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The night was chilly in early May, spring finally making its presence known. Hamilton would have stopped for the night, but it was a relatively short trip from the town to procure a coded missive from Major General Lafayette, who was staking out a position near Barren Hill. The Frenchman hoped to get the British unnerved by his troops peppering away at them before disappearing back into the woods. Ultimately, Lauren’s mission was to capture General Howe, though that had yet to be accomplished by the Frenchman.
Alexander could hear the rustling of the trees by a cool breeze that lofted through them. The sounds of the forest and his horses own cantor the only sound in the darkness. Another sound soon joined it however, something that made the hackles on the back of his neck stand on edge.
Not many civilians would be on the road at this hour, so Alexander was on high alert as the cantor grew closer. He shifted in his saddle, trying to get a glimpse of whomever was nearing him by moonlight, but could only see someone in a uniform. The other man had yet to shout for him to stop, so perhaps they would continue to their destinations in relative silence and distance from one another. Still, Hamilton wondered why if the rider were a soldier, being British or Continental, he had yet to call out to him. Perhaps the same reason as why he didn’t, out of an abundance of caution.
That went on for some time until the nameless rider’s horse galloped steps sounded and was soon next to Alexander on the road.
Hamilton looked the man up and down, seeing with some relief that it was a Continental soldier that rode up next to him. The soldier was of middling height, with chestnut colored hair tied back in a queue. His horse was a dark gray mare snorting in the still slightly cold air.
“Good evening, sir.” The man said kindly with a nod and a salute. “Major James Lambert. And who are you, sir?” The soldier asked pleasantly.
“Major David Noble, sir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” Hamilton returned smoothly. In the moonlight, Hamilton could see the rigid posture that was much too stiff to be comfortable for riding. Something about this man did not sit right with him. So, he employed his tactic of interrogation without the other being aware of it.
“You’re a long way from home, Major Lambert.” Alexander remarked while keeping his eyes on the road.
“I should say so!” Lambert laughed. He seemed a little uncomfortable, shifting in his saddle.
“What regiment were you with, Major Lambert?” Hamilton asked casually, mentally taking stock of how fast he could draw a weapon.
“The 12th Massachusetts, sir. We were part of the attack on Trenton.” Lambert remarked with some pride In his tone.
Alexander glanced at him with his eyebrows knitted. He remembered the plans for Trenton, which did not include that regiment of soldiers. Interesting. Hamilton would have to ask further questions to confirm his suspicions.
“What regiment do you hail from now, sir?”
The other man looked slightly flummoxed. “The regiment of the 8th, sir.”
Hamilton surged forward for a brief moment before abruptly halting, his gaze piercing and unwavering. “The regiment of the 8th,” Alexander said coldly, “was disbanded in 1777. And it’s the 8th regiment of Massachusetts.” He lifted his chin, then narrowed his eyes. “So, who are you, really?”
The man’s eyes also narrowed, and the accent dropped to a deep British cadence. “The question is, who are you, sir?”
Alexander reached for his saber, but the other man was faster, retrieving a pistol from his belt and leveling it on him. Getting off his horse, the other soldier shouted “"Dismount and relinquish your weapon!"
Alexander reluctantly climbed down from the horse and dropped his sword to the ground. The other soldier then advanced on him, still pointing the pistol in his direction. Alexander remained motionless; his eyes fixed on the gun.
“Tell me your name.” Alexander said quietly.
With chin held high, the man proudly responded, “Lt. Colonel Higgins, serving in His Majesty's army under the command of General Howe.” Not taking his gun off Hamilton, he reached for his enemy’s saddlebag and tossed it to Alexander. “Open it.” He ordered. Having no other recourse, Hamilton did so, fishing out the least important papers to hand to him. Colonel Higgins eyebrows rose. “Lt. Colonel Hamilton? Weren’t you part of the cartel for that prisoner exchange last June?”
Alexander nodded, his silence speaking volumes.
Not taking his gun off Hamilton, he smiled cruelly. "Well, imagine the surprise when they find out I've captured the right-hand man of Washington."
Hamilton's face was frozen in disbelief. He remained motionless as Higgins continued to speak. "I've got you in my sights now, Hamilton. You can't do anything to save yourself. Surrender or die."
With a sudden hiss, Alexander lunged towards Higgins, expressing his clear preference for the latter option. In the chaos that ensued, a gunshot echoed through the air, causing Alexander to stumble and clutch his stomach tightly on the left side.
“I intend to take you alive, Hamilton; you’re a fine prize.” Higgins snarled, aiming the gun at his counterpart's head, "However, if you persist in being stubborn..."
Alexander looked from the gun to Higgins feet and decided to take action. Kicking the man high at the knees made the British soldier fall to the ground. Alexander tossed the gun away toward the woods, then scrambled to his feet to retrieve his sword. Higgins had drawn his own sword and charged towards Hamilton, but Alexander only had to advance a few steps to draw back his own saber and bring it down into the British officer’s chest. The man’s eyes went wide, pupils tiny as blood began to gurgle up his throat and streamed from his mouth. Within seconds, the man fell heavily to the dirt, motionless.
Alexander gripped his wounded side, looking at the dead man on the road. “I’m sorry.” he whispered to the wind.
He was a soldier, and killing was an unfortunate part of war. He knew that it was his duty; however, the act of ending a man's life outside the battlefield weighed heavily on his conscience.
Searching through the dead man's pocket, Alexander wiped the blood with the British soldier's handkerchief, before returning his sword to its sheath. Then he stepped to the gray mare that had been the soldier’s own. “Forgive me for killing your rider.” He took up the reigns, before gingerly re-mounting his own horse. With a soft nudge, Hamilton made his way towards headquarters, refraining from glancing over his shoulder.