Alexander Hamilton and the Very Tall Clock

It's no secret that Alexander Hamilton was one of the most productive men of his age (or any other, for that matter.) In his short life, he wrote letters by thousand, juggled complicated matters of government policy, handled precedent-setting legal cases, and created most of the basis for the American financial system. It's not surprising that during the Revolution, he became General George Washington's favorite aide-de-camp on his personal staff. Hamilton got things DONE.

As the country's first Secretary of the Treasury, Hamilton oversaw the largest single office in the federal government at the time, and he expected his clerks and other employees to share his ferocious work ethic. Even during the onslaught of Philadelphia's Yellow Fever epidemic in 1793 - a terrifying disease that claimed hundreds of people, rich and poor - many of Hamilton's clerks continued to report for work until the office was officially closed.

All of which increases the significance of this tall case clock. From my photograph, it's difficult to tell just how large the clock actually is - except, of course, that it was too big for my phone to capture in its entirety. The word "tall" in its description is something of an understatement: according to the New-York Historical Society (which owns it), the clock stands 124", or over ten feet in height. Made of gleaming mahogany, the case of the clock is inlaid with sixteen stars, representing the sixteen states in the union at the time the clock was made in 1796. 

Traditionally the clock is said to have been commissioned by Hamilton for the Bank of New York, which he had established in 1784. He had a similar one made by the same New York clockmaker, Robert Joyce, for the First Bank in Philadelphia. These banks were grand, imposing buildings, and the towering clocks would have been designed to fit the space. Clocks represented efficiency, an admirable quality in a bank, and a clock of this size with its expensive cabinetry case would also have suggested prosperity and permanence.

Still, I can't help but imagine the effect that such a clock's size and relentless ticking must have had on the clerks who toiled nearby. Each click of the hand must have been an unending reminder of Hamilton's own determination to squeeze as much as he could into every minute - a daunting expectation in any workplace.

Tall case clock, by Robert Joyce, c1796, New-York Historical Society. Photograph ©2017 Susan Holloway Scott.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

New York's Skyline in 1798

We're all so accustomed to modern New York City's skyline of towering skyscrapers that it's almost impossible to imagine how the city looked in the late 18thc, when Eliza and Alexander Hamilton lived there. Although by 1800 New York would become the largest city in the new country, it still was a fraction in both population and scale of what it is today. 

This print shows the east side of the city in 1798, with the Hudson River in the foreground. The spire of St. George’s Chapel, on Beekman Street, to the left is the tallest feature, and the large, multi-storied buildings on the waterfront are warehouses.  The ships to the right are in Peck Slip. 

During the British occupation of the city during the American Revolution, nearly all trees were cut down for firewood. It's interesting to see that at least in this artist's interpretation, trees are once again part of the landscape. Also note how the city itself is clustered close to the water, and rolling hills of farmland and country estates aren't far behind it. That, however, would soon change as the expansion and development of New York moved relentlessly northward up Manhattan Island.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

Eliza Hamilton's "Keenest Sorrows" in August, 1804, After Alexander's Death

One of the more interesting books that I discovered in my research for my new book I, Eliza Hamilton was a solemn compendium with a monumental title: A Collection of the Facts and Documents, Relative to the Death of Major-General Alexander Hamilton: With Comments: Together with the Various Orations, Sermons, and Eulogies, that Have Been Published Or Written on His Life and Character. 

Published not long after Alexander Hamilton died from wounds incurred in his infamous duel with Aaron Burr in July, 1804, the book is exactly what that title says it is. Today's publishers often rush such titles to press to cash in on a topical event, usually branding them as "special souvenir collector's editions" and the like, but in 1804, this was unusual. Then again, the circumstances were unusual, too. The country - and particularly Hamilton's hometown of New York City - were stunned by news of a duel between the former Secretary of the Treasury and the current Vice President, and shocked by Hamilton's subsequent death.

The outcry was immediate. Even those who didn't fault Burr and felt that duels of honor still had their place between gentlemen (the practice was already illegal in New York), no one could deny the tragic waste of Hamilton's life, or the terrible effect his death had on his widow and young family. Charges of murder were filed against Burr, who had fled New York for the more sympathetic southern states. The city of New York was plunged into official, black-draped mourning. More pointedly, ministers deplored the sinful practice of dueling from their pulpits.

A Collection....was assembled by William Coleman, a former lawyer (and former law partner of Aaron Burr) who had been chosen by Hamilton in 1801 to be the editor of the Federalist newspaper, The New York Evening Post. Coleman himself was no stranger to duels; earlier in 1804, he had killed a man in a duel over a dispute with a rival newspaper.

Nor was Coleman an impartial editor. In the preface, he described Hamilton as "my best earthly friend, my ablest adviser, and my most generous and disinterested patron." He quickly put together the collection both as a tribute to Hamilton, and a defense of his friend's actions relating to the duel, and the book was published before the end of the year. A 1904 edition of A Collection.... is available to read for free online here.

One article in particular - from the August 29, 1804 edition of The Albany Centinel - touched me the most since it focussed on Eliza. Immediately following her husband's death, Eliza was so distraught that friends and family feared for her sanity. She did not attend the funeral, and soon retreated with her daughters and younger sons to her father's house in Albany. Yet by the end of August, she must have been beginning to appear again in public - though as this excerpt shows, her grief was clearly still painfully raw.

"On Sunday morning the afflicted Mrs. HAMILTON attended divine service in the Presbyterian Church in this city, with her three little sons [I'm guessing that this must have been her youngest sons, John Church, 12, William Stephen, 7, and Little Phil, 2.]

"At the close of a prayer by the Rev. Mr. Nott, the eldest boy dropped on his face, in a fainting fit.

"Two gentlemen immediately raised him, and while bearing him out of the church, the afflicted mother sprung forward, in the agonies of grief and despair, towards her apparently lifeless son.

"The heart-rending scenes she had recently struggled with, called forth all the fine-spun sensibilities of her nature – and seemed to say, that nature must, and will be indulged in her keenest sorrows – She was overpowered in the conflict, and likewise sunk – uttering such heart-rending groans, and inward sighs, as would have melted into mingled sympathies, even Burr himself.

"Both of them soon recovered – and while the little son was supported standing on the steps, yet speechless, the most affecting scene presented itself – a scene, could it be placed on canvas by the hand of a master, would be in the highest degree interesting and impressive. The mother, in this tender situation, fastened herself upon the son, with her head reclining on his left shoulder – the agonies so strongly painted on her countenance – her long flowing weeds – the majesty of her person – the position of both – and above all, the peculiarity of their trying situation in the recent loss of a husband, and a father – who could refrain from invoking on the head of the guilty author of their miseries, those curses he so rightly merits? The curse of living despised, and execrated by the voice of a whole nation – the curse of being held up to the view of future ages – a MONSTER, and an ASSASSIN."

Poor Eliza!

Above: Title page, A Collection of the Facts and Documents, Relative to the Death of Major-General Alexander Hamilton.... New York: Printed by Hopkins & Seymour for I. Riley & Co, 1804. Collection, University of California Libraries.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now. My next historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, will be published by Kensington Books on September 24, 2019. Pre-order now here.

The Lasting Legacy of Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton

Legacies are notoriously fickle things. They're difficult to create, and even harder to maintain.

Yet one New York woman's legacy still flourishes after more than two centuries. Built on kindness and a genuine concern for the welfare of others, the legacy of Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton (1757-1854) continues today because the same challenges that faced many children in 1806 unfortunately remain a part of our society in 2017.

During her lifetime, Eliza Hamilton thought of the present, not posterity.  Born to privilege and married to Alexander Hamilton, the first Secretary of the Treasure, she still believed in helping others directly. She brought food, clothes, and comfort to refugees of the French Revolution, and to new widows after yellow fever epidemics. She took in a young motherless girls who'd no place to go, and the child became part of her own family for years. In 1797, she was one of the founders (with her friend Isabelle Graham and her daughter Joanna Graham Bethune) of the Society for the Relief of Poor Widows with Small Children.

When Alexander Hamilton died after his infamous duel with Aaron Burr in 1804, Eliza was grief-stricken, but refused to fade into genteel widowhood. Financial difficulties - Hamilton had left her saddled with many debts - forced her to seek assistance from family and friends to support herself and her children, yet still she continued to help others. Her late husband had begun life as a poor and fatherless child, and orphans were always to hold a special place in her heart - and her energies.

In 1806, Eliza, Isabella Graham, and Joanna Bethune founded the Orphan Asylum Society in the City of New York (OAS). Eliza was named second directress. The OAS began with sixteen orphans, children rescued from a harrowing future in the city's streets or almshouses.

But Eliza and her friends realized that these first orphans must be only the beginning of their mission. In the first years of the nineteenth century, New York had grown into the largest city in America with a population of over 60,000, crowded largely into the winding streets of lower Manhattan. the harbor had made the city a major port, and goods and passengers arrived from around the world.

While some New Yorkers prospered, many more fell deeper into poverty and disease, and it was often the children who suffered most. In greatest peril were children who arrived in the city as new orphans, their immigrant parents having died during the long voyage. Completely alone, these children were often swept into dangerous or abusive situations with little hope of escape.

Eliza and her friends would not abandon them. With each year, the OAS grew larger, and was able to help more children, yet the goals of the OAS never changed. Children were provided not only with food, clothing and shelter, but also education and the skills of a trade so that they cold become independent and successful adults.

In 1821, Eliza was named first directress (president), with duties that ranged from the everyday business of arranging donation for the children in her charge to overseeing the finances, leasing properties, visiting almshouses, and fundraising to keep the OAS growing. With her own sons and daughters now grown, these children became an extended family. She took pride in each of of them, and delighted in their successes, including one young man who graduated from West Point.

She continued as directress until 1848 when she finally, reluctantly, stepped down at the age of 91, yet she never lost interest in the children she had grown to love. When she died in 1854 at the remarkable age of 97 - over fifty years after her beloved Hamilton - The New York Times wrote of her: "To a mind most richly cultivated, she added tenderest religious devotion and a warm sympathy for the distressed."

The OAS that Eliza Hamilton helped found continues today. Now known as Graham Windham, it has evolved into an organization that supports hundreds of at-risk children and their families in the New York area. Times have changed - the 19th century's orphans are today's youth in foster care - but the mission remains true to Eliza Hamilton's original goals: to provide each child in their care with a strong foundation for life in a safe, loving, permanent family, and the opportunity and preparation to thrive in school, in their communities, and in the world.

"We serve the children who need us most," says Jess Dannhauser, president and CEO of Graham Windham. "It's a deep personal commitment for us. We don't turn anyone away. These are hard-working, courageous kids who want to make something of themselves and are looking for ways to contribute, and we're constantly adapting to discover the best ways to serve them."

Last week - August 9 - marked the 260th anniversary of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton's birthday. Although I completed writing I, Eliza Hamilton months ago, I've been thinking a lot about Eliza again lately, especially in a world that seems to have become increasingly selfish and uncaring, with little regard for those in need.

Not long ago, I visited the churchyard of Trinity Church in Wall Street, where Eliza and Alexander Hamilton are buried side by side. It's become something of a pilgrimage site for fans of Lin-Manuel Miranda's phenomenal musical, and Alexander's ornate tomb in particular is often decked with flowers and other tributes.

On this morning, Eliza's much more humble stone - where she is described only as her father's daughter, her husband's wife, as was common for 1854 - was notably bare, and I resolved to find a nearby florist. Before I did, however, I stopped inside the church itself. Near the door is a box for contributions to Trinity's neighborhood missions, and I realized then that Eliza didn't need another memorial bouquet. Her legacy instead continues in the example of her own selflessness, compassion, and generosity to others. With a whisper to the woman who'd lived long before me, I tucked the money I'd intended for flowers into the contribution box.

Thank you, Eliza, and may your legacy always endure.

Above: Grave of Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. Photograph ©2017 Susan Holloway Scott.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, available everywhere. Order now. My next historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, will be published by Kensington Books on September 24, 2019. Pre-order now here.

What Alexander Hamilton Wrote to Eliza Before (and After) the Siege at Yorktown, 1781

The Battle of Yorktown has been a popular topic on social media this past week after the television series TURN: Washington's Spies featured the siege in last Saturday's episode, and an excitingly smoke-and-explosion filled depiction it was, too. 

Yorktown was Alexander Hamilton's last moment to shine on the revolutionary battlefield, and he knew it. Although he had fought bravely and efficiently in battle during the early days of the war, he had spent most of the conflict at a desk as one of General George Washington's aides-de-camp. It didn't matter that he had in fact become the general's "right hand man", briskly handling not only Washington's correspondence, orders, and the headquarters' finances, but also serving as an interpreter during delicate negotiations with French allies. Alexander felt he was no better than a secretary, and longed for the opportunities of battle. He was right, too. No one would remember his skillfully written letters on behalf of his general. Military glory and fame would last beyond the war, and with his lack of a fortune or famous family, such a reputation would be necessary to carry him to the next stage of his life.

For years Washington had resisted Alexander's pleas for a field command, until the summer of 1781, when at last Alexander was made commander of a battalion of light infantry. Alexander was elated. This was exactly what he'd most desired: the light infantry were the Continental Army’s elite assault troops. It was clear that a major, and perhaps final, battle was coming that would likely decide the war, and now he was sure to be in the thick of it. 

And yet pulling at his heart throughout all this was Eliza. They'd been married less than a year, and she was expecting their first child in January. Although she was safe with her parents at The Pastures in Albany, she was still never far from Alexander's thoughts throughout the late summer as the army marched south towards Virginia. Given the circumstances, it's likely that many of their letters arrived out of sequence, or perhaps not at all. The tone of his letters to her bounces back and forth: in one eager sentence his anticipation is palpable as he tells her more than he should about the army's movements, and in the next he wants her to know how deeply he loves her in case he doesn't return. 

In September, he wrote to her from Elkton, MD:

"To-morrow we embark for Yorktown.... I would give the world to be able to tell you all I feel and all I wish, but consult your own heart and you will know mine....Circumstances that have just come to my knowledge, assure me that our operations will be expeditious, as well as our success certain. Early in November, as I promised you, we shall certainly meet. Cheer yourself with this idea, and with the assurance of never more being separated... be it my object to be happy in a quiet retreat with my better angel." (You can read the entire letter here.)

A week later in Annapolis, MD, he had time to write only a few sentences, tinged with melancholy: 

"How chequered is human life! How precarious is happiness! How easily do we often part with it for a shadow! These are the reflections that frequently intrude themselves upon me, with a painful application. I am going to do my duty. Our operations will be so conducted, as to economize the lives of men. Exert your fortitude and rely upon heaven."

On October 12, camped at Yorktown, VA, he longs to be with her and their unborn child:

"The idea of a smiling infant in [your] arms calls up all the father in it. In imagination I embrace the mother and embrace the child a thousand times. I can scarce refrain from shedding tears of joy. But I must not indulge these sensations; they are unfit for the boisterous scenes of war and whenever they intrude themselves make me but half a soldier. Thank heaven, our affairs seem to be approaching fast to a happy period... Five days more and the enemy must capitulate or abandon their present position; if they do the latter it will detain us ten days longer; and then I fly to you. Prepare to receive me in your bosom. Prepare to receive me decked in all your beauty, fondness and goodness. With reluctance I bid you adieu." (Read the whole letter here.)

Two nights later, Alexander was an important part of the planned attack. Under cover of darkness, smoke, and fog from the river, he led his troops towards a strategically important earthworks fortification known as Redoubt 10, manned by about 70 British and Hessian forces. To preserve the element of surprise, Alexander's men attacked with unloaded muskets, relying instead on only their bayonets. While the British fired upon them, Alexander charged up the palisades ahead of his men; he was the first to jump into the redoubt as other Continental troops swarmed the redoubt from the rear to end any hope of a British retreat. Thanks to daring and courage, the redoubt was captured, and victory soon followed for the combined Continental and French forces. And, finally, Alexander was lauded as a hero.

But his brief letter to Eliza two days later downplayed his heroics, and if anything, he seems almost sheepish in admitting the danger in which his bravery had placed him, and promising her he won't do it again: 

"Two nights ago, my Eliza, my duty and my honor obliged me to take a step in which your happiness was too much risked. I commanded an attack upon one of the enemy’s redoubts; we carried it in an instant, and with little loss. You will see the particulars in the Philadelphia papers. There will be, certainly, nothing more of this kind; all the rest will be by approach; and if there should be another occasion, it will not fall to my turn to execute it."

Days later, Alexander was on his way again, racing back to Eliza in Albany. His battlefield role in the war was done, and his reputation as a hero secured. Soon he would be back safely in Eliza's arms in time to welcome their first child together in January, 1782.

The remnants of those same redoubts from the siege are still visible at the Yorktown Battlefield, above. Now they're protected by metal fencing instead of British artillery. They're thick with grass and weeds, and the land surrounding them is peaceful and green. But if you listen closely (and your imagination is like mine), you can still hear the sounds of battle, and victory.  

Photograph copyright 2017 by Susan Holloway Scott.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

Visiting The Grange: Eliza & Alexander Hamilton's "Sweet Project" of a Home

Recently many of you saw me in a short video interview on Instagram and here on Facebook, standing in front of The Grange, the house that Alexander Hamilton began to have built for Eliza and their family. We didn't have time to go inside for the interview, but I thought you might like a glimpse into several of the house's restored rooms.

The house was the Hamiltons' "American Dream" even before there was an America. Alexander's letters to Eliza while they were engaged in 1780 envisioned the home he hoped they'd one day share. Yet for most of the first twenty years of their marriage, they lived in rented houses in New York and Philadelphia; The Grange is the only one with a record of their ownership, and the only one to survive. 

Alexander bought the land for the house in 1800, teasing Eliza about the "sweet project" he had in mind. At the time, the thirty-two acre lot in upper Manhattan was still considered country, far from New York City, yet close enough that Alexander could commute (a 90-minute ride by horse or carriage) to his law office on Wall Street. The Federal-style house was designed by architect John McComb, Jr. and was built from wood supplied by Eliza's father, General Philip Schuyler, from the Schuyler family's lands and sawmill in upstate New York. The Hamilton family moved into the completed house in 1802.

Situated high on a hill with views of both the Hudson and East Rivers, The Grange was perfect for both family life and the frequent entertaining that the Hamiltons enjoyed. The porches and numerous windows made the most of the view, while the doorways between the large parlor and dining room could be thrown open to make an even larger space to accommodate more guests.

Alexander oversaw every element of the house's design, decoration, and gardens, and the results are elegant but comfortable. In the house's hallway stands a marble bust of Alexander by the Italian sculptor Giuseppe Ceracchi, and in the parlor is the piano that belonged to their elder daughter Angelica; the piano was sent from London by Eliza's sister, Angelica Schuyler Church, as a gift to her namesake niece. In Alexander's office - painted a brilliant, fashionable green - is a replica of his desk, and nearby are tall bookcases holding a few of the hundreds of volumes that he originally kept in the house.

Compared to the country homes of other Founders - consider George Washington's Mount Vernon, Thomas Jefferson's Monticello, and James Madison's Montpelier - the wood-framed Grange is small and almost humble. Although Alexander called his house after the estate belonging to his Scottish grandfather, the name itself is unpretentious, if a little droll: "grange" is an archaic term for a barn. 

But to the Hamiltons, it was home. Tragically, Alexander did not live to enjoy his country retreat for very long, dying in 1804 after his fatal duel with Aaron Burr. Although Alexander's creditors threatened to foreclose on the house after his death, friends stepped in to make sure that Eliza and the children would not lose their home. Eliza continued to live there until 1833, when she moved in with her second daughter Eliza and her husband back in the city. 

The house passed through several owners as the city grew around it. Development cut the once-spacious grounds into a tiny parcel, and the house itself was physically uprooted and moved twice: once in the late 19thc, and again in 2008 to its present location in St. Nicholas Park. Known now as Hamilton Grange, it's a National Park Service property, and open free to the public. 

Yet despite all this, The Grange still feels very much like the home of Eliza and Alexander Hamilton. Visit, and you'll understand. In some way, more than two hundred years later, they're still watching over the "sweet project" that was their dream.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

The Wedding Ring that Alexander Hamilton Gave to Elizabeth Schuyler

It's kept in an acid-free box in the Rare Book & Manuscript Library at Columbia University in New York City. Tiny in size, it's only brought out by special request, or for the even-more-rare times that it appears on display as part of an exhibition. 

It's believed to be Eliza Schuyler Hamilton's wedding ring. THE wedding ring, the one that Alexander Hamilton slipped on her finger when they were married in December, 1780. 

Made of gold grown burnished with  time in the way that only wedding rings can be, Eliza's ring is impossibly delicate, worn thin and no longer exactly round after nearly seventy-four years on her finger. It's small, too, for Eliza was not a large woman. I wasn't permitted to try it on (nor would I have wished to: that's Eliza's ring), but when I placed my own size-5 ring beside it, mine looked large and thick by comparison. 

The style is ingenious. It's called a gimmel ring (or gimmal, or puzzle ring), with two separate, twisted circles that are linked and fit together side by side to form a single band. Gimmel rings had already been popular for betrothals and weddings long before Alexander bought one for Eliza, with the earliest known examples dating from the 14th century. If you look closely, you can see the little notch and peg that clicked the rings together. 

The symbolism of two forming one is perfect for a marriage, and this ring was made even more special by having the names of the groom and bride - Alexander & Elizabeth (he got the ampersand) - engraved inside each ring, where they were always pressed against one another. Without the added enhancement of precious stones, this was also a comparatively inexpensive ring, which was likely a consideration for the impoverished young lieutenant colonel in the middle of the American Revolution.

But I also imagine that the simplicity of the ring must have appealed to Eliza (the heroine of my historical novel I, ELIZA HAMILTON)  as well. There on her finger, the gold band must have been a constant comfort to her, a reminder of love and happiness through the tragedies and sorrows of her life, and through the half-century - more than fifty years! - of her widowhood.

Given that, I'm surprised that the ring was not buried with her. Seeing this little double-circle of gold, touching it lightly with my fingertip, was like having Eliza herself there beside me in the library. Research doesn't get any better - or more magical - than that.

Many thanks to Jennifer B. Lee, Curator, Rare Book & Manuscript Library, Columbia University, for showing me the ring along with other Hamilton memorabilia. 

Gold double-band wedding ring of Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, wife of Alexander Hamilton, 1780. Columbia University; gift of Furman University Library, through the suggestion and assistance of the Hamilton family descendants: Mrs. Marie Hamilton Barrett and Mrs. Elizabeth Schuyler Campbell.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Preserving Historic Hair from Alexander Hamilton & George Washington

In the days before photographs, a lock of a loved one's hair was often the single most lasting link that the living could have with the deceased. Whether cut while the person was alive or dead, the hair could be elaborately woven or braided, preserved under glass or incorporated into jewelry, or simply tied with a ribbon or thread and tucked away as a precious memento.

But hair from from a famous head became more than a mourning memento. It was history, a surviving reminder of a notable man or woman. Famous hair was collected and treasured as a tangible reminder of a more glorious past.

I saw these two wisps of hair, above, framed together in the collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Even though these two were surrounded by dozens of other examples, they stood out, and would have been prized for a number of reasons. The strands of hair at the top belonged to Alexander Hamilton, the first United States Secretary of the Treasury, while the strands on the bottom were from General George Washington, the first President of the United States and "The Father of his Country."

As the Society's records note: "Given by Alexander Hamilton's son, James A. Hamilton of Nevis, to Eliza Jones Hersey Andrew (1826-1898), the wife of Massachusetts' Civil War Governor John Albion Andrew (1818-1867) on October 27, 1865." The hair is affixed to writing paper by red shellac seals, and the inscriptions are by James A. Hamilton.

This gift would have had special significance in the fall of 1865. The American Civil War had just ended, and the Union forces had won. Mrs. Andrew and her husband were ardent abolitionists, and Governor Andrew had been responsible for authorizing the 54th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry in 1863 as soon as President Lincoln had permitted the enlistment of African-American soldiers. Mrs. Andrews must have welcomed the gift of hair belonging to two of the Founding Fathers - men who had helped create the original United States that the Union forces had just fought so hard to secure.

But the hair must have been treasured by James A. Hamilton, too. Washington's hair had most likely been given to his mother or father at the time of the general's death in 1799. The hair of his father, Alexander Hamilton, would probably have been cut soon after his death in 1804, following his fatal duel with Aaron Burr - sixty years before its presentation to Mrs. Andrew.

James Alexander Hamilton was the third son of Alexander and Eliza Hamilton. Born in 1788, he was only sixteen when his father died, yet throughout his life he vigorously defended his father's reputation against numerous detractors. Look more closely at the the inscription beneath the hair, and compare the two way he's written his father's name, and then how he's signed his own. Then look at the example of Alexander Hamilton's signature, below: it certainly appears that at some point the grieving son borrowed his father's distinctive signature and made it his own, a small, poignant homage. The MHS's mention of James Alexander being "of Nevis" is a reference to his sizable country house on the Hudson River that he named Nevis in honor of the Caribbean Island that was his father's birthplace. In other words, James Alexander would not have given away his father's hair lightly.

Then, of course, there's the hair itself. Both Hamilton and Washington are so often portrayed in portraits with white hair - the result of fashionable powdering (see my earlier post on Hamilton's hair) - that it was something of a shock to see that they both did indeed have the reddish-brown hair that contemporaries described. The strands of Washington's hair are short and fine, a tidy clip, but Hamilton's are long and wiry, weaving back and forth again and again in their thread binding. At the time of Hamilton's death, most men had begun to prefer shorter hair styles, but he still wore the by-then old-fashioned long queue (ponytail.) Were these strands cut from that same queue? I wonder....

Many thanks to Anne E. Bentley, Curator of Art & Artifacts, Massachusetts Historical Society, for her assistance with this post. Strands of hair of Alexander Hamilton and George Washington, Massachusetts Historical Society. 

Read more about Alexander and Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton in my historical novel I, Eliza Hamilton; order here. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Coming Face to Face With Eliza Hamilton - In Yorktown, Virginia

There are numerous portraits of Alexander Hamilton (you may even be carrying one in your wallet on a ten-dollar-bill), but only a handful of his wife, Eliza. The most famous portrait of Eliza is by the American artist Ralph Earl, painted in 1787. It belongs to the collection of the Museum of the City of New York, but the last time I tried to see the painting, I was told it was on loan to another institution. 

Imagine my surprise, then, to come face to face with the portrait where I didn't expect it - in the new American Revolution Museum in Yorktown, VA. The portrait is included in an exhibition called "AfterWARd: The Revolutionary Veterans Who Built America" (now on display through November 27, 2017), in a section devoted to Alexander. I tuned a corner, and there she was, and yes, I gasped out loud. 

She's much more beautiful in person. The colors of the painting are much richer, more vibrant, than in reproductions. Her expression seemed more lively, too, especially her famous dark eyes, praised for their beauty by Alexander. To me she looked as if she took posing very seriously, but also couldn't wait to be done so she could once again relax, and speak, and laugh at the vanity of having her portrait painted. 

This was no ordinary portrait sitting, either. In the all-too-unfortunate way of all too many artists, Ralph Earl was far better at painting than at business, and he had been imprisoned for debt. Eighteenth century debtors were held in gaol until their debts were paid, a system that had its challenges: how could the debtor work to pay off his debts while languishing in prison? Alexander heard of Earl's plight, and resolved to help. He commissioned Earl to paint Eliza's portrait, hoping that other prominent women in New York City would follow the Hamiltons' example, while a charitable group dedicated to the relief of prisoners supplied Earl with fresh paints, brushes, and canvas. Dressed in an elegant white silk dress, her dark hair frizzed and powdered in the latest style, Eliza went for her sittings in a room set aside for the purpose in the city's gaol. This beautiful painting is the result - and yes, other New York ladies did follow Eliza's example, and soon Earl was able to pay off his debts and resume his career in more civilized surroundings.

The curving desk and armchair in front of the portrait are original congressional furnishings from Federal Hall in New York City. They were made c1788, and first used by the Congress of the Confederation (1781-1789) followed by the Congress of the United States during the brief time when New York was the country's capitol, from 1785 to 1790. Alexander Hamilton served as a delegate to the Congress of the Confederation, and later joined President George Washington's first cabinet as Secretary of the Treasury. Both chair and desk are from the collection of the New-York Historical Society.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. Order now. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is available everywhere, in paperback, ebook, and audiobook. Order now here.

The Schuyler Family Parlor and a Winter Wedding, December, 1780

After a swift courtship during the Continental Army's winter encampment in Morristown, NJ, Eliza Schuyler became engaged to Lt. Col. Alexander Hamilton in the spring of 1780. Soon afterwards, the army broke camp, and Eliza returned to her parents' home, The Pastures, near Albany, NY. Eliza and Alexander had hoped for a short engagement and a quick wedding, but Alexander's duties as one of the most trusted aides-de-camp made him too important to Gen. Washington to be spared. Eliza and Alexander spent the summer and autumn apart, reluctantly contenting themselves with letters. At last the general gave Alexander leave, and in December the lovesick colonel raced to his bride in Albany.

They were married on December 14, 1780, in this room, the family parlor in the Schuylers' house. Even without the yellow woodwork, it's a sunny space with large windows, and on that day was likely made brighter still by the sun reflecting on the snow outside. The view from the windows would have swept down over the pastures that gave the house its name to the North River (known today as the Hudson River) and to the hills beyond.

Of course, the parlor was used for far more than this wedding. For the Schuylers, this parlor would have been the equivalent of a modern family room, adapting to various purposes from formal events (like the wedding) to daily gatherings with friends. Eighteenth century American rooms were meant to be adaptable rather than static, with chairs and tables that could be easily moved and rearranged to accommodate a card game or music lesson, or drawn closer to the fireplace or an open window depending on the season. The deep recesses of the windows offered extra seating as well.

The best part about the family parlor: it still exists in the Schuyler Mansion, and welcomes visitors much as it did when the Schuylers lived there and when Eliza and Alexander exchanged their vows. In a way, the bride and groom are still there, too: that's a replica of Eliza's portrait by Ralph Earle on the wall to the right, and a replica of one of Alexander by John Trumbull on the left. For more information on touring the Schuyler Mansion, see their Facebook page.

UPDATE: Since I wrote this blog post in 2017, the family parlor has had a number of wonderful renovations and improvements that make it even more the way that Schuylers and Hamiltons would have known it, right. There’a new carpeting on the floor and drapery at the windows, all in keeping with what Gen. Schuyler first chose. Most exciting is the new ceiling, a replica of the original one of paiper-mache, and the height of fashion when it was imported from London in the 1760s. Read more about it here.

Photo, above, by the Schuyler Mansion.

Photo, right, by Jessie Serfilippi.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Alexander Hamilton's Farewell Letter to His Wife Eliza, July 4, 1804

Beginning with the first days of their courtship in 1780, Alexander Hamilton wrote hundreds of letters to Elizabeth Schuyler, later his wife. Some were mundane, about paying bills and children's lessons. Others were filled with politics or the law, frustrations balancing his accomplishments, or worrying about her health and welfare when they were apart. The most memorable ones are love letters in the truest sense, filled with emotion, longing, devotion, and love.

But none of those hundreds of other letters are as poignant as this one. Alexander wrote it after he had attended an Independence Day celebration held by the Society of Cincinnati (more about that evening here) the week before he was to face Col. Aaron Burr in a duel, or an "interview", as it was euphemistically called.  Alexander hoped this was a letter that would never need to be delivered. On July 11, he and Col. Burr faced one another on the grass across the river from New York in Weehawken, NJ, and fired their pistols. Alexander was wounded; Burr was not. Bleeding profusely, partially paralyzed, and in great pain, Alexander was brought back across the river to the house of a friend. He lingered for another day before he finally died, early in the afternoon - 213 years ago today - surrounded by family and friends, and seemingly at peace. At his side was Eliza, so distraught with grief that friends feared for her sanity. 

It's assumed that Eliza was given this letter to read soon after her husband's death, the way he'd instructed. (On the eve the duel, he also wrote a second letter to Eliza regarding a bequest to a cousin, and briefly repeating the same sentiments and explanations; both letters were delivered to her.) As can be imagined, this letter became one of Eliza's most treasured mementos, and from the paper's wear and staining, it was likely one that she turned to often for comfort. The contents are transcribed below.

"This letter, my very dear Eliza, will not be delivered to you, unless I shall first have terminated my earthly career; to begin, as I humbly hope from redeeming grace and divine mercy, a happy immortality.

"If it had been possible for me to have avoided the interview, my love for you and my precious children would have been alone a decisive motive. But it was not possible, without sacrifices which would have rendered me unworthy of your esteem. I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. Nor could I dwell on the topic lest it should unman me.

"The consolations of Religion, my beloved, can alone support you; and these you have a right to enjoy. Fly to the bosom of your God and be comforted. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world.

"Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Embrace all my darling Children for me.

Ever yours

A H

July 4. 1804

Mrs. Hamilton"

Above: Letter from Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, July 4, 1804, Manuscripts Division of the Library of Congress.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler Hamilton and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Where Eliza & Alexander Hamilton Lived in Philadelphia

Both Eliza and Alexander Hamilton considered themselves New Yorkers, and they both spent more time in their lives there than anywhere else. But they also lived for a number of years in Philadelphia: Alexander took various lodgings when business and government took him to the city, and Eliza and the children joined him in at least one rented house (records are inconclusive) from 1790-1795, when Philadelphia was the country's capital and Alexander was serving as the Secretary of Treasury. 

They definitely did live in a house at 79 South Third Street, a lot which now faces onto modern day Walnut Street between Third and Second Streets. The house has long ago vanished, and there is no surviving drawing or other record of its appearance. It was most likely brick and several stories high, as were nearly all of the other houses in the neighborhood. The Hamiltons would have required a good-sized house. The family was a growing one, with four of their own children as well as their adopted daughter Fanny Antill, to be joined by another son in 1792. The household would also likely have included servants. More unhappily, Alexander conducted at least part of his ill-fated affair with Maria Reynolds in this house, while Eliza was away with the children at her parents' house in Albany.

The house's location must have been convenient for Alexander. It was around the corner from the Offices of the Treasury on Third and Chestnut, and also, on the same street, the site of the new First Bank of the United States. (On the east side of Third Street today, across from the bank, stands the new Museum of the American Revolution.) Three blocks to the west, at Sixth Street and Chestnut, was Congress Hall, the home of the United States Congress until 1800. Shops, stables, taverns, and markets were also conveniently nearby. 

The Hamiltons's house was on the edge of one of 18thc. Philadelphia's most affluent neighborhoods. On Third Street south of Walnut, shown in the c1800 engraving above, were the mansions of merchant, banker, and legislator William Bingham and his wife Anne; first president of the First Bank Thomas Willing; and real estate magnate and last mayor of colonial Philadelphia, Samuel Powel and his wife Elizabeth. At one time, George and Martha Washington also had a house on Third Street.

Given Alexander's position in the government, it's likely that he and Eliza were frequent guests in the homes of these wealthy and powerful people. Reciprocating their hospitality, however, must have been a challenge for Eliza, given their own much more limited means. Unlike the majority of the other members of the new government, the Hamiltons had no income from a private estate, legacy, or investments, and attempted to live on Alexander's surprisingly humble salary - far less than what he had been earning as a lawyer in New York.

Today a large commercial building sits on the site of the Hamilton house, with an imposing historic plaque facing Walnut Street to commemorate the location. As is too often the way, however, the plaque mentions only Alexander as having lived there, without so much as a hint of Eliza, or their children. I couldn't make a lasting addendum to the plaque, but at least for the photo, below, I made sure Eliza was included.

Above: Birch's View on Third Street, from Spruce Street, Philadelphia, c1800.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

A Twenty-Something Revolution: How Young Was the Founding Generation on July 4, 1776?

I saw this miniature portrait of Lt. Colonel John Laurens yesterday at the Portrait Gallery in the Second Bank, part of the Independence National Historic Park in Philadelphia. It would have been easy enough to miss. Like so many 18thc miniatures painted in watercolors on ivory, this one needs to be protected from light to keep from fading, and unless a visitor pushes aside the dark cloth shrouding its glass case (which you're invited to do; I didn't break any rules!), it will be overlooked. It's also tiny, the most miniature of miniatures. Including its frame of enamelwork and cut garnets, it measures only 1-3/4" high. 

But that's not a face meant to be forgotten. John Laurens was born in Charleston, SC in 1754, into a family of remarkable for its power and privilege, and wealth created on the backs of enslaved men and women. Tall and handsome, Laurens was educated abroad, destined for a career in law. The Revolution changed that, and against his father's wishes, he joined the staff of Commander-in-Chief Gen. George Washington as an aide-de-camp in 1777. He was 23. He became close friends with both the Marquis de Lafayette and Alexander Hamilton, who considered Laurens his dearest friend in the military.

Known for his daring and impetuous courage in battle, Laurens was equally daring in his beliefs. Despite being the son of a slaveowner and seller, Laurens believed that all Americans, regardless of race, could and should be equal in the new republic, and he campaigned for the enlistment of enslaved men in the Continental Army as a way for them to earn their freedom - an unpopular idea that was never put into action. 

Laurens made his mark on both the battlefield and as a statesman, serving as a special minister to France with Benjamin Franklin to help secure French aid for America. He fought in the last major battle of the war at Yorktown and survived, only to be killed in a meaningless skirmish in 1782, weeks before the British troops finally left America for good. He was only 27, his immense promise cut short.

This miniature was a copy of an earlier portrait by the same artist, and was painted after Laurens' death as a memento for one of his former comrades, Maj. William Jackson. The  Latin motto around the miniature's frame reads "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” ("It is a sweet and honorable thing to die for one's country.") A noble sentiment, indeed. But Laurens' good friend Alexander Hamilton was devastated, and in one of those historical "what if's", it's impossible not to wonder what both men would have achieved together if Laurens had lived.

All of which made me think, too, of how young so many of the major figures of the American Revolution were when the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4, 1776. My two main characters in I, Eliza Hamiton were among the youngest: Alexander Hamilton was around 21 (his birthdate is uncertain), while his future wife Elizabeth Schuyler was 18. John Laurens was 21, and Aaron Burr 20. The Marquis de Lafayette was 18, Betsy Ross 24, Henry Lee III 20, James Monroe 18, James Madison 25. For fans of TURN, John Andre was 26, Benjamin Tallmadge 22, Robert Townsend 22, Abraham Woodhull 26, and Peggy Shippen a mere 16. Slightly older but still not exactly greybeards were Abigail Adams 31, Thomas Jefferson 33, John Hancock 39, Thomas Paine 39, and John Adams, 40. Even George Washington, the future Commander-in-Chief, was only 44, and his nemesis King George III was 38.

They were young men and young women, brimming with enthusiasm, dedication, and fierce devotion to their ideals and dreams. Consider the ages of our current government (one of the oldest in American history, with the average age for members of the House of Representatives 58, and for Senators, 63 - and I, for one, wouldn't mind seeing a bit of that revolutionary youth and spirit once again.

Above: Miniature Portrait of John Laurens by Charles Willson Peale, c1784, Independence NHP.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

Was This the Wedding Cake for Eliza Schuyler & Alexander Hamilton?

Updated July 2, 2017

In December, 1780 Alexander Hamilton was granted a short leave from his duties as senior aide-de-camp to Commander-in-Chief Gen. George Washington, and along with his good friend James McHenry, Alexander swiftly traveled to Albany for his wedding to Elizabeth Schuyler. Schuyler family tradition says that the recipe, above, for a very large wedding cake was the one baked for their wedding. This typewritten version dates from 1941.

Alas, while there may be a kernel or two of truth to the recipe, it's probably much more "family tradition" than truth. Yes, 18thc cakes for weddings and other celebrations weren't the lofty white cakes we prefer today, but dense, rich cakes with large quantities of dried fruit and liquor that are more cousins to modern holiday fruitcakes.

And yes, the sheer quantity of ingredients in 18thc recipes can be daunting. The first known cookbook written by an American is American Cookery by Amelia Simmons, published in 1796. Mrs. Simmons' recipe for a "Plumb Cake" included (among other things) a pound each of currants, citron, orange peel candied, and almonds, six pounds of flour, a half-pint of wine, and twenty-one eggs. From the same cookbook, the ingredients for a "Rich Cake" also included two pounds of butter, fifteen eggs, two and a half-pounds of raisins, a pint of wine, and a gill of brandy. Rich, indeed, - and the expense of such a quantity of ingredients would have made this a cake reserved for special occasions.

While the number of guests was likely small at the Schuyler-Hamilton wedding in 1780, a large wedding cake would still have been required. According to local Dutch New York tradition at the time, portions of the cake would have have been shared with neighbors and relatives who hadn't attended the actual wedding.

But the gargantuan amounts listed in the "Schuyler Wedding Cake" recipe are more likely 19th or 20thc exaggerations, lavishness increased with each telling over the years.  With the country's Centennial celebration in 1876, there was a renewed interest in the American colonial past - albeit a highly romanticized and often un-researched past that had a hefty share of quaintness at its core.

The introductory paragraph is in the style of "ye olde tyme" reverence of this Colonial Revival. The descriptions of the Schuylers as "purveyors of gracious colonial hospitality", the reverence for "this very cake", and the 20thc descendant called "the mistress of the ancestral home" are all hints that this recipe might not be all that it claims. I won't go so far as to say that it's a hoax, but it probably is wishful thinking. Most likely there was at one time a family story about the size of the wedding cake, and as Alexander's fame increased over the centuries, both the story and the cake grew with it.

One final note about the cake: just as an 18thc wedding cake would have been much different from a 21stc one, I like to think, too, that there would have been no modern free-for-all cake-smashing between Eliza and Alexander. Instead I picture them decorously feeding a bite or two to one another, especially sweet little morsels filled with rum-soaked sweet raisins....

Many thanks to Julie O'Connor for bringing the recipe to my attention, and to the wonderful AlbanyGroup Archive on Flickr.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere. Order now.

What Eliza Saw: An 18thc View of the Hudson River from the Schuyler Family's Home

Elizabeth Schuyler (later Hamilton) was born on August 9, 1757 in Albany NY. While she was a young girl, her father, General Philip Schuyler, began to build a magnificent family house just outside the city. General Schuyler was influenced by the Georgian country seats of wealthy and titled gentlemen in England, and he spared no expense to make his new house the showplace of the region. The house was called "The Pastures" on account of its then-rural location, near the public grounds for the city's grazing animals. The growing Schuyler family moved in around 1765.

Gen. Schuyler had chosen his new home's site well. Standing high on a hill overlooking the Hudson River and nearly 3/4 of a mile outside the stockaded city walls, The Pastures was the first Albany building seen by visitors traveling north from New York City, and that first glimpse of the imposing brick mansion left a lasting impression on many of them. Most of the year, the river was also the quickest way between Albany and New York (about 150 miles) took roughly a week, depending on winds and weather. The general also operated the ferry that that crossed from one side of the Hudson to the other, and departed from the Schuyler-owned dock not far from the house.

The view from within the house was equally impressive. The watercolor, above, has been attributed to British military officer and topographical artist Lieutenant Thomas Davies, who visited the area in 1766. The painting shows the Hudson River flanked by green hills and fields, and lit by some spectacular sunbeams. It's believed that the two men shown to the left with a dog are Gen. Schuyler (in brown) and his good friend Abraham Ten Broeck in blue.

The Pastures remained a special place to Eliza throughout her life, and she returned frequently. She came to visit her parents, siblings, and extended family in the Albany area, and she also brought her children here in the summer to escape the unhealthy city air of New York City and Philadelphia. But I think she also came because she loved the peace of the country. The Pastures provided a respite from her city-life, and also from the hectic pace of being Alexander Hamilton's wife. Certainly gazing out at scene such as this must have been restful indeed. 

Alas, this bucolic scene did not survive for long. Shortly after the general's death in 1804, the house and the surrounding property were sold by the surviving family. The city was already pushing beyond its 18thc limits, and developers soon carved up the green pastures for streets, houses, and other buildings. While the old house still stands today, the view is long gone, and from the house's windows it's now impossible to see even the river itself, let alone green fields. 

Today known as the Schuyler Mansion, the house celebrated its one hundredth anniversary as a New York State Historic Site in 2017. It's open to the public for tours, and well worth a visit. See here for more information. 

Above: "A View of Green Bush on the Hudsons River near Albany in the Province of New York in North America" by Lt. Thomas Davies, c1766. Detroit Institute of Art.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. Order here. My newest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere, in stores and online. Order here.

Keeping Warm in an Open Sleigh, Part II: Don't Forget a Foot Warmer

Raised in northern New York where the winters were cold and harsh, Eliza Schuyler Hamilton wouldn't have dreamed of setting out on a journey in a sleigh - or even an ordinary unheated carriage during the winter months - without a foot warmer like this one tucked beneath her skirts.

There were many variations in use in 18thc America, but most foot warmers (sometimes called  foot stoves) were similar to this one, which has a history of being used in New York. Inside the pierced wooden box is a metal liner. Hot coals were shoveled from the hearth and placed inside the box, and the door latched shut. Heat from the coals would radiate through the punch-work piercings to give warmth like a small, portable fireplace. The metal liner kept the coals safe. The wooden exterior didn't conduct the heat, and kept the user from being burned. This foot warmer measures approximately 7" x 9" x 8".

Carrying the foot warmer by the handle on the top, a woman could then place it on the floor of her carriage or sleigh, and drape her quilted petticoats around the box to keep the heat in and around their feet. As the coals cooled, they would be replaced during stops along the way at inns for meals or to water or change horses. But foot warmers weren't just for long trips. There are contemporary references to them being used in drafty churches during long services, and in chilly houses, too - anywhere far from a fireplace where a bit of extra warmth would be welcome. 

Above: Foot Warmer, late 18th century, United States (New York), Smithsonian National Museum of American History.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Keeping Warm in an Open Sleigh c1785: A Cardinal Cloak & a Fur Muff

While many 18thc American women seldom traveled far from their own homes, Eliza Schuyler Hamilton made frequent journeys between New York, Philadelphia, and Albany to visit her family and to follow her husband Alexander Hamilton. Depending on the season and the weather, Eliza traveled by carriage or by stage, on board a packet sailing up and down the Hudson River, and, in the winter, by sleigh. 

There's a record of Eliza having made one such trip to join Alexander in Philadelphia in January. The journey would have been daunting enough, but accompanying her at Alexander's insistence was the couple's eldest son Philip, who was still a toddler at the time. Anyone who has ever had to entertain a small child on a long trip will sympathize - though none of us has ever had to do so under 18thc conditions.

A journey by sleigh did have its advantages. The ruts and dust that made early American roads so difficult were smoothed over by snow, and a good team of horses could make swift progress. But there were the risks of overturning into a snowbank, or running into another snowstorm that could limit visibility, or, in more remote areas, of being followed by wolves made bold by hunger.

Riding in an open sleigh would also have made for a cold trip, and the faster the horses, the more biting the sharp, winter air must have been. Then, as now, keeping warm depended on layers. For a woman like Eliza, this could include multiple quilted petticoats (like wearing a comforter) and a flannel waistcoat beneath a wool gown, wool stockings, scarves, and mittens, and a red wool cloak and fur muff like the ones shown here. Cloaks were so often made from this brilliant red wool that they were known as "cardinals" on account of the color; the wool was tightly woven and brushed, making it relatively wind-proof and resistant to random snowflakes. The large hood could be drawn over the linen caps that all women wore, as well as the increasingly more extravagant hairstyles. 

A fur muff was a stylish accessory, and a warm one for keeping hands and lap warm. Coming from an affluent family from northern New York, Eliza would likely have had not only a muff, but  a fur carriage robe tucked around her as well. She would also have had one more indispensable travel aid that I'll share in my next post....

Above: Wool cloak, last third of the 18thc, American or European. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Did Eliza & Alexander Hamilton Dance in the Powel House Ballroom in Philadelphia?

Although both Eliza and Alexander Hamilton considered themselves New Yorkers, they spent much of their married life living outside their favorite colony/state and in the city of Philadelphia. Alexander's responsibilities to the new country's government - first as a member of the Congress of Confederation, and then as the first Secretary of the Treasury - took him to the country's second capitol, Philadelphia; the city had replaced New York City as the temporary capitol until Washington, DC was built and made livable. 

Eliza and their ever-growing family of children soon joined Alexander in Philadelphia, living in a succession of rented lodgings and houses. In 1790, Philadelphia had a population of around 28,000, making it second only to New York as the largest American city. Yet to one of us stepping back in time, the 18thc. city would feel remarkably small and compact. Like most colonial cities dependent on international trade, Philadelphia had grown up around the docks and warehouses on the Delaware River, and gradually spread west toward the Schuylkill River. 

The Hamiltons always lived within walking distance of the State House (now known as Independence Hall, where Alexander attended both the Second Continental Congress and the Constitutional Convention), the President's residence, the offices of the Department of the Treasury (which Alexander established, and oversaw as secretary), and later, the First Bank of the United States (which was founded as part of Alexander's federal banking system). For Eliza, markets, shops, church, and the homes of friends and acquaintances were also conveniently nearby. 

Among those acquaintances were Samuel and Elizabeth Powel. The Powels were among the city's most affluent (Samuel had inherited nearly a hundred properties in Philadelphia) and influential citizens. Samuel had served as Philadelphia's mayor both before and after the Revolution, and later he was a member of the Pennsylvania State Senate. The Powels were good friends with George and Martha Washington, who were for a time their next-door neighbors. The Powels lived in one of the most opulent townhouses in the city, and were known for their hospitality and the lavishness of their entertainments. Among their guests were the Washingtons, Dr. Benjamin Rush, Benjamin Franklin, John Adams, and the Marquis de Lafayette. 

While there's no surviving proof (like letters or invitations) that Eliza and Alexander were included in this illustrious group, it's easy to believe that they were most welcome at the Powel house. The group of friends and supporters around President Washington was a close-knit one, and both the Powels and the Hamiltons were staunch members of the Federalist party. In addition, Elizabeth Powel's  brother, merchant Thomas Willing, was the first president of the First National Bank of the United States - the bank that Alexander had helped to found.

Today the Powel House is maintained by the Philadelphia Society for the Preservation of Landmarks, and is open to the public for tours. (It's only a short walk from the new Museum of the American Revolution.) The most glorious room of the house is the second-floor ballroom, with swirls of rococo plasterwork, multiple looking-glasses, and a crystal chandelier.

Standing in the middle of this lovely space myself, I had no trouble imagining Eliza and Alexander attending one of Mrs. Powel's famous balls. In the early 1790s, Alexander would have been at the height of his political power and achievement. With both of them dressed in bright silk - the Hamiltons were known as a stylish young couple - and dancing beneath that glittering chandelier, Eliza would be a little flushed, proud to be on the arm of the handsomest gentleman in the company, while Alexander would be smiling down at her, equally proud to have her as his wife.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

Perfect for a 1780 Wedding: a Robe à la Polonaise

No one today knows what Eliza Schuyler wore for her wedding to Alexander Hamilton in December, 1780. Eliza didn't leave a description of it, nor did any of the guests who attended the ceremony. The dress has long since vanished, doubtless remade and reused as Eliza's "best" dress, as was common practice at the time. Given the Schuyler family's social standing, she most likely had two dresses: one for the ceremony at her parents' house during the day, and another for the celebrations in the evening that lasted far into the night. 

As a fiction writer, this is where I get to be inventive. To properly imagine Eliza's wedding dress, I turned for help to my friend Janea Whitacre, mantua-maker and mistress of the trade at Colonial Williamsburg. Janea is a scholar of 18thc colonial fashion as well as being supremely skilled at recreating the newest styles from 1780 London, and I'm sure that all the Schuyler ladies would have loved to have had her time-travel back to Albany to stitch a new gown or two. 

Even in the middle of the war, Eliza's wedding clothes would probably have been both fashionable and costly. Because Eliza's older sister Angelica had eloped without her parents' consent, Eliza's wedding must have taken on extra significance. The multitude of guests came from the Schuylers' extended family as well as New York's social elite, eager to wish the young couple well. By comparison, the groom had no family in attendance, and only one friend: James McHenry, secretary to General Washington. No wonder Alexander was eager to be swept up into the welcoming embrace of Eliza's sprawling family.

Janea and I consulted a 1780 copy of The Lady's Magazine - the Georgian version of Vogue - for what was appropriate for a winter wedding that year. I'm not going to share the description here; even fictional brides deserve to have their wedding "reveal." But I will say that one of Eliza's two dresses was a robe à la Polonaise, much like this one. The overskirt is drawn up inside with cords and loops to create the characteristic "pouf" to the skirts, for stylish volume and the better to display the expensive textile - here a hand-painted silk imported from China. 

One part of Eliza's wedding ensemble does still exist. The wide neckline of a dress such as this one would have been partially covered by a fine linen kerchief, wrapped around the shoulders and tucked or pinned in place. An elaborate cutwork and exquisitely embroidered neckerchief is in the collection of the Rare Books & Manuscript Library at Columbia University in New York City, and Hamilton family tradition maintains that Eliza - a skilled needleworker - made the neckerchief herself to wear at her wedding. I've seen it in person, and it's definitely wedding-worthy. See it in my blog post here.

Above: Robe à la Polonaise, c1780, Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton. My latest historical novel, The Secret Wife of Aaron Burr, is now available everywhere. Order here.

The Musical Eliza Schuyler, 1777

Like many young women from prosperous colonial families, Eliza Schuyler had musical training, and played the fortepiano (a predecessor of the modern piano). But while today's music lessons are all about personal expression, in the 18thc they were an important part of a lady's ornamental "accomplishments." While in the long run, being able to sing or play an instrument might not prove as necessary as keeping housekeeping accounts or overseeing a staff of servants, but it was a way for a young woman to draw the admiring attention of eligible bachelors.

General Philip Schuyler, Eliza's father, was known for his hospitality. The family's large brick mansion - known then as The Pastures - drew guests to Albany, NY from all the other colonies as well as from Europe. Visitors praised the general's generosity, the splendor of his house, the richness of the meals - and the beauty and talents of his daughters. After supper, Eliza and her sisters provided the elegant entertainment, playing and singing and delighting their parents' guests.

For young Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton, music was something he had always enjoyed and valued, but had never been part of his own impoverished upbringing. He made his first visit to the Schuyler home in the early winter of 1777, and while there's some debate as to whether he met Eliza then or later in Morristown, NJ, I'm siding with this as the time of their first meeting. 

Alexander was on a mission ordered by General Washington, and he'd ridden long and fast to reach upstate New York in the shortest time possible. He had already been tested by a long, discouraging autumn as the Continental Army had lost hard battles and barely evaded the British, and by the time he reached Albany, he was exhausted, and he was unwell. What comfort he must have found in Eliza's music, her face lit by candlelight as her hands moved gracefully over the keys: peace and solace and beauty, and perhaps the first stirrings of love as well.

This fortepiano now stands in family parlor of the Schuyler Mansion in Albany; you can see a copy of Eliza's portrait by Ralph Earl hanging on the wall in the background. While it's not the same instrument that Eliza played in 1777, it is a Schuyler family piece from the same era, and likely similar to the one she played.

Can't you imagine her returning to the chair, her silk skirts making a gentle rustle as she sits?  She smiles over her shoulder as she settles the music before her and touches the keys lightly, testing them. Standing to one side, Alexander waits, his gaze never leaving her slender figure, and as she finally begins to play, the notes echo sweetly in the room. And finally he, too, smiles....

Photograph ©2017 by Susan Holloway Scott

Read more about Eliza Schuyler and Alexander Hamilton in my latest historical novel, I, Eliza Hamilton, now available everywhere.