It was on the Hoagland farm at the junction of the Kingsbridge and Bloomingdale roads that a serious skirmish occurred, and Hamilton and his men stood the brunt of it.  The tired column was almost through the pass, when a detachment of British light infantry suddenly appeared on the right.  Fortunately the cannon had not entered the pass, and were ready for action.  Hamilton opened fire at once.  There was a sharp engagement, but the British were finally driven off.  Then the defenders of the column made good their own retreat, for they knew that by now the redcoats were swarming over the island.

Toward night a cold wind and rain swept in from the ocean.  When the little army finally reached Harlem Heights they were obliged to sleep on the wet ground without so much as a tent to cover them, then arise at dawn and dig trenches.  But by night they were men again, they had ceased to be dogged machines:  the battle of Harlem Heights had been fought and won.  The British had begun the battle in the wrong place and at the wrong time, and all the natural advantages of that land of precipices, forests, gorges, wooded hills, and many ravines, were with the Americans.  Again Hamilton worked in the thick of the fight during the four hours it lasted, but like everybody else he went to sleep happy.

XVIII

He rose at dawn the next morning, and rousing his men, set them at work throwing up redoubts.  He was standing some distance from them, watching the sun rise over the great valley they had been forced to abandon, with its woods and beautiful homes, now the quarters of British officers, when every nerve in his body became intensely aware that some one was standing behind him.  He knew that it was a man of power before he whirled round and saw Washington.

“This is Captain Hamilton?” said the Chief, holding out his hand.  “General Greene spoke to me, weeks ago, about you, but I have been in no mood until to-day for amenities.  I know of your part in the retreat from Long Island, and I noticed you as you passed me on the ferry stairs.  What a lad you are!  I am very proud of you.”

“I had asked for no reward, sir,” cried Hamilton, with a smile so radiant that Washington’s set face caught a momentary reflection from it, and he moved a step nearer, “but I feel as if you had pinned an order on my coat.”

“I have heard a great deal more about you,” said Washington, “and I want to know you.  Will you come up and have breakfast with me?”

“Oh, yes, I will,” said Hamilton, with such seriousness that they both laughed.  Hamilton’s personal pride was too great to permit him to feel deeply flattered by the attentions of any one, but the halo about Washington’s head was already in process of formation; he stood aloft, whether successful or defeated, a strong, lonely, splendid figure, and he had fired Hamilton’s imagination long since.  At that time he was ready to worship the great Chief with all a boy’s high enthusiasm, and although he came to know him too well to worship, he loved him, save at intervals, always.  As for Washington, he loved Hamilton then and there, and it is doubtful if he ever loved any one else so well.  When they were alone he called him “my boy,” an endearment he never gave another.