Hamilton’s Most Audacious Proposal
Unlike most of his fellow staff officers (except the twenty-three year old Laurens who hailed from one of South Carolina’s leading slave-owning families)—and even Washington who was one of America’s largest slave owners—Hamilton hated slavery. He had no personal connections to the institution since departing St. Croix. As romantic idealists, these two kindred spirits—one from the Deep South and the other from the Caribbean—were diehard abolitionists, representing the rise of young men deeply influenced by Age of Enlightenment ideology. Therefore, both Hamilton and Laurens freely expressed their enlightened opinions about this forbidden subject, and were guaranteed to receive a sharp backlash. Significantly, however, Hamilton’s enlightened views about slavery were shared with a new and more liberal generation of progressive French government and military leaders, like his good friend Lafayette. Hamilton embraced the egalitarian faith that a true “Whig [patriot] abhors the very idea of slavery, let the colour or complexion of a slave be what it may [because] He is a friend of liberty, and a supporter of the rights of mankind….”1
Hamilton had seen slavery’s horrors at first-hand in the Caribbean, which no doubt created disturbing memories and perhaps a sense of guilt about slavery that still haunted him, partly because his mother Rachel had inherited slaves. On St. Croix, he had come to know Ajax—a servant given him by his mother—as a fellow human being and friend. As the teenage clerk and then temporary manager of the firm of Kortright and Cruger for half a year, Hamilton had occasionally worked in the slave trade that fueled the company’s profits. Part of his job had been to supervise the sales of slaves transported to the company from West Africa. The mercantile business in Christiansted, St. Croix, sold slaves in “Cruger’s Yard,” as advertised the sale of three hundred “Prime Slaves” (around the same number owned by Washington at the revolution’s beginning) on January 23, 1771. These unfortunate men, women, and children had been “imported from the Windward Coast of Africa.” This unsavory, if not horrific, experience, including witnessing the selling of slaves on the auction block, informed Hamilton’s understanding of human nature’s darker side that served him well as Washington’s chief of staff in multiple fields of endeavor. The cruelty of slavery had played a part in early making him a diehard cynic.2
Quite unlike his Virginia-born boss, Hamilton, a non-slave owner, was enlightened, liberal, and progressive to a degree that was rare for the day. However, to be fair, the war’s stern demands and harsh realities brought a change in Washington’s thinking about slavery. Ironically, slaves had been officially prohibited from serving as soldiers in America’s armies until manpower shortages altered the policy. But while a number of Northern states allowed blacks to serve in the military, the South continued to bar enlistment, because of what the example represented to slaves.
General Washington became more enlightened partly because of the faithful service of his slave Billy Lee, as well as the presence of hundreds of African American soldiers who served in the Continental Army. Billy Lee was a regular feature at Washington’s headquarters. He remained by the general’s side during most of the war, and throughout Hamilton’s service at headquarters.
What has been often overlooked was the fact that Hamilton (and Laurens to a lesser degree) played a leading, but forgotten, role in Washington’s gradual conversion toward more enlightened sensibilities toward the antiquated concept of human bondage. After all, no anti-slavery voice (and a respected one at that) and personal influence were more of a constant presence for a longer period upon the Virginia planter than his closest confidant Hamilton. Never before had Washington been around a more progressive and liberal-thinking individual, who was the antithesis of a typical provincial.3 Indeed, Washington “spent practically all of his time” with Hamilton, and this had a significant impact upon his thinking, including about slavery.4
Despite being the privileged son of a large Deep South slave-owning family, John Laurens possessed a passion for “my black project”: the employment of black soldiers to fight for liberty in his native South Carolina, where they were in fact prohibited from serving. Every inch the abolitionist as Laurens, Hamilton was the other leading player in this ambitious “black project,” which they viewed as an asset to winning the war. Representing the youngest generation of revolutionaries, Hamilton and Laurens embraced a set of true republican principles that existed on a higher moral level beyond mere revolutionary rhetoric. Consequently, in developing and promoting this bold plan for blacks to fight for America and gain their freedom, these two remarkable young men united their enlightened ideas to lead the charge against the curse of slavery, hoping to elevate the struggle “to a higher [moral] plane.”5
The need for black troops to fight for America became more obvious when America’s fortunes took a turn for the South, beginning with the fall of Savannah, Georgia, on December 29, 1778, and with South Carolina—Charleston was next—under severe threat. From Washington’s headquarters at Middlebrook, New Jersey, on March 14, 1779, and while John Laurens had returned to his home state of South Carolina to defend his homeland after resigning from Washington’s staff, Hamilton sat down to reveal his enlightened progressivism in matters of race for not only the good of his country, but also for the overall welfare of enslaved people. Laurens hoped to convince the Congressmen in Philadelphia to accept an audacious plan for the creation of black battalions (from two to four) to serve in the Continental Army. To support Laurens’s bold plan, Hamilton wrote his remarkable letter to be delivered by the South Carolinian to John Jay, the new president of the Continental Congress and his New York friend. Combining humanitarianism with urgent military and political priorities, Hamilton’s letter contained the boldest pro-black fighting men proposal to date, thus laying before Congress the possibility of elevating this people’s revolution to a higher moral plane and enhance its overall chances for success and winning the war.
Clearly, in matters of race, the open-minded Hamilton and Laurens looked at the world quite differently from their older generation of revolutionaries, including Washington. At this time when the war’s outcome was still in doubt, England’s primary strategic focus was on conquering the South, and America desperately needed manpower, especially in the Southern theater of operations, Laurens and Hamilton worked together as an effective team on their most progressive project of immense potential. They sought to address two pressing and vital concerns of the war in the South that needed to be solved for enhance the possibilities for winning the war. Firstly, America’s crucial manpower shortage across the lightly populated South because so many Loyalists were Southerners. Secondly, the disturbing and stark contradiction of Americans battling for liberty while allowing the institution of slavery to not only exist but also flourish in their midst, thus mocking the loftiest Age of Enlightenment ideologies and revolutionary principles. By early 1779, these two idealistic young officers were the leading advocates of a bold plan for securing much-needed manpower (black soldiers) in a lengthy war of attrition, and fulfilling the republic’s noblest humanitarian ambitions and pressing wartime requirements.
In ideological and especially moral terms in regard to slavery, they believed that the infant republic should live up to its most enlightened core principles, as emphasized by Thomas Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence—that all men “were created equal.” Laurens planned to deliver Hamilton’s March 14, 1779, letter in person to John Jay and Congress, because they believed that this was nothing less than a timely bid to save America, before it was too late.
To set the stage to enhance the proposal’s acceptance, Hamilton had also made an accurate and intelligent assessment of the war situation in the South. At the army’s seasonal encampment (since 1777) of Middlebrook, Bridgewater Township, New Jersey, where the army wintered after the battle of Monmouth, Hamilton had been deeply troubled. Most of all, he was worried that the pulse of America’s increasingly fragile life was fast fading away, because of economic, political, and manpower concerns that seemed to have no solutions. He hoped to provide a much-needed remedy to a vexing strategic situation that he correctly saw as disastrous in the South. Here, at Washington’s headquarters at the William Wallace House, located northeast of Trenton, Hamilton finished writing his letter at his wooden desk. He predicted a dire fate for American fortunes in the South, if the pervasive racial prejudice was not overcome for a more united front.6
As early as February 2, 1778, Laurens had emphasized in a letter to his father of the many obstacles, including “a monstrous popular prejudice,” that confronted the ambitious “scheme” of black soldiers fighting for America’s and their liberty on Southern soil. However, Laurens was undaunted of the daunting extent of the formidable racial and cultural barriers because of his “perseverance, aided by the countenance of a few virtuous men,” especially his kindred spirit on Washington’s staff.7 Hamilton was the foremost of these “virtuous men,” and the two zealous staff officers worked together with unbridled enthusiasm on their joint pet project in early 1779 to bring a new birth of freedom to America, if accepted.8
In no uncertain terms to Jay on March 14, 1779, the ever-strategic minded Hamilton emphasized how at this time, “Extraordinary exigencies demand extraordinary means [because] I fear this Southern business will become a very grave one.”9 On this mid-March day at Middlebrook when he accurately foresaw even greater disasters ahead in the Southern theater, Hamilton warned the president of the Continental Congress, Jay, with his typical candor: “While I am on the subject of Southern affairs, you will excuse the liberty I take in saying, that I do not think measures sufficiently vigorous are pursing for our defense in that quarter,” because of far too much reliance on militia.10
In no uncertain terms, Hamilton emphasized his much-needed solution to the South’s military and manpower crisis to the president of the Continental Congress. Enlisting slaves in Continental service to fight for their own freedom and America’s liberty on Southern soil was truly a revolutionary policy and readily available possible solution to a dire strategic situation that was bound to become far worse. This young man from the West Indies, whose societies and economies were based on slavery, explained the details of his and Laurens’s “project, which I think, in the present situation of affairs there, is a very good one and deserves every kind of support and encouragement. This is to raise two, three, or four battalions of negroes; with the assistance of the government of that state [South Carolina], by contributions from the owners in proportion to the number they possess [and Lauren] wishes to have it recommended by Congress to the state; and, as an inducement, that they would engage to take those battalions into Continental pay. It appears to me, that an expedient of this kind, in the present state of Southern affairs, is the most rational, that can be adopted, and promises very important advantages. Indeed, I hardly can see how a sufficient force can be collected in that quarter without it; and the enemy’s operations there are growing infinitely serious and formidable.”11
Of course, Hamilton’s inflammatory and ultra-sensitive views (arguably the day’s most racially enlightened and forward-thinking about race) challenged the central foundations of the South’s entrenched aristocratic society and its value system that rested on racial superiority. Even more, the South’s economy and profitable cash crops were all based on slavery. Therefore, the mere mention of freeing slaves was the most forbidden possible subject across the South. But Hamilton went even further, expounding upon enlightened concepts that were considered social and racial heresy by the slave-owning South. Rejecting the existing racial stereotypes as too foolish to be seriously entertained on any level, he articulated a case for black equality that was partly based upon what he had in the Caribbean, including having seen well-trained black militiamen who protected St. Croix with their lives. As he continued to expressed to Jay with considerable insight about race based on first-hand experience: “I have not the least doubt, that negroes will make very excellent soldiers, with proper management…. It is a maxim with some military judges, that with sensible officers [and] soldiers can hardly be more stupid…. I mention this, because I frequently hear it objected to the scheme of embodying negroes that they are too stupid to make soldiers. This is so far from appearing to me a valid objection that I think their want of cultivation (for their natural faculties are probably as good as ours) joined to that habit of subordination which they require from a life of servitude, will make them sooner to become soldiers than our white inhabitants.”12
Clearly, these were some of the most unconventional and boldest ideas ever offered by Hamilton or any American revolutionary in uniform, especially a young officer serving on Washington’s staff. Of course, these enlightened racial views were in direct opposition to those of many conservative Founding Fathers, especially those who hailed from the South. In striking contrast, Hamilton believed that blacks possessed ample intelligence, and that they might even make better soldiers than whites, especially when serving in the Southern theater, thus overturning some of the most basic and widely accepted racial stereotypes.13
Despite knowing that he risked alienating America’s political elite, in a true profile in courage that has too often been ignored by generations of historians, Hamilton emphasized the practicality of the ambitious plan to Congress with the bold conviction of a true believer: “I foresee that this project will have to combat much opposition from prejudice and self-interest. The contempt that we have been taught to entertain for the blacks, makes us fancy many things that are founded neither in reason nor experience; and an unwillingness to part with property of so valuable a kind will furnish a thousand arguments to show the impracticability or pernicious tendency of a scheme which requires such a sacrifice. But it should be considered that if we do not make use of them in this way, the enemy probably will; and that the best way to counteract the temptations they will hold out will be to offer them ourselves. An essential part of the plan is to give them their freedom with their muskets. This will secure their fidelity, animate their courage, and I believe will have a good influence upon those who remain, by opening a door to their emancipation.”14
Hamilton advocated freedom for slaves if they faithfully fought for America in black combat units led by white officers, to save the South from subjugation in England’s determined bid to sever this strategic region from the North, and reverse the war’s fortunes. In regard to the day’s most radical concept of “opening a door to their emancipation” and revealing that he was a true son of the Age of Enlightenment by combining egalitarian thought with a commonsense practicality to advocate a novel military solution to a serious crisis, Hamilton concluded: “This circumstance, I confess, has no small weight in inducing me to wish the success of the project; for the dictates of humanity and true policy equally interest me in favor of this unfortunate class of men.”15
United with his kindred spirit Laurens, Hamilton’s bold call to Congress for the use of black troops in the South “for the dictates of humanity” and America was not meaningless rhetoric, but a practical (not to mention moral) solution that solved a host of pressing problems that almost led to the conquest of the South in the upcoming years. In addition, Hamilton and Laurens sought to emplace a policy for bestowing freedom to blacks to match an enlightened British policy: a timely countermeasure that would have enhanced the chances of not only surviving but also perhaps even winning the war in the South, where the war was going to be decided in the end.16
As his actions throughout the Revolutionary War demonstrated, especially in regard to his appeal to incorporate black soldiers into the Continental Army, Hamilton sincerely “believed that he [had] dedicated his life to ideas that were intended for the betterment of society as a whole.”17
Most significantly and as mentioned, Hamilton was not proposing the use of blacks for Southern service in the short-term militia, which was entirely unsuitable for a lengthy war of attrition. Instead of untrained and poorly led militiamen who were unable to stand up to British regulars on the battlefield, these transplanted Africans were to serve as long-term Continental soldiers, essentially regulars who benefitted greatly from extended training and battle experience: The true key to sustaining a lengthy war of attrition against a regular army of well-trained soldiers.18
Clearly, Hamilton was championing a far-sighted plan that offered to solve the South’s pressing military manpower shortage and reverse the war’s fortunes in that strategic theater. After all, the situation was about to grow far worse with the May 1780 capture of Charleston and its large garrison, including of thousands of Continental soldiers: one of the lowest ebbs for American fortunes in the South. This innovative plan destined to be laid before Congress was the centerpiece of the most enlightened and practical thinking of the dynamic team of Hamilton and Laurens, who were brothers as much on the battlefield—mostly recently at Monmouth—as in the ideological realm. Appropriately, once reaching the capital of Philadelphia after a lengthy ride, Laurens handed Hamilton’s well-written document to the president of Congress for proper consideration by America’s leading political body in the land.19
Impressed by Hamilton’s insightful document that might well save the South from subjugation and with the possibility of reversing the war’s course in the South, the Continental Congress then recommended on March 29, 1779, that South Carolina and Georgia “take measures immediately for raising three thousand able-bodied negroes” in separate battalions (regiments) led by white officers. Freedom would be bestowed to these slaves after their faithful service in battling for liberty—their own and that of the infant republic.20
In a letter to his father, Laurens emphasized how his and Hamilton’s efforts had produced a “plan for serving my country and the oppressed negro race” at the same time: a remarkable document in military and moral terms.21 Not fearful of alienating Congress and angering highly placed Southern officers and politicians who were sure to be offended by the mere suggestion of black equality, Hamilton and Laurens risked their reputations and career for the greater national good, but had boldly forged ahead nevertheless. As could be expected, the plan was far too radical for acceptance by the South Carolina government. Incredibly, South Carolina’s leaders preferred defeat to racial equality.
Significantly, Hamilton and Laurens saw the novel solution of using black soldiers at a time when white resistance effort was in the process of sagging to new lows, because of the South’s large number of Loyalists, a situation that would grow even worse in the days ahead. As an enthusiastic Laurens penned in the same letter to his father on February 2, 1778: “A well chosen body of 5,000 black men, properly officer’d, to act as light troops, in addition to our present establishment, might give us decisive success in the next campaign.”22
Clearly, instead of just offering lip service and rhetoric, Hamilton and Laurens were fully prepared to fight for what they believed was right, both on and off the battlefield, despite the great risks. These two young officers were true examples of profiles in courage. In Hamilton’s words to Laurens: “We have fought side by side to make America free…. ”23 But along with his good ideas about the best way to reform the army and freely speaking his mind as usual, Hamilton’s radical proposal about utilizing black soldiers (the South’s largest manpower pool when white soldiers were lacking) made him even more of a hated man, especially from slave-owning Southerners and upper class Congressmen. After all, such respected men of wealth and prestige had an alternate plan: South Carolina and Virginia, Washington’s home state, eventually offered slaves as bounties for the enlistment of white soldiers.
As could be expected, some politicians were already angry at Hamilton for his sharp, but well-deserved, criticisms of Congress that continued over an extended period of time. New England Congressmen and officers were also upset by Hamilton’s perceived high-handed actions in the past toward their chosen favorites, Generals Gates and Putnam. From a letter by a concerned Lieutenant Colonel John Brooks, Hamilton learned that Congressman Charles Dana had denounced Hamilton in a Philadelphia coffeehouse for advocating throwing Congress out of office to gain personal power for himself: an ugly false rumor that he openly voiced in public. Hamilton wrote to Dana to seek the source of the malicious rumor, tracing it to a Congregational minister in Massachusetts, William Gordon. Angry New Englanders, military and civilian, united with Southern Congressmen in their hated of Washington’s golden boy, who had become a polarizing figure in both the American military and in main political body in no small part because of his string of successes.
And, of course, Hamilton was never shy about voicing his strong opinions and innovative views that featured a distinctive “Little Lion” boldness in the face of misplaced convention and mindless opposition, regardless of how highly placed. In consequence and realizing how easy it was to stir up a hornet’s nest, Hamilton wrote on September 12, 1780, a typical candid and heartfelt letter to Laurens, whom he worried he would never see again because he knew that the South Carolinian would be reckless on Southern battlefields, where the nation’s destiny was about to be decided: “You are almost as detested as an accomplice with the administration. I am losing character my friend, because I am not over complaisant to the spirit of clamour, so that I am in a fair way to be out with every body. With one set, I am considered as a friend to military pretensions, however exorbitant, with another as a man, who secured by my situation from the sharing of distress of the army, am inclined to treat it lightly. The truth is I am an unlucky honest man, that speak my sentiments to all and with emphasis.”24
Despite all that he had accomplished since even before the war’s beginning, Hamilton continued to feel that he was unlucky in his military career because he was not now serving at the front in dramatic fashion as at Monmouth, where he had distinguished himself in helping to save the day. While working tirelessly at his desk at Washington’s headquarters, he continued to lust for action and the opportunity to play a larger role on the battlefield. In a June 1779 letter to Maryland’s Colonel Otho Howard Williams, who had made a name for himself as an excellent leader in Colonel William Smallwood’s Maryland Regiment and a friend of Welsh descent, Hamilton’s deep feelings and ambitions were revealed. After Washington had moved the army to West Point, New York, on the Hudson River, Hamilton wrote down words that betrayed a great deal about himself: “Mind your eye, my dear boy, and if you have an opportunity, fight damned hard!”25
Indeed, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton possessed good reason to be envious of his Maryland friend, because he still badly wanted to return to a field command. In part, his radical proposal to have African American soldiers fight for America and their own freedom was also a political maneuver calculated “to out flank Washington” in order to win a field command, perhaps gain a commission to join Laurens in South Carolina, where their ambitious pet project was to have been implemented. But, of course, Washington refused to change his mind, because Hamilton was simply too valuable to let go. Ironically, in many ways a victim of his own successes and growing reputation, Hamilton remained the leader of his staff, working at his desk with stoic resignation instead of leading a charge on the battlefield as on that glorious day at Monmouth.26
Late Summer and Fall, 1779
Hamilton’s erudite and enlightened views continued to carry considerable weight in multiple arenas that revealed his broad knowledge, ranging from the strategic to government affairs. As he penned in a September 7, 1779, letter to James Duane, Hamilton correctly believed that the British strategy was about to switch “from conquest to pacification” in the South. Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton offered sound advice to Major General Nathanael Greene, who was Washington’s most reliable top lieutenant. In a September 10, 1779, letter, Hamilton made key points not lost on the capable Greene: “I really do not think it would be an advisable measure to detach a brigade … it would hardly be prudent to lessen our force…. But my principal objection rises from my considering a compliance rather as a bad precedent; if you yield to the importunity of one state [Connecticut’s governor, Jonathan Trumbull, requested reinforcements], you must not only do the same to others in similar circumstances but you encourage that importunity and ultimately multiply your embarrassments.”27
Hamilton also continued to focus on deciphering the nuances of British strategy, after gathering and analyzing intelligence. On September 11, 1779, from West Point, Hamilton put down his thoughts about the overall strategic situation. Writing to John Laurens, he believed that he had ascertained British intentions, especially in regard to the vulnerable Southern states: “Negotiation not conquest will then be [England’s strategic] object; the acquisition of two or three of the Southern states would be the counter ballance to the loss of her [sugar] islands [in the West Indies], give credit in Europe, facilitate honorable pacification or procure it. The plan of operations, I suppose in that case would be this—to evacuate Rhode Island, leave a garrison of eight thousand men for the defence of New York and its dependencies, detach five thousand to the West Indies to assist in garrisoning their remaining islands, and then they will have five thousand to send to the Southward” to conquer the South.28
At Washington’s Morristown headquarters, it continued to be one of Hamilton’s primary jobs to decipher intelligence and advise Washington. Hamilton laid out his sound strategic reasoning to Laurens, in a September 11 letter: the British “plan here suggested, you will perhaps think with me is not the worst the enemy could adopt in their present circumstances. Its goodness is perhaps the strongest reason against its being undertaken; but they may blunder upon the right way for once, and we ought to be upon our guard.”29 As in the past, Hamilton was eager to exploit any tactical opening presented by a British blunder or weakness.
Meanwhile, naval developments began to play a larger role in the war by the late summer and early fall of 1779. While a British fleet sailed into New York Harbor, America turned its eyes toward the French fleet under Admiral Count d’Estaing, which had assisted the disastrous allied assault on Savannah, Georgia, in October 1779. Washington hoped that d’Estaing would sail north for the launching of a joint allied operation against New York City during the narrow window of opportunity that time presented, after the French fleet’s service in Southern waters and before returning to the Caribbean for the winter. The French fleet was expected to appear in Philadelphia, after sailing northwest up Delaware Bay.
Therefore, Washington handed Hamilton another special mission of importance: proceed immediately to Philadelphia by way of the New Jersey coast to intercept the French admiral, and convince him of the wisdom of a joint operation against New York City. Hamilton’s flawless French was essential for communications and clear understanding among allies of precise strategic and tactical details that so often separated victor from loser. Gaining no news from d’Estaing and his fleet, Hamilton and French Brigadier General Louis Du Portial, who earlier had been sent secretly by the French Government to assist Washington’s Army, rode forth on their new mission to Great Egg Harbor, southeast New Jersey, about forty miles southeast of Philadelphia.
Here, on the windswept Jersey coast, the two officers anxiously scanned the Atlantic’s distant horizon in the hope of sighting the French fleet’s arrival. On October 26, Hamilton wrote his first report to Washington from forlorn “Egg Harbor Landing”: “We propose to remain till the arrival of the Count [d’Estaing], till intelligence from him decides the inutility of a longer stay or ‘till we receive your Excellency’s orders of recall. We have now a better relation to the different points in which we are interested and have taken the necessary precautions to gain the earliest notice of whatever happens….”30
Compared to lively Philadelphia, which flaunted republican virtues as well as vices as represented by fast women on the make, Hamilton and Du Portial felt that they had been exiled to what seemed to be a futile mission on the cold New Jersey coast. Day after day, the two officers, who communicated with each other in exquisite French, continued to scan the horizon in the hope of catching sight of the tall masts of warships. In the same missive, Hamilton also reported to Washington, “By recent information we find that so late as the fourth of this month [October] the Count was yet to open his batteries against the enemy at Savannah. The time that will probably intervene between this and their final reduction … and his arrival on this [eastern] coast may we fear exhaust the season too much to permit the cooperation to which our mission relates. We do not however despair; for if the Count has been fully successful to the Southward [Savannah], and should shortly arrive which may be the case, the enterprise may possibly still go on.”31
For what seemed like an eternity, Hamilton and Du Portial continued to search in vain for signs of the French fleet’s arrival. From their lonely coastal outpost on November 8 while enduring the cold weather of winter’s early descent upon the lengthy New Jersey coast, Hamilton then reported to Washington: “We have received no late advices from the Southward, which confirms us in the ideas of our last” report on October 26.32 Three days later, a discouraged Hamilton wrote to Lieutenant Colonel John Taylor and lamented, “I am getting sick & can’t say more.”33
Unfortunately for Hamilton’s mission, Admiral d’Estaing was not sailing north for Philadelphia as Washington desired. Instead the aristocratic French admiral was sailing southeast back to safeguard the valuable sugar islands of the French West Indies, even when the siege of Savannah was still ongoing, following the repulse of the allied offensive effort.34
After his futile mission on the lonely and cold coast, Hamilton and the French general returned to Washington’s headquarters at Morristown. As usual, Hamilton was still consumed by his desire to win battlefield distinction, which was a true passion: A very personal quest bordering on obsession that never ended for the ambitious young man. In a strange way, Hamilton seemingly could only feel validation as a man and as a soldier, if he earned recognition on the battlefield. Hamilton already had proven his courage and leadership ability on past battlefields, but even this widespread acclaim, including from Washington and other generals, was not sufficient to satisfy his insatiable desire. Therefore, Hamilton continued to speak privately with Washington about his desire of gaining a field command, presenting his most convincing arguments—but to no avail.
Hoping to take advantage of an existing opportunity, Hamilton then focused his efforts on securing a command for the proposed expedition to Staten Island, New York, as he described in the same letter: “When the expedition to Staten Island was afoot, a favourable one seemed to offer. There was a [infantry] battalion without a field officer, the command of which, I thought, as it was accidental, might be given to me without inconvenience.”35
To increase his chances of securing the field commission, Hamilton smartly utilized the added advantage of a solid endorsement from Lafayette, who was essentially Washington’s surrogate son. However, Hamilton’s carefully calculated bid to secure release from headquarters was not enough to sway Washington and change his mind. Quite sensibly under the circumstances, Washington continued to refuse to let Hamilton depart from his military “family,” because he was just too valuable in almost too many ways to count. Therefore, Washington informed Lafayette—not Hamilton which was in accordance to the rules of proper military protocol—of his final decision. As a frustrated Hamilton explained gloomily in his letter: “I made an application for it [command of the available infantry battalion] through the Marquis, who informed me of your refusal….”36
Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton had good reason to feel a deepening sense of frustration during this period. The Marquis de Lafayette and General Greene already had attempted to “liberate” him from Washington’s headquarters by nominating Hamilton for the coveted position of the Continental Army’s adjutant general. With some justification, Washington employed the excuse that Hamilton’s rank of only lieutenant colonel was too low for either this position or an appointment to a field command. Of course, the most obvious solution in both cases was for Washington to simply bestow this well-deserved promotion to colonel (long overdue and very much deserved) that the Virginian never gave Hamilton, despite his lengthy list of accomplishments and even Lafayette’s personal efforts to assist his friend in this regard.37
A frustrated Lafayette, who believed like Hamilton that “insurrection is [for the oppressed] the most sacred of the rights and the most indispensable of duties,” was not only perplexed, but also angered at Washington’s iron determination to keep Hamilton sequestered on his staff.38 Demonstrating wisdom in regard to his own responsibilities and duties, Washington was not about to release the best staff officer, only age twenty-four, that he had ever possessed, and almost certainly ever to have in his career as commander-in-chief of America’s armies.
Winter 1779–1780
The conclusion of the campaign of 1779—the fourth year of the war—in Washington’s sector proved to be still another frustrating stalemate. The once-bright optimism stemming from the first news of the French Alliance and possibility of quick success had evaporated in America by this time. Bright visions of decisive victory had faded away from the American people and the republic’s fighting men, lingering only as a distant memory in faded past. During the winter of 1779–1780 when British strategists directed their main offensive effort at the strategic port of Charleston, Washington was encamped in winter quarters at Morristown under the dark and snowy skies of still another bleak December. Here, several miles southwest of the small village of Jockey Hollow, and nestled amidst the hardwood forests of a mountainous region three miles southwest of Morristown, the log cabins of a sprawling winter quarters—the second winter encampment at Morristown—served as home for threadbare and ill-supplied soldiers of liberty.39
During this winter of discontent and after Washington’s refusals, Hamilton feared that the battle of Monmouth had been his last chance to win battlefield recognition. After all, that late June 1778 battle was the last major clash in the middle states, before the war had shifted to the South as the principal theater of operations. Overworked and professionally frustrated, Hamilton was overcome by a dark gloom that coincided with the wintry dreariness. His personal distaste for serving endlessly at a headquarters desk was demoralizing. The young man also felt discouraged by the failure of the ambitious Laurens-Hamilton plan for slaves to fight for America to bolster its thin manpower reserves. In a sad and prophetic letter to Laurens, Hamilton penned with a sense of fatalism: “I wish its success, but my hopes are very feeble [because] Prejudice and private interest will be antagonists too powerful for public spirit and public good.”40
At times, the ghosts of Hamilton’s tragic past in the Caribbean began to trouble the young man of seemingly endless promise, especially during relatively quiet periods and wintertime. The frantic pace of Hamilton’s daily existence as Washington’s chief of staff usually allowed him to stay ahead and outrun his demons, but not forever. His dark past finally caught up with Hamilton. During the winter of 1779–1780 at Morristown, Washington and his staff were housed in the English colonial style mansion, painted white with stylish green trim, owned by the widow of Jacob Ford, a former judge. Here, located several miles from the army’s main encampment at Jockey Hollow, Hamilton endured the harshest winter that he had ever experienced in his life.
After his seemingly endless duties were completed, Hamilton slept in an upstairs bedroom of the mansion with his two best friends, McHenry and Tilghman. Especially demoralizing was the fact that he possessed fond memories of the Caribbean’s omnipresent warmth, while this brutal winter was one of the worst yet seen in the eighteenth century. Nothing previously experienced by Hamilton prepared him for this wintry hell of Morristown. Washington’s winter encampment was literally buried in a blanket of heavy snows—up to six feet on one occasion—for lengthy periods.41
Harboring warm memories of the bright sunshine of his native Caribbean homeland, Hamilton’s spirits continued to be affected by the dark skies and the snow piled high outside Washington’s headquarters. Hamilton’s sunny disposition and spirits were battered by the gusts of icy winds and heavy snowfall, which was compounded by his underlying personal and professional frustrations. Consequently, Hamilton’s obsession with somehow securing an opportunity for gaining an independent command and battlefield recognition only deepened, while enduring the excessive workload and wintry gloom that seemed to have no end. Without family, connections, or fortune that fueled a sense that he was alone and still battling not only the British but also the world, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton knew that making a name for himself could only happen for him by earning distinction on the battlefield. The young man’s soaring ambition was too great and his mind too broad to settle happily for a desk job in Washington’s giant shadow to obscure the breath of his achievements. As he realized, Hamilton had already accomplished enough for Washington and America to have garnered a promotion not only to a full colonel’s rank but also perhaps even a brigadier general’s commission by this time.
On January 8, 1780, Hamilton confided his creeping personal anguish in a letter to his best friend Laurens, now serving in South Carolina. After he refused the prestigious position offered by Congress by unanimous choice as Franklin’s secretary in Paris, the debonair South Carolinian (not temperamentally suited for patience, tact, and delicate diplomacy) had attempted to gain a release for his West Indian friend from the relative seclusion and isolation of Washington’s staff. This coveted diplomatic posting was a true plum position. Instead of taking the prized position because of his disinclination for serving in a diplomatic role far from his beloved South Carolina, he instead recommended Hamilton to Congress for the prestigious position.
However, Hamilton, who fairly lusted at such a golden opportunity to truly shine, had no support in Congress (as lamented Laurens in a letter to Hamilton), thanks to his strong criticism of the governing body’s seemingly endless past failures to support the army and his well-known clashes and openly voiced disgust for Congress’s favored generals, Gates and Lee. Many Americans also still looked unfavorably upon Hamilton, because he had not been born in America, and hailed from no leading American family of high social standing. Hamilton’s role as Washington’s leading defender also made him a marked man to the Virginian’s haters and self-serving politicians in Congress. These Congressmen had no idea of the true extent of Hamilton’s gifts that made him the ideal choice as the new French envoy, and allowed pettiness and prejudice to cloud their judgment: ironically, the very failings that had been long denounced by Hamilton
In his letter, Hamilton poured forth a flood of his deepest feelings: “Believe me my D[ea]r Laurens I am not insensible of the first mark of our affection in recommending me to your friends [in Congress] for a certain commission…. Not one of the four in nomination but would stand a better chance than myself; and yet my vanity tells me they do not all merit a preference. But I am a stranger in this country. I have no property [land or slaves] here, no connexions [therefore] I have strongly sollicited to go to the Southward [Southern theater of operations]. It could not be refused; but arguments have been used to dissuade me from it, which however little weight they may have had in my judgment gave law to my feelings.”42
Hamilton’s spirits sank to new lows after he failed to secure the coveted envoy position as Franklin’s secretary in Paris, the eighteenth century’s cultural epicenter. Additionally, the knowledge of having so many influential enemies in high places in the military and political realms, especially Congress, was also unsettling and boded ill for his future. Becoming gradually more alienated by the overall vexing situation, Hamilton was ever-conscious of the bitter irony of continuing to risk his life battling for a new nation’s liberty when he was still “a stranger in this country” by his own gloomy admission of a common perception and prejudice that he could never change: A situation to his considerable detriment, but to Washington’s and his staff’s maximum benefit.43
During this cheerless winter at dreary Morristown, Hamilton’s sense of optimism continued to erode, and demons raised their ugly heads. He even began to lose some of his romantic spirit by the harsh realities of a betrayed people’s revolution that he saw all around him, lamenting in a letter with growing disillusionment that, “We do not live in the days of chivalry.”44 The double frustration of failing to secure either diplomatic service in France or obtaining a field command was devastating to the ambitious Hamilton, whose many achievements for Washington and America seem to have been ignored. He felt mired in thankless obscurity under Washington’s lengthy shadow and in an unsavory ultra-political environment at the highest levels, especially Congress, where an ever-increasing number of cunning and clever enemies lurked like jackals in the dark shadows to exploit any first misstep. For good reason, General Charles Lee denounced such Congressmen as nothing more than “cattle,” and Hamilton hated their overall “degeneracy.” For once, Hamilton and Lee were in perfect agreement.45
Revealing his growing disillusionment with the corruption and lack of virtue among his fellow revolutionaries, especially Congressmen because of the “alarming and dangerous” decline in their overall quality, Hamilton then emphasized in his distressing letter to Laurens, barely a week after the New Year’s arrival: “I am chagrined and unhappy but I submit. In short, Laurens I am disgusted with every thing in this world but yourself and very few more honest fellows and I have no other wish than as soon as possible to make a brilliant exist.”46
Indeed, what the increasingly disgruntled, if not depressed, Hamilton was saying—as fully understood by Laurens who had similar sentiments—was that he was now flirting with the relatively comforting thought of suffering a martyr’s death on the battlefield as a final release from his inner torment. To Hamilton’s way of thinking, a heroic demise on the field of strife would be a noble sacrifice, releasing him from his personal misery and leaving a distinguished legacy for all time, if America eventually won its struggle for life. In another letter to Laurens, the disillusioned young man expressed discouragement over the death of the black soldier project, because he fully realized its importance: “Every [hope and desire] of this kind my friend is an idle dream [in part because] there is no virtue in America.”47
And because of the incompetence and neglect of Congress, whose consistent failures and lack of effectiveness had led to the deaths of so many good common men of true character and quality, Hamilton became embittered about the personal tragedies that he saw around him. Because the overall situation became more desperate for America with each passing day, Hamilton, like Washington, continued to be convinced that a stronger government was the only solution for saving the army and the war effort, admitting: “I hate Congress.” Thoroughly disgusted by the failings of Congress—a case of many good men having gone bad from swollen egos, greed, and corruption—as well as with political infighting within the army, especially the ever-ambitious officer corps where men were at each other’s throats, Hamilton admitted: “We begin to hate the country for its neglect of us [and] the country begin to hate us for our oppressions of them.”48
However, Hamilton became more of his old self with the advent of social activities that broke some of Morristown’s monotony and raised his spirits in his darkest hour. The robust Washington, an imposing physical specimen that towered over the slight Hamilton, enjoyed dancing as much as fox hunting and riding across Mount Vernon’s Tidewater lands along the Potomac River. Therefore, to lift morale among his officer corps and overburdened staff members, the commander-in-chief once again established the popular dancing assembly that consisted of thirty-four officers, including Hamilton. As a freewheeling Virginian light on his feet when the fiddles played lively tunes and the rum and wine flowed freely, Washington, performed with great agility like a younger man despite his hulking size. He especially enjoyed the Virginia Reel, almost as much as Hamilton.
Of course, the young man from Nevis and St. Croix had long embraced the dance and musical traditions of West Indian Creole society. When a pretty lady was in his arms, the lithe Hamilton acquired the reputation as the best dancer on Washington’s staff of dashing young men. With the local girls of the appropriate class (more upper class than middle class) providing suitable dance partners and possible paramours, these dances and drinking, sometimes to excess typical of a wartime environment when fighting men were far from home, occasionally continued to as late as 2:00 a.m. Of course and as usual, Hamilton and other “family” members were always present at these festive occasions, making the most of the opportunity that provided a much-needed relief and relaxation to compensate for their heavy daily workload.
On at least one occasion perhaps when the fiddlers were playing the popular “A Successful Campaign,” (that in the minds of young men like Hamilton translated into bedroom conquests at such heady times that swirled around nocturnal social activites) alert staff officers, including Hamilton, immediately intervened to “to smooth things over” for their commander-in-chief in an incident that caught everyone’s attention. Washington’s dainty dance partner shouted at the stout Virginian, who was known for his physical strength and imposing figure, “If you do not let go of my hand, I will tear out your eyes….” As if suddenly outflanked by superior numbers of redcoats on the battlefield, Washington quickly vanished from the embarrassing scene on the dance floor. Then, the vigilant Hamilton immediately stepped in to restore harmony and merriment to present the façade that nothing had happened.49
As usual Hamilton focused upon the prettiest girls at social events at Washington’s headquarters or the headquarters of generals at Morristown. Martha Washington’s sly tomcat analogy for the prowling Hamilton was actually a backhanded compliment, as Hamilton seemed determined to win every lady’s heart for sport, ego-enhancement, and amusement. Resplendent in his finest blue uniform of a lieutenant colonel, he was destined to gain renown for having danced with wife of General Nathanael Greene, who did not dance because a limp, for three hours, while observers marveled at the marathon that went a bit beyond socially accepted conduct.50 Hamilton’s romantic ambitions eventually centered on a Morristown brunette beauty named Cornelia Lott.51 He initially appeared to be genuinely love struck with Cornelia to a degree that astounded his fellow staff officers, who had always seen exactly the reverse situation. An incredulous fellow staff member Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Blachley Webb, a cynic like Hamilton, wrote a humorous rhyme in tribute to this most surprising development that shocked the entire staff. The opening question of his humorous rhyme mocked the possibility of true love and perhaps even marriage: “To [Lieutenant] Colonel Hamilton”: “What, bend the stubborn knee at last, Confess the days of wisdom past?”52
In keeping with his freewheeling style in his well-played game of love, Hamilton’s infatuation with the young New Jersey lady proved fleeting as the cynics had predicted. Hamilton’s comrades confused his unusually ardent efforts in the art of seduction with more noble and much higher-elevated sentiments, which was not the case. After all, Webb had mused with unconcealed delight: “Now [Hamilton] feels the inexorable dart / And yields Cornelia all his heart!” But Hamilton became bored after too easily conquering Cornelia’s heart and evidently bedding her with his usual seemingly effortless ease, perhaps because she expected too much from him, such as marriage. After all, Hamilton had long spouted the axiom that a true soldier should have no wife, because he should be married only to the military. Focusing on a new and better romantic opportunity after leaving poor Cornelia behind, Hamilton quickly turned his sights on Polly, who was another one of the fashionable ladies who made the circuit of social activities at headquarters. With astonishing rapidity during this January of 1780, the dashing Hamilton, whose looks were almost closer to pretty than handsome, then “broke her heart too.”53 Living up to his ladies’ man reputation that made him the talk and envy of headquarters, Hamilton was well known “for his cavalry-like advances on the latest feminine arrival in camp.”54
Along with success on the romantic front, Hamilton’s spirits rose with the prospect of action—the best tonic to relieve his frustrations and restore his optimism, after the swirl of social activities. Washington now planned a rare winter attack: an unexpected raid that was sure to catch the enemy by surprise. As just before his remarkable Trenton success on the day after Christmas 1776, Washington now needed another such incredible victory for political as much as military reasons. Almost certainly with Hamilton’s assistance, Washington, therefore, chose Staten Island as the target. As in Washington’s first true battlefield victory at snowy Trenton, General Knox was chosen to play the leading role with his artillery arm.
Displaying his trademark sound military judgment, Hamilton tactfully criticized his old superior’s estimation of the number of cannon needed to succeed in his ambitious mission, which called for hauling the artillery on sleighs a lengthy distance over a snowy landscape. Hamilton took the esteemed Knox to task for allowing too few artillery pieces and too little ammunition for the planned assault to succeed. Critiquing Washington’s highly competent and top commander of the army’s artillery arm, Hamilton questioned the talented New Englander’s well-known good judgment and tactical sense. As the ever-analytical Hamilton reported with his trademark honesty to Washington in his concise evaluation of the possible success of the proposed assault: “It appears to me the quantity of ammunition proposed by General Knox for the artillery is inefficient. A larger consumption may be necessary—the stone house [on Staten Island] in which the enemy may attempt to defend themselves may be obstinate, and we should have it in our power by the severity and duration of our fire, to bring them to reason” and surrender.55
As so often in the past, Washington agreed with Hamilton’s sound recommendations. He consequently ordered Knox to take additional artillery pieces on his mission. However, Knox’s attempt to catch the enemy by surprise at his defensive position on Staten Island ended in a dismal failure, verifying Hamilton’s harsh critique and insightful arguments. Almost as if doing some of the tactical thinking for the commander-in-chief, especially when it came to the use of artillery because of his past experience as a New York battery commander, Hamilton’s criticism was a direct attempt to convince Washington to cancel this difficult and overly ambitious operation in the dead of winter, because of the opposing garrison’s strength, Staten Island’s strong defenses, and the very slim possibility of catching the enemy by surprise.56
As mentioned, it was not all work and no play at Washington’s headquarters amid the snows of Morristown. In early 1780, the Marquis de Chastellux described a memorable scene at Washington’s headquarters one evening after cold blackness descended early and all work was finally put aside for the day. The aristocratic Frenchman wrote how the dinner at headquarters resembled a festive social event among the close-knit “family,” which was full of life, especially with Hamilton leading the way as usual: “General Washington usually continues eating for two hours, toasting and conversing all the time … there were then no strangers [present in the room], and nobody remained by the General’s family. The supper was composed of three or four light dishes [and] a few bottles of good claret and madeira were placed on the table [and] being a French officer … I accommodate myself very well to the English mode of toasting [and] I observed that there was more solemnity in the toasts at dinner: there were several ceremonious ones; the others were suggested by the General, and given out by his aides-de-camp, who performed the honours of the table at dinner; for one of them is every day seated at the bottom of the table, near the General, to serve the company, and distribute the bottles. The toasts in the evening were given by Colonel Hamilton, without order or ceremony.”57 As usual, Hamilton presided over the formal dinners and social activities at Washington’s headquarters, which resembled state dinners attended by French and American political and military leaders. All the while, Hamilton continued to be the “life of every party.”58
Washington’s nighttime social activities at the Morristown winter encampment acted as a tonic to lift the spirits of the young men, including Hamilton, of his “family.” Hamilton developed what might be described as passing relationships with “many young women,” but nothing serious for one who played the field among the ladies with a vigorous finesse. As during the previous winter, the burdensome workload at headquarters weighed as heavily on Washington as on Hamilton, fraying nerves and leading to exhaustion.
Sure to restore the general’s spirits as in the past, Martha departed Mount Vernon in mid-December 1779 in the hope of reaching army headquarters and her husband by Christmas. But the heavy snows stranded Martha in Philadelphia. Washington dispatched one of his trusty aides-de-camp, perhaps Hamilton but more likely McHenry or Tilghman, to retrieve Martha from the nation’s capital in a horse-drawn sleigh. To make extra room at the crowded headquarters after Martha’s arrival—and while Theodosia Ford, the widow of Judge Jacob Ford, still managed her own personal household at the Ford Mansion—Washington went to extra lengths to provide appropriate accommodations for his staff. He soon ordered the construction of three buildings to be located behind the stately two-story mansion, which would include an office for his staff, a stable for horses, and a separate kitchen for his “family.” At the newly built log office, Hamilton performed his chief-of-staff duties with his usual vigor and competence.59
But after all of the brilliant conversations, witty jokes, dancing, and drinking, Hamilton, overburdened with work, again lapsed into one of his periodic dark moods. To Laurens as usual, Hamilton poured out his heart and mounting frustrations and gloom. The whirlwind of the Cornelia Lott and Polly affairs had only caused greater disillusionment about the fickleness of love and life, providing Hamilton with very little in what he was looking for in a relationship.
Hamilton and other staff members continued to enjoy the “dancing assembly,” when the pretty and stylish daughters of leading patriot families enlivened the cold nights at Morristown. But this was only a merry façade that only continued to disguise Hamilton’s inner frustration and disillusionment with America and its people, who reaped a profit at the army’s expense. Fortunately for Hamilton at perhaps his darkest hour on this dreary winter of 1780, a quite remarkable young woman suddenly made her appearance at the Morristown headquarters, and his life would never be the same thereafter.
A Dream Comes True with a General’s Pretty Daughter
Twenty-two-year-old Elizabeth Schuyler (called either Betsey or Eliza alternately by Hamilton), the spirited and attractive second daughter of Major General Philip Schuyler, made her appearance at Morristown. After arriving at the sprawling winter quarters by military escort for protection, the good-natured young woman was in camp to visit her aunt, Mrs. John Cochran who lived near Morristown, while her parents journeyed to Philadelphia, where her father served in Congress. The Schuyler family’s summer home in Saratoga in upper New York State had been burned down by General Burgoyne’s invaders, before they surrendered in October 1777.
Not looking for love, Betsey had journeyed to Morristown to visit family. She came with letters of personal introduction to Washington and von Steuben from her father. However, her father hoped that Betsey, a lively brunette with a zest for life, might enjoy herself by joining with other young people at the popular dance assembly at Washington’s headquarters. General Schuyler’s sister Gertrude had married Dr. John Cochran, who was Washington’s personal physician and the surgeon-general of the Continental Army. Cochran’s parents were Irish immigrants from Ulster Province, north Ireland. The Cockrans were now staying in the Morristown home of Dr. Jabez Campfield, whose residence was located only a quarter mile—fortunately for Hamilton—down the little, dirt road from Washington’s headquarters at the Ford Mansion.
Most of Washington’s staff officers could hardly believe their eyes at the sight of the stylish young woman when she suddenly appeared at headquarters. But no eyes were wider than those of Hamilton, whose standards for the ideal wife were exceptionally, if not unrealistically, high. A tomboy and nature lover, Betsey was indeed a very special young lady, as Hamilton had first duly noted during his fall 1777 Albany mission when he had had first met her upon visiting the General Schuyler home overlooking the Hudson. Memories of what had interested him about the more common Cornelia and Polly instantly faded until they were nonexistent.
As could be expected, and despite (or because of) their class differences and dissimilar backgrounds, Hamilton aggressively pursued Betsey beginning in early February 1780, and not long after his previous two romantic dalliances that had been for fun. Under Hamilton’s vigorous charm offensive and aggressive pursuit that would not have been acceptable under the usual social norms, she was unable to resist the gentlemanly and intelligent young officer, who was besotted with the general’s daughter until she became an obsession. Hamilton was now enchanted with Betsey’s “fine black eyes” that fairly sparkled, when talking to the native West Indian. In overcoming the wide social gap between the relatively recent immigrant and one of the wealthiest families in New York, Hamilton’s longtime role on Washington’s staff now paid its greatest dividend in his personal life.
Always excessively driven and goal-oriented, he was focused on obtaining his romantic goal that was not a fleeting one this time. Hamilton’s visits to the Campfield house became a nightly routine. Becoming inseparable, the young couple attended the dinners, dances, and balls at Washington’s headquarters and those of other generals at Morristown. George and Martha Washington were enchanted by the whirlwind romance of the handsome couple. Hamilton’s notoriously wandering eye strayed no longer to everyone’s astonishment: the pretty young woman described by Tilghman as “the little saint” tamed the rakish spirit, lustful ways, and fickleness of a former playboy, who had broken many hearts along the way. After a whirlwind romance since coming together as one in February, the two were engaged in March, when he was twenty-five and his beloved native New Yorker was twenty-two. They planned for “a brilliant marriage” in the autumn, which was much longer than desired by the ever-ardent Hamilton, who nonetheless abided by General Schuyler’s wishes.60
In true analytical fashion, Hamilton seemed almost amused, if not somewhat perplexed, about how the sheer transformative power of love had completely muddled his logical judgment and changed his notorious fickle ways with pretty women. Suddenly, in returning one night from visiting Betsey and with lovemaking still on his mind, he uncharacteristically forgot the password when stopped by the headquarters guard, when caused much personal embarrassment. Most of all, Hamilton was amazed how even the most artful of seducers among the men of Washington’s staff had been seduced himself by the intelligent, classy Betsey, who was a charmer and spoke French to his great delight. Cynical, perhaps too worldly, and holding a generally low opinion of human nature that had long fueled his desire “to keep my happiness independent of the caprice of others,” Hamilton was taking a great risk in personal terms by making himself vulnerable by choosing to love another person with all his heart: A vulnerability that he had carefully avoided with considerable success in the past.
Indeed, Hamilton’s balanced analytical nature, axioms about how to live life, and cool intellect had been completely thrown out of whack by the emotional depth of his burning love. But fortunately, he had made a wise choice. The young man’s love was returned in full by this lively woman from one of New York’s most respected families. A member of the Dutch Reformed Church that reflected New York’s early heritage, she was loving, unassuming, spiritual, and down to earth: qualities that served to more securely ground the mercurial Hamilton, who had been long hurled about like a sailing ship by life’s unpredictable storms. As a somewhat perplexed Hamilton wrote to Betsey in attempting to explain the love that consumed him like a powerful intoxicant: “I am too much in love to be either reasonable or witty [and] I feel in the extreme; and when I attempt to speak of my feelings I rave. Love is a sort of insanity and everything I write savors strongly of it.”61
In a letter to his best friend John Laurens who was battling for liberty in the South, Hamilton made light of his so suddenly lost status as a dashing ladies’ man (only recently so highly prized), whose numerous nocturnal encounters and conquests had long had been the talk among higher-ranking officers in the army: “I confess my sins. I am guilty. Next fall [marriage] completes my doom. I give up my liberty to Miss Schuyler [who] is a good-hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant.”62
After the snows finally faded from the Morristown area, Washington and Hamilton worked overtime in addressing a host of problems and in making preparations for the new spring campaign. Continuing to perform as an unbeatable leadership team in the confines of headquarters, Washington and Hamilton continued working to convince the ever-inefficient Congress to adequately provide for the long-suffering army of revolutionaries who were losing their idealism and faith in the struggle that seemed to have no end. Therefore, as during the previous winter, Washington requested a committee to spend some time at the Morristown encampment to view the army’s deplorable conditions, in the hope of prompting remedies and solutions. To apply pressure on Congress to act decisively rather than talk, Washington naturally chose his master diplomat Hamilton to get things accomplished as so often in the past. With his usual zeal, Hamilton now conducted “most of the public courting” of the Continental Congress that was so necessary for the upcoming campaign.63
One modern historian explained why Washington continued to depend upon Hamilton like no other officer in the Continental Army: “First, the loquacious aide was a far better writer than the general. He was expected to weave literary magic and he did, peppering targeted [Congressional] delegates such as James Duane with letters that outlined an army at wit’s end: ‘For God’s sake, my dear sir, engage Congress to adopt [a committee]…. We have not a moment to lose,’ Hamilton wrote in his usual breathless style.”64
In a steady stream of correspondence, Hamilton continued to serve as the sharp point of Washington’s political and diplomatic spear, which tactfully pierced through the tangles of red tape and incompetence of politicians to reap excellent results as it did in out-foxing the wily General Gates. Hamilton’s carefully calculated diplomatic style and artful maneuvering to apply subtle pressure continued to pay dividends for Washington. On this occasion, he garnered more authority for Washington, which the commander-in-chief could not legally request because of separation of powers and military protocol, by way of a committee from a Congress that was historically obsessive about not relinquishing any power to the military because of the old fear of standing armies. By stealthily garnering additional authority from Congress to ensure his army’s well being, if not survival, in the days ahead, “Washington had Hamilton do his work for him.”65 Therefore, Washington’s request for a committee was fully approved by Congress, which even selected the three individuals whom he had first suggested as members to serve. In the end, these committee members delivered a report to Congress that Washington “might have written himself.”66
Spring 1780
The arrival of spring 1780 brought other new responsibilities to the already overburdened Hamilton. Much to his personal agony and only weeks after cementing the most important personal relationship of his life with plans to wed, he was forced to place his romance with Betsey on hold, when Washington ordered him and two officers to proceed from Morristown to Perth Amboy, New Jersey, during the second week of March 1780. This special assignment called for conferring with British officers in the hope of securing the exchange of American prisoners. Riding his favorite horse, Hamilton journeyed southeast from Morristown to Perth Amboy on the coast. Hamilton was not delighted about a lonely mission that took him around twenty-five miles from Betsey. While riding away from the winter encampment of Morristown and Betsey, Hamilton might well have regretted ever having become a soldier.
Detesting Perth Amboy’s loneliness, Hamilton’s spirits plummeted in a miserable exile. He naturally worried that Betsey, who continued to attend the dance assembly at headquarters to enjoy the company of gallant and handsome officers on the dance floor, might find someone else of higher social standing and wealth in keeping with her elevated status. Therefore, the love-sick Hamilton wrote to Betsey on St. Patrick’s Day, March 17, 1780, “every moment of my stay here becomes more and more irksome; but I hope two or three days will put an end to it. Col. [Samuel Blachley] Webb tells me you have sent for a carriage to go to Philadelphia. If you should set out before I return have the goodness to leave a line informing me how long you expect to be there [and] though it will be a tax upon my love to part with you so long, I wish you to see that city before you return…. Only let me entreat you to endeavour not to stay there longer than the amusements of the place interest you, in complaisance to friends; for you must always remember your best friend is where I am….”67
For the first time, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton was so obsessed with his new love that he even put aside—but only briefly—official army business matters, because of his passionate letter writing to Betsey: “It is now half an hour past our time of meeting. I must bid you adieu. Adieu my charmer; take care of your self and love your Hamilton as well as he does you.”68 His good friend Captain Richard Kidder Meade took Hamilton’s letter to Betsey as part of a clever initiative developed by the still cynical young man, who was still not comfortable with completely trusting his heart that might betray him. After all, Hamilton was new to the challenges of a serious love match, which presented fresh dilemmas to his analytical mind now clouded by strong emotion. Hamilton, proving less confident in love than in playing the field when “I have plagues enough” without taking on “that greatest of all” (marriage) and with personal insecurities (thanks to his Caribbean past) rising to the fore, was hoping to gauge Betsey’s true heart in his long absence to end his lingering doubts that nagged at him.
After all, Betsey’s social status was far above that of the lowly young immigrant who had only recently (1773) come to America’s shores. Therefore, this stealthy detective work was calculated to ascertain if Betsey might be turning her eyes toward another handsome and dashing suitor in a resplendent officer’s uniform. Clearly, Hamilton was still very much the intelligence officer in search of answers to perplexing mysteries, but now of the heart. In a letter that revealed his sense of relief, Hamilton later admitted how Meade “had the kindness to tell me that you received my [last] letter with marks of joy and that you retired with eagerness to read it. ’Tis from circumstances like these we best discover the true sentiments of the heart.”69
General Philip Schuyler and his good, but stern and pious, Dutch wife, Catherine Van Rensselaer-Schuyler, departed Philadelphia to visit Hamilton, after his return to headquarters, and to officially entertain his hasty proposal to marry their daughter: a customary formality of high society. In fact, Schuyler already greatly admired Hamilton from previous meetings, including at his home when Washington’s chief of staff had journeyed to Albany on his turbulent Gates mission. Hamilton easily overcame all of the natural social concerns of this wealthy aristocrat, who conversed in French with him and shared other common interests. Schuyler had also voted for Hamilton to serve in America’s diplomatic mission as envoy in France.
Unleashing a typical charm campaign of which he was a master, the tactically astute Hamilton already had cultivated Betsey’s mother with his sincere letters to win her support for the hand of “your amiable daughter,” as he emphasized in one letter. Indeed, with the same skill as in dealing with haughty Congressmen, upper class officers, or French officials, he had prudently forwarded the letter of Betsey’s acceptance to her mother in Albany and diplomatically thanked Mrs. Schuyler for her early and full “acceptance” of him as a future son-in-law. On Saturday April 8, 1780, in a formal letter from General Schuyler, Hamilton learned that the parents formally approved the match seemingly made in heaven. He even referred to his son-in-law as “my beloved Hamilton,” as revealed in a letter to Betsey. Schuyler later stated that “Hamilton did honor to the Schuyler family.” Hamilton and Betsey initially were to be married in late autumn of 1780. In a letter to Laurens, Hamilton revealed how Betsey “is rather handsome, and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy.”70
On Wednesday April 19 and after Betsey departed with her father to Philadelphia, where he served as the New York delegate in Congress, Washington’s encampment at Morristown was enlivened by the arrival of additional distinguished visitors. Anne-Cesar, Chevalier de la Luzerne, the newly appointed French Minister and Ambassador to America (1779–1784), and other French officials, along with Spanish diplomat Don Juan de Miralles, were received with an official formality carefully orchestrated by Hamilton. Most importantly, the diplomat’s special mission was to ascertain if Washington indeed commanded a revolutionary army with genuine war-waging capabilities, before France would officially dispatch thousands of troops and warships to America.
Therefore, Washington and Hamilton had prepared the army to present its finest appearance, because America’s destiny lay partly on the extent of the good impression made upon these distinguished visitors. Washington’s soldiers were aligned in neat ranks, while inspected by the French and Spanish diplomats. Then, on the village green of Morristown, American troops marched in review past the officials with discipline and to the martial airs of fife and drum. Lengthy conferences and dinners followed between the foreign diplomats and Washington, while Hamilton stood close by his side as an interpreter. The commander-in-chief again depended on Hamilton to do and say exactly the right things in the formal European style of the upper class and in the most diplomatic manner, according to the proper social and official protocol expected by the respected representatives.
As in the past, Hamilton and his fluent French were key factors in garnering a highly favorable impressions from these officials, who had to be won over to save America. During such official missions, Hamilton’s well-honed interpersonal and diplomatic skills were fully appreciated by the hypersensitive French and Spanish diplomats, who expected proper deference and protocol befitting the court of King Louis XVI. The French impressions of Hamilton were universal: “He united with dignity and feeling, and much force and decision, delightful manners, great sweetness, and was infinitely agreeable” to one and all.71
Prophetically, as early as the summer of 1777 and before the battle of Saratoga, Hamilton already had envisioned with clarity the distinct possibilities of foreign intervention. Emphasizing what was the true key to decisive victory in America, he wrote with hopeful optimism, “All the European maritime powers [especially France] are interested for the defeat of the British arms in America …. ”72
Therefore, thanks in part to what these diplomats saw of Washington’s Army at Morristown, the overall prospects for future cooperation improved significantly in May 1780, when Lafayette brought the best possible news to Washington’s headquarters: Louis XVI and his ministers had decided that a French war fleet and troops were to be permanently assigned to the American theater of operations. Even now the fleet, with fifteen thousand French troops, was sailing toward America from the West Indies, as reported by Lafayette, who officially served as the French liaison officer between the French and Americans. In consequence, Washington’s chief liaison officer of his staff, Hamilton, rightly felt a sense of accomplishment. Indeed, Hamilton had earlier emphasized to Lafayette that the American revolutionaries must be aided by a French expeditionary force: an all-important initiative that Lafayette had in turn emphasized to the court of Louis XVI at Versailles.73
Ever the diplomat, Hamilton also advised James Duane, an influential member of Congress, about what steps were necessary by Congress to properly prepare for the arrival of the French allies on American soil. In a plea for Congress to take urgent action in a May 1780 letter in which Hamilton’s offered sound advice: “This [letter] will be handed you by the Marquis [Lafayette], who brings us very important intelligence. The General [Washington] communicated the substance of it in a private letter to you, and proposes a measure which all deem essential. For God’s sake, my dear sir, engage Congress to adopt it, and come to a speedy decision. We have not a moment to lose. Were we to improve every instant of the interval, we should have too little time for what we have to do. The expected succor may arrive in the beginning of June, in all probability it will not be later than the middle. In the last case we have not a month to make our preparations in, and in this short period we must collect men, form [ammunition] magazines, and do a thousand things of as much difficulty as importance. The propriety of the measure proposed is so obvious, that an hour ought to decide it, and if any new members are to come, they ought to set out instantly with all expedition for head quarters. Allow me, my dear sir, to give us a hint. The General will often be glad to consult the committee on particular points, but it will be inexpedient that he should be obliged to do it oftener than he thinks proper or any peculiar case may require. Their powers should be formed accordingly. It is the essence of many military operations, that they should be trusted to as few as possible…. Again, my dear sir, I must entreat you to use the spur of the present occasion. The fate of America is perhaps suspended on the issue; if we are found unprepared, it must disgrace us in the eyes of all Europe, besides defeating the good intentions of our allies, and losing the happiest opportunity we ever have had to save ourselves.”74
Meanwhile, by late spring 1780, the enemy was once again on the move with the arrival of warmer weather and the ending of the rainy season. A British-Hessian expeditionary force under Baron von Knyphausen, the best Hessian commander in America, landed near Elizabethtown, New Jersey, after departing Staten Island. Washington dispatched Hamilton to investigate the threat’s seriousness and overall tactical situation. Hamilton needed to ascertain if the enemy’s movement was only an isolated raid or the spearhead of a major advance. After scouting the area with care and obtaining as much intelligence as possible, Hamilton sat down with his inkwell and quill pen to write his report to Washington.
Of course, Hamilton became familiar with the sight of these blue-uniformed German troops when Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall’s German brigade was systematically eliminated by Washington’s surprise attack at the battle of Trenton, where Hamilton had won distinction as a New York artillery commander. From a point “Near Springfield,” New Jersey, Hamilton wrote a typically thorough report on June 8, 1780: “I have seen the enemy; those in view I calculate at about three thousand; there may be and probably enough are others out of sight…. Different conjectures may be made. The present movement may be calculated to draw us down and betray us into an action. They may have desisted from their intention of passing till night for fear of our falling upon their rear. I believe this is the case; for as they have but few boats it would certainly be a delicate manoeuvre to cross in our face. We are taking measures to watch their motions to night as closely as possible. An incessant but very light skirmishing.”75
However, the threat of a possible British-Hessian advance on Morristown was thwarted by the rising of the New Jersey militia at the battle of Springfield, in northern New Jersey, on June 23, 1780. The clash of arms ended the enemy’s ambitions for pushing through northeastern New Jersey to strike Washington’s encampment. After providing valuable intelligence, Hamilton rode back to Morristown to resume his duties at Washington’s headquarters. But he was seething with disgust by what he had seen in regard to the belated and overall feeble defense of American soil. In a confidential June 30, 1780, letter to Laurens in which he criticized the lack of spirited resistance, this ultra “born nationalist” angrily denounced how “our countrymen have all the folly of the ass and all the passiveness of the sheep in their compositions … the conduct of the states is enough most pitiful that can be imagined. Would you believe it—a German baron [von Knyphausen who had led Hessian troops since the 1776 New York Campaign] at the head of five thousand men, in the month of June insulted and defied the main American army with the Commander in Chief at their head with impunity, and made them tremble for the security of their magazines forty miles in the country.”76 The tactically astute Hamilton even pointed his finger at Washington for not marching forth to confront von Knyphausen’s small expeditionary force and crushing the vulnerable command in its exposed position.
By the time of summer’s arrival, Betsey was back at the family home in Albany on the Hudson. With his love far away, Hamilton’s spirits sank in consequence. From the town of Preakness, New Jersey, in early July Hamilton wrote an impassioned letter to Betsey: “I love you more and more every hour [because your shining qualities] place you in my estimation above all the rest of your sex.” He then signed his letter, “Yrs. my Angel with inviolable Affection. Alex Hamilton.”77
Only a couple of days later on July 6 from a private residence of an American colonel in Bergen County, New Jersey, Hamilton wrote another revealing letter to his future wife: “Here we are my love in a house of great hospitality—in a country of plenty—a buxom girl under the same roof—pleasing expectations of a successful campaign—and every thing to make a soldier happy, who is not in love and absent from his mistress. As this is my case I cannot be happy…. I alleviate the pain of absence by looking forward to that delightful period which gives us to each other forever.”78 Later, Hamilton complained of the infrequency of Betsey’s letters, causing him to write: “For God’s sake My Dear Betsy try to write me oftener….”79
But thoughts of achieving battlefield distinction were never lost to Hamilton. He still looked for any assignment to a field command to escape the drudgery at Washington’s headquarters, tied to a desk and paperwork without end. Hamilton’s burning love for Betsey only seemed to paradoxically fuel an equally ardent desire to see action and win battlefield recognition. Lafayette had proposed an attack on New York City. Hamilton was delighted by Lafayette’s offensive-mindedness, and the two friends continued to share the same tactical and strategic ambitions.
The wealthy port city on the Hudson was now more vulnerable because large numbers of the finest British troops had been shipped south to the Caribbean and to operations in the Southern theater. Viewed as an assault in political and psychological terms, Hamilton knew that a victory by American arms would encourage the French, when they needed encouragement about their homespun allies’ combat prowess. Hamilton also envisioned the liberation of New York City to relieve the abuses and oppressions—as he learned from his intelligence network—inflicted upon its long-suffering patriots by Loyalists and redcoats.
On July 9, 1780, Hamilton wrote a letter to Brigadier General Knox and requested “to know the number of heavy cannon we might bring into an operation against New York.” From Preakness, on July 20, 1780, Hamilton wrote to the young French secretary of the diplomatic mission in Philadelphia, deliberately overstating the combat prowess and capabilities of Washington’s Army, but more importantly emphasizing that the key to decisive victory in this war was sea superiority. “New York [City] in all probability will be our object; if we can have a naval superiority, I shall not doubt our success; if we have not the event will be very precarious; and in success the advantages infinitely less. The enemy will save a great part of their army; stores & their shipping of course will be safe, and the whole may fall upon some other part where we may be vulnerable.”80
Clearly, Hamilton was acting not only as a diplomat, strategist, and politician, but also as an effective propagandist for America as during the prewar days, when he had preached the wisdom of revolution to Americans who had needed to be convinced. As he continued in his letter: “I shall take occasion to assure you that it appears clear … that with a superiority by land and sea you can infallibly possess the port of New York, and by siege or blockade, reduce the whole fleet and army. What will be done or can be done to secure an object of such magnitude, I cannot judge; only of this I am confident that your [French] court [in Versailles] will do every thing possible. The proofs she has already given would make it ingratitude to doubt her future intentions.”81
Disappointed that the much-anticipated allied campaign to capture New York City was thwarted by the arrival of a British fleet under Admiral Thomas Graves, and displaying a wry sense of humor about once again having been frustrated from having gained no opportunity for achieving battlefield recognition, Hamilton revealed his strategic thoughts to Betsey in an August 1780 letter written from the little crossroads town of Teaneck, south-central New Jersey: “Though, I am not sanguine in expecting it, I am not without hopes this Winter will produce a peace and then you must submit to the mortification of enjoying more domestic happiness and less fame…. The affairs in England are in so bad a plight that if no fortunate events attend her this campaign, it would seem impossible for her to proceed in the war. But she is an obstinate old dame, and seems determined to ruin her whole family, rather than to let Miss America go on flirting it with her new lovers, with whom, as giddy young girls often do, she eloped in contempt of her mother[’]s authority.”82
All the while, Hamilton remained focused on finding solutions for America’s many ills, especially those of the army. Hamilton now advocated a badly needed reform to save the army before it was too late. In a September 6, 1780, letter from Bergen County, New Jersey, Hamilton implored James Duane, a leading New York politician who appreciated the young man’s advice, that a major change to enhance the army’s capabilities was urgently needed, after learning of the shocking news of the August 16, 1780, destruction of America’s primary Southern Army in the steamy pine forests of Camden, South Carolina: “I have heard since of Gates defeat, a very good comment on the necessity of changing our system….”83
As mentioned, General Gates had long remained a bitter enemy of Hamilton. He had falsely charged Hamilton with covertly copying an anti-Washington letter from General Thomas Conway, which had been allegedly taken from his files at Gates’ headquarters by Washington’s sleuthing point man, when he was in the room alone during his successful autumn 1777 mission to secure reinforcements from Gates. Therefore, what was “an apparent attempt to destroy both Hamilton and Washington” by savaging their reputations, Gates had indignantly informed Washington and Congress that Hamilton, during a visit to see Betsey in Albany, had “stealingly copied” his private correspondence.84
Hamilton, consequently, enjoyed a smug satisfaction in learning of Gates’ downfall at Camden. With his trademark sarcasm unleashed on the detested Gates, who had deserted his army and fled the Camden battlefield and rode a great distance (sixty-five miles) to ensure his safety that he valued above all else, Hamilton asked Duane with obvious contempt: “What think you of the conduct of this great man? … Did ever any one hear of such a disposition or such a flight? His best troops placed on the side strongest by nature, his worst, on that weakest by nature, and his attack made with these. ’Tis impossible to give a more complete picture of military absurdity. It is equally against the maxims of war, and common sense…. But was there ever an instance of a General running away as Gates has done from his whole army? And was there ever so precipitous a flight? One hundred and eighty miles in three days and a half. It does admirable credit to the activity of a man at his time of life. But it disgraces the General and the Soldiers.”85
During September 1780, Hamilton continued to be frustrated with the endless political infighting, lack of patriotic spirit, and the widespread corruption that had long deprived the neglected Continental Army of precious supplies and all manner of support. As he lamented bitterly to Laurens, who had been assigned to the Southern theater of operations, on September 12, of the worsening situation, while revealing his thwarted ambitions of winning an independent command: “you can hardly conceive in how dreadful a situation we are [in]. The army, in the course of the present month, has received only four or five days rations of meal, and we really know not of any adequate form of relief in future [so therefore] the officers are out of humour…. I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you and [Richard Kidder] Meade.”86
As this letter revealed, Meade and Hamilton remained close friends, especially after Laurens’ departure to serve in his native South Carolina. As from the beginning, Hamilton’s friendship with staff members was based upon mutual respect as the men were members of “the family” and brothers-in-arms. While throwing himself into his work with typical zeal to overcome the pain of separation from Betsey throughout the summer of 1780, and impatiently awaiting his wedding day in the fall, Hamilton continued to make his usual disproportionate contributions on multiple levels. He continued to serve as the “thoroughly political officer” who met and exchanged ideas with leading state politicians and Congressional members, especially when they visited Washington’s encampments on fact-finding missions.87
All the while, Hamilton maintained the key role of serving as Washington’s hammer, striking hard at any entrenched and politically based intransigence to either make an important point, force an issue, or secure what was most needed for the army of revolutionaries, who lacked everything but stoicism and spunk. Hamilton repeatedly accomplished what Washington was unable to achieve, because of the Virginian’s lofty image and symbolic position as commander-in-chief that made him unable to act as forcefully as his opportunistic chief of staff, who had been given free rein in consequence. Hamilton was so busy that he hardly had time to write Betsey. At the end of one letter to her, he lamented, “I would go on, but the General summons me to ride.”88
In late September 1780, James Duane, an influential Congressman who had so often appreciated Hamilton’s wisdom, visited Washington’s headquarters. Looking for solutions to endless problems that continued to plague America’s war effort and diminish the army’s already limited capabilities, Duane spoke at length with Hamilton. Duane knew that Hamilton’s analytical thinking about the principal maladies that negatively affected the new nation and army (both of which were on the brink of collapse) offered intelligent solutions. Thanks to his in-depth study of the complexities of history, politics, and economics, Hamilton possessed the rare ability to draw the most useful examples from his vast readings and then incorporate them to create intelligent solutions to seemingly insurmountable problems. Therefore, Duane specifically requested that Hamilton present his solutions in writing about “the defects of our present system, and the changes necessary to save us from ruin.”89
Hamilton was a self-educated authority on America’s most pressing problems in regard to finance, logistics, politics, soldiers’ pay, economics, government, and recruitment. Indeed, few individuals in America were as expert on so many subjects of importance during this crucial period in America’s lifetime. Hamilton also employed life lessons gained from his extensive knowledge about human nature drawn from personal experience, especially from his days in the Caribbean. Consequently and as Duane fully expected, what Hamilton wrote was anything but a mere routine or mundane summarization, but rather a masterful, lengthy treatise displaying a brilliant analysis that offered innovative solutions to the republic’s most vexing problems. Quite simply, Hamilton took full advantage of this opportunity to set forth a plan in great detail to revise the ineffective Articles of Confederation (at the future Constitutional Convention after the war) to create a more powerful Congress guaranteed to get results, especially for a stronger republic and army.
But Hamilton’s brilliant analysis as revealed to Duane was actually nothing new from Hamilton, because he had evolved into America’s foremost thinker in regard to developing solutions. Earlier in the year, for instance, Hamilton had written an anonymous letter (more than six thousand words) to a Congressman that proposed economic solutions to America’s ills, especially in regard to its inflated currency. Never losing his cynicism or realism in this case, which was only additionally reinforced by what he saw in the selfish behavior Americans, including Congressmen, in this faltering war effort, Hamilton knew that people were “governed more by passion and prejudice than any enlightened sense of their interests”; the currency had depreciated so much because of a general “want of confidence.” Therefore, in demonstrating a “staggering precocity,” Hamilton proposed bold measures—a twelve-point plan—to restore this shattered confidence, which included an entirely reformed financial system, one including a substantial foreign loan and a central bank.90
Hamilton’s letter to Congressman Duane was the most impressive document written by him in 1780. On September 3, 1780, and with America’s novel republican experiment and its long-neglected army falling apart at the seams, Hamilton put his extensive accumulation of thoroughly developed ideas about how to save the nation not only on, but also off the battlefield. Here, at an obscure place appropriately called Liberty Poll, New Jersey, Hamilton revealed the depth of his expansive thoughts and ideas about the best possible remedies to America’s faltering war effort and ineffective government that was still ill-prepared for a lengthy war’s challenges. First and foremost, Hamilton proposed scrapping the still-not-ratified Articles of Confederation in its entirety, because its states’ rights priorities were destroying the war effort and tearing apart the weak fabric of the nation.
Consequently, this precocious young man advocated starting anew by creating a stronger and more centralized government to ensure adequate national (versus the highly ineffective state) support for the army and a successful resistance effort, especially for a lengthy war of attrition. To cure the infant nation’s long list of ills, especially near bankruptcy, Hamilton also proposed to give more economic authority to Congress for collecting revenues, especially from the sale of western lands and taxes on existing property, in order to generate the necessary funds necessary to maintain, pay, and supply regulars (long-term troops) of a standing army.
The current disastrous policy of printing money fueled a dangerous level of inflation because Congress did not have the power to raise and collect funds. Hamilton already had been taking steps to reorganize and improve the army during the last three years while serving as Washington’s chief of staff, and he now continued to develop brilliant solutions to a host of seemingly unsolvable problems that plagued the nation and the overall war effort.91 Thanks to his self-education and experiences in the Caribbean and America, what Hamilton wrote with considerable insight revealed that he had succeeded in thoroughly “mastering the great topics of political economy: finance, taxation, banking, and commerce [and] it was a project destined to have a profound impact on his adopted nation.”92
The army’s endless suffering and the deaths of far too many soldiers from the evils of corruption, neglect, and folly, especially during the winters at Valley Forge and Morristown, fueled Hamilton’s urgency for reform. To Hamilton’s disgust, and in reconfirmation of his deeply entrenched cynicism, even much-needed supplies had been deliberately withheld from the army to drive up prices to increase profit margins by opportunistic “pests of society,” in Washington’s words. Unable to control his temper in this regard, the angry commander-in-chief believed that hanging was the best remedy. Hating these unscrupulous individuals who were almost as deadly to America’s fortunes as the enemy, Hamilton turned his righteous wrath upon those selfish opportunists who always put America’s interests last.
Based upon his careful reading of the day’s leading scholarly works combined with a stream of his own innovative ideas, Hamilton’s solutions were all-encompassing. Hamilton proposed remedies for the seemingly endless abuses, especially of the most fatal inflationary variety because of excessive printing of Continental currency (now practically worthless) by the Congress and state governments, while the British occupiers possessed the advantage in competing for supplies by paying with the English pound, which remained stable in part because of Bank of England that Hamilton used as a model for reform.
After Howe occupied Philadelphia, Hamilton had early realized this disastrous cause-and-effect relationship that led to a severe depreciation of Continental currency and an erosion of war-waging capabilities of the seemingly ill-fated revolutionary army: “’Tis by introducing order into our finances [and thereby] in a position to continue the war—not by temporary, violent, and unnatural efforts to bring it to a decisive issue [on the battlefield], that we will, in reality, bring it to a speedy and successful one.”93
As early as 1779 and most forcefully articulated in 1780, Hamilton correctly emphasized that America’s only salvation now lay in creating a strong national government, which equated to a stronger army.94 He concluded to Congressman Duane how the government’s principal failings could be permanently remedied if “we should blend the advantages of a monarchy and of a republic in a happy and beneficial union”: the central premise that led to the creation of the Constitution (ratified after the war) and the modern American nation.95
In an October 12, 1780, letter to Isaac Sears, who was a former leader of New York City’s Sons of Liberty, Hamilton explained his military solution to save America, before it was too late: “We must, above all things, have an army for the war, and an establishment that will interest the officers in the service…. All those who love their country ought to exert their influence in the states where they reside …. The enemy will conquer us by degrees during the intervals of our weakness…. My fears are high, my hopes low.”96
Like America itself, the Schuyler family, including Betsey, also benefitted from Hamilton’s wisdom that had been now directed at reforming not only the government but also the economic system. When the British, Tories and their Indian allies surged down Lake Champlain in October 1780, General Schuyler wrote to Hamilton to request assistance. Thanks to Hamilton’s timely efforts, several regiments were hurriedly dispatched north to Schuyler’s aid. One officer carried separate letters from Hamilton to the general and his daughter. Clearly, the can-do Hamilton continued to pay dividends to the Schuyler family.97
While laboring day and night at headquarters and proving that he was less of the true ladies’ man in terms of overall confidence that he had originally fancied, Hamilton continued to be occasionally consumed by occasional dark thoughts about the love of his life, Betsey. This was a striking paradox because Hamilton was at the zenith of his success as Washington’s invaluable chief of staff and had never been held in higher esteem by so many American leaders because of his brilliant “high-level strategy papers and comprehensive blueprints for government,” in Ron Chernow’s words, and the economy. In an October 27, 1780, letter to Betsey from Preakness, he confessed his fear that was now more haunting to him than facing enemy bayonets and bullets, revealing his deep-seated insecurities rooted in the tragedies of his Caribbean past: “I had a charming dream two or three nights ago. I thought I had just arrived at Albany and found you asleep on a green near the house, and beside you … stood a Gentleman…. As you may imagine, I reproached him with his presumption and asserted my claim. He insisted on a prior right; and the dispute grew heated [but then] you flew into my arms and decided the contention with a kiss. I was so delighted that I immediately waked, and lay the rest of the night exulting in my good fortune.”98
Meanwhile, two of Washington’s aides, including Lieutenant Colonel Richard Kidder Meade, departed the “military” and returned to Virginia to marry their loves, shouldering Hamilton with additional staff duties. In consequence, Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton became even more indispensable to Washington during this period. Therefore, Hamilton was unable to gain a furlough to visit Betsey for an extended period. Hamilton, torn between duty and his fiancée, felt the pain of separation, because as he had written to Betsey, in an honest assessment of his most admirable qualities: “I have a good head, but thank God he has given me a good heart.”99
Ironically, on the same day that Hamilton wrote his October 27 letter to Betsey, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Hanson Harrison was writing his own letter from Philadelphia. Harrison’s letter contained information of considerable strategic importance in regard to future military developments, including in regard to the future military career of Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton: “The delegates [from the South] think the situation of [Earl] Cornwallis [who had advanced a great distance from South Carolina to Virginia and far from reinforcements] delicate, and that by management, and a proper application and use of force there, the late check given [Major Patrick] Ferguson [and his force of Loyalists at Kings Mountain, South Carolina, on October 7, 1780] might be improved into the Earl’s total defeat [but] this, I fear, is too much to hope [and give] my love to the lads of the family.”100 Fate and destiny were already beckoning Hamilton toward the Southern theater of operations.