#thomas stevens

I don't believe in it, but I think it's hilarious as shit lol. James was such a deadbeat that some people don't even think he's the dad

Hilarious is understating it. It is, however, also one of those things that makes perfect sense in terms of human gossip and entirely fails in terms of hard evidence, like most good historical gossip. And it survives because it is the kind of thing that Ron Chernow, in his 2004 biography, actually felt compelled to record, because apparently even if it’s baseless, someone once suggested it with such confidence that it demanded a footnote.

This rumor is old, like genuinely 19th-century gossip-old. Timothy Pickering, who knew Alexander in adulthood, allegedly commented on the uncanny resemblance between Hamilton and Ned Stevens. Pickering was apparently so struck he assumed there had to be a family connection beyond mere friendship, remarking that on first glance he thought they “must be brothers.” Then Henry Cabot Lodge prints it in 1882, taking oral history seriously enough to record the story in his biography. He repeats the rumor almost in passing, suggesting that it was “generally understood” at the time that Hamilton might have been the illegitimate child of a gentleman named Stevens. So we’re starting with early-19th-century gossip, which is simultaneously unreliable and absolutely delightful.

So the rumor existed contemporaneously, passed down, and then became codified in early historical accounts. Chernow, naturally, loves this kind of ambiguity—quotes Pickering, discusses the story, but is very careful to say, in effect, “interesting, maybe, but no proof, none, nada.” And of course modern scholars either shrug or ignore it because, like most gossip, it is structurally incapable of being proven.

Now, why does this theory even exist beyond “people liked gossiping about orphans and merchants in the Caribbean”?

Circumstantial, of course. Alexander and Edward were close, shockingly close. They grew up together, shared education, shared interests, were constantly in one another’s lives. Pickering saw them as startlingly alike. People apparently commented on it repeatedly. And then there’s the Stevens household factor—Thomas Stevens took Alexander in after Rachel Faucette died, but not his older half-brother James. Stevens became, in effect, a guardian or adoptive father, which, while not unusual in 18th-century Caribbean society, seems suspiciously attentive if you are in the business of looking for scandal. Add in that James Hamilton Sr. was already proving himself unreliable, absent, legally complicated, and morally questionable, and suddenly the rumor has legs.

Arguments against the theory are, of course, simple and boring, which is probably why people prefer to dwell on the Stevens hypothesis. There’s literally no evidence. No letters, no confessions, no portraits of Edward Stevens to check the alleged resemblance. James Hamilton Sr. consistently treated Alexander as his son, formally and publicly. Rachel Faucette was living on St. Kitts at the time, Stevens was on another island entirely, and there’s no documented meeting between them. So the theory survives purely on resemblance, convenient proximity after Rachel’s death, and maybe the human need to attribute genius to scandal.

But let’s not pretend this isn’t hilarious. The theory answers questions that nobody asked explicitly but that biographers like Chernow can’t resist entertaining: why Alexander was so close to Edward, why he had this odd, urgent drive that James apparently could not inspire, why James had zero involvement after Rachel dies. Stevens being the father is a tidy explanation for otherwise messy human behavior.

It’s also completely unprovable. Which is the sweet spot.

In short, it is funny. And it has survived centuries, in Pickering’s notes, Lodge’s biography, Chernow’s footnotes, and every fan discussion where people collectively nod if they also lack a healthy father figure and want Mr. Stevens for one. It is scandal, biography, and absurdist history all rolled into one.

Hamilton @ Edward: Neddy, is this what having a father who loves you feels like? :)

Okay, so this has been sitting in my inbox for ages. I hope you’re still around anon!

TW: This fic contains implied child abuse and mention of murder.

***

When Washington put his and Martha’s name on the list, he wasn’t actually expecting the call. So some two years down the line he finds himself staring at the phone long after the conversation has ended, his heart in his throat. He’s not sure how long he sits like that, with the receiver in hand.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Someone questions him, concerned, from the doorway, and finally he reacts and clears his throat.

“Fine.” Washington quickly hangs up, picks up the phone again and dials. He needs to speak to Martha.

A few minutes later, she chuckles on the other end of the line.

“Well, it may be our last chance.”

He hears the smile even over the phone, so he can call the first number again with an enthusiastic, ‘yes.’

That afternoon Washington leaves the precinct early. Something he rarely does. But he needs to go shopping.

***

Alex’s feet don’t quite reach the floor as he swings them back and forth in the dim hallway. He’s been here before, five times in two years, in fact. On the other side of the heavy door he can here Mr. Stevens’ muffled voice. He can’t quite make out the words, but he’s heard this call before. It’s always the same.

There were some problems. Didn’t work out. Struggling to adapt. Needs a home. Stability.

He bites his lip and looks down the long hallway toward the outside. Alex could just go. He doesn’t need anyone. All of nine years old, he’s stubbornly certain he can make it on his own. The voice on the other side of the door stops and Alex knows what’s coming next-

This may be your last chance.

***

Hours later Alex sits in a little room with a large table. His feet still don’t quite reach the floor. His backpack sits on one side and a small duffle bag on the other. Mr. Stevens said he was supposed to be picked up at eight. The clock on the wall shows it’s nearly nine. It’s fine.

Then there are footsteps in the hallway, heavy and quick, not ones he is used to. A moment later the door swings open and Alex’s eyes go wide.

**

The officer keeps him away, tries to distract him, though Alex doesn’t understand why. He’s already seen her. “My mom’s dead.” 

“I know,” He says, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

Alex nods. Other officers asked him questions before, what he saw, how long was his mother like that, but he doesn’t remember, not really.

“There was a man…” But he was nothing more than a shadow. Alex can’t remember what he looks like. 

Then Alex’s father comes. He’s loud. He just wants to leave, pacing the kitchen, pulling Alex along by the arm. One of the officers wants to ask him questions. Alex is alone again. 

“What does your father do, Alex?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “He’s not home a lot.”

The officer has some odd look in his eye. He produces a small card and gives it to Alex. “Call me if you ever need help.” He smiles, and it’s warm, like his mother’s was. 

Two months later, crying, shoulder dislocated, he calls the number from a payphone outside his father’s apartment. The officer comes, Alex needs him. He takes him to the hospital, and then he lets other people take Alex away. He screams. He was supposed to help him.

**

“You’re…”

“Lieutenant Washington. Do you remember me, Alex?” The man smiles and takes a slow step.

Alex jerks to his feet, blinking furiously as tears sting his eyes. His hair is stringy, a little too long and hanging in his face. “Why’re you here?” Now? This man took him from his father and left him crying in a hospital two years ago. Why show up now?!

“Mr. Stevens called. He said you needed somewhere to stay.” 

Lieutenant Washington shifts and leans against the table. He moves slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to keep from scaring an animal. Alex frowns and takes a step back.

“Why?”

Washington blinks, and doesn’t dare move closer for the moment. He sees it, from years of encountering runaways, the boy is moments from bolting. Terrified. “Like I said, Mr. Stevens called me. He said-”

“-this’s my last chance. They’ll put me in some home next.” The boy trembles, but Washington cannot tell if it’s from anger or fear or something else. 

“That doesn’t have to happen. You can come home with me. My wife is excited to meet you.”

“Why now?” Tears finally spring from Alex’s eyes as he asks the question for a third time. “Why didn’t you help me then? You let them take me and you left!”

Washington’s heart breaks at that. He hadn’t wanted to leave the boy in that hospital either after social services arrived. He nods slowly, “I- I’m sorry.” 

Alex sniffles, but holds his ground. “You didn’t want me.”

“That wasn’t my decision then. That’s- that’s not how it works.” It’s painful to attempt to reason this with a nine year old who’s been hurt over and over again. “But, you can come home with me now, and I promise you’ll be taken care of. My wife, Martha, she’s been preparing a room for you all day. I think she bought every kind of cereal in the aisle because she wasn’t sure what you’d like for breakfast, and-”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“You’re late.”

Washington feels a little sheepish at that. He’d lost track of time at the store himself, trying to find something that the boy might like. He reaches into his uniform jacket pocket and holds out a small book, just short stories. Alex stares with huge eyes, his face suddenly unreadable. 

“Mr. Stevens said you read on an eighth grade level. This might be too simple for you, but still, consider it a ‘welcome home’ gift.”

“It’s… for me?” Alex looks up. He’s not been given something just for him since his mother died.

“Of course. My wife and I, we never had children, so I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” Washington slowly reaches over and picks up Alex’s duffle bag. He reaches out to take the boy’s hand, but he clutches the book more tightly and looks away. “I know you’ve had a… rough time, since we last met, but…” 

But what? He’ll promise nothing will ever hurt him again? That everything will be perfect? That he’ll have everything he could want?

Washington crouches to Alex’s eye level, and offers a genuine smile. “I’ll try my best.”

Alex gives him a long look, and finally, slowly, he nods. He still won’t take Washington’s hand, but as they leave he walks right alongside him. He doesn’t loosen his hold on the book.

They head outside, to the car in silence, but there’s hope. Washington draws a deep breath and starts for home.

It’s a really interesting theory! It traces back to an 1822 memorandum by former Secretary of State Timothy Pickering, who recalled his first meeting with Edwards Stevens:

At the first glance, I was struck with the extraordinary similitude of his and General Hamilton’s faces....When young children, they lived together in the family of the father of Stevens, and were sent together to New York for their education. (”Letters of Toussaint Louverture and Edward Stevens, 1798-1800″ American Historical Review v.16, p.62).

Pickering also published an interview with James Yard, Edward Stevens’ brother-in-law, who mentioned a “vague inference that Hamilton and Stevens had the same father.” (Intimate Life of Alexander Hamilton, p. 2).

Outside Pickering’s recorded gossip, however, there’s little else to suggest a familial relationship between Hamilton and Ned Stevens. Stevens does appear to have taken Hamilton in for a period of time, at which time he and Ned became close, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that Hamilton was an illegitimate child. Hamilton always claimed James Hamilton as his father, keeping in touch with him over the years. Additionally, Hamilton’s propensity for taking in children in difficult circumstances may have come from a desire to pay forward Thomas Stevens’ kindness.

Interestingly, historian William Hissel has suggested based on historical records that Hamilton may have originally come to the Stevens house not as a ward, but as a servant: 

Not a lot is known about Hamilton’s brother. James was born in 1753, which means he was either two or four years older than Alexander (depending on whether you subscribe to the 1755 or 1757 birth year). When Rachel died in 1768, James and Alexander were both sent to live with their cousin, Peter Lytton; after Peter’s suicide, both stayed briefly with their uncle, James Lytton, until his death soon after. The historian William Cissel found a notation in the 1769 Landlist for Saint Croix that suggests both Alexander and James may have then been employed as servants in Thomas Stevens’ household. They must have parted ways shortly after, though. Alexander appears to have been taken in as a ward to the Stevens’ household, perhaps due to his exceptional intelligence and/or his close relationship with Thomas Stevens’ son, Edward. Meanwhile, it seems James did indeed end up apprenticed with a carpenter on Saint Croix, and remained on the island until his death in 1786.

Though they didn’t stay in regular contact, the surviving letter from Alexander to James, dated June 22, 1785, indicates a measure of true brotherly affection existed between the two:

My Dear Brother:

I have received your letter of the 31st of May last, which, and one other, are the only letters I have received from you in many years. I am a little surprised you did not receive one which I wrote to you about six months ago.2 The situation you describe yourself to be in gives me much pain, and nothing will make me happier than, as far as may be in my power, to contribute to your relief. I will cheerfully pay your draft upon me for fifty pounds sterling, whenever it shall appear. I wish it was in my power to desire you to enlarge the sum; but though my future prospects are of the most flattering kind my present engagements would render it inconvenient to me to advance you a larger sum. My affection for you, however, will not permit me to be inattentive to your welfare, and I hope time will prove to you that I feel all the sentiment of a brother. Let me only request of you to exert your industry for a year or two more where you are, and at the end of that time I promise myself to be able to [invite you to a more]3 comfortable settlement [in this Country. Allow me only to give you one caution, which is to avoid if possible getting in debt. Are you married or single? If the latter, it is my wish for many reasons it may be agreeable to you to continue in that state.

But what has become of our dear father?4 It is an age since I have heared] from him or of him, though I have written him several letters. Perhaps, alas! he is no more, and I shall not have the pleasing opportunity of contributing to render the close of his life more happy than the progress of it. My heart bleeds at the recollection of his misfortunes and embarrassments. Sometimes I flatter myself his brothers have extended their support to him, and that he now enjoys tranquillity and ease. At other times I fear he is suffering in indigence. I entreat you, if you can, to relieve me from my doubts, and let me know how or where he is, if alive, if dead, how and where he died. Should he be alive inform him of my inquiries, beg him to write to me, and tell him how ready I shall be to devote myself and all I have to his accommodation and happiness.

I do not advise your coming to this country at present, for the war has also put things out of order here, and people in your business find a subsistence difficult enough. My object will be, by-and-by, to get you settled on a farm.

Believe me always your affectionate friend and brother,