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“No Alexander!” John Laurens turned to his friend on the stairwell of the tavern where Washington's military 'family' were camped. Lauren straightened the cravat of his plain clothes, while tying his cloak around his neck, all the while pounding down the steps with more force than needed. “Laurens, there should be at least two of us there...” Hamilton protested, following his friend quickly down the steps. John turned around and gave him a hard look, “And evoke suspicion? No. Better that I go and collect the information we need by myself.” “John,” Alexander started, putting a hand on the taller man's shoulder. Laurens brushed it away. Seeing the hurt look on his friend's face, he tried to smile. “I will be careful, my friend, I promise you that. I shall be back within the hour.” Alexander let his hand drop uselessly to his side, and refused to look at Laurens. “Very well. But do not think I will speak to you the rest of the day when you return.” Laurens started to pat Hamilton's shoulder but stopped mid-motion. “I-I'll be back in a while. Have a good day.” He took the last few steps down to the foyer, throwing open the door and gently shutting it with a click. Alexander could hear the whinny of Lauren's horse and the cantor as he rode away. He drew in a deep breath and decided that it was time to act, damn the repercussions. Taking the steps back up to the second floor, Alexander found himself standing in front of the General's office. He knocked and heard a deep voice call from the other side, “Come!” He took several quick steps to General Washington, who was seated with his back to him looking over some papers and saluted. “Sir?” Hamilton started, hoping that the general would not take his time answering because every moment counted. He rocked on his heels waiting as Washington did indeed finish looking over the paper in front of him, before turning in his chair.“Yes, Colonel Hamilton?” The deep timbre of Washington's voice filled the room.Alexander suddenly felt his heart pound just a little harder. He was going to lie to the general. “Sir, might I have an hour off for some fresh air?” Washington looked him up and down mildly. “I suppose an hour of recreation would not go amiss.” His face turned stony then, blue eyes meeting his own. “Mind that you are not going to go after Laurens. This mission is for one person. Two people would surely bring about an unwanted query, Colonel.” Alexander schooled his face so that no expression other than a placid one was reflected on it. “No sir,” he said with calm. “I am not.” Washington turned back around his seat, then waved a hand. “Then, you are dismissed, Colonel Hamilton. Be back within the hour.” Alexander saluted again. “Yes sir.” He stepped backwards closing the door with a light click until he was alone in the corridor. He glanced around and blew out the breath he didn't know he was holding. Laurens would be halfway to his destination by now, and Alexander knew that he could waste no more time. Retreating back to his and Harrison’s room, he quickly donned his civilian outfit, riding boots and cloak, while ordering a servant to have his horse saddled and ready. He took the steps two at a time, reaching the door in mere seconds. He found his horse, a brown chestnut mare waiting for him in front of the stables. Its nose rose at the familiar smell of his owner and Alexander gave him a friendly pat on the neck. “Good boy.” He mounted the horse and took off in a cantor, hoping he could catch up with Laurens. ~*~John Laurens knew something felt off....yet he could not for the life of him, figure out what it was.
Better to be cautious.
When he reached the small house, he proceeded slowly to its door. The house was a small, thatched wood structure with a windmill near it. The blades were moving in an industrious fashion. Most people from the village came here to have their grain turned into flour, so it was easy to have messages sent here without arousing an opinion that anything to the contrary was going on. He himself had a bag of grain that also held more messages to be passed, which he took into his hand. Laurens and entered the house after a knock and a call to enter came through. A fat, balding gentleman who was at the fireplace. He looked a little pale as Laurens entered the room. But went to greet him with a shake of the hand. “Good day, sir. How may I be of assistance to you today?” The man spoke. “Good day, Mr. Clark. I hope you can still swim in the ocean in our fine country as a subject.” Laurens said. The miller nodded, hearing the password, he responded, “Perhaps one day you will fish with us, good sir. A plate of fresh fish is worth more money than this occupation is vast.” Laurens nodded on hearing it. “Have you the missives, sir?” He inquired, quietly. Laurens watched as the children, a boy and girl, played in a corner while their mother knit in a rocking chair, her belly protruding with yet another life. The miller bobbed his head, scooting past him in the small space to a forlorn corner which he could not see and withdrew something from it. He pressed his lips together while handing the papers over.“My thanks to you sir.” Laurens remarked, handing him a small amount of British Shillings, who took it while quietly acknowledging it. It was another whinny that drew his attention. He stepped to the window, his back to the wood wall, and turned his head ever so slightly to see a flash of red.
Redcoats!
Laurens looked about at the house and found that there was a back door. There seemed to be only a small handful of troops. Perhaps he could make a break for it and out into the field before they would even notice. The miller grabbed his arm to stop him. “Quick, there is a trap door that leads to the cellar. Go down it while I try to get them to leave!” He ran to it and pulled it open, his eyes not yet adjusting to the dark, and threw himself down it. Laurens heard the trap door slam shut and something over it, very heavy, maybe a barrel or some object that would be difficult to move. His breaths staggered as he heard the speaking men above. The Redcoat leader inquiring about the horse, and the miller remarking that it had wandered here of its own accord and that perhaps its rider had been shot off it from bandits or fine British officers like themselves. Laurens strained to hear and make out the details of the conversation. John heard an order to search the house from the British officer, the sounds of thing being turned over and thrown, the screams of the wife and protests of the husband. Laurens held his breath, closed his eyes and prayed that he wouldn't be discovered. His prayer wasn't answered. “What's this?” A British soldier spoke in a haughty tone. Before the miller could finish the sentence, he heard the barrel moved, the latch thrown back. He came face-to face with an older British officer with a triumphant expression and a younger soldier with his gun trained on him. Laurens could do nothing but raise his hands in surrender and clop up the steps at the order. ~*~Hamilton watched from a small band of onlookers at the commotion happening at the miller's house. Laurens was thrown ruthlessly to the ground upon being taken from the house, the guns of several British soldiers trained on him. His mouth gaped and his eyes widened to their fullest extent when he saw the leader of the small band of soldiers light something he could not see and set it onto the paddles. They soon went up in a huge conflagration of fire which lit up the sky for a full minute, before the flames and ashes spilled onto the roof, catching, and soon, engulfing it. His heart stopped at the scream of a child and the cry of 'Oh God!' from a woman. It was with horror that he realized the British soldier had left the family inside and intended to 'punish' their disloyalty. He felt a wave of powerlessness and anger that the British soldiers stood by while the trapped family screamed and cried for help. Alexander's eyes went to his friend who, having heard the cries, broke loose from the British soldier who had pinned his arms back. The tall South Carolinian threw himself into a window, the sound of exploding glass almost enveloped by the roar of flames. Hamilton's heartbeat quickened as his friend disappeared into the smoke and flames. The minutes seemed like hours to him until they all heard the wood door kicked open, a small child (the little girl) being held by Laurens. Under his cloak was the mother holding her son and the miller next to him on the right. They all rushed out, coughing and gasping, ash in their hair but looking relatively unharmed. Laurens stood, coughing, but was speaking to the leader of the British troops, who after a moment, nodded. The small family departed, gratefully nodding to the man who had saved them. The troop of soldiers stood in a line; their guns trained on Laurens. Alexander understood now, his friend was going to trade his life for the family he had saved. It took everything in Alexander's being for him not to yell out. Lifting his pistol high, Alexander shot close to line, knowing that it would not hit, but would startle. Everyone turned to see where the fire had come from except his friend. Laurens threw a punch, seized a gun that had been dropped, shooting at one man who collapsed to the dirt. He glanced around and quickly mounted an ebony horse and galloped away. “Get him!” The British officer's voice shouted tinged with rage at Lauren's escape. The horse sped onto the small stone bridge, while gunshots rang out. Hamilton held his breath as the soldiers followed both on foot and a few on horseback, their weapons on his friend. Alexander's breath hitched with a volley of gunfire exploded on the bridge, his friend slumping over his horse. “John!” He gasped, tears welling in his eyes. He couldn't take a breath as he watched the British soldiers close in. The South Carolinian looked back and then allowed himself to fall backwards over the bridge. Hamilton gasped. Did his friend just sacrifice his life rather than be captured? He squeezed his eyes shut while he heard the troops move across the bridge, congratulating each other for killing another rebel soldier. Alexander waited in the shadows of the tree line until they passed. Five minutes was an eternity waiting for them to be out of sight. He tore down the hill as fast as his feet could carry him to the embankment, not seeing his friend floating in the water. The Caribbean drew in some deep breaths before plunging into the water. The first attempt to find his friend had come up empty. Had Laurens already been pushed down river? He took another deep breath and held it. In the murky water, he saw the soft outline of the man. Blood was flowing slowly upwards like red ink. Alexander immediately swam to it, grasping his friend under the shoulder and swam for the surface. He kicked with all his might towards the shoreline and safety. Lauren's eyes were closed, and he was ghastly pale. “John?!” Alexander called desperately, slapping his cheeks. The man's chest wasn't rising. He had a moment of panic and thought his friend was dead. Alexander brought a fist down on Lauren's chest, then followed by pushing on it. He was hoping against hope until the man coughed up water, turning on his side and drawing up his knees to his chest protectively. Alexander silently thanked whatever providence that had saved his friend. But he could see the blood from wounds that made his mouth dry. His friend was bleeding out and would die if he wasn’t seen by a doctor soon. “John, lay back!” Hamilton hissed. He pulled the coat of free with some difficulty and flung it aside, his eyes searching everywhere for wounds. Laurens had a bullet wound to the shoulder. Turning him slightly, Alexander was relieved to find that it had gone completely through, though it was still bleeding. The other wound seemed to have only skimmed stomach, but he could see that some of the fabric had disappeared, which meant it could have gone into his skin. Clouded blue eyes met his. ‘H-ham? Wha-? Wha y’re doing here?” he slurred, coughing out more water. Before Alexander could answer, Lauren’s eyes shuttered shut. Alexander tensed at his friend’s still form until he found a thready pulse at the man’s wrist. He heard footsteps behind him and froze. His pistol was now inundated with water, his powder and shot soaked and useless. If he was going to be captured, he’d have no recourse to fight anyone off. Luckily it was a soft, “Sir?” that made Hamilton turn his head. Behind him stood the miller wringing his hands. “I-I saw what happened. Is-is he still alive?” Alexander nodded dimly. “I have to get him back to camp, or at least one of the military hospitals, or he won’t make it.” “Please, at least let me help you bring him up the hill. He saved my family’s life. ‘Tis the least I can do.” The miller said gently, his eyes lowered to the wounded man on the shoreline. He agreed and together they carefully made their way back up to the bridge, both out of breath and exhausted by the effort. It took a few moments before Alexander retrieved his horse.Together, both men lay Laurens on the saddle face down. It would hurt John, but he had no other choice. “I thank you, sir for your help.” Hamilton said to the man as he mounted the horse from its hiding place.“I will pray for your friend to survive. A good man like him deserves to see the end of this horrible conflict.” The miller nodded and took his leave. Alexander took a less traversed road, remembering every route in his mind having poured over the maps countless times. He was nearly a half hour from Easton and the flying hospital there. He glanced back at his friend, hoping that he would arrive before the sun set. He’d be well over his hour of leisure and would have to answer for his actions but that was for the future. For now, he had to save his friend. ~*~The tent flap was pushed open by the doctor on call, Doctor Morris, a lanky young fellow with dark chestnut hair. He regarded Hamilton with a serious but kind expression. “Colonel Laurens’ wounds have been seen to, sir. I have pulled the fabric from his belly wound, and barring infection from them or the water, he should recover.” “What are his chances of that being the case, sir?” Alexander inquired with his eyebrows drawn together. He had already dispatched a note to Washington explaining the situation. A reprimand was certain…or worse. Alexander felt a slight shudder ran down his spine at remembering the General’s temper. The doctor sighed and shook his head. “Very likely with the wounds and the water compounding them. It will be hard going, Colonel. Laurens is going to have quite an uphill battle. But he is strong, and I think he might pull through.” He regarded the man standing in front of him. “Perhaps you should stay and be looked over, Colonel.” Alexander shook his head. “I am unharmed sir; save for some water I took in rescuing Laurens. I shall be alright.” It was the truth. Last year, he had found himself in the Schuylkill River after a botched attempt to burn flour mills. He arrived back at camp nearly the next morning, damp and angry at Lee for reporting him dead. The doctor gave him a discerning look but bobbed his head. “Very well, but mind you get out of those clothes soon before you catch a chill. Perhaps we can scrounge you up another set before you return to camp. He gestured to the tent. “In the meantime, you may see your friend.” Alexander thanked him quietly as he stepped into the tent, regarding his friend who lay unconscious on a camp bed. Lauren’s shoulder and stomach were covered in bandages, while a thin blanket was drawn up to his waist. The man was deathly pale, his breath ragged. Alexander closed his eyes while resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, remembering everything that had happened in the last few hours. The guilt of leaving his friend behind alone to fight this battle weighed heavily on his heart. Before he left, he whispered, “I shall be back as soon as I can, Laurens.” before squeezing his hand and attempting a smile. As he emerged into the cold night air, Alexander took a deep breath and tried to push away the emotions that were warring within him. It wasn’t long before he was dressed in fresh albeit somewhat ragged clothes and mounting a borrowed horse. He wished he could stay but duty compelled him to return. With one final look back at the tents, Alexander spurred his horse into motion.