The Age of Hamilton

Chapter 9

Pinching the bridge of his nose, his daughter stood on the opposite side of his desk. Papers occupied corners of his bookshelves, vacated of books and dust. "People are dying, father."

His head snapped up almost immediately. Dying? The word sent a series of chills up his spine. People were dying because of the riots? He stood up, walking towards a window. The small house had been purchased by him. The land his and yet the billowing black smoke cascaded down. He knew the police were incapable of protecting people who posed no threat to others. He turned his attention to his daughter whose blue eyes sparkled with mischief. Silence fell between the two as he returned to his desk. Fresh sheets of papers lined the corner of his desk, ink stained the worn wood. "Tell your mother I'll be late to eat, today."

Angelica nodded and he watched as the door to his office shut with a silent click. Dropping the pen onto his desk, his hands raked through his hair then down the back of his neck. Ink stained his thumb and index finger. Once again, his attention was diverted to the window, to the billowing smoke. The odor of burning timbers filled the surrounding air. Rising up against a tyrannical government had been easy but the young nation was facing riots. His foot clicked against the worn wood, a combination of excitement and amusement coursed through his veins. Grabbing the pistol, he exited his office. Walking into the kitchen, Elizabeth sat perched on a bar stool, her eyes narrowed. Angelica sat beside her.

"I thought you were taking Angelica campaigning."

Alexander hummed his response as he shrugged. "The rioting has not stopped. I don't think it's about taxation. Even if it was, they still have to pay their damn taxes."

Elizabeth sighed and said, "Please be careful?"

Alexander nodded exiting through the back door towards the stables. Mounting a black horse, he slapped the reins, a hand clutching the butt of his dueling pistol. The hooves of the horse clicked off the cobblestone walkways, the creature snickering, its breath escaping in a puff of smoke. He glanced behind, dust rising into the surrounding air. A smirk graced his lips. Like the Whiskey Rebellion. The horse froze and Alexander leaped off of the animal's back. Shouts of angry men filled the small New York town. Glass shards littered the ground. His head snapped up to a group of children holding a home crafted slingshot. "Excuse me?" His voice carried. The children narrowed their eyes at the strange man. "Who are you?" One, a young girl, inquired.

"My name is none of your concern. Despite that fact though, where are your parents?"

Another child pointed towards the police building. "Filing a police report. Our shop was robbed a few evenings ago."

Alexander raised an eyebrow and said, "Doubtful, considering you and your friends wield a sling shot. Exactly what do you think you're going to accomplish by rioting? Violence solves nothing." I'm a veteran and yet nobody seems to respect me. The tension of the crowd fueled Alexander's impatience. The crowd was foolish, breaking things without realization of committing crimes against property, the government's property.

A young blonde boy stepped forward, the sling shot at the ready. "My father served on the continental army. I'm more than certain violence solves issues."

Alexander's gaze snapped to the boy. "What exactly do you think you're talking about? How would you know violence solves issues?"

"We're a free nation, are we not? My father said there was a man who wished nothing less than to fight beside the late general George Washington-"

Alexander shrugged. "There was. He aided in the success of the Battle of Yorktown. If your parents are rioting, they are breaking the law."

"How so?" The young boy inquired.