Hamilton and Peggy!

by L. M. Elliott

  Very sincerely & Affectionately I am Dr Sir Yr. most Obed

  A Hamilton

  PEGGY FOUND HER FATHER IN HIS STUDY, LEANING over a snowdrift of papers, his elbows on the desk, bracing his forehead in his hands. He must be exhausted, she thought. He had paced the house for hours and hours as Catharine struggled to give birth to their latest infant. He should be relieved now—the baby girl was healthy and beautiful and his beloved Kitty remarkably well.

  Her mama was so well, in fact, that she was already thinking about the christening. She had sent Peggy downstairs to ask Schuyler to write the Washingtons with their good news. His Excellency and Lady Washington had graciously agreed to stand as godparents to the baby. Peggy knew her mother was being overly optimistic. General Washington had not taken a day of leave from his duties for almost six years since becoming the commander of the Continental Army in 1775. But perhaps Martha could make the trip for the baptism.

  “Papa.” Peggy put her hand on his shoulder. “You should rest. All is well.”

  But Schuyler dropped his hands and looked up at her with distress on his face.

  “What is it?” she asked, alarmed. “Not more mutinies?”

  Just as her papa had been dealing with Albany troops mutinying, General Washington had had to quell an insurrection by the Pennsylvania Line. Those Continentals had actually marched to Philadelphia, muskets ready, to demand Congress pay them what they were owed. Because of his spy network, Schuyler was able to warn Washington that the British were making overtures to the mutineers—promising the Pennsylvanians that the king had money, clothes, and food aplenty to give them. Some of their officers considered playing Benedict Arnold as a result.

  Hearing that, Washington had quickly mustered six hundred New Jersey troops out of West Point and rushed to face down their Pennsylvania comrades. It was a disastrous time for the exhausted and ill-fed army to be so dangerously challenged. The general’s horse had been so starved it could hardly stand and nearly dumped him down a cliff.

  After a tense standoff, seeing their fellow Continentals convinced the Pennsylvanians to peacefully rejoin their ranks. But Washington had had to hang their most radical ringleaders. The events left the army intact, but resentful and suspicious.

  “No, no more mutinies, thank God,” Schuyler answered. “Not yet anyway.” His eyes were sunken with fatigue and dark circles.

  “Has Albany’s Commissioners for Detecting and Defeating Conspiracies uncovered another plot?” Peggy’s father had spent the last week interrogating Tories suspected of colluding with the British stationed in Canada—although what exactly they were up to eluded Schuyler so far. He had been scouring intercepted letters, trying to figure it out.

  “No,” he said flatly. He handed Peggy a letter. “Hamilton has fought with His Excellency and resigned.”

  “What?” She gasped.

  “See for yourself.”

  Peggy quickly skimmed Hamilton’s account of his break with Washington. She looked up to her father, whose eyebrow shot up, echoing her disapproval of what felt like a temper tantrum on Hamilton’s part.

  Was her brother-in-law really that thin-skinned?

  Hamilton’s letter went on to say that when the general sought to apologize for his impatience, he’d rejected meeting with the commander in chief. What insubordination! This was George Washington—the man upon whom the fledgling nation pinned all its hopes and needs. A man holding his army together even though beset on all sides by the plight of starving and ill-equipped soldiers, Tories seeking to ambush or kidnap him, superior enemies, infighting officers constantly wrangling for higher rank, and a thousand men deserting him.

  In the midst of all that, Hamilton quit? Simply because the great man snapped at him?

  Frowning, Peggy waded on through the long letter—Hamilton’s obvious worry was that he’d displease his new father-in-law. He argued in his own defense that he had never wanted to be an aide-de-camp, as it made him too dependent on the man he served. He had only agreed to it, dismissing his scruples because he was infected with the enthusiasm of the times and an unfounded idea of the general’s character. Peggy paused. Washington’s stalwart and inspiring reputation “unfounded”? She shook her head as she read Hamilton’s next line: It was not long before I discovered he was neither remarkable for delicacy nor good temper.

  “Oh, Alexander,” she breathed. “You sound like such a child.”

  Schuyler nodded. His tone shifted from disappointment to anger as he asked, “Have you reached the part where he claims he has felt no friendship for the general and has never professed any, even when the general has? That his ‘pride of temper’ would not suffer him to profess what he did not feel?”

  “What? His Excellency has been so good to Hamilton!”

  “I know!” he growled. “So many Patriots would do anything to be part of Washington’s family, to be the recipient of the great man’s esteem and friendship.” He thought a moment. “Sometimes a man must take a less lauded position to serve a cause he believes in.”

  Peggy looked up from the letter to assess her father, who had again and again sublimated his own celebrity to aid the American fight for liberty. His expression was a mixture of fury and concern. Clearly, her papa was worrying that his second son-in-law, in whom he had placed such high hopes, might also turn out to be disappointment. At the very least, Hamilton had revealed himself to be mercurial and quick to take offense, rash in his actions and unyielding in his opinion. Not exactly the most steadfast or safe of husbands for their precious Eliza.

  Frankly, Peggy felt the same alarm for Eliza. And yet, Hamilton had saved Peggy from humiliating herself by telling her the truth of Fleury. She owed him the same help now with his new father-in-law.

  “Well, to be fair,” Peggy said cautiously, “General Washington has certainly benefited from the pairing of their abilities. The general can see and speak more clearly, make better strategic decisions, negotiate better through the prism of Alexander. Lady Washington told me so.”

  “Yes, His Excellency has said the same, repeatedly, to me.” Her papa sighed, softening. “I wonder if the boy is soured by the fact right before the wedding, he was twice passed over to be a diplomatic envoy, first to France and then to Russia. I know he believes that happened because he is so in Washington’s shadow that Congress doesn’t realize his talents—that if he had a command of his own, he would have a larger reputation. I tried to explain to him that wouldn’t necessarily make a difference with those delegates. So often there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to Congress’s decisions.”

  Schuyler pointed to the bottom of the letter. “He says he wants to reenter the artillery or join the light infantry.”

  Peggy drew in her breath sharply. Eliza would be a nervous wreck if her husband did that. Not that he hadn’t ridden into the thick of battle beside Washington. But leading a battalion himself would expose him so much more.

  She finished reading. At least Hamilton acknowledged that General Washington was a very honest man whose popularity was essential to the safety of America. But then her brother-in-law ended with a manipulation of her father that Peggy recognized, having used it herself when defending her part in a sibling squabble: If I thought it could diminish your friendship for him, I should almost forgo the motives that urge me to justify myself to you.

  Peggy dropped into a chair. With this letter, Hamilton put Schuyler in a terrible position with Washington—her papa’s close friend, commander, and political ally—and also with his own daughter. Hamilton writing his father-in-law in many ways preempted Eliza being able to reach out for advice from her own father. Peggy wondered if her sweet, believing sister had tried to placate Hamilton’s indignation or convince him that perhaps he was overreacting.

  And oh, how embarrassed Eliza must be around Martha Washington—the role model her middle sister idolized. “Has Eliza written you about this?” Peggy asked.

  Schuyler looked even wearier with the question. “No, she hasn’t.
But that is proper. Her first loyalty must be to her husband now.”

  Pensively, Schuyler took Peggy’s hand. “I am glad you are still here, child.”

  Peggy smiled, pushing away the thought he was saying that more out of missing her elder sisters than relishing her company. “How are you going to answer him, Papa?”

  “Carefully,” Schuyler replied. “I have learned it is a tricky thing guiding a headstrong child. Direct instructions never work. One needs to make suggestions that make her feel like such actions were her choice all along.”

  Her? Was her papa consciously referring to her sisters? Or to her? And was he speaking with fond bemusement or criticism?

  “But”—Schuyler patted her hand before continuing—“such efforts are well worth it, as a stubborn, spirited child lights up a room with life.”

  Peggy’s eyes welled with tears. That was the nicest compliment he had ever given her regarding her outspoken nature. She laughed and responded in kind. “Moi? Are you suggesting I am a handful, Papa?”

  For a moment his tired eyes twinkled. “Of the best kind, child.” He sat up tall. “Now, as one rather impetuous person to another, what would you say to your brother-in-law?”

  “Well . . .” Peggy thought a moment. She was already seeing the serious ramifications of Hamilton’s tiff with Washington that washed out well beyond the effects on her sister. As Martha had said in Morristown, Hamilton was critical to Washington’s communications with Rochambeau. “Perhaps if you compliment Hamilton’s importance to the general and play upon his sense of patriotism. The most dangerous impact of Hamilton’s pique will be on His Excellency’s relationship with the French.”

  “Precisely my concerns,” said Schuyler. “This break between His Excellency and his most trusted and visible aide also suggests to the French court that we are fractured, chaotic. That perhaps Washington does not have the leadership to keep his staff loyal to him.” He frowned and shook his head. “I had hoped Hamilton was more . . .” He trailed off.

  She wanted to finish his thought with the adjectives: smart, less egotistical? But for Hamilton’s and Eliza’s sake, she chose a less critical word: “More circumspect?”

  “Yes.” Schuyler picked up a sheet of paper. Dipping a quill into his inkwell, Schuyler scratched out the date and My dear sir. Then he stopped and rubbed his hand.

  “Is the arthritis bad today, Papa?”

  He seemed to suffer most in the coldest months.

  “Yes, my dear,” he said with resignation.

  “Do you wish to dictate your letter to me?” Seeing his surprise, she was quick to add, “It will simply make the writing of it faster for you.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” He stood up and stepped away from the desk so she could take up the quill. Pacing, limping with his cane, Schuyler began. Even though Hamilton’s letter surprised and afflicted him, her papa did not suspect him guilty of impropriety. But he did worry that Hamilton’s rift with the general might harm the country and he would esteem himself culpable if he remained silent.

  “I admire your self-control, Papa,” Peggy said as Schuyler paused to collect his thoughts. “I might have called him an idiot.”

  Schuyler laughed. “Then this is a good lesson for us both, my dear. I am recognizing what a clear understanding you have of important matters of state. And perhaps you are learning a more effective way to get your point across. Ready? Here is where we bait the trap, as it were. With a bit of honey.”

  Peggy dipped her quill again and nodded.

  Schuyler dictated that even before his new son-in-law courted Eliza, he had studied Hamilton’s character. It was his opinion that Hamilton alone, of all Washington’s aides, had the “qualifications so essentially necessary to the man who is to aid and council a commanding General, environed with difficulties of every kind” and whose correspondence was so voluminous and consequential. It was imperative that the wording of all Washington’s letters be infused with the wise judgment of a scholar with diplomatic sensibilities—such as Hamilton’s.

  He paused to instruct Peggy. “See? It is hard for a man to dismiss an entreaty when he has been thoroughly complimented. Next we play to his sense of logic and larger view. Ready?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Schuyler urged Hamilton to repair the breach since news of his quitting was sure to produce damaging gossip and doubt. That was particularly true with their all-important French allies who had already observed “so many divisions between us; they know and acknowledge your Abilities and how necessary you are to the General.”

  Then Schuyler was even more blunt. If Hamilton deserted Washington, the general would not have one gentleman left on his staff “sufficiently versed” in French to appropriately convey his concerns or plans. Peggy looked up. Her papa expressed the very same worry Martha Washington had expressed when she asked Peggy to go to Newport and to use her bilingual abilities to smooth over any misunderstandings.

  “What think you of my letter so far, daughter?”

  Peggy had been fascinated watching her father’s mind at work. No wonder he had served as the chief negotiator with the Six Nations of the Iroquois Confederacy for so many years. “It is well done, Papa.”

  “Now, what is the most effective final stroke in our arguments?”

  Peggy thought back to the countless times Eliza had been the go-between when she and Angelica had squabbled. “Time to point out General Washington’s side of things?”

  “Indeed!” Schuyler tapped his cane to the floor in applause. “Time to play conciliator.”

  He began again, referencing Hamilton’s disclosure that General Washington had immediately regretted his outburst of temper and sent his aide, Tench Tilghman, with his apologies and compliments of Hamilton’s importance to the cause.

  Peggy still couldn’t believe the insolence of Hamilton’s refusal to accept General Washington’s apologies. She feared the future trouble such self-righteous stubbornness could bring to her new brother and Eliza. But she kept her head down, her gaze on the paper, so she wouldn’t reveal her thoughts to her father. She was committed to helping Hamilton as best she could.

  Schuyler kept to playing the mediator, pointing out that Washington recognized he had been the aggressor in the encounter and “that he quickly repented of the Insult.” He reminded Hamilton that few men passed through life without an unguarded moment of irritation that wounded the feelings of a friend. Attribute it to the frailty of human nature, Schuyler urged, and with heaven’s “recording angel, drop a tear, and blot It out of the page of life.”

  Ending with an appeal to Hamilton’s obvious patriotism and sense of honor, Schuyler dictated: “Make the sacrifice, the greater it is, the more glorious to you, your services are wanted.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Schuyler took the quill from her to sign his name. He folded the letter carefully. Then he held a wax block over a candle to heat it, wiped a dollop of red onto the letter’s back, and pressed it closed with his seal. He looked up suddenly. “I am just remembering that I never asked you how it was several years back when you knew how to unseal a letter without its recipient detecting the trick.”

  Peggy caught her breath. In the last hour, she’d noticed her father switching from calling her “child” to “my dear.” She was desperate to hold on to that hard-won respect for her. What would he think if she told the truth that she’d learned to do so by childishly snooping on Angelica? All Peggy could think to do was to shrug and smile hopefully at him.

  Schuyler considered her a moment, his lower lip stuck out in thought. She held her breath until he spoke again. “Pray, give me your opinion on another matter. Do you remember when our friend John Jay was here before leaving for Spain as our new ambassador?”

  “I do, Papa. I remember your spending long hours in this library.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “You are very observant, aren’t you, my dear?”

  Peggy breathed easier at the “my dear” and felt safe admitting, “I am always curious a
bout the happenings of this room, Papa.” She grinned.

  “Fair enough,” he answered with a snort of laughter. “John Jay went to Spain to elicit their support in our fight. Now that the Spanish have declared war on England, Jay remains, but his mission is . . . a little different. Let us say it is of importance that his letters to me seem innocuous if they are captured on the high seas by the British fleet. So I need a cipher. A key word that would translate his letter. Say we choose KNIFE and we flip it backward and line it up with the alphabet. So in that case A would translate to E, B would translate to F, C to I, and so on. Make sense?”

  She nodded.

  “But even that cipher has to be coded when I send it to him—in case my letter is intercepted. Almost like a riddle that references something he would recognize but no one else would.” He rubbed his forehead. “I am afraid my imagination fails me, I am so fatigued. Any ideas?”

  Peggy thought. “What about ‘what we call home.’ He would know you named our house The Pastures, wouldn’t he?”

  “Good, good.” Schuyler nodded approvingly. “That’s the idea. But Tories living in Albany might be able to guess that. Let us think deeper into our household.”

  Peggy cast her memory back into what she remembered of Jay’s visit. Things they had eaten at dinner, conversation at the table. Catharine had served traditional Dutch split pea soup, erwtensoep thick enough for a spoon to stand upright in it, paired with rookworst sausage and rye bread topped with smoked katenspek bacon. Peggy remembered because invariably pea hulls and strands of meat got stuck in her teeth, which was so embarrassing and . . . “Oh, Papa, I have an idea! Prince always passes out toothpicks to dinner guests after a meal.”