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46ten · 1 year

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AH’s political prospects in 1798; Or, how a white man continually falls upwards

It’s a bit difficult to gauge the real-time reaction and consequences of AH’s late August 1797 publication of the Reynolds Pamphlet. We have newspaper articles, sure, and scattered letters here and there.

But this is even more interesting: Kaminski and Levinson (Levinson is a lawyer and publisher at statutesandstories.com; Kaminski is Founder and Director of the Center for the Study of the American Constitution at UWisc) published a blog post last year confirming that AH’s “secret” (all the discussions were supposed to be secret) plan, delivered on June 18, 1787 at the Constitutional Convention, was leaked and published in early 1798.

Kaminski and Levinson continue:

James Madison’s Convention notes were not published until 1840, after his death as the last surviving member of the Philadelphia Convention. Accordingly, historians have generally assumed that the full text of the Hamilton Plan only became public in 1840 after Madison’s death. As set forth below, recently rediscovered sources prove that the verbatim text of the Hamilton Plan was leaked to the press in January of 1798, during the vitriolic newspaper war of the 1790s.

[From Benjamin Franklin Bache’s Aurora on January 13, 1798]: The following document, which so complete unmasks the political character of the man who has been most instrumental in entailing on the United States those pernicious systems under which they now groan, comes to us thro’ a certain tho’ indirect channel, from a member of the Grand Convention.

...It has recently been discovered that after the Aurora published Hamilton’s Plan several Democratic-Republican newspapers quickly followed suit. In early 1798 the following newspapers republished the Hamilton Plan as a means of “unmasking” and attacking Hamilton’s “political character” as a monarchist:

Greenleaf’s New York Journal, January 17, 1798

The Alexandria Advertiser, January 23, 1798

The Independent Chronicle, January 25, 1798

The Bee, January 31, 1798

The Albany Register, February 2, 1798

The Poughkeepsie Journal, March 13, 1798

Whether Madison personally authorized the leak will require additional scholarship, which will be discussed in the pending book, My Most Ardent Wish: New discoveries and insights into the framing of the Constitution.

In the months to follow Statutesandstories.com and the Center for the Study of the American Constitution invite scholars to join in a deep dive into the Madison, Jefferson and Monroe papers looking for clues as to the reason(s) for releasing the confidential Hamilton Plan. While generations of historians and biographers have written about the growing schism between Madison and Hamilton, as far as can be determined no biographer has cited the leak of the Hamilton Plan in the Aurora on January 13, 1798. Why then? And to what end?

Look at these guys promising me a good time! A lot of interesting work has been published on the blog about the Constitutional Convention, how AH may have been in Philadelphia for more days than usually noted, done more politicking towards the other NY delegates than previously known, and how he may have been more active in the writing of the Constitution than usually attributed (hi Gouverneur Morris), in what they term the Hamilton Authorship Thesis. They also have provided some more information about missing/ previously unknown Hamilton legal cases (I’ll link one here), among other topics.

So even with the Reynolds Pamphlet and the publication of AH’s “monarchist” views, John Jay (then NY Gov) was willing to name Hamilton U.S. Senator from NY in April 1798 - without even asking him if it was okay!

The present delicate State of our public affairs, and the evident Expediency of filling this Vacancy without Delay, induce me without requesting your Permission and waiting for your answer, to determine to send you a Commission to fill that place, by the next Post. I can say nothing that will not occur to You. [19April1798, Jay to AH]

And then took a breath and sent off another note:

On further Reflection I doubt the propriety of appointing you without your previous permission, and therefore shall postpone it untill I receive your answer. If after well considering the Subject you should decline an appointmt. be so good as to consult with some of our most judicious Friends and advise me as to the Persons most proper to appoint and at the same time likely to accept. [19April1798, Jay to AH]

The situation was that Philip Schuyler had been elected Senator again in 1797, but then had to resign (3Jan1798) due to poor health. John Sloss Hobart had been NY Supreme Court justice for over 20 years and was appointed to Schuyler’s seat on 11Jan1798. But then he was nominated for the federal NY District Court by Pres. Adams. Did Jay think AH wanted to warm his father-in-law’s seat that badly? AH responded to Jay (24Apr1798):

I have received your two favours of the 19th instant. I feel as I ought the mark of confidence they announce. But I am obliged by my situation to decline the appointment. This situation you are too well acquainted with to render it necessary for me to enter into explanation. There may arrive a crisis when I may conceive myself bound once more to sacrifice the interest of my family to public call. But I must defer the change as long as possible.

I do not at present think of a person to recommend as adapted to the emergency. I shall reflect & consult and write you by the next post. This, the first day, is not decisive of our election here; but there is as yet nothing to discourage. With respect & attachment...

He’s already lawyering and anonymously publishing and meddling all over Adams’s administration and reading every newspaper mention of himself to respond to that too (and tending to his family, I guess)- when did Jay think AH would also have time to be a senator? The lucky fellow appointed Senator until the next legislative session instead was - William North. (James Watson was elected to the position in August 1798.)

And of course, in July George Washington would appoint Hamilton Inspector General with the rank of first Major General, jumping both Pinckney and Knox in rank. Yeah, Hamilton’s reputation and prospects were really suffering. And the biggest problem remained unaddressed - that Hamilton needed to make more money.

I believe it’s first attributed to Jefferson, but some of the Federalists also took to calling Hamilton “Colossus.” If he lived now, he could have made shirts with his picture and the logo “Too Big to Fail.”

#Alexander Hamilton #John Jay #George Washington #Philip Schuyler #William North #Quasi War #Hamilton lives - the War of 1812 never happens #Hamilton becomes the 1st Governor General of the British United States of America

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yr-obedt-cicero · 1 year

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Out of all the Hamilton kiddos, who got sick the most?

It appears it was Philip, who likely inherited his father's immune system, or rather lack thereof.

Usually when the children got sick, it was very few times, and often recovered from swiftly. Philip caught illnesses that were almost fatal twice, but it was truly only once everyone was nearly certain he wasn't going to make it. I already wrote a whole post about that time in the September of 1797. And there's also this bittersweet quote from Hosack.

But there's actually a lesser known case of Philip catching yellow fever the year after nearly dying, in 1798, because there was a minor yellow fever epidemic happening in New York. That proved to be harsh as the Hamilton's lost a servant due to the passing ailment, and apparently Charles Cotesworth Pinckney had to have his trip delayed.

As Philip Schuyler wrote to Elizabeth in fear of the epidemic;

“The accounts we have of the prevalence of the Yellow Fever at NYork and of its progress thro every part of the city, have exuded the most painful sensations. Citizens are quitting city, to fly from the effects of this fatal disorder and as yet I do not learn that any preparations are making on your part to leave It. I have written to my Dear Hamilton, I have urged him not—”

(source — Philip Schuyler to Elizabeth Hamilton, [August 31, 1798])

Four illustrations show the progression of yellow fever, by Etienne Pariset and André Mazet [1820]

Yellow fever was quite deadly, the symptoms was usually pain in the abdomen or muscle. Or chills, fatigue, fever, or loss of appetite. Even nausea, or vomiting blood. Also delirium, headache, or yellow skin and eyes.

During the Quasi-war, Hamilton was meant to be in Philadelphia on the first of November, to meet with Washington and a few others regarding the military. But he writes to Washington saying that people in his family have caught ill;

“Some ill health in my family, now at an end as I hope, interfered with an earlier acknowlegement of your favour of the 21st instant. The contents cannot but be gratifying to me.

It is my intention, if not prevented by further ill health in my family, to proceed on the first of November to Trenton. My aid to the Secretary to the full extent of what he shall permit me to afford will not be withheld. But every day brings fresh room to apprehend that whatever may be the props the administration of the war department cannot prosper in the present very well disposed but very unqualified hands.”

(source — From Alexander Hamilton to George Washington, [October 29, 1798])

Prior to this though, Troup mentions to Rufus King that Hamilton had secured his children - aside from Philip, as he was attending Columbia at this point in time - with General Schuyler;

“Col. Hamilton, Mr. Church and their families have also remained in town, except for a few days past, when out of compliance with the pressing solicitations of Genl. Schuyler they took rooms a few miles out of town ; but they have spent the greatest part of the time in town.”

(source — Robert Troup to Rufus King, [October 2, 1798])

And that is who exactly caught ill, as Mary Pinckney wrote to Elizabeth saying that the rest of her sons were fine and Philip had finally recovered;

“Had I never before regretted that I was a coward I should certainly do it now as this weakness has prevented me the pleasure of paying you my personal respects in New York, & thanking you for the favor of your visit to me at Newark. It is the fate of wanderers who are so happy as to make agreeable acquaintances to know the misery of being separated from them, & I shall long regret being so near you without being able to see you more frequently.

I hope the illness in your family has entirely subsided, & that you have nothing to fear for your sons.

I learnt with pleasure from Mrs. _____ that Philip Hamilton is entirely recovered.”

(source — Columbia University, Hamilton Papers Publication Project. Via; @theelizapapers)

And alas, Hamilton made it on the 10th, and assured Elizabeth that Angelica was escorting Philip to Elizabeth Town;

“I wrote to you, My Eliza, from Trenton. Yesterday afternoon I arrived at this place. I have yielded to the pressing solicitations of Mr. Wolcott to take up my abode at his house, which you know is at the corner of Spruce and Fourth Streets. Mrs Wolcott is in better health than she was but is still very thin and feeble. Without much more care than the thing is worth, her stay in this terrestrial scene is not likely to be long. She desires her affectionate compliments to you.

I am quite well, but I know not what impertinent gloom hangs over my mind, which I fear will not be entirely dissipated until I rejoin my family. A letter from you telling me that you and my dear Children are well will be a consolation. I presume before this reaches you Mrs Church and Philip will have gone to Elisabeth Town.”

(source — From Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, [November 10, 1798])

Hamilton was quite often depressed whenever his family was separated from one another, and was growing weary from the children constantly getting sick with the city air. And thus this was the milestone in his final idea of just moving up to Albany with all of his family, to escape the sicknesses and so they could all stick together.

#amrev #american history #alexander hamilton #historical alexander hamilton #elizabeth schuyler hamilton #elizabeth hamilton #philip hamilton #quasi war #hamilton kids #hamilton family #hamilchildren #hamilton children #hamilkids #queries #sincerely anonymous #Cicero's history lessons #history

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pub-lius · 1 year

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GET HYPE GET HYPE GEORGE WASHINGTON PART TO

@thereallvrb0y I LOVE YOU /p

FUCK the Revolution is happening and the Continental Congress commissioned Washington to take command of the Continental Army in Boston in June 1775. He wrote to Martha wrote that he should return in the fall but motherfucker was LYING, he came back 8 years later in the winter like bro.

Bro was NOT prepared for this, he only had experience from the Virginia frontier thing with only a few hundred men. He was figuring that shit out as he went and mf was STRESSING. I'm not retelling the revolution, there's no time, but specific questions are welcome bc Washington and his staff during the Revolutionary War are the biggest part of my specialty.

During the Revolution, the Congress assholes wrote the fucking Articles of Confederation, which sucked, and Washington thought that they sucked bc he had to experience why they sucked constantly. He wrote to James Madison that they needed an energetic Constitution, bc that's a thing ig.

He went to Philadelphia in 1787 for the convention to amend the articles after being sufficiently peer pressured by Madison and Alexander Hamilton, who you might have heard of. He was unanimously chosen to provide over the convention, but spoke little in proceedings.

"My wish is that the convention may adopt no temporizing expedients but probe the defects of the Constitution to the bottom and provide a radical cure."

vvgfthyvcrt45 -my mom's puppy

Washington's reputation and support were essential to the Ratification, and he helped the federalists gain support. He hoped to finally retire for real, but recieved a vote from EVERY ELECTOR in the first presidential election. While this is impressive (and inconvenient), it was manufactured, and the fact that he's still the only unanimously elected president is also manufactured.

He served two terms as president. His first term lasted 1789-1793. It was occupied mainly by organizing the executive branch and establishing procedures. He had several principle advisors, such as Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, and Henry Knox, and they all got along really well and liked each other very much. (you can tell I'm lying because I'm about to mention the financial plan)

Washington adopted a series of measures proposed by Hamilton to resolve the national debt. He also concluded peace treaties with southeastern indigenous tribes and designated a site on the Potomac river for a permanent capital.

His first term ended with a war against indigenous tribes continuing on the northwest frontier, which was encouraged by the British, and this would be one of the issues that would cause the war of 1812. The Spanish also denied Americans use of the Mississippi River. These issues limited the westward expansion Washington really wanted.

Washington was also very concerned by partisan politics, highlighted by severe divisions between the Democratic Republicans and the Federalists. A lot of people say that Washington was a federalist, but that is entirely missing the point. He didn't align himself with either political party bc he recognized that they are dangerous and damaging to governments. This point is annoying as shit and doesn't even MATTER.

Washington reluctantly agreed to a second term (1793-1797), which was dominated by foreign affairs. For example, the fucking French Revolution, and I'm going into fight or flight at just the mention of this in relation to foreign affairs.

Washington believed neutrality was key for US policy, since they couldn't afford a war, and he believed the country's future depended on increasing wealth from commerce and westward expansion. One of his greatest accomplishments was keeping the US out of the war.

Partisanship continued to grow within the executive branch. The department heads "agreed" that the US should remain neutral, but did they really? They disagreed over foreign policy, with Hamiltonian federalists siding with Great Britain, and Jeffersonian Democratic Republicans siding with France. This heavily deepened the partisan divide.

Also, he had a tumor at some point as president. It was benign, but he had to have surgery.

Opposition to federal policies developed into resistance to law in 1794 when distillers in West Pennsylvania rioted and refused to pay taxes. Washington directed the army to restore order. This action was applauded by Federalists and condemned by Republicans.

The war against indigenous tribes was a victory for the white people, Britain surrendered some (*FORESHADOWING*) of it's forts in the Northwest, and Spain opened the Mississippi River. This opened the west to settlement. Washington concluded his second term with his famous Farewell Address and yippee!! he can retire!!!!

Sike again, he had to be commander-in-chief again bc Adams is a pussy.

But it's fine, he got to go home for the next two years.

On December 12, 1788 he was supervising farming activities from late morning until 3 in the afternoon. The weather shifted from light snow to hail to rain. When it was dinner time, someone was like "hey man, your clothes are pretty wet, you should probably cha-" and Washington was like "would you make Hamilton and his autism go against his daily schedule? no you wouldn't. so if you wouldn't be ableist to him, don't be ableist to me" and then went to eat dinner in his nasty ass clothes.

He noticed that he had a sore throat and became increasingly hoarse. He woke up in terrible discomfort at 2 am, and Martha went to get help. And this... DUMBASS (Washington). REQUESTED that the doctors used bloodletting. AND THATS PROBABLY WHAT KILLED HIM. in addition to that the group of doctors tried induced vomiting, an enema, and "potions' of vinegar and sage tea. He still got worse. He called for his two wills, and directed that the unused one should be burned.

He died between 10 and 11 at night on December 14, 1799. Happy Anniversary, Hamilton and Eliza. He passed peacefully by people close to him (Martha, Dr. Craik, Tobias Lear, his enslaved housemaids Caroline Branham, Molly, and Charlotte, and his valet Christopher Sheels). He was not buried for three days by his request. His body lay in a mahogany casket in the New Room. His funeral was held on December 18, 1799 at Mount Vernon where he was laid to rest in the family tomb. He was moved to a better tomb, and thank fuck bc i went to the first one and it was janky as hell.

Okay, Washington is done. Now, we've just got my holy trinity: Burr, Lafayette, and Hamilton. Also, if you couldn't tell, Washington's death is a micro-special interest of mine LHFSKJFHSK anyway i hope you enjoyed. I still have more shit to do so if you see me floating around, tell me to get back to work.

#george washington #american revolution #amrev #amrev history #constitutional convention #washington administration #quasi war #whiskey rebellion #founding fathers #history #american history #do it for richie 💪

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publius-library · 1 year

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If Laurens had lived, do you think he would fight in the Quasi-war? And what rank would be likely have?

I think it's safe to say Laurens would have taken any military opportunity he could get if he lived past the Revolution. Since his life leading up for the Revolution set him up for a life of politics, I think it would make sense for him to be an officer, though it's hard to tell what rank he would have since I'm not sure how that translates.

I'm sure he wouldn't get demoted though, so it would probably be higher than Lieutenant Colonel. I highly doubt he would ever be a general, mainly because there would be no reason for him to, and he wouldn't seek out the position as someone who didn't even want to be an officer in the first place.

But yeah, tl;dr: he would fight in the quasi war, and maybe like a colonel.

#john laurens #asks #history #american history #quasi war #amrev

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viking-raider · 3 months

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Salt in Our Wounds - Chapter II

Summary-> You've brought the unconscious and injured man into your home. Now, you and Edmund attempt to get him medical attention, while figuring out who he is, and what side he's on.

Pairing-> Gus March-Phillipps/Reader

Word Count-> 4.8k

Chapters-> I

Warnings-> PG: Blood, Language, Infidelity, Fluff, Medical Treatment

Inspiration-> Since my favorite demon, @littlefreya, asked so nicely. The one and only Chaos Major, Gus March-Phillipps.

Author’s Note-> I hope you enjoy! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

-> If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST as well as my @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

“What are we going to tell Papa, Edmund?” You whispered, looking at him suddenly.

Edmund pushed his jaw forward and rubbed his palms over the steering wheel. “You just leave that to me, Peanut.” He replied, hitting the village round-a-bout. “I'll talk to him. What we need to worry about is how we're going to get his bullet wound treated.”

“Oh, no!” You gasped, feeling ridiculous for forgetting that.

“Relax.” Edmund cooed, turning onto your street. “I might have someone in mind, who could help us and keep their mouth shut.” He said, parking against your curb, instead of his.

“Who?” You frowned, blinking at him.

“Old man Tremblay.” He said, killing the engine. “He used to be the village's doctor, before his son-in-law, Thomas, took over for him. They both hate the Germans. So, I might be able to talk to Dr. Tremblay about coming over to the house. I'll say we need him to look at Pops. No offense to Thomas, but he's more comfortable with the old man, which is true. Once he's here, I'll explain the situation to him.”

“If he doesn't help us?” You asked, chewing on your lip, worried.

“Then, we'll wing it.” He huffed, shoving his door open and getting out.

“Wing it.” You sighed, your hands trembling. “Right. Wing it.” You gulped, getting out and meeting your brother at the tailgate. “What end are we picking up first?” You asked, quietly.

“I'll grab his top end.” Edmund replied, casually. “No need for you to drop the poor bastard on his head. He's got enough issues.” He sighed, climbing into the truck. “We all do.” He mumbled under his breath. “Go, open the front door.” He said, jerking his head towards your modest cottage.

“Fair.” You replied, scurrying over and pushing the door open. “Papa, me and Edmund are bringing something in! Don't close the door, please!” You called inside, before rushing back to the truck, helping Edmund with your load.

You slide him half off the truck, enabling you to wrap your arms around his knees and calves, before Edmund managed the rest. Shuffling across the sidewalk and turning, so Edmund went in first, you stepped over the threshold into the cottage, feeling the heat of the fire your father had roaring in the grate.

“What in God's sake are you two bringing in!” Your father griped from the sitting room, where he occupied his favorite armchair.

“I'll explain in a minute, Pops!” Edmund wheezed back, kicking open the door to the cellar. “You go down first.” He bid you with a jerk of his chin. “Your side vision is better than mine, so you hopefully won't stubble down the stairs, while looking over your shoulder.”

“That's fine.” You nodded, turning so you could carefully go down the narrow steps into the dark basement below.

It was slow and cumbersome, but you and Edmund made it to the bottom. You sat your package down and unwrapped him. There were no windows into the basement, so there wasn't a need to hide or conceal him anymore.

“We can't lay him on the floor, Edmund.” You hissed at him, quietly.

“We're not, silly!” He growled back, shaking his head. “Pops has a camp bed up in the attic. Go, get it and bring it down here. We'll set it up in the cellar, he can lay on it.”

Nodding, you went back upstairs, peeking at your father as you came up, but found, to your relief, he had dozed off. Going upstairs and down the hallway, you reached up for a cord hanging from the ceiling and pulled it, revealing a hidden, folded ladder, leading up to the half attic. It took a few minutes for you to finally find the folded up, military green and canvas, camp bed. Once you were back in the basement with it, Edmund had the cellar door open and was waiting for you. He put the bed together like an expert, having gone on countless camping trips with it over his life.

“That should do it.” He sighed, wiping his face. “Let's get him in it, then I'll go talk to Dr. Tremblay.”

“All right.” You sighed back. “He doesn't seem to be bleeding as much.” You commented, once he was resting in the bed.

“Seems so.” Edmund agreed, narrowing his eyes at the wound in the dim lighting. “Whether or not it's a good or bad sign is yet to be determined.”

“Then, you should hurry and get the doctor.” You urged him, brow creasing gently as you looked up at him.

“I'm going. I'm going.” He defended, holding his hands up. “Can't a man take a breather?” He asked, wide eyed.

You reached out and took Edmund's hand. “I'm sorry. I'm just-”

“I know, Peanut.” Edmund interrupted, shaking his head at you. “You have a heart worth more than gold, itself.” He said softly, bending to kiss the top of your head. “With luck, I'll be back soon with Dr. Tremblay.” He called, heading out.

“You hear that?” You said, looking at the man. “We're going to get you looked after. You'll be right as rain again soon.” You smiled at him, though you weren't sure why. “How about I grab you a blanket?” You continued to babble at him. “You might get blood on it though.” You frowned, biting the corner of your lip, but scurried upstairs for a blanket and pillow anyway.

“What's that for, Peanut?” Your father asked, still half dozing.

“Oh, I just thought the basement spirit would like something comfortable to nap with.” You answered, pausing at the basement door, smirking over at him, knowing he wasn't listening.

“That's nice of you, love.” He slurred, head lolling forward.

You chuckled, continuing on. “Well, my father now thinks the basement is haunted.” You quipped, lightly spreading the blanket over your new housemate, then gently tucked the pillow under his head, noticing how sweaty his unruly, but short, curls were. “You've caught a fever.” You cooed, turning your hand to delicately rest it on his damp forehead. “Thankfully, it's cool down here.” You said, using the cuff of your blouse to dab at his sweaty brow.

“I'll be right back.” You hurried back upstairs, to the kitchen.

You grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and a dish towel from its hanger. Tossing the towel over your shoulder, you filled the bowl halfway with water and turned to the ice box and chipped ice from it, dropping some into the bowl. You made two trips between the upstairs and the cellar, taking a chair down there, before taking down the chilled water, so you had something to sit on as you gingerly dabbed his flushed forehead and face.

“Well, whoever you are.” You said, balancing the bowl in your lap. “It's a right mess this is.” You chuckled, before introducing yourself, feeling silly just sitting there in the silence. “I hope you're on our side or Edmund is going to have us both shot.”

Some of the heat in his skin cooled as you lightly draped the folded dish towel over his forehead, making you relieved to see him not so flushed.

You heard the door upstairs creak open and the floorboards overhead groan as heavy feet strode and shuffled over them. “That must be Edmund with Dr. Tremblay.” You commented, looking up at the dusty ceiling. “I should go up and check on them.” You said, standing up, setting the now warm bowl of water in your place on the chair.

“Edmund?” You called softly, appearing in the kitchen, where he was standing with a short, gray haired man, dressed in a wrinkled, brown three piece suit.

“Sshh.” He hushed you, casting an eye towards the sitting room and waved you closer. “As I was saying, Dr. Tremblay, I've brought you here not for my father, but for another matter entirely.” He continued, his voice low so as not to disturb your father.

Dr. Tremblay's bushy brows drew closer together, reminding you of a caterpillar. “Is that so?” He hummed, bringing his arthritic hand up to his chin. “Then, what was it you summoned me here for?”

Edmund's eyes twitched to yours for a moment, you nodded at him and he looked back to the good doctor. “I know you have no love for our occupiers, Dr. Tremblay, like I, myself, don't.”

“Ha!” He laughed, his head tipping back as he grinned. “Fripouilles!” He spat, with no small amount of venom.

“I agree, sir.” Edmund chuckled, smirking. “But, to the heart of the matter. My dear sister here, on her daily morning walk along the beach found something—someone, washed ashore.” He explained, his voice calm and steady, revealing no emotion or opinion. “We're sure he's of our morals. But he's been injured.”

“Injured?” Dr. Tremblay frowned, narrowing his ordinarily kind, but currently and understandably suspicious, brown eyes at him. “Injured how? Show me.”

“I would rather tell you.” Edmund answered, biting his lip. “In case, you wish not to have any further dealings in this matter.”

“Nonsense!” Tremblay huffed, waving his hand dismissively at the two of you. “Let me see this man.”

Edmund didn't move for a moment, before nodding and leading him down the basement stairs. “He was shot in the side.” He explained, entering the cellar, where your guest laid.

“I discovered he'd developed a fever.” You spoke up from the door. “So, I applied a cool compress to his skin.”

“That was a good thing.” Dr. Tremblay answered, distractedly, folding back the blanket and resting his hands on the man's injured side. “Has he regained consciousness at any time?”

“No.” Edmund replied, shaking his head and looking at you.

“He hasn't.” You confirmed, nervously.

Dr. Tremblay pulled a pair of wired spectacles out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before untucking the shirt from the unconscious man's trousers, for a clearer view, and began fussing around the wound. “Help me turn him on his side, Edmund.” He bid, waving your brother over. “Yes, good. Very good.” He nodded, examining his back. “The bullet went clean through to the other side.” He said, indicating the exit area, just above his hip.

“Then, why is he still comatose?” You asked, concerned.

“He may have struck his head on something, while in the water.” He answered, allowing Edmund to rest him on his back, before moving up to his head and gently working his fingers through his curls, feeling for any bumps or soft spots on his scalp. “Ah, just here.” He smiled, finding a faint knot at the back, just behind his left ear.

“Well, get my bag from upstairs. I'll treat him.” Tremblay sighed at Edmund. “Are you squeamish, young lady?” He asked, while he pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

You thought of the Patrol Officer for a split second, before answering him. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Very good.” He said, crooking a finger at you. “You'll be taking care of this, when I'm not here to check on him.” He informed you, bluntly.

“That's fine.” You gulped, biting your lip and moving to stand beside him. “What will I need to do?”

“The dressing on both the entry and exit wounds will need to be changed.” He explained to you, calmly. “You'll make sure there's no sign of infection or the stitches I need to put in place have not come untied. As well as keep them clean.”

You nodded your head, somewhat apprehensive at the thought of doing all of this, but knew there was no other option, if you wanted to keep this man alive.

“You were correct in assuming he has a fever.” Dr. Tremblay said, lifting the damp towel and laying his hand on the man's forehead, feeling the heat there. “It's possible there's an infection in his wound from his time in the water.” He replaced the towel and looked up at Edmund as he rejoined the two of you, holding Tremblay's black, large and leather doctor's bag.

“I will show you how to give him penicillin shots.” He told you, taking his bag and setting it down between his feet.

“You mean with a needle?” You squeaked, startled, looking over at Edmund.

“Certainly not with a glass, mon chéri.” Tremblay chuckled, grinning at the contents of his bag.

The seasoned doctor removed an emerald, glass bottle of liquid antiseptic, a small package of silk sutures with a wickedly sharp needle, a tiny vial of a clear substance and a glass syringe. He laid them out on a small space on the bed, turning his attention back to the angry looking entry wound.

“Do you have any hand towels you could part with?” He asked, looking up at you. “It will help me clean these wounds.”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded, darting back upstairs and grabbing a couple of the dish towels you had that were in sad condition, bringing them back down as Edmund was wrestling an old nightstand into the room.

“Give him something to put his instruments on.” He explained to your expression.

“Ah.” You nodded, understanding.

Everything set up, you watched closely as Dr. Tremblay drew the milky antibiotic through into the syringe, pushing up the plunger slightly to remove any air, then set it aside and studied his patient for a moment, before letting out a sigh that sounded as if he was inconvenienced.

“We must remove his trousers.” He said, tapping his foot.

“Why?” Edmund blurted out, brows going up with surprised shock.

“So I may administer the shot to him.” Tremblay replied, with an air of impatience.

“Well!” Edmund started to protest.

“Men!” You huffed, shaking your head.

“Don't you dare!” He snapped at you, watching as you moved around the good doctor and removed the blanket you had laid over the injured man, but you ignored him.

First, untying his boots and dropping them at the foot of the bed, then reached up and unbuttoned his suspenders, followed by the button of his trousers.

“What if he's not wearing an undergarment?” Your brother protested further.

“Then, we will be finding out presently, brother.” You replied, shooting him a look as you tugged the zipper down, much to your relief finding the hint of white and blue striped shorts. “See, you're fretting for nothing.” You said, tugging the rough wool pants down off his surprisingly thick thighs.

“Possibly of questionable allegiance, but properly dressed.” You quipped, folding them.

“Watch closely, mon chéri.” Tremblay hummed and picked the syringe back up, with a practiced hand, squeezed the muscle at the top of his thigh and injected him, slowly pushing down the plunger. “That is how it is done.” He said, looking up at you.

“It seems simple enough.” You answered, attempting to appear confident in your ability to replicate it.

“Very good.” He nodded, turning his bespeckled eyes to the bullet wound on the man's abdomen.

Grabbing one of the hand towels you set on the table, he poured antiseptic on it and pressed it to the wound, eliciting one of the first major reactions out of your beached stranger with the stinging liquid to the open and bleeding puncture. He whined, brows drawing together as he shook his head, sluggishly lifting his hand. You moved back around to the head of the bed, hushing him gently and picking up the now wilted towel as it slipped from his forehead. You caressed his damp curls off his forehead and temple, attempting to offer some semblance of comfort as Dr. Tremblay continued to disinfect his wound and the area around it.

“You're all right.” You whispered to him, quietly. “We're just trying to help you.” You tried to explain to him, not sure if he could hear you or not. “You're safe here with us.” You mumbled, watching Tremblay set the cloth aside to pick up the needle and thread, you unconsciously took the man's limp hand in yours and hugged it to your chest.

“Is there no more light to be had in this room, Edmund!” Tremblay asked, leaning forward to stare at the wound in the dusky light of the single, naked bulb overhead.

“I may be able to find you a lantern.” Edmund replied, turning back into the basement and rummaged around the items, until he found an oil lamp. He shook it gently, hearing what oil that was left inside slosh about. “I found it!” He called out, before going upstairs, setting that lamp on the kitchen counter and crossing into the sitting room, where the once roaring fire was, but now only flickered.

He took one of the fire sticks from the holder bolted to the brick that made up the fireplace and lit it with one of the remaining flames. Carefully carrying it back to the lamp, Edmund lit its soaked wick and blew the fire stick out, before tossing it into the sink.

“Here.” Edmund sighed, setting the lamp down on the table. “I hope it's enough.”

“Yes, yes.” The doctor nodded, satisfied.

With all he needed, Tremblay squinted and made the first pick of the needle. The patient huffed, his stomach muscles flexing in response, but it didn't deter Dr. Tremblay in the slightest as he continued. You stroked his forearm and squeezed his hand, watching with an uneasy stomach as the old doctor made smooth sutures. Those sutures placed, Edmund helped roll him onto his side, so the wound on his lower back could be likewise treated with antiseptic and stitched closed.

“I will come back in a day or two, to check on his wound and ensure the fever has broken. Give him the next shot in the morning.” Tremblay said, arranging his bag and closing it. “Should he grow worse in that time, send for me.”

“We will.” You answered, staring down at him, concerned with the flush to his face.

Edmund showed the kind doctor back upstairs, while you gently tended to your sick house guest. Carefully pulling down his shirt and covering him back up, as not to leave him only laying in the camp bed in a long sleeved shirt and his boxers. Picking up the basin of water, you carried it back upstairs and dumped it out in the sink, refilling it with fresh water and a little ice, before taking it back to the cellar, resting it on the table. Dipping the folded cloth in the chilled water and ringing it out, then gently pressing it to his flushed and bearded cheeks wiping away the droplets of blossoming sweat at his brow.

“He's going to need some nursing.” You said, hearing your brother coming back.

“I can see that.” Edmund replied, folding his arms and leaning against the door frame.

“Is there any prospect of finding him a more comfortable bed?” You asked Edmund, looking the camp bed over, how it dipped under his weight, the only support were the ties that kept the canvas middle secure to the frame.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Between both houses, while Willa and I have a guest bed, that he's not welcome to, for obvious reasons. We don't have a bed to spare.” He told you, but saw the glint in your eye. “I could piece something for him.” He continued, stopping you from asking the question that was on the tip of your tongue. “Topping it with the mattress from my spare bed.”

“That would be better for him, I think.” You said, worried about the safety of the sutures on his back.

“Well, for now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow.” Edmund sighed, scratching the underside of his jaw. “It's your turn to make dinner tonight, by the way.” He reminded you, watching you fuss with the stranger as if he was someone you knew.

“I remember, brother.” You replied, catching the edge in his voice. “I got a good bit of minced beef from Remi last afternoon, with some Swedes.” You told him, dipping the cloth in the cool basin, then lightly laid it over the resting man's forehead. “Juliette told me a recipe yesterday as well. It's called Beef Loaf.” You stood, planting your hands on your hips and massaging the small of your back, sore from so much bending.

“I thought we would try it tonight.” You said, turning towards him, with a lifted brow.

“Sounds interesting.” He answered, cocking a brow back at you. “You should get to it.” He added, looking at his watch. “Supper starts in two hours. You know how the Major is, when dinner isn't prompt.”

You chuckled softly, nodding. “Yes, I do.” You replied, casting your eyes down to your soiled skirt. “But, I should change first. If he sees me like this, he'll likely ask questions.”

“Very true.” Edmund nodded, squinting at your skirt and just making out the stains. “Off you trot, then. I'll stay with our friend for a little while, in case he wakes.” He sighed, pushing off the door frame towards the chair. “You mind popping over to my place and grabbing my sketch pad, after you're finished freshening up? I need to make some figures on the shelves I'm putting down here.”

“Of course.” You nodded, picking the basin. “Do you have another lantern or oil? So you have more light to work by?”

“I believe so.” He frowned, slouching in the chair. “Willa can find them.”

Nodding again, you left back upstairs, setting the bowl in the sink and headed up to your bedroom. Sighing, you unbuttoned your skirt and let it slip in a puddle around your ankles, before stepping out of it and opened your little closet. Reaching blindly in for a fresh skirt, pulling out a wool, black and green, plaid skirt and slipped it on. Smoothing your hands over the garment, you hurried outside and to Edmund and Willa's home across the street, knocking lightly as you pushed the door open.

“Willa!” You called out for your sister-in-law, looking about for the slight brunette. “Lila!” You shouted, crossing to the back of the house, where they had a small garden, finding your sister-in-law there. She sat at a small table, slightly sideways in her chair, as she held one of her Debs Rose-Tips between her slender fingers, her eyes staring off over the garden wall.

“Willa.” You hailed, stepping out onto the patio.

Head jerking as she startled and taking a deep breath, Willa blinked several times and looked around at you. “Oh, it's you.” She sighed, rolling her hazel eyes. “What do you want?”

“I came for Edmund's sketch book. I also wanted to know if you had a lantern or lantern oil?” You explained to her, ignoring her look of annoyance at being bothered in whatever she was doing.

“Fine.” Willa huffed, standing up and heading inside, you following after her.

Willa opened a closet in the living room, removing a lantern and a bottle of oil, handing them over to you, before finding Edmund's sketch pad and his graphite pencil in the kitchen, motioning to them. “Will my husband need anything else?” She asked, with an air of almost callousness.

“I should think not.” You answered, taking the book and pencil up. “I'll have dinner ready soon.” You informed her, juggling all of your items. “If you're going to grace us with your presence.” You added, with an edge of your own.

“I'll think about it.” She answered, lifting an arched brow at you.

“Right, I'll have Edmund get you, when it's finished.” You said, turning for the door. “If not, I'll make you a plate.”

You were gently turning out the mixture of mince meat, dry breadcrumbs, fine onion, an egg, a pinch of salt and a can of cream of mushroom into your four by eight loaf pan, when your brother came tromping up the basement stairs.

“You'll wake the dead with all that noise, Captain.” You quipped, lightly patting the meat concoction into shape in the pan.

“That I will.” Edmund chuckled, moving to stand beside you, peeking over your shoulder to see in the baking pan. “Is that the beef loaf?” He asked, giving it a questionable brow lift.

“It is.” You nodded, sighing at it, praying you had mixed it all properly. “Now, it's supposed to cook for an hour.”

“Well, hopefully it'll look prettier by then.” Edmund chuckled, smirking at you, then brought up his sketch pad. “I finished up the drawing for the shelves down there. What do you think?” He asked, cocking his head at the dark lines.

Opening the blazing oven and grabbing the pan in a thick towel, you paused for a moment to give your brother's picture a look. “They look good, Eddie.” You told him, smiling encouragingly, bending to slide the pan onto the middle rack and shut the door. “How are we to open and close the secret door you've made there?” You asked, pointing it out, careful not to touch it so you didn't smudge the graphite.

“The lock is magnetic.” He replied, pointing it out in the sketch. “We'll put something on the shelf that'll connect to it, so when it's moved, the mechanism is tripped and the door swings up.”

“That's pretty incredible.” You grinned, enchanted by the whole thing.

“It shouldn't take me more than two days to build.” Edmund said, sounding as confident as he could as he examined the drawing a bit more, slowly turning away to head over to the kitchen table, seating himself to refine it a bit more.

“What are we building?” Your father's voice asked as he made careful steps coming down stairs.

You and Edmund exchanged a quick glance at each other and you turned away to mind the violet and dusky yellow Swedes that sat boiling in a pot of salted water top of the stove. There was a lump in your throat, waiting to hear what excuse Edmund was going to give your father for the changes downstairs in the basement. Neither of you really worried about him going down there, he struggled with stairs because of his advancing arthritis, choosing to sleep in his armchair in the sitting room most nights and only making the arduous journey upstairs to his bedroom when he needed to change his clothes or shower.

However any change to the house, seen or unseen, would draw his attention.

“I'm going to build some shelves against the cellar wall, in the basement, for her.” Edmund replied, calmly, making an adjustment to his plans. “So she can tidy things up a bit down there.”

“And what of the cellar?” Mael asked, shuffling over to his chair.

“We haven't used it once for anything since we lived here, Pops.” He chuckled, smirking at the old man's back. “Might as well close it up.”

Mael made a sound as he lowered himself into his chair, something between a dismissive grunt and a stiff groan. “Very well.” He sighed, settling himself and tossing his knitted blanket over his lap. “If it makes Peanut happy.”

You chucked, smiling. “It does, Papa.” You assured him, draining the water out of the Swedes pot and looking over your shoulder at Edmund, who winked at you.

Mashing the Swedes and getting them nice and creamy, you set them aside and checked the Beef Loaf. Opening the oven door and filling the space with a rather mouthwatering aroma, but the dish still needed a few more minutes to cook, so you shut door and started pulling down plates, setting them on the stove to warm up.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” You announced to Edmund and your father. “Do you want to see if Willa is joining us?” You asked Edmund, biting the corner of your lip.

Edmund took a deep breath, setting his pencil down and rubbed at the smudged graphite dust on his fingers for a moment. “I think we both know the answer to that, sister.” He mumbled, a hardness coming to his eyes.

“I suppose.” You whispered back, heart sore for him. “I'll make a plate for her.”

“Best bet.” He sighed, pushing his chair back and standing, moving over to the sink to wash his hands.

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