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The Conqueror by Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn - XVIII

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The Conqueror

XVIII

He rose at dawn the next morn­ing, and rous­ing his men, set them at work throw­ing up re­doubts. He was stand­ing some dis­tance from them, watch­ing the sun rise over the great val­ley they had been forced to aban­don, with its woods and beau­ti­ful homes, now the quar­ters of British of­fi­cers, when ev­ery nerve in his body be­came in­tense­ly aware that some one was stand­ing be­hind him. He knew that it was a man of pow­er be­fore he whirled round and saw Wash­ing­ton.

“This is Cap­tain Hamil­ton?” said the Chief, hold­ing out his hand. “Gen­er­al Greene spoke to me, weeks ago, about you, but I have been in no mood un­til to-​day for ameni­ties. I know of your part in the re­treat from Long Is­land, and I no­ticed you as you passed me on the fer­ry stairs. What a lad you are! I am very proud of you.”

“I had asked for no re­ward, sir,” cried Hamil­ton, with a smile so ra­di­ant that Wash­ing­ton's set face caught a mo­men­tary re­flec­tion from it, and he moved a step near­er, “but I feel as if you had pinned an or­der on my coat.”

“I have heard a great deal more about you,” said Wash­ing­ton, “and I want to know you. Will you come up and have break­fast with me?”

“_Oh, yes, I will_,” said Hamil­ton, with such se­ri­ous­ness that they both laughed. Hamil­ton's per­son­al pride was too great to per­mit him to feel deeply flat­tered by the at­ten­tions of any one, but the ha­lo about Wash­ing­ton's head was al­ready in pro­cess of for­ma­tion; he stood aloft, whether suc­cess­ful or de­feat­ed, a strong, lone­ly, splen­did fig­ure, and he had fired Hamil­ton's imag­ina­tion long since. At that time he was ready to wor­ship the great Chief with all a boy's high en­thu­si­asm, and al­though he came to know him too well to wor­ship, he loved him, save at in­ter­vals, al­ways. As for Wash­ing­ton, he loved Hamil­ton then and there, and it is doubt­ful if he ev­er loved any one else so well. When they were alone he called him “my boy,” an en­dear­ment he nev­er gave an­oth­er.

On that Septem­ber morn­ing they break­fast­ed to­geth­er, and talked for hours, be­gin­ning a friend­ship which was to be of the deep­est con­se­quences to the coun­try they both were striv­ing to de­liv­er.

Dur­ing the fol­low­ing month Hamil­ton had much leisure, and he spent it in the li­brary of the Mor­ris house, which its own­er, a roy­al­ist, had aban­doned on the ap­proach of the Amer­ican troops, flee­ing too hur­ried­ly to take his books. The house was now Gen­er­al Wash­ing­ton's head­quar­ters, and he in­vit­ed Hamil­ton to make what use of the li­brary he pleased. It was a cool room, and he found there many of the books he had not­ed down for fu­ture study. He al­so wrote out a syn­op­sis of a po­lit­ical and com­mer­cial his­to­ry of Great Britain. As the pro­cliv­ities and fur­nish­ing of a mind like Hamil­ton's can­not fail to in­ter­est the stu­dents of mankind, a di­gres­sion may be par­doned in favour of this list of books he made for fu­ture study, and of the notes scat­tered through­out his pay book:--

Smith's His­to­ry of New York; Leonidas; View of the Uni­verse; Mil­lot's His­to­ry of France; Mem­oirs of the House of Bran­den­burgh; Re­view of the Char­ac­ters of the Prin­ci­pal Na­tions of Eu­rope; Re­view of Eu­rope; His­to­ry of Prus­sia; His­to­ry of France; Las­sel's Voy­age through Italy; Robert­son's Charles V; Present State of Eu­rope; Gre­cian His­to­ry; Baret­ti's Trav­els; Ba­con's Es­says; Philo­soph­ical Trans­ac­tions; Entick's His­to­ry of the Late War; Eu­ro­pean Set­tle­ments in Amer­ica; Winn's His­to­ry of Amer­ica.

The Dutch in Green­land have from 150 to 200 sail and ten thou­sand sea­men.... It is or­dered that in their pub­lic prayers they pray that it should please God to bless the Gov­ern­ment, the Lords, the States, and their great and small fish­eries.

Ham­burg and Ger­many have a bal­ance against Eng­land--they fur­nish her with large quan­ti­ties of linen.

Trade with France great­ly against Eng­land.... The trade with Flan­ders in favour of Eng­land.... A large bal­ance in favour of Nor­way and Den­mark.

Rates of Ex­change with the sev­er­al Na­tions in 52, viz.: To Venice, Genoa, Leghorn, Am­ster­dam, Ham­burgh. To Paris--Loss, Gain.

Postleth­waite sup­pos­es the quan­ti­ty of cash nec­es­sary to car­ry on the cir­cu­la­tion in a state one third of the rents to the land pro­pri­etors, or one ninth of the whole prod­uct of the lands. See the ar­ti­cles, Cash and Cir­cu­la­tion.

The par be­tween land and labour is twice the quan­ti­ty of land whose prod­uct will main­tain the labour­er. In France one acre and a half will main­tain one. In Eng­land three, ow­ing to the dif­fer­ence in the man­ner of liv­ing.

Aris­to­tle's Pol­itics, chap. 6, def­ini­tion of mon­ey, &c.

The pro­por­tion of gold and sil­ver, as set­tled by Sir Isaac New­ton's propo­si­tion, was 1 to 14. It was gen­er­al­ly through Eu­rope 1 to 15. In Chi­na I be­lieve it is 1 to 10.

It is es­ti­mat­ed that the labour of twen­ty-​five per­sons, on an av­er­age, will main­tain a hun­dred in all the nec­es­saries of life.

Postleth­waite, in his time, sup­pos­es six mil­lions of peo­ple in Eng­land. The ra­tio of in­crease has been found by a va­ri­ety of ob­ser­va­tions to be, that 100,000 peo­ple aug­ment an­nu­al­ly, one year with an­oth­er to--. Mr. Kerse­boom, agree­ing with Dr. Hal­ley, makes the num­ber of peo­ple thir­ty-​five times the num­ber of births in a year.

Ex­tracts from De­mos­thenes' Ora­tions.

Philip­pic. “As a gen­er­al march­es at the head of his troops, so ought wise politi­cians, if I dare use the ex­pres­sion, to march at the head of af­fairs; in­so­much that they ought not to wait _the event_, to know what mea­sures to take; but the mea­sures which they have tak­en ought to pro­duce the _event_.”

“Where at­tack him? it will be said. Ah, Athe­ni­ans--war, war, it­self will dis­cov­er to you his weak sides, if you will seek them.”

Sub­lime­ly sim­ple. Vide Long. C. 16.

Are the lim­its of the sev­er­al states and the acts on which they are found­ed as­cer­tained, and are our min­is­ters pro­vid­ed with them? What in­tel­li­gence has been giv­en to Congress by our min­is­ters of the de­signs, strength by sea and land, ac­tu­al in­ter­ests and views of the dif­fer­ent pow­ers in Eu­rope?

The gov­ern­ment es­tab­lished (by Ly­cur­gus) re­mained in vigour about five hun­dred years, till a thirst of em­pire tempt­ed the Spar­tans to en­ter­tain for­eign troops, and in­tro­duce Per­sian gold to main­tain them; then the in­sti­tu­tions of Ly­cur­gus fell at once, and avarice and lux­ury suc­ceed­ed.

He (Nu­ma) was a wise prince, and went a great way in civ­iliz­ing the Ro­mans. The chief en­gine he em­ployed for this pur­pose was re­li­gion, which could alone have suf­fi­cient em­pire over the minds of a bar­barous and war­like peo­ple to en­gage them to cul­ti­vate the arts of peace.

Dr. Hal­ley's Ta­ble of Ob­ser­va­tions ex­hibit­ing the prob­abil­ities of life; con­tain­ing an ac­count of the whole num­ber of peo­ple of Bres­lau, cap­ital of Sile­sia, and the num­ber of those of ev­ery age, from one to a hun­dred. (Here fol­lows the ta­ble with com­ments by A.H.)

When the na­tive mon­ey is worth more than the par in for­eign, ex­change is high; when worth less, it is low.

Por­tu­gal trade--Span­ish trade--Ar­ti­fi­cers--Mon­ey--Ex­change--Par of ex­change--Bal­ance of trade--Man­ufac­tures--Foundry--Coin--Gold--Sil­ver--Naval Pow­er--Coun­cil of trade--Fish­ery.

Mon­ey coined in Eng­land from the reign of Queen Eliz­abeth.

Quere. Would it not be ad­vis­able to let all tax­es, even those im­posed by the States, be col­lect­ed by per­sons of Con­gres­sion­al ap­point­ment; and would it not be ad­vis­able to pay the col­lec­tors so much per cent. on the sums col­lect­ed?

Hamil­ton was nine­teen at this time, and while there are many in­stances of men­tal pre­coc­ity in the his­to­ry of mankind, it is doubt­ful if there is a par­al­lel case of so great a _range_ of in­tel­lec­tu­al cu­rios­ity, or such ver­sa­til­ity com­bined with pur­suit of knowl­edge as dis­tinct from in­for­ma­tion. But the above notes are chiefly sig­nif­icant as show­ing that long be­fore he could have dreamed of di­rect­ing the fi­nances of the Unit­ed States, while he was wild with de­light at the prospect of mil­itary ex­cite­ment and glo­ry, a part of his mind was im­pe­ri­ous­ly at­tract­ed to the ques­tions which were to be­come iden­ti­fied in Amer­ican his­to­ry with his name.

Wash­ing­ton of­ten came in and sat for an hour with him; and al­though they talked mil­itary sci­ence and fu­ture cam­paigns in­vari­ably,--for Wash­ing­ton was a man of lit­tle read­ing and his thoughts moved in a con­stant pro­ces­sion to one tune,--this was per­haps the hap­pi­est pe­ri­od of their in­ter­course. The Chief de­mand­ed noth­ing, and his young friend was free to give or not, as he chose. In that in­ter­val noth­ing gave Hamil­ton such plea­sure as to see Wash­ing­ton come in­to the cool li­brary, his face soft­en­ing.

“You have a streak of light in you that nev­er goes out,” said the man of many bur­dens once. “When I catch a spark of it, I am cheered for the rest of the day. When I am close to it for a time, I can feel the iron lid on my spir­its lift­ing as if it were on a bub­bling pot. I be­lieve you are some­thing more than hu­man.”

Dur­ing the first of these con­ver­sa­tions Hamil­ton sug­gest­ed the ad­vis­abil­ity of keep­ing up the spir­its of the raw troops by draw­ing the en­emy in sep­arate de­tach­ments in­to con­stant skir­mish­es, a plan in which the Amer­icans were sure to have ev­ery ad­van­tage; and this pol­icy was pur­sued un­til Wash­ing­ton fell back in­to Westch­ester Coun­ty.

The Amer­ican troops un­der Wash­ing­ton num­bered about nine­teen thou­sand men, in one-​third of whom the Chief felt some­thing like con­fi­dence. Many were grum­bling at the prospect of a win­ter in the dis­com­forts of camp life; oth­ers were re­joic­ing that their time of ser­vice drew to a close; all were raw. Nev­er­the­less, he de­ter­mined to give the British bat­tle on the shore of the Bronx Riv­er, where they were camped with the in­ten­tion of cut­ting him off from the rest of the coun­try.

Both armies were near White Plains on the morn­ing of the 28th of Oc­to­ber. Most of the Amer­icans were be­hind the breast­works they had thrown up, and the British were up­on the hills be­low, on the op­po­site side of the Bronx. On the Amer­ican side of the stream was an em­inence called Chat­ter­ton's Hill, and on the evening of the 27th Colonel Haslet was sta­tioned on this height, with six­teen hun­dred men, in or­der to pre­vent the en­fi­lad­ing of the right wing of the army. Ear­ly the next morn­ing Mc­Dougall was or­dered to re­in­force Haslet with a small corps and two pieces of ar­tillery un­der Hamil­ton, and to as­sume gen­er­al com­mand.

At ten o'clock the British army be­gan its march to­ward the vil­lage, but be­fore they reached it, Howe de­ter­mined that Chat­ter­ton's Hill should be the first point of at­tack, and four thou­sand troops un­der Leslie moved off to dis­lodge the formidable look­ing force on the height.

Hamil­ton placed his two guns in bat­tery on a rocky ledge about halfway down the hill, and bear­ing di­rect­ly up­on that part of the Bronx which the British were ap­proach­ing. He was screened from the en­emy by a small grove of trees. The Hes­sians, who were in the lead, re­fused to wade the swollen stream, and the on­slaught was checked that a bridge might hasti­ly be thrown to­geth­er for their ac­com­mo­da­tion. Hamil­ton wait­ed a half-​hour, then poured out his fire. The bridge was struck, the work­men killed, the Hes­sians fell back in a pan­ic. Leslie ap­pealed to the loy­al­ty of the British, ford­ed the riv­er at an­oth­er point, and rushed up the hill with bay­onets fixed, re­solved to cap­ture the guns. But the guns flashed with ex­traor­di­nary ra­pid­ity. Both the British and the watch­ing Amer­icans were amazed. There were no tin can­is­ters and grape-​shot in the Amer­ican army, even the round shot were ex­haust­ed. Load­ing can­non with mus­ket balls was a slow pro­cess; but Hamil­ton was nev­er with­out re­source. He stood the can­non on end, filled his three-​cor­nered hat with the balls, and load­ed as rapid­ly as had he leaped a cen­tu­ry. His guns mowed down the British in such num­bers that Leslie fell back, and join­ing the Hes­sian grenadiers and in­fantry, who had now crossed the stream, charged up the south­west­ern de­cliv­ity of the hill and en­deav­oured to turn Mc­Dougall's right flank. Mc­Dougall's ad­vance op­posed them hot­ly, while slow­ly re­treat­ing to­ward the crown of the em­inence. The British cav­al­ry at­tacked the Amer­ican mili­tia on the ex­treme right, and the raw troops fled ig­no­min­ious­ly. Mc­Dougall, with on­ly six hun­dred men and Hamil­ton's two guns, sus­tained an un­equal con­flict for an hour, twice re­puls­ing the British light in­fantry and cav­al­ry. But the at­tack on his flank com­pelled him to give way and re­treat to­ward the in­trench­ments. Un­der cov­er of a heavy rain­storm and of troops despatched in haste, he re­treat­ed in good or­der with his wound­ed and ar­tillery, leav­ing the vic­tors in pos­ses­sion of a few in­con­sid­er­able breast­works.

Fort Wash­ing­ton was be­trayed, and fell on the 16th of Novem­ber. Then be­gan that mis­er­able re­treat of the Amer­ican army through the Jer­seys, with the British some­times in full pur­suit, some­times mere­ly camp­ing on the trail of the hap­less rev­olu­tion­ists. For Wash­ing­ton's force was now re­duced to thir­ty-​five hun­dred, and they were ragged, half fed, and wretched in mind and body. Many had no shoes, and in one reg­iment there was not a pair of trousers. They left the mo­ment their leave ex­pired, and re­cruits were drummed up with great dif­fi­cul­ty. Wash­ing­ton was obliged to write eight times to Gen­er­al Lee, who was at North Cas­tle with a con­sid­er­able force, be­fore he was able to hope for re­lief in that quar­ter.

Hamil­ton had a horse at times, at oth­ers not. But his vi­tal­ity was proof against even those end­less days and nights of march­ing and coun­ter­march­ing, through forests and swamps, in the worst of late au­tumn and win­ter weath­er; and he kept up the spir­its of his lit­tle reg­iment, now re­duced from bul­lets, ex­po­sure, and the ex­pi­ra­tion of ser­vice to thir­ty men. Nev­er­the­less, he held the British in check at the Rar­itan Riv­er while the Amer­icans de­stroyed the bridge, and when Wash­ing­ton, af­ter hav­ing crossed the Delaware, de­ter­mined to re­cross it on Christ­mas night and storm Tren­ton, he was one of the first to be cho­sen, with what re­mained of his men and guns.

As they crossed the Delaware that bit­ter night, the snow sting­ing and blind­ing, the riv­er choked with blocks of ice, Hamil­ton for the first time thought on St. Croix with a pang of en­vy. But it was the night for their pur­pose, and all the world knows the re­sult. The vic­to­ry was fol­lowed on the 3d of Jan­uary by the cap­ture of Prince­ton; and here Hamil­ton's ac­tive mil­itary ca­reer came to an end for the present.

Well do I rec­ol­lect the day [wrote a con­tem­po­rary] when Hamil­ton's com­pa­ny marched in­to Prince­ton. It was a mod­el of dis­ci­pline. At their head was a boy, and I won­dered at his youth; but what was my sur­prise, when, struck with his slight fig­ure, he was point­ed out to me as that Hamil­ton of whom we had heard so much.

I no­ticed [a vet­er­an of­fi­cer said many years af­ter] a youth, a mere stripling, small, slen­der, al­most del­icate in frame, march­ing be­side a piece of ar­tillery, with a cocked hat pulled down over his eyes, ap­par­ent­ly lost in thought; with his hand rest­ing on a can­non, and ev­ery now and again pat­ting it as if it were a favourite horse or a pet play­thing.