Dear, Hamilton

Confounding the British Henchmen

(sorry I saw this pretty cool fanart and I wanted to put it up ^ Hamilton)

The next day passes just the same. I work all day tending to the injured, my back cramping from being bent over for so long and my fingers aching from working with the needle and thread. By this point, I've become desensitized to the gory, bloody injuries. 

 I'm sewing a man's leg closed when the door suddenly bangs open loudly, and I look up from where I'm squatted down on the floor to see three men carrying a limp body inside.

I raise my head higher to get a closer look at the extent of the person's injuries, but someone shifts to the side in front of me, blocking my view. I can hear the men shouting for a cot and some help, so I quickly finish on the man's leg before hurrying over. 

"I can help," I say loudly as I shoulder my way through the throng of gathered soldiers to reach the three men and their injured friend. 

One of the three men turns around and sees me. "Here comes a nurse!" he shouts to the other two. The people surrounding them must have heard the man because they quickly move aside to allow me to pass. 

When I reach the three men, I look down at the man they're carrying and realize with relief that it isn't anyone I know, for this man is sure to die. He has several gunshot wounds to the stomach, all of them gushing blood. 

I quickly show the men to a recently evacuated cot, and they gently set the man down onto the dirtied cot. I quickly pack bandage against the wounded soldier's stomach to try and stop the bleeding, but the bandages are soon drenched in blood. 

"Call for Mrs. Washington!" I demand one of the three men who stand around me hopelessly. 

One of them hurries away, and a second later Mrs. Washington appears. She takes one look at the injured man and shakes her head regretfully. "I can try to save him, but it's a slim chance," she tells the men and me with brutal honesty. 

The men all duck their heads in sorrow, one of them slipping his hat off. "Please, ma'am. Save him, please," the man who took his hat off says with a soft southern accent. 

Mrs. Washington bobs her head in agreement before setting to work beside me. Fifteen minutes later, we're both staring down at a lifeless body. Mrs. Washington pats my arm comfortingly before she rises to her feet and says her regrets to the three silent soldiers. 

Two nurses come by and pick up the body of the injured soldier to open up the cot for another injured soldier. 

I drop my head into my hands, a feeling of hopelessness and despair rising in my throat. Why does it seem that every soldier I come across dies? 

"Eliza. You've been here all day since morning. Perhaps you should take a rest," Mrs. Washington tells me gently from beside me. 

I look up at her, already knowing that I must look hideous with my tear-streaked face and red-tinged eyes. "No, I can't do that. You've been here all day, too."

Mrs. Washington smiles comfortingly. "Eliza, I know you've been going through some rough times lately, and I think it's best for your health to rest."

I lift my chin higher and straighten my spine as I say crisply, "What rough times? I'm perfectly fine." I stare at her for a moment, waiting for her to reply, but when she doesn't, I march away to tend to another soldier. 

I go immediately to the worst injury I see and silently vow that I am going to save this man's life.

***

It's around nine o' clock at night that I allow myself to finally leave the makeshift hospital. I walk out into the frigid air, my breath fogging in front of me, and begin walking aimlessly through the camp, not particularly wanting to be by myself in my depressing cabin at the moment.