“But what does this mean, Alexander?”
He smiled slowly, confidently. “What it means is that the time for talking is done, Betsey. It means that Adams can no longer mince his words like an old woman, and must instead put some teeth into them. Because I’m willing to wager that before the summer’s over, America will be at war with France.”
CHAPTER 22
New York City, New York
May 1798
Alexander had predicted that America and France would be at war before the summer ended. Although usually astute in such political guessing games, this time my husband’s prediction proved far too generous.
Only weeks after Angelica and I had heard the French privateer’s cannon in the harbor, Congress authorized a new navy and commissioned a dozen frigates to be built, and further, had finally agreed to a provisional army of ten thousand men. Whilst all this building and recruiting and provisioning was taking place, American navy ships were encouraged to engage any French ships that dared threaten American merchantmen, and letters of marque were issued to enterprising American shipmasters who wished to try their hand at privateering against French ships. To be sure, no war had been officially declared, and so I suppose my husband’s prediction was still correct, but the effect was much the same.
Almost overnight, war fever became the order of the day in New York. The city and harbor had suffered many indignities and losses at the hands of the French, so I suppose it was to be expected, but I still was not prepared for the sudden rush of patriotism and military fervor. The black silk cockades of the Federalists (for this was New York) appeared on every hat and bosom, the only music played by bands and orchestras were brisk marches, and even farmers in the market house made sure to drape a length of patriotic bunting above their stands of turnips and carrots.
Alexander was beside himself with anticipation. Nearly twenty years of time had burnished a fine and golden glow upon his memories of the army during the Revolution, and he chose only to remember the camaraderie and the glory of those days, and conveniently forgot the tedium and depravations, the squabbling, frustrations, and suffering that had played a much larger part in the Revolution. He was once again as eager for war as he had been at twenty, and I could not fathom it.
“It’s not so much the possibility of war itself, Betsey, as the creation of a permanent military force,” he tried to explain to me once again. “This country will never be regarded as a serious power without a permanent army and navy, yet the Democratic-Republicans have foolishly balked at their creation since the end of the Revolution. It broke Washington’s heart to disband his army then, and if it now must take a pack of overreaching Frenchmen for Congress finally to restore it, then already this war has served its purpose.”
“Either way, Alexander, it should no longer be of any personal concern of yours,” I said firmly. “You served admirably enough in the Revolution, and there’s no need for you to involve yourself once again.”
“But that’s the very reason I should,” he argued earnestly, leaning forward in his chair. “Most of the generals from the Revolution are in their dotage by now.”
I paused, thinking of how this entire foolish discussion was likely moot. Any military appointment that would draw Alexander from retirement would have to come from President Adams, who so despised my husband that I believed I’d sooner be granted a commission than he would.
“You’re forty-three years old,” I said instead. “You complain that a long carriage ride rattles your kidneys to an unbearable degree. How could you tolerate life in a rough camp?”
He swept his hand expansively through the air. “Forty-three is young for a senior officer, and the bracing rigors of camp life would restore me completely. Besides, there are few men in the country with my experience and knowledge. It would be irresponsible of me not to serve if asked.”
I sighed, folding fresh shifts and dresses for me and for our daughter, Angelica, into neat stacks on the bed. I was packing my trunk for a short visit to my parents in Albany; my father had been unwell, with digestive difficulties as well as the old and ever-worsening malady of his legs, and he had reached the age when each time that I was summoned to his side, I was prepared for it to be the last. The trip would benefit Angelica, too. After nearly eleven years in our family, Fanny Antill had gone to live with an older, now-married sister, and Angelica missed her sorely in our house filled with boys.
I set the clothes into the trunk and turned back toward Alexander, my hands resting at my waist.
“You should also recall that you’re a private citizen,” I said, “with a profession that claims all your time, and six children to support.”
“And a wife,” he added. “You should not forget her, for I never will. I know it’s your duty to go to your father, Betsey, but I wish it weren’t necessary. You’ve no idea how much I miss you when you’re away.”
Despite my irritation over his foolish talk of the army, I smiled. I couldn’t help it. Since the awful business last summer with his confession of the long-ago infidelity, he’d been even more attentive to me, and slowly, day by day, our marriage had been restored. Because of his renewed devotion and his determination to make things right once again between us, I’d grown to love him all the more, if such a thing were possible.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I said fondly. “I always do. At least you’ll have the older boys here with you for company.”
“Bachelor Hall, that’s what this house becomes when you’re away,” he said dramatically. “Philip, Alexander, James, John, and me. Meals at all hours, and no order anywhere. You’d scarcely recognize the place when you return.”
“Excellent practice for when you all run off to join the army,” I said, closing the lid to the trunk. “It’s late, Alexander. Come to bed.”
“I’m not jesting, Betsey,” he said, his voice again turning serious. “Congress will ask Washington to lead the new army as commander-in-chief, and he’s already told me that he’ll only accept if I’m his second-in-command.”
“You would do that?” I asked, not wanting to believe him. “You’d give up everything again?”