He threw open the window of his office (which overlooked the shed), climbed onto the roof with the tub, and emptied it onto the flames. Nor did he pause, but returned to the yard to seize another tub of water and repeat the process. He did this three times in rapid succession, down and up the stairs to the roof, until the flames were doused and all that remained were the charred shingles, and the last wisps of smoke curling into the winter sky.
Now, I cannot venture the exact weight of an oaken washtub filled with water, except to say that it is a heavy burden, and an awkward one to carry as well. At least two women, and often two men, are required simply to tip such a tub sideways to spill and empty it onto the ground. Yet His Excellency, who at forty-nine years was not a young man, carried these tubs in his arms with ease. Both his strength and his presence of mind impressed me, and so I described the event to Alexander (who had been elsewhere in the encampment when it occurred) that night. We’d fallen into the agreeable habit of retiring to bed as soon as we’d finished supper, lying cozily together in the warmth and dark to discuss the day.
Alexander, however, had a very different reaction to my description of His Excellency’s heroics.
“There’s no doubt that the general is strong as the proverbial ox,” he admitted. “But you must believe that his temper is every bit as strong, perhaps more so.”
“Truly?” I asked, more from curiosity than disbelief. Papa had never mentioned this side of the general, and in the few times when I had seen him in company with Lady Washington, he had shown only a gentle devotion reflective of the regard he held for his wife. “I have found him daunting, but more on account of who he is, rather than for his temper.”
Alexander sighed, rolling over on his back. “All of us who have been employed closely with him have received his wrath at one time or another,” he said. “It’s all the more fearsome because it’s so unexpected.”
“He’s never been angry with you, has he?”
“You cannot be serious, Betsey,” he said. “I’ve borne the brunt of his anger more times than I can count, and his abuse has only grown worse over the years.”
“I’d no notion,” I marveled, propping myself on my elbow. “None at all.”
“That’s how it should be,” he said, and sighed again. “The war itself provides conflict enough without admitting to the world that the general has his flaws and weaknesses. He needs to be perceived as invincible, above the pettiness of ordinary men. Everyone who has ever been part of his Family understands, and agrees. But trust me, dearest: to be the target of his harsh, intemperate anger is not pleasant.”
I remembered this conversation several days later, when again I sat in the company of Lady Washington and several French officers. As I’ve noted, the house being used as headquarters was small and the staircase open, with voices from the office upstairs audible to us below in the parlor.
As we sat together, our polite discussion of the last snowstorm was suddenly interrupted by the sound of His Excellency’s furious voice. His exact words were not discernable, but the harsh severity of his anger was, and the three French officers stared down at their tea with obvious embarrassment.
Swiftly Lady Washington rose, and without a break in her smiling conversation, she closed the door against the hall and her husband’s temper. It was neatly done, and from her ease, was clearly something she’d done many times before. Her brisk efficiency also proved what Alexander had said, for no mention was made of the general’s outburst, not then or at any other time. It was as if it never happened.
Yet the general was not alone in his growing frustrations. As the winter weeks stretched on, Alexander spoke more and more vehemently of his discontent, and what he felt was the disrespect being shown him. He had always considered himself a soldier who had been forced to become a clerk for the good of the service; at the time he’d first become an aide-de-camp, he’d believed the position would be temporary, and assist his rise through the ranks.
Instead he’d watched other officers receive the promotions and appointments that should have been his. Even worse, nearly three years had now passed since he’d seen any real action on a battlefield, save for the skirmishes last summer in New Jersey.
As much as I preferred he’d never again see battle or risk a violent death again, I knew how much these slights rankled at his pride and ambition, and fanned the misguided belief that he was somehow failing me. The longer the drought without a field command continued, the more I feared the consequences.
In February, I learned exactly what those could be.
I was alone at home in our little house in the middle of the day, sitting at the small table beside the fire and writing a letter to Papa. I heard the door behind me unlatch and swing open, and I turned with a start.
“Alexander!” I exclaimed with surprise, at once rising from my chair to greet him. It was the sixteenth, only two days after we’d warmly celebrated Valentine’s Day, and I thought at first that he’d come home now at this unusual hour for the rare pleasure of seeing me. But as soon as he took off his hat and I saw his stony expression, I realized there was a more serious reason than Cupid.
“Something is amiss, isn’t it?” I asked anxiously. “You’re home so early. What has happened?”
Without removing his coat, he dropped heavily into the armchair across from mine, his legs sprawled before me and his hat still in his hand.
“The thing is done, Eliza,” he said. “He provoked me, and left me no choice.”
“Who provoked you, my love?” I asked, though I’d already a notion of who it might be. “What did you do?”
“The general,” he said wearily. “I was going down the stairs in that infernal farmhouse as he was coming up. He said he wished to speak with me and I agreed, and continued on the errand I’d begun, delivering a letter below to Tilghman, and then paused to converse briefly with Lafayette on a matter of business.”
He paused now, too, taking time to recall exactly what had transpired. “This took two minutes, perhaps five at most, yet when I climbed the stairs to join the general, I found him waiting for me on the landing. His face was livid, and he accused me of keeping him waiting a full ten minutes, and therefore offering him blatant disrespect.”
“Oh, Alexander,” I said, placing my hand over his. “What did you say in return?”
“I told him that I wasn’t conscious of it,” he said, “but that if he found it so necessary to tell me so, then we must part. He nodded as curtly as a man can, accepting my decision. He returned to the office, and I came . . . here.”
I nodded, though I still wasn’t entirely certain what had occurred.
“Do you mean that you parted, and went about your separate business,” I said, “or that you parted from his employ?”
He looked down into his hat, as if the answer lay there. “It’s my intention to leave the Family, yes. You know I’ve considered this for some time, and now that the general has made my position untenable, my decision is firm.”
I’d known he was unhappy, but these events still came as a shock. “Does His Excellency accept your decision?”