced him to be absent.) The amount of work Alexander was expected to complete would have crushed a less conscientious man; in the first five weeks after his return, he told me wearily that he had drafted over fifty letters, many in French, for His Excellency, in addition to even more composed and sent over his own name as aide-de-camp.

  For nearly five years, Alexander had been with His Excellency nearly every day and often into the night. I’d only known the general in passing, as the commander-in-chief, as one of my father’s closest friends, and as the much-loved husband of Lady Washington. Like most citizens, I was in awe of him, for his imposing height and figure, for his confidence, reserve, and bravery. No one was more heroic and emblematic of our fledging country than His Excellency, especially while riding the white horse he always favored.

  Soon after I had arrived and was sitting sewing with Lady Washington, I was witness to a feat of purest strength by the general. Several townswomen who earned money by laundering officers’ linens were standing over their large oaken washtubs in the yard, not far from headquarters. Of a sudden, one of them began to point and shout with incoherent distress, and then ran into the parlor where Lady Washington and I were sitting at our sewing.

  “My lady, oh, my lady!” she cried without bothering with any customary signs of greeting or respect. “Sparks from the chimney’ve lit the roof of the shed a-fire! All will be lost, my lady, all lost!”

  We rushed from the door after her in fearful haste, and stared up at the roof of the shed, which adjoined the house. A recent spate of clear days had blown the roof clear of snow, and now flames licked across and through the dry shingles. Sentries were running to the well to pull buckets of water, but the fire had a fair start upon them, and it appeared that headquarters would be next to burn.

  While the soldier and washing-women flustered about in panic, we heard a great clattering down the stairs inside, and His Excellency himself ran from the house. Instantly appraising the situation, he didn’t issue orders, as I’d expected, but instead himself seized the largest oak tub of soapy wash water and carried it into the house and up the stairs, the soapy water splashing out on either side.

 
; He threw open the window of his office (which overlooked the shed), climbed onto the roof with the tub, and emptied it onto the flames. Nor did he pause, but returned to the yard to seize another tub of water and repeat the process. He did this three times in rapid succession, down and up the stairs to the roof, until the flames were doused and all that remained were the charred shingles, and the last wisps of smoke curling into the winter sky.

  Now, I cannot venture the exact weight of an oaken washtub filled with water, except to say that it is a heavy burden, and an awkward one to carry as well. At least two women, and often two men, are required simply to tip such a tub sideways to spill and empty it onto the ground. Yet His Excellency, who at forty-nine years was not a young man, carried these tubs in his arms with ease. Both his strength and his presence of mind impressed me, and so I described the event to Alexander (who had been elsewhere in the encampment when it occurred) that night. We’d fallen into the agreeable habit of retiring to bed as soon as we’d finished supper, lying cozily together in the warmth and dark to discuss the day.

  Alexander, however, had a very different reaction to my description of His Excellency’s heroics.

  “There’s no doubt that the general is strong as the proverbial ox,” he admitted. “But you must believe that his temper is every bit as strong, perhaps more so.”

  “Truly?” I asked, more from curiosity than disbelief. Papa had never mentioned this side of the general, and in the few times when I had seen him in company with Lady Washington, he had shown only a gentle devotion reflective of the regard he held for his wife. “I have found him daunting, but more on account of who he is, rather than for his temper.”

  Alexander sighed, rolling over on his back. “All of us who have been employed closely with him have received his wrath at one time or another,” he said. “It’s all the more fearsome because it’s so unexpected.”

  “He’s never been angry with you, has he?”

  “You cannot be serious, Betsey,” he said. “I’ve borne the brunt of his anger more times than I can count, and his abuse has only grown worse over the years.”

  “I’d no notion,” I marveled, propping myself on my elbow. “None at all.”

  “That’s how it should be,” he said, and sighed again. “The war itself provides conflict enough without admitting to the world that the general has his flaws and weaknesses. He needs to be perceived as invincible, above the pettiness of ordinary men. Everyone who has ever been part of his Family understands, and agrees. But trust me, dearest: to be the target of his harsh, intemperate anger is not pleasant.”

  I remembered this conversation several days later, when again I sat in the company of Lady Washington and several French officers. As I’ve noted, the house being used as headquarters was small and the staircase open, with voices from the office upstairs audible to us below in the parlor.

  As we sat together, our polite discussion of the last snowstorm was suddenly interrupted by the sound of His Excellency’s furious voice. His exact words were not discernable, but the harsh severity of his anger was, and the three French officers stared down at their tea with obvious embarrassment.

  Swiftly Lady Washington rose, and without a break in her smiling conversation, she closed the door against the hall and her husband’s temper. It was neatly done, and from her ease, was clearly something she’d done many times before. Her brisk efficiency also proved what Alexander had said, for no mention was made of the general’s outburst, not then or at any other time. It was as if it never happened.

  Yet the general was not alone in his growing frustrations. As the winter weeks stretched on, Alexander spoke more and more vehemently of his discontent, and what he felt was the disrespect being shown him. He had always considered himself a soldier who had been forced to become a clerk for the good of the service; at the time he’d first become an aide-de-camp, he’d believed the position would be temporary, and assist his rise through the ranks.

  Instead he’d watched other officers receive the promotions and appointments that should have been his. Even worse, nearly three years had now passed since he’d seen any real action on a battlefield, save for the skirmishes last summer in New Jersey.

  As much as I preferred he’d never again see battle or risk a violent death again, I knew how much these slights rankled at his pride and ambition, and fanned the misguided belief that he was somehow failing me. The longer the drought without a field command continued, the more I feared the consequences.

  In February, I learned exactly what those could be.

  I was alone at home in our little house in the middle of the day, sitting at the small table beside the fire and writing a letter to Papa. I heard the door behind me unlatch and swing open, and I turned with a start.

  “Alexander!” I exclaimed with surprise, at once rising from my chair to greet him. It was the sixteenth, only two days after we’d warmly celebrated Valentine’s Day, and I thought at first that he’d come home now at this unusual hour for the rare pleasure of seeing me. But as soon as he took off his hat and I saw his stony expression, I realized there was a more serious reason than Cupid.

  “Something is amiss, isn’t it?” I asked anxiously. “You’re home so early. What has happened?”

  Without removing his coat, he dropped heavily into the armchair across from mine, his legs sprawled before me and his hat still in his hand.

  “The thing is done, Eliza,” he said. “He provoked me, and left me no choice.”

  “Who provoked you, my love?” I asked, though I’d already a notion of who it might be. “What did you do?”

  “The general,” he said wearily. “I was going down the stairs in that infernal farmhouse as he was coming up. He said he wished to speak with me and I agreed, and continued on the errand I’d begun, delivering a letter below to Tilghman, and then paused to converse briefly with Lafayette on a matter of business.”

  He paused now, too, taking time to recall exactly what had transpired. “This took two minutes, perhaps five at most, yet when I climbed the stairs to join the general, I found him waiting for me on the landing. His face was livid, and he accused me of keeping him waiting a full ten minutes, and therefore offering him blatant disrespect.”

  “Oh, Alexander,” I said, placing my hand over his. “What did you say in return?”

  “I told him that I wasn’t conscious of it,” he said, “but that if he found it so necessary to tell me so, then we must part. He nodded as curtly as a man can, accepting my decision. He returned to the office, and I came . . . here.”

  I nodded, though I still wasn’t entirely certain what had occurred.

  “Do you mean that you parted, and went about your separate business,” I said, “or that you parted from his employ?”

  He looked down into his hat, as if the answer lay there. “It’s my intention to leave the Family, yes. You know I’ve considered this for some time, and now that the general has made my position untenable, my decision is firm.”

  I’d known he was unhappy, but these events still came as a shock. “Does His Excellency accept your decision?”

  “If he didn’t when we parted, he does now,” he said. “Soon afterwards he sent Tilghman to follow me and ask me to return to his office to discuss the matter further.”

  “What did His Excellency say?” I asked, dreading his inevitable reply. Oh, there were times when I wished I did not know my husband so well!

  “He said nothing, for I did not go to him,” Alexander said. “Through Tilghman, I said that I’d made my resolution in a manner not to be revoked. I told him that while I certainly wouldn’t refuse the interview if he desired it, I believed the conversation would only produce explanations that neither of us would find agreeable.”

  “Oh, Alexander,” I said again, sadly, and this time unable to keep back my dismay. “He wished for a reconciliation, yet you refused?”

  “I did,” he said. “I said I would much prefer to decline the conversation, and he respected my desire.”


  I sat back and sighed heavily. “What shall come next for us? You haven’t another post, have you?”

  “Not yet, no,” he admitted. “But now that I have resigned, I’m sure something shall be made available to me. A position or a post where I can make a genuine contribution beyond mere scribbling.”

  It sounded uncomfortably as if he were convincing himself as much as me; he’d been desirous of a field post as long as we’d known each other.

  “I suppose we can no longer remain in these lodgings,” I said with regret. The little house had many flaws, but for these last weeks, it had been ours. “I will have Rose begin packing at once. I suppose we can return to Albany.”

  “Nothing will happen immediately,” he said. “I have resigned, yes, but His Excellency still has not accepted it. I will also continue my duties until another aide-de-camp fluent in French can be found as my replacement. The general may not respect me as I wish, but I respect the requirements of his office and the nation too much to make an abrupt departure.”

  It seemed abrupt to me. “I want you to be happy, Alexander,” I said. “But I rather wish your decision had not come from a sudden disagreement with His Excellency.”

  “But it didn’t,” he said. “This has been simmering for months now. The strong words today were but a catalyst. I was entirely respectful, Betsey. I promise you that. I didn’t once raise my own voice, or let rash anger get the better of me, as it did the general.”

  “You must write to my father at once,” I urged. “He deserves to learn of this breach with His Excellency first from you instead of someone else.”

  I knew Papa would not be pleased by this news. Although he had come to regard Alexander as another son, he’d been friends with His Excellency far longer, and I suspected together they would agree that my husband had behaved rashly and impetuously. I only hoped Papa would forgive him, and not fault him to the point of an open rift.