Dear, Hamilton

I Discover a New Talent

We ride swiftly through the dark, moonless night. Angelica had informed me that Washington, Hamilton, Laurens, and Lafayette had all left to put an end to a skirmish that had arisen about twenty minutes away. 

She said that there were shots fired, but she didn't know who and how many were injured. I'd asked how many soldiers were fighting to which she'd responded five hundred on both sides. 

A British force had attacked a Patriot camp early this evening. 

As we ride closer to the camp, I catch sight of hundreds of lit campfires through the trees. The campfires serve as a bright beacon to the camp's location. We'd arrived. 

The camp is filthy and muddy. As I lead my horse through the camp, the groans of injured or dying men fill the air, and the occasional scream of someone being amputated from within a medical tent interrupts the drone of groans every few minutes. The smell of decay and gunpowder fills the air. 

I swing off of my horse and begin marching towards the headquarters. I'd overheard from a few healthy soldiers that some of the injured were being kept there. My shoes stick to the thick mud with a slurping sound. 

I suddenly trip on an arm, and I look down to see wide, unblinking eyes staring up at me from the ground; the eyes of a dead man, I realize as I let out a little scream of horror. 

Angelica is beside me in an instant and ushering me along as she says reassuringly, "The quicker we walk, the sooner you can see your Hamilton." 

I walk faster through the dark camp after that, the path only lit by the occasional campfire. We finally reach headquarters, and I push open the door, only to be met with louder groans and screams. I scrunch up my nose as I weave through the hundreds of pallets laid out across the floor, my skirts swaying behind me. 

Angelica follows close behind. 

I search frantically for any sign of Hamilton upon the pallets, having heard from a barely conscious officer that he was in headquarters. My steps quicken when I don't spot him anywhere. I turn towards Angelica, telling her with an almost hysterical voice, "I don't see him."

Angelica frowns as she pushes past me. "He could be in one of the other rooms," she reasons as she beckons me to follow her. 

We weave through the rooms, finding in each room pallets upon pallets on the floor, filled with the moans of injured men. We go into one such room, and I spot a familiar flash of auburn hair, covered partly by a blanket, laying on a pallet pushed against the far wall, partly secluded from everyone else.

I let out a gasp as I dash over to him and drop to my knees beside the cot. I put my hands on his face and turn his head towards me. "Hamilton?" I whisper. 

His blue eyes blink open before shuttering closed again, and he lets out a low moan. "Eliza? Is that you?" he whispers, eyes still squeezed shut. 

I don't know whether to cry with relief or sadness. "It is. It's me, Eliza," I tell him, trying at a smile, even though he can't see me with his eyes closed. 

His eyes barely manage to open, revealing the brilliant violet and blue of his eyes. "This is my job as Washington's aide-de-camp. It's not purely writing, you know." He smiles tiredly to show he means it lightly, but then his smile dims as he adds a little breathlessly, "And, well, I thought you were gone for good this time."

I shake my head. "No, I'm back." I brush a hand through his hair, and he closes his eyes again. I glance down to where his hand is pressed against his side. "Where are you injured?" I ask him softly.