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Letter from John Laurens to Alexander Hamilton
Written from Morristown, New Jersey Winter, 1777
My Dear Hamilton,
The snow falls thick about our tents, a silent hush laid over the camp like a shroud, but my mind is anything but quiet. I find myself restless tonight, and it is you — ever you — who occupies my thoughts.
It is strange, is it not, that in the midst of so much chaos and hardship, I should seek comfort not in slumber or scripture, but in the memory of your voice, and the manner in which your eyes brighten when your thoughts outpace your tongue. Your wit, your fire — you are unlike any man I have known.
I find your friendship the brightest warmth in this wintered hell. You say things as they are, you chide me when I am too bold, and yet you remain beside me still. That, my friend, is a treasure more rare than any coin.
I hope you will forgive my rambling. We are all tired here. The men are half-starved and wholly frozen. And yet I am alive — I must be, for how else could my heart stir so sharply at the thought of your latest letter? You called me "Laurens" then, and I smiled in spite of myself. Do not be so formal next time.
Call me John.
Yours, in truth and fire, J.L.