even the battalions of retreating Americans; the forms of his own men were vague and gray of outline.  He never had fancied an isolation so complete, but his nerves stood the strain; when they began to mutter he reminded himself of Mr. Cruger’s store and St. Croix.  There was a false summons, and after turning his back upon his post with a feeling of profound relief, he was obliged to return and endure it for two hours longer.  Did the fog lift he would never see another.  It was dawn when a messenger came with the news that his turn positively had come, and he marched his men down the slope to the ferry stairs.  He passed close enough to Washington to see his dejected, haggard face.

On the 15th of the following month, after much correspondence with Congress, discussion, and voting, it was determined to abandon New York City, and intrench the army on the Heights of Harlem.  Hamilton was bitterly disappointed; he wanted to defend the city, and so had three of the generals, but they were overruled, and the march began on a blazing Sunday morning.  It was not only the army that marched, but all the inhabitants of the town who had not escaped to the Jersey shore.  The retreat was under the command of General Putnam, and guided through all the intricacies of those thirteen winding miles by his aide-de-camp, Aaron Burr.  The last man in the procession was Alexander Hamilton.

“So, you’re covering again, Alexander,” said Fish, as he passed him on his way to his own regiment,—­the New York, of which he was brigade-major.  “You can’t complain that your adopted country doesn’t make use of you.  By the way, Troup is in the Jersey prison-ship, safe and sound.”

“Can’t we exchange him?” asked Hamilton, eagerly, “Do you think General Washington would listen to us?”

“If we have a victory.  I shouldn’t care to approach him at present.  God!  This is an awful beginning.  The whole army is ready to dig its own grave.  The only person of the lot who has any heart in him to-day is little Burr.  He’s like to burst with importance because he leads and we follow.  He’s a brave little chap, but such a bantam one must laugh.  Well, I hate to leave you here, the very last man to be made a target of.  You won’t be rash?” he added anxiously.

“No, granny,” said Hamilton, whose gaiety had revived as he heard of Troup’s safety.  “And I’d not exchange my position for any.”

“Good-by.”

Handshakes in those days were solemn.  Fish feared that he never should see Hamilton again, and his fear was close to being realized.

It was a long, hot, dusty, miserable march; some lay down by the wayside and died.  Hamilton had been bred in the heat of the Tropics, but he had ridden always, and to-day he was obliged to trudge the thirteen miles on foot.  He had managed to procure horses for his guns and caissons, but none for himself and his officers.