As I sat waiting with Philip on my lap, I thought of how fortunate Alexander and I had been. To be sure, we hadn’t had a fortune to lose, nor would Alexander ever have been tempted to betray his beliefs and country, but I never forgot how he himself had survived battles that had claimed far too many other sweethearts, husbands, and fathers. I thought of it each night when I lay curled beside him, and I thanked God every day for his deliverance.
But that afternoon in her parlor Mrs. Morris and I spoke only of cheerful matters, of embroidery patterns and recipes and how fast our children were growing. By unspoken agreement we said nothing of the difficulties facing our husbands in Congress—difficulties that, alas, soon proved impossible to ignore.
She had just led me into her garden to show me the buds on her roses when we both paused at once, struck silent by the same unfamiliar sound in the distance.
“Whatever could that be?” she murmured, but we both knew what it was: a crowd of angry men, voices raised, the soldiers from Lancaster.
“I should take my leave,” I said, thinking only of Alexander.
“Stay here until we learn more,” she urged. “I’ll send a servant to discover what is happening.”
The news the servant brought back was not auspicious. Scores of soldiers and other men were gathered before the statehouse with Congress trapped inside. The malcontents did not appear to be threatening either the property or the delegates within, but taverns and tippling houses in the area were doing a brisk business, and the situation would likely worsen.
“You may remain with me as long as you please, Mrs. Hamilton,” Mrs. Morris said. Her own anxiety underscored the generous invitation, making her voice taut. As the Superintendent of Finance, her husband was most likely inside the State House, too. “You’ll be safe here.”
“Thank you, but I must return to our lodgings,” I said, thinking that there likely wasn’t any place in Philadelphia that could be considered safe. “I wish to be where my husband expects me to be.”
Mrs. Morris shook her head, her brows drawn tightly together and her hands tightly clasped with anxiety. “Then at least let me send you and your son in our chaise.”
I thought of the Morrises’ chaise, with the elegant Morris arms painted on the door in gold, and what a pretty target that might make to the mob of men who believed themselves to have been cheated by the government.
“Thank you, Mrs. Morris, but no,” I said. “I’ll leave as I came, by walking.”
“Then at least permit me to send two of my servants to accompany you,” urged Mrs. Morris. “I can’t let you go otherwise, not in good conscience.”
I agreed to that, and soon I was walking swiftly with Rose and Philip between two of the larger Morris servants. No one paid us any attention. The few people on the street were instead concentrating on the crowd gathered along Chestnut Street. While I knew my little party should have taken advantage of this and proceed directly to our lodging house, from concern for my husband’s welfare I insisted we walk one street out of our way so that I, too, could have a glimpse of the disturbance.
I wished I hadn’t.
I could see the tall brick tower of the statehouse framed between the buildings on the corners at the end of the street. Soldiers filled the front yard and spilled into the street, blocking any traffic that wished to pass, and more soldiers had surrounded the sides of the statehouse as well. Though I cannot say for certain, I would guess there were at least four hundred gathered there, a sea of churning anger and resentment. Many were still in uniform, their coats faded and their breeches patched, which was the condition of most of the Continental troops after so many years. All carried their muskets, too, the long bayonets shining like a field of dangerous silver blades. I didn’t doubt that those muskets were loaded.
Soldiers in themselves did not frighten me. Because of my father, they’d always been part of my life. But soldiers who were angry, half drunk, armed, and without officers in control terrified me. The delegates inside had closed most of the windows against the crowd, and I was surprised the soldiers hadn’t broken the panes. Perhaps they didn’t feel the need to: the delegates were trapped inside with no means of escape, and I could not imagine how this could be resolved peaceably.
And somewhere in the middle was my husband, unarmed and without resources, yet both blessed and cursed with the constant, reckless desire to act the hero.
I stood and watched, my heart pounding with dread for Alexander’s sake. I’d never felt so helpless. There truly was nothing I could do, yet still I stood rooted to the paving stones, unable to look away.
Behind me Philip whimpered and said my name. Automatically I turned to take him from Rose. Not only was Philip fretful, but fear radiated from the three servants, too. They hadn’t the right to tell me that we should leave, and that we didn’t belong here. That was my responsibility, as were they. All I could do now for Alexander was pray that he’d find the wisdom he’d need. Without a word, I turned, and led the way back to our lodgings.
I sat by the window, waiting for Alexander, and I waited long after the sun had set and the moon had risen, and both Philip and Rose had gone to sleep. Though I didn’t wish to admit it to myself, I was listening as much as waiting. We were only a short distance from the statehouse, and if any real violence had been done, I would have been able to hear the gunshots.
At last I saw the shadow of Alexander’s slight figure in the street, and heard his footsteps come wearily up the stairs. I embraced him at once and held him close, grateful beyond words that he’d safely returned.
“You’re leaving tomorrow morning, as soon as the sun rises,” he said. His shoulders sagged with fatigue and his clothes were rumpled, but he was otherwise unharmed. “I had to pay the rogue at the stable double to drive on Sunday, but I don’t want you here another day.”
“But what of you, my love?” I asked, helping him shrug free of his coat. “You can’t tell me you’re safe, because I know you weren’t today. I passed the statehouse this afternoon after I’d called upon Mrs. Morris. I saw the soldiers gathered there, and—”
“They’re mutineers,” he said grimly. “Call them what they are. They’ve turned their back on their duty and their officers. They have reason, yes, but not this way.”
“I don’t care what they’re called,” I said. “You could have been killed, and you know it.”
He shook his head, but didn’t disagree. “They let us pass unharmed today, but I wouldn’t vouch for tomorrow.”
“Then what will you do, Alexander?” I asked, pouring him a glass of wine. “You can’t stay here.”
“The delegates met tonight at Boudinot’s house,” he said, “and agreed that if Pennsylvania again refuses to call up their militia for our protection, then we’ll convene instead in New Jersey, in Princeton. I doubt the state will do what it should, and I’ll likely be trudging in your footsteps by evening tomorrow.”