scertained that heavy British reinforcements
had gone from that neighbourhood to Howe. He wrote at once to
Washington, advising him of his peril, and endeavoured to push on; but
his delicate frame would stand no more, and on the 15th he went to bed
in Mr. Kennedy's house in Peekskill, with so violent an attack of
rheumatism that to his bitter disgust he was obliged to resign himself
to weeks of inactivity. But he had the satisfaction to receive a letter
from Washington approving all that he had done. And in truth he had
saved the situation, and Washington never forgot it.

III

Hamilton rejoined the army at Valley Forge and soon recovered his health
and spirits. It was well that the spirits revived, for no one else
during that terrible winter could lay claim to any. The Headquarters
were in a small valley, shut in by high hills white with snow and black
with trees that looked like iron. The troops were starving and freezing
and dying a mile away, muttering and cursing, but believing in
Washington. On a hill beyond the pass Lafayette was comfortable in
quarters of his own, but bored and fearing the worst. Laurens chafed at
the inaction; he would have had a battle a day. As the winter wore on,
the family succumbed to the depressing influence of unrelieved monotony
and dread of the future, and only Hamilton knew to what depths of
anxiety Washington could descend. But despair had no part in Hamilton's
creed. He had perfect faith in the future, and announced it
persistently. He assumed the mission of keeping the family in good
cheer, and they gave him little time for his studies. As for Washington,
even when Hamilton was not at his desk, he made every excuse to demand
his presence in the private office; and Hamilton in his prayers
humorously thanked his Almighty for the gift of a cheerful disposition.
It may be imagined what a relief it was when he and Laurens, Meade, or
Tilghman raced each other up the icy gorge to Lafayette's, where they
were often jollier the night through than even a cheerful disposition
would warrant. Hamilton, although he had not much of a voice, learned
one camp-song, "The Drum," and this he sang with such rollicking abandon
that it fetched an explosive sigh of relief from the gloomiest breast.

There were other duties from which Hamilton fled to the house on the
hill for solace. Valley Forge harboured a heterogeneous collection of
foreigners, whose enthusiasm had impelled them to offer swords and