slowtoanger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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amrev_intrigues2022-04-24 09:25 pm
slowtoanger) wrote in amrev_intrigues2022-04-24 09:25 pm
Private Storyline 4!
What had begun as an idyllic spring romance is quickly curtailed by General Cornwallis' pursuit of Washington's army for much of that summer. They are constantly on the move, and though the roads are passable in the high heat, they will not always be, once the heat fades and the wet comes.
Since learning of his pregnancy, Washington has not requested Burr leave, too in need of competent aides, but has made it clear he will not be moved from desk duty, and must be attended at intervals by Washington's surgeon, given extra rations. How terrible it would look, were something to happen to the unborn child of General Montgomery--the kind of media sensation an America at war is drooling for, stories of patriotic hope. But also worse, to separate Hamilton and Burr, when their public betrothal and scandalous trial has similarly created a stir.
If ever the army needed hope, it is now. It will be a long war, Burr knows, as any war fought in one's home is. They spend long hours on the road, retreating, wounded slung wherever they will fit. For those early months Burr rides along with them, as men march alongside, but he swells rapidly, and the heat begins to affect him. He faints once, on a long march through endless miles of burned field, sick with heat and too delirious to realize, until he collapses over his saddle and is saved only by Lafayette throwing himself bodily at Burr.
After that he must pass these marches in one of the precious few wagons, shaded beneath whatever is on hand, more often than not spooning small amounts of water into the afflicted men's mouths.
These marches are terrible for other reasons; he is often not with Alexander, at the head of the column, and sometimes it happens that the two do not see each other for more than a few minutes each day, until they are pitching tents and laying bedrolls. It is not proper for them to share a tent, but concessions are made.
He is seven months pregnant when September comes, the heat still rising off the countryside to rub the horizon to a blur. He is Eight months pregnant when they move north, towards Long Island, to prepare for an offensive, and once again he does not see Alexander until they are retreating, chased north by Cornwallis. More days of travel, Burr reclined beside the dying in the back of a wagon, clutching a blanket against the chill that sets in on these last August days.
The army is blood-shod, missing supplies, hardly able to move. Less horses than they need, less wagons, less tents and blankets and rations. Burr doesn't know where they are going, but he knows the winter will be hard, and that they will likely not stop running.
Since learning of his pregnancy, Washington has not requested Burr leave, too in need of competent aides, but has made it clear he will not be moved from desk duty, and must be attended at intervals by Washington's surgeon, given extra rations. How terrible it would look, were something to happen to the unborn child of General Montgomery--the kind of media sensation an America at war is drooling for, stories of patriotic hope. But also worse, to separate Hamilton and Burr, when their public betrothal and scandalous trial has similarly created a stir.
If ever the army needed hope, it is now. It will be a long war, Burr knows, as any war fought in one's home is. They spend long hours on the road, retreating, wounded slung wherever they will fit. For those early months Burr rides along with them, as men march alongside, but he swells rapidly, and the heat begins to affect him. He faints once, on a long march through endless miles of burned field, sick with heat and too delirious to realize, until he collapses over his saddle and is saved only by Lafayette throwing himself bodily at Burr.
After that he must pass these marches in one of the precious few wagons, shaded beneath whatever is on hand, more often than not spooning small amounts of water into the afflicted men's mouths.
These marches are terrible for other reasons; he is often not with Alexander, at the head of the column, and sometimes it happens that the two do not see each other for more than a few minutes each day, until they are pitching tents and laying bedrolls. It is not proper for them to share a tent, but concessions are made.
He is seven months pregnant when September comes, the heat still rising off the countryside to rub the horizon to a blur. He is Eight months pregnant when they move north, towards Long Island, to prepare for an offensive, and once again he does not see Alexander until they are retreating, chased north by Cornwallis. More days of travel, Burr reclined beside the dying in the back of a wagon, clutching a blanket against the chill that sets in on these last August days.
The army is blood-shod, missing supplies, hardly able to move. Less horses than they need, less wagons, less tents and blankets and rations. Burr doesn't know where they are going, but he knows the winter will be hard, and that they will likely not stop running.