When Alexander was five years old, James arrived, an object of much interest to his elder brother, but a child of ordinary parts to most beholders.  He came during the last days of domestic tranquillity; for it was but a few weeks later that Hamilton was obliged to announce to Rachael that his fortunes, long tottering, had collapsed to their rotten foundations.  It was some time before she could accommodate her understanding to the fact that there was nothing left, for even Levine had not dared to lose his money, far less her own; and had she ever given the subject of wealth a thought, she would have assumed that it had roots in certain families which no adverse circumstance could deplace.  She had overheard high words between Archibald Hamn and her husband in the library, but Hamilton’s casual explanations had satisfied her, and she had always disliked Archibald as a possible stepfather.  Dr. Hamilton had frequently looked grave after a conversation with his kinsman, but Rachael was too unpractical to attribute his heavier moods to anything but his advancing years.

When Hamilton made her understand that they were penniless, and that his only means of supporting her was to accept an offer from Peter Lytton to take charge of a cattle estate on St. Croix, Rachael’s controlling sensation was dismay that this man whom she had idolized and idealized, who was the forgiven cause of her remarkable son’s illegitimacy, was a failure in his competition with other men.  Money would come somehow, it always had; but Hamilton dethroned, shoved out of the ranks of planters and merchants, reduced to the status of one of his own overlookers, almost was a new and strange being, and she dared not bid forth her hiding thoughts.

Fortunately the details of moving made life impersonal and commonplace.  The three slaves whose future had been the last concern but one of Mary Fawcett, were sent, wailing, to Archibald Hamn.  Two of the others were retained to wait upon the children, the rest sold with the old mahogany furniture and the library.  The Hamiltons set sail for St. Croix on a day in late April.  The sympathy of their friends had been expressed in more than one offer of a lucrative position, but Hamilton was intensely proud, and too mortified at his failure to remain obscure among a people who had been delighted to accept his princely and exclusive hospitality.  On St. Croix he was almost unknown.

They made the voyage in thirty-two hours, but as the slaves were ill, after the invariable habit of their colour, Rachael had little respite from her baby, or Hamilton from Alexander, whose restless legs and enterprising mind kept him in constant motion; and the day began at five o’clock.  There was no opportunity for conversation, and Hamilton was grateful to the miserable mustees.  He had the tact to let his wife readjust herself to her damaged idols without weak excuses and a pleading which would have distressed her further, but he was glad to be spared intimate conversation with her.