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“Is that more damn rain?” Captain Lee groused beside Hamilton, adjusting his hat to more fully cover his head after wiping a hand over his nose.
“I don’t think so. Just drops from the trees,” Hamilton answered in a whisper. His horse pawed at the damp earth restlessly beneath him, sensing the anxiety of her rider. He struggled to relax his shoulders as he soothed a hand over her neck, muttering, “Easy there, old girl.”
“If you say so,” Lee said. “We’ll have a hell of a time getting the mill to burn if you’re wrong.”
Dusk was fast stealing the light of the already overcast day, leaving long shadows and an eerie quiet over the wooded area. The crack of a stick caught Hamilton’s attention, and his head wiped around as he squinted towards the source of the noise. An animal, perhaps, or one of the two sentries that Lee posted at the top of the hill before he, Hamilton, and their four men descended towards the banks of the Schuylkill, where the flour mill stood.
“Sir?”
With a last lingering look, Hamilton turned back in the saddle to see one of the men approaching.
“All clear,” the sergeant reported.
“Torch it, Higgins,” Lee ordered. “And let’s be gone before the devils realize we’re about.”
Higgins saluted and hurried back towards the mill. Lieutenant Rice on Hamilton’s other side leaned forward in his saddle eagerly as they lit their torches. Despite Lee’s concern, the flame caught easily, and the mill went up with a roar of flame. Rice let out a whoop of victory.
“Hush,” Hamilton commanded in a harsh whisper.
He could feel the heat from the burning building behind him as he tugged on the reigns, straining to hear. More sounds were coming from the top of the hill, scuffling, then voices. A shout quickly followed by a round of gunfire confirmed that they weren’t alone any longer.
“Get to the boat!” he commanded, swinging his horse around and galloping towards the ferry. He could feel Rice close on his heels, and a glance back confirmed the three other men were following rapidly by foot. Lee had started for the mill-bridge instead, though, beckoning the two sentries to follow.
“Lee!” Hamilton called.
“Go!” Lee urged, hardly giving him half a glance as he fired at the enemy with his saddle pistol.
Enemy cavalry poured over the hill towards them. Most still seemed intent on capturing the two sentries, but some had taken notice of their small party and broke off to pursue them towards the ferry. Bullets whistled by his ears, and he closed his eyes instinctively when one hit the tree beside him, causing wood to splinter out towards his face. He ducked low and dug his heels into his horse’s sides, spurring her onward.
The river was swollen with the recent rain, the current bubbling and rushing. The flat bottom boat he’d secured to the ferry dock for just this purpose yanked at its moorings. Higgins was already working on the knot as Hamilton gestured for the two other men on foot to board.
“Lieutenant—” He stopped when he saw the horse beside him no longer had a rider. Rice lay a few yards back, sprawled upon the ground, a red strain blossoming over his waistcoat and his eyes open and fixed upon the sky, unblinking.
Hamilton closed his eyes, exhaled, then clicked his tongue to urge the horse to jump the small distance into the waiting boat. She shied back for a moment, dancing in place, then did as he urged. He dismounted and went straight for an oar as the sergeant jumped in behind him.
The unrelenting enemy fire continued as they fought the rushing current. He squinted as he fought with all his might to keep them moving away from the bank. No sign of Lee or the two sentries. Another bullet whizzed by his ear.
“Don’t let the current pull us back,” Higgins urged.
Another volley of bullets rushed towards them, and his horse let out an awful scream as she fell to the side and caused a wave of water to swamp the boat. The corporal who’d fled with them fell next to him, dead before he’d hit the water. Higgins had dropped his oar to grip at his shoulder, blood oozing through the cracks in his fingers.
Fear gripped at him.
The young private with them, still uninjured, looked to Hamilton with wide eyes. “What do we do, sir?”
His heart was beating fast in his ears, the scent of gunpowder and blood overwhelming his nostrils as he hunted for a solution. They would die if they stayed on the boat, that much was certain. Much as he didn’t want to hand the boat to the enemy by abandoning it, their dead bodies wouldn’t keep it from floating back towards the bank any better.
“Into the river,” he said, taking care not to let his voice quaver.
“Sir?” Higgins asked askance.
“It’s our only chance. Swim for the opposite bank.”
The private jumped into the rushing current immediately. His head dipped below the water and didn’t resurface. Hamilton let out another controlled breath as he looked at Higgins.
“Can you swim with your arm hurt?”
“We’ll soon find out, sir,” Higgins replied with a queasy smile. Another round of bullets robbed them of any choice. Hamilton jumped into the water half a second after Higgins.
The cold stabbed at him like needle-pricks all over his body, stealing his breath.
The current was wickedly fast, dragging him downstream. Water muted the sounds of the gunfire above, but he could hear it still as the British fired into the river indiscriminately. He kicked in the direction he thought was the opposite bank, trying to keep his head under the water in hopes of convincing the enemy he’d drowned. A few more bullets spit overhead, then finally stopped. He had to fight to breach the surface, sucking air in desperately when he did.
No signs of Higgins or the private, he noted with dismay as he struggled towards the distant shoreline. The river had dragged him far enough downstream that the British were no longer in sight either. He swam hard, pushing towards the trees of the opposite bank.
When he finally climbed out of the water, he collapsed onto his side, panting hard. His muscles burned from the effort, and the skin around his right eye stung where some of the wood from the exploding tree had evidently scratched him. The eerie quiet surrounded him again.
**
“The wounded will need to be evacuated,” Washington told Doctor Cochran in a soft voice, his eyes settling on Lafayette. The hospital was teeming with men wounded at Brandywine, making such an undertaking all the more complicated. There was no avoiding it now, though. “I cannot say how much more time we’ll hold the city.”
Doctor Cochran didn’t look surprised by the news. “I found a suitable place in Bethlehem, a little north from here. We’ll start preparing the move immediately.”
“Where is Hammy?” Washington heard Lafayette asking Laurens as he approached the bed.
“Torching the flour mill near Daviser’s Ferry,” Laurens answered. “It’s right in the path of the enemy advance now.”
“You didn’t go with him?” Lafayette asked, concern and surprise in his voice.
Laurens grunted and bumped a fist against the leg that had taken a musket-ball to the ankle during the battle.
“I can fight, mon Général,” Lafayette said when he saw Washington standing by his bed. “My leg, it is not so bad.”
Given that a bullet had sliced through the boy’s calf a mere seven days earlier, Washington had a hard time believing him. “You’ll be evacuated with the other wounded, my boy. There’s no room for arguing.”
“Laurens is up and about,” Lafayette charged, pointing towards the crutches leaning against the wall beside the aide.
“Don’t drag me into this,” Laurens said, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.
Washington shook his head at the two. “Laurens’ wound was not so bad as yours.”
“Not for his lack of trying,” Lafayette grumbled.
Laurens pulled a face at Lafayette in answer.
Washington couldn’t help but silently agree with Lafayette’s assessment, though it did nothing to bolster his case for being freed from his hospital bed. Laurens’ conduct at Brandywine had been brave to the point of reckless, and that a ricocheting musket-ball to the ankle was his worst injury was nothing short of miraculous. Much as Washington would have liked to order Laurens to rest as well, he was worryingly short-staffed in the wake of battle. And as it was, Laurens was now hobbling around headquarters on crutches, grumbling about being held back from reconnaissance missions all the while.
A breathless private came rushing through the door of the hospital, skidding to halt under Doctor Cochran’s hard stare. Moving at a more appropriate speed, the private handed over a letter, his eyes averted as he muttered, “General. From Captain Lee.”
“Thank you,” Washington said, quickly unfolding the message.
All the blood drained from his face as his eyes ran over the account from Lee.
“Did they get to the mill?” Laurens asked.
“They did,” he answered distantly.
Laurens let out a satisfied sound as he grabbed Lafayette’s shoulder. “That’s our boy.”
“They were attacked,” Washington continued, and the smiles bled away from Lafayette and Laurens’s faces. “Lee took to the bridge with the two sentries, and Hamilton retreated towards a boat with the rest of the men. They took fire as they set out on the water, and Hamilton went overboard with the others. Lee doesn’t expect he survived.”
“Non,” Lafayette whispered.
A wave of grief threatened Washington as he watched the two young men before him absorb the news. The mill had been a middling target, but Hamilton had been one of his only officers hale and healthy enough to oversee the task. His loss was a dear price indeed for such a small victory. He squeezed his eyes closed as the boy’s sunny smile appeared in his memory.
Laurens stood abruptly, his crutches clattering to the ground as he fumbled for them. He swore, stooped over, and shoved them under his arms before hobbling around the bed.
“Son,” Washington said, reaching out to catch him by the arm. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to find him,” Laurens said, trying to wriggle free of his grip.
“You can’t,” Washington said.
“You’re wounded, and that is enemy territory,” Lafayette added.
“I don’t care. I’m going to find him. I can’t just…he could be hurt. He could be… He’s not….” Laurens swallowed hard, jaw tight. “He can’t be….”
Washington took a deep breath to bury the emotion stirred by the note. Mourning was a luxury none of them had time to indulge. “We’ll send a reconnaissance team to that area in the morning. They’ll find him, if he’s there to be found. There’s nothing more we can do.”
“I can’t just leave him there,” Laurens argued. “I can’t.”
“Where’s the General?” Washington heard a voice demanding just beyond the doors to the hospital. “It’s urgent.”
He bit down a swear at the interruption and turned to demand whoever it was wait another moment. The form that appeared in the doorway stole his thought, however, making him blink heavily with shock.
Hamilton.
Waterlogged, muddy, and breathless, but undeniably Hamilton.
“Sir, we were attacked at the mill. I’m not sure Lee made it out, and two more of our men were killed. I found two of the others on my way back to camp, and I was able to dispatch word to Congress through one of them. I advised Congress to leave the city immediately without fail. The British now have the means to launch an attack party into the city this very night. We should make haste in evacuating our supplies and the wounded.”
“Hamilton?” Washington asked, still not quite sure the figure was even real.
“Is it really you, mon ami?” Lafayette’s voice was choked with tears.
“Yes,” Hamilton replied slowly, brow furrowing. “Why are you all just staring at me?”
Laurens pulled out of Washington’s grip and surged forward, his crutches falling to the side as he reached out to pull Hamilton into an embrace. Hamilton let out a surprised huff but returned the affectionate embrace easily. When Laurens pulled back, he held Hamilton by the shoulders and shook him lightly. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“Do what?”
Washington stepped closer and clapped Hamilton on the back, relishing in the feel of his form under his palm, solid and uninjured.
“Sir, what is going on?”
“Lee is uninjured. He sent word not five minutes ago that you’d been drowned in the Schuylkill trying to escape from enemy fire.”
Understanding washed over Hamilton’s pale, muddy face. “Well, I didn’t die.”
“Yes, thank you for clarifying,” Washington said, a smile twitching at his lips.
Hamilton laughed as Laurens attacked him with another embrace.