Alexander Hamilton

I came into the world on Nevis without lawful name or fortune; even my year of birth is disputed. Orphaned young, I learned my arithmetic over ledger books in a St. Croix countinghouse, tallying molasses and rum. A hurricane toppled the island; my description of it, printed and passed around by strangers, bought me a passage to mainland America. At King’s College in New York, study yielded to agitation: pamphlets, militia drill, the smell of powder.

I raised an artillery company, then joined General Washington’s family as aide-de-camp—ink, orders, and war’s impatience. After years at a desk I demanded the field; at Yorktown I led a night assault on Redoubt No. 10, bayonets fixed, and the line broke. Peace brought a different campaign: union or disunion.

In the struggle for the Constitution I wrote most of The Federalist and argued New York into ratification. As the first Secretary of the Treasury, I proposed funding the national debt at par, assuming the states’ obligations, and establishing a Bank of the United States. I built customs houses, a mint, and cutters to guard the revenue—machinery stout enough to give credit to a republic that owned little but promise.

I favored an energetic Union, neutrality abroad, manufactures at home, and no soft indulgence for insurrection. I quarreled with Jefferson, defended the Jay Treaty, and, to answer whispers, published my own disgrace in the Reynolds pamphlet. In 1804 I met Aaron Burr at Weehawken; honor proved poorer arithmetic than interest, and I paid with my life.