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The Battle of Germantown had resulted in a disaster for the Continental Army, with well over a hundred casualties, and far more wounded and captured by the British. The certainty and morale that electrified the camp just two days prior was now replaced by a sombre bleakness that disheartened even the most sanguine of men.
The office of Washington’s aides-de-camp were feeling the aftermath of their loss, perhaps more than most others within the camp, considering the fact that their own Laurens lay stricken by fever in the medical tent due to yet another injury, this time to his right shoulder. As a result, Hamilton was even more bad-tempered than usual, which only served to add to the dark mood in their office. Not one of them attempted to raise spirits within the office, as none could muster the required energy for such a task.
Then- a knock at the door.
Being one of the more easily-distracted aides, Meade slips out of his seat to answer the door, most likely pleased to be pulled away from his desk. Tilghman, being seated next to Meade and one of the closer men to the door, hears the muttered exchange of two voices- one of which he recognises as Meade, despite having hardly heard the man speak over the last few days, and one of which he does not know. He cannot make out what is said, though that puzzle is quickly solved upon Meade’s return to the office.
The brunette nudges the door open with his boot, sliding in sideways and turning to face the rest of the office. In his arms, he holds a medium-size dog with wiry white fur and a small splodge of light brown curving perfectly over the left side of her face just under her eye, reaching all the way up to her left ear. Its snout was long, giving her face an odd rectangular shape, and the fur at the end fluffed up to resemble a white moustache.
“Pray tell, Meade, why on earth do you have a dog?” At Harrison’s words, the rest of the aides’ heads shoot up to stare at the man in the doorway. Hamilton scoffs, rolling his eyes as he returns to his work without a second glance.
“Two men found her wandering aimlessly across the camp and brought her straight here.” Meade adjusts the wriggling animal in his arms to inspect her collar, peering down his nose to read the name etched into the material.
“Why should they believe we are in want of a dog? Our office is crowded as it is.” Fitzgerald leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest indignantly as he continues to stare at the dog.
“I find myself in agreement with Fitzgerald. Why should we be interested in such a creature?” Tilghman added, much to the evident annoyance of Meade, who still held the fidgeting creature almost as though she were his own.
“I do believe, Sirs, that the two of you shall soon find yourselves heavily interested in this particular dog.” Meade shifts the dog in his arms to prevent her from slipping to the floor, the dog grunting in displeasure at being thrown about by the man, let alone a stranger.
“Enlighten us then, Kidder.” Tilghman places his quill down to mimic Fitzgerald’s stance, with the exception of the Irishman’s clear disdain for the hound.
A sly grin appears on Meade’s face as he marches towards Tilghman, leaning the dog forward to allow Tilghman to read the name upon the collar. Tilghman frowned at his friends’ strange behaviour, but chose to entertain his antics nonetheless. He peered at the collar, eyes flying open as he saw the name.
“Surely not-“ Tilghman gawked at Meade, who laughed at the older man’s expression.
“I believe it is, my dear Tilghman.”
“Would you care to share with the rest of us what has shocked you so, Tilghman?” Harrison appears half-interested in the exchange taking place across the room. Reed huffs a breath- his own way of expressing his disapproval of the pair.
Tilghman turns his head to look at Harrison, his expression unchanged. “It would appear this dog belongs to General Howe.”
Hamilton’s quill ceases its movement upon his page as Harrison and Fitzgerald exchange a glance. The aides sit in silence for a moment before Harrison rises to seize the dog from Meade, raising his eyebrows, half-shocked and half-surprised, when he sees Tilghman's words ring true.
“What do you suppose we do with her, Old Secretary?” Meade asks while dusting a few stray white hairs off his coat. “Might we be able to keep her? A furry companion may bring some cheer back to our office.”
“A furry companion may also bring trouble. I should not wish for another trip hazard to be added to our office.” Tilghman counters.
“A furry British companion, nonetheless.” Fitzgerald adds.
“I do not see what her homeland should have to do with matters, seeing as she is a dog, Fitzgerald, and therefore incapable of wielding a sword.” Meade rests his hand upon his hip, cocking it to the right as he speaks.
“Might I suggest we take her to the kitchen and request that they-“
“That is enough, Hamilton.” Harrison gives the younger man a disapproving look before continuing. “I shall take her to His Excellency and leave the decision up to him. It is his camp she wandered into, after all.”
The aides nod their heads in agreement- although, it is rare, if at all, anyone should object to Harrison’s word, as he is arguably the most logical among them. However, he did not need to walk far, as the man in question appeared in the doorway, almost as if by magic. General Washington raised an eyebrow at Harrison, clearly wondering why his military secretary held a dog panting in his arms.
“Gentlemen,” Meade jumped as the General spoke, unaware of his arrival as he had his back turned, whirling about to offer a half-startled salute. “Would one of you care to explain what exactly is going on here?”
Both Meade and Tilghman looked over their shoulders at Harrison for an explanation, the latter clearly struggling to keep ahold of the dog. Meade looked to Tilghman, who gestured for Meade to speak.
“Sir, she- the dog- was found wandering aimlessly about camp by two of our men, who brought her here as they thought it best-“
“It would appear that she belongs to General Howe, Sir.” Tilghman cut in- Meade’s stories sometimes took longer than was deemed necessary.
The General stared at Tilghman for a moment, before holding out a hand towards Harrison, summoning him forth with the dog. Once Harrison had staggered over, more grateful than he realised to offhand the dog, General Washington adjusted the dog to inspect her collar.
“What do you suppose we do with her, Sir?” All eyes were upon the General, awaiting an answer to Harrison’s all-important, and still unanswered, question.
“As much as I know some of us,” he looked pointedly at Meade as he spoke, “would prefer to keep her amongst our ranks.” He paused, silently enjoying (though he knew he shouldn’t) the building look of hope and excitement in Meade’s eyes. “However,” Meade deflated as His Excellency continued, “it is only right that she be returned to her rightful owner.”
The three aides in front of the General nodded, whereas both Fitzgerald and Reed breathed quiet sighs of relief. Hamilton, already returned to his work, does not acknowledge the decision.
“Hamilton!” General Washington barks, forcing the youngest aide to look up from the work in front of him, risking a moody glare as he did so. “Compose a note, if you will, offering my compliments to General Howe, as we are to return his dog to him as soon as possible.”
Hamilton picked up a fresh sheet of paper, forcing out a mumbled “Yes, Sir” in acknowledgment of His Excellency's wishes.
“Meade, I trust I can leave it to you to ensure this dog is bathed and brushed before she is returned to the British?” The brunette nodded, doing little to hide his excitement as he accepted the dog back from the General.
“Shall I see what I can scrounge up for her from the kitchens, Sir?” Meade scratched behind the dog's ear, his attention now drawn away from His Excellency.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day you were willing to share your food, Kidder.” Tilghman swung his leg gently to nudge Meade, the pair grinning at one another teasingly. General Washington nodded once at Harrison before disappearing back to his office, leaving Harrison in charge.
Harrison returned to his seat, picking up his quill and using his ankles to tuck his chair in. No sooner had he dipped the tip of his quill in his inkwell, Fitzgerald dropped his hand upon the tabletop with a startlingly loud bang.
“Meade,” He hissed, “must you coo over that thing? It is not a babe, it is just a dog.”
“Come now, Fitzgerald.” Harrison attempted to mediate.
“But he is making a racket!”
“He is also standing right here.” Meade dipped his head, raising both eyebrows sarcastically towards the Irishman. “Perhaps I shall take my racket elsewhere.”
“Perhaps you shall.” Reed grumbled, his irritation and distaste clear. Meade scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he marched from the room, the dog's head bobbing from the movement. Harrison looked to Tilghman, who had only just spun back around in his chair. The elder shrugged gently, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before settling back into his work.
***
An hour passed by at an excruciatingly slow pace, none in the office willing to attempt conversation, mostly out of fear of provoking any unwanted animosity. Their silence was interrupted by the return of a certain brunette and his newfound furry companion.
“You will all be pleased to know I have returned to you in one piece.” Meade strode into the room, the dog hot on his heels. Tilghman, deeply engrossed in the letter he was composing, pumped his fist in the air with a muttered ‘Huzzah!’, his eyes glued to the page. The dog trotted across the room, her claws clicking gently on the floor until she settled next to Fitzgerald’s feet, resting her head upon his boot.
“Meade, make it leave me be, I beg of you.” Fitzgerald’s face was strained, his jaw clenched tight as he slowly ground his teeth in circles.
“I never considered you to be an animal whisperer, Fitzgerald.” Meade grinned. “It would appear she has taken a liking to you.”
Fitzgerald narrowed his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose, his gaze piercing through Meade until the brunette recalled the dog.
Harrison watched as she scampered back over, sitting down and wagging her tail with a dull thud on the ground. He marvelled aloud, “I will give her credit for her obedience.”
Meade made an ‘mmm’ sound in agreement, tapping his toe on the floor in thought, his hands resting upon his hips. Silently, he dropped his arms and strode from the room, slipping out of the door leading to the kitchen.
The aides sat in a comfortable silence, most of them returning to their work after the interruption, with the exception of Tilghman and Fitzgerald, who both watched the dog as she chased her tail, the former watching with amusement and the latter watching with utter contempt. Tilghman turned to face Fitzgerald, as the dog now lay happily gnawing at the end of her tail.
“I take it you are not a dog person?” Fitzgerald’s eyes ticked to the right to meet Tilghman’s.
“No, Sir, I am not. I do not mind the company of His Excellency’s hounds, for they should seem most agreeable creatures, however,” he paused, his gaze returning to the dog just a few feet away, “I do mind the company of most other dogs.”
“Then perhaps next time we should hope for a British cat to wander into camp?” Tilghman grinned as he imagined a small cat prowling about their office, likely causing even more chaos than their current furry stowaway.
“I pray that there shall not be a next time. I am sorry, but I truly fail to understand why you are all so excited by the presence of such a creature.” Fitzgerald spun his quill in his hand, twiddling the tip between his fingers.
“I think we are all simply excited by the change she has brought to our office, considering the past few days have been so incredibly dreary, what with our most recent defeat and the absence of our Laurens.” Tilghman heard Hamilton’s quill scratch the paper harshly upon hearing Laurens’ name mentioned, with such force that Tilghman feared the paper would tear if he pressed any harder.
“I concur with Tilghman. It is nice to have a bit of energy restored to our office.” Harrison chipped in. Tilghman saw Reed roll his eyes, but chose to say nothing.
Fitzgerald opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again upon seeing General Washington in the doorway.
“Hamilton. Might I speak with you?” Hamilton stood and marched stiffly out into the hallway, His Excellency closing the door behind him for a little privacy.
Their voices were muffled by the door as Tilghman leaned slightly to the left in an attempt to eavesdrop. Using the table for leverage, he leaned closer to the door, the right legs of his chair lifting from the ground as he balanced.
“Tilghman.” Harrison admonished, looking at Tilghman as though he were a naughty schoolboy. Tilghman allowed his seat to drop firmly back onto the ground, the dog skittering back upon the bang of the chair legs.
Just then, Meade returned carrying a small side plate with a small serving of what Tilghman recognised as leftovers from yesterday’s dinner. The dog, having smelled the food, bounded towards Meade, standing on her hind legs in an attempt to get closer to the dish. Both Meade and Tilghman chuckled at the sight, Fitzgerald even smiling a little as Meade manoeuvred his way about the office, the dog jumping excitedly at his feet.
“Sit.” Meade held the plate high as he waited patiently for the dog to obey the command. As soon as she did, Meade placed the plate down before her, stepping back as she devoured the meat.
The door to the hallway flew open, barely missing Meade, as Hamilton stalked his way back to his seat. Tilghman’s expectant gaze was met with a fiery look of annoyance from Hamilton.
“What?” The redhead ground out as he rifled through the paperwork on his desk.
“What should the General require you for?” Tilghman prepared himself for a snappy answer.
“I am to return the dog to its rightful owner.” Hamilton seized the paper he had searched for, inspecting it before shoving it into his pocket.
“So soon?” Meade said, clearly disheartened by the fact.
“Yes.” That was all Hamilton said. Tilghman gave Meade a small smile as the brunette returned to and slumped down in his seat unhappily.
The aides worked again in silence, except for Meade sighing sadly every time the dog did something, whether that be laying across someone’s boots or simply yawning and lying by their sorry excuse of a fire. The sun soon began to set, at which time Harrison gently suggested Hamilton ride out to return the dog to the British.
Hamilton left almost no time for goodbyes, as he scooped the dog up and tucked her under his left arm.
“Wait!” Meade cried out suddenly, chasing after Hamilton. “You shall need some assistance.”
Hamilton must have protested, but Meade must have somehow won him over, as their voices faded and the front door closed. Meade returned minutes later, his expression akin to someone who had just lost a dear friend or relative. Tilghman gave him a look, to which Meade shook his head gently.
“It is the right thing to do, I know.” Meade returned to his seat, slouching down in it and sighing high in his register. “Do you think His Excellency would allow us to keep a pet? Only something small… a fish, perhaps?”
Tilghman threw a spoiled paper ball at Meade, which the brunette threw straight back, the pair laughing together.
“There are already horses to care for, remember?” Fitzgerald grinned as he spoke, his mood clearly lifted upon the departure of the dog.
“Aye, I suppose we have that.” Meade agreed. “Although, imagine if we were allowed-“
“No!” The aides all chorused together, putting an end to Meade’s dreams of a family pet once and for all.