There is a print somewhere representing Hamilton setting forth on this mission.  He is mounted on a handsome white horse, and wears a long green cloak, one end thrown over a shoulder.  His three-cornered hat is pulled low over his eyes.  In the rear is an orderly.

He started on the 30th of October, riding hard through the torn desolate country, toward Newburg on the Hudson.  He was three days making the distance, although he snatched but a few hours’ rest at night, and but a few moments for each meal.  From Newburg he crossed to Fishkill and, acting on his general instructions, ordered Putnam to despatch southward three brigades; and on his own account despatched seven hundred Jersey militia on the same expedition.

He then started hot and hard for Albany, a dangerous as well as exhausting journey, for neither savage tribes nor redcoats could be far in the distance.  His mental anxiety by now wore as severely as the physical strain.  None knew better than he that his talents were not for diplomacy.  He was too impatient, too imperious, too direct for its sinuous methods.  On the other hand, he had a theory that a first-rate mind could, for a given time, be bent in any direction the will commanded, and he had acquired an admirable command of his temper.  But the responsibility was terrific, and he was half ill when he reached Albany.  He presented himself at General Gates’s headquarters at once.

Gates, like Lee, was a soldier of fortune; and low-born, vain, weak, and insanely ambitious.  He had been advised of Hamilton’s coming, and had no intention of giving Washington an opportunity to rival his own achievements and reestablish himself with the army and the Congress.  He received Hamilton surrounded by several of his military family; and for the first time our fortunate hero encountered in high places active enmity and dislike.  He had incurred widespread jealousy on account of his influence over Washington, and for the important part he was playing in national affairs.  To the enemies of the Commander-in-chief he represented that exalted personage, and was particularly obnoxious.  Never was a youth in a more difficult position.

“I cannot expose the finest arsenal in America,” said Gates, pompously, “to the possibility of destruction.  Sir Henry Clinton may return at any minute.  Nor could I enterprise against Ticonderoga were my army depleted.  Nor can I leave the New England States open to the ravages and the depredations of the enemy.”

These statements made no impression on Hamilton, and he argued brilliantly and convincingly for his object, but Gates was inflexible.  He would send one brigade and no more.

Hamilton retired, uneasy and dejected.  Gates had an air of omnipotence, and his officers had not concealed their scorn.  He hesitated to use his authority, for a bold defiance on the part of Gates might mean the downfall of Washington, perhaps of the American cause.  That Washington was practically the American army, Hamilton firmly believed.  If he fell, it was more than likely that the whole tottering structure would crumble.