by Desmond Dilg
Betsy looked upon him as a pleasant, handsome and witty companion and an accomplished well-bred partner in the ball room. It fed her womanly pride and instinct to know that the “able young collegian” whom everybody praised so much and who “could talk like an angel and write like a prince,” delighted to be her own special gallant laying siege to her maiden heart.
Indeed if the more fascinating Burr had not appeared upon the scene at this particular time, it is very probable Betsy would have married Hamilton within the year.
Her parents both spoke of him as a “promising young man” destined mayhap to fill a great role, and she well knew that quite a number of other fair maidens and heiresses in New York were “setting their caps” at him, including her own sister Catherine.
* * * * *
“Mr. Hamilton,” said Betsy as they met, “you look quite gloomy and out of sorts, as if your heart had grown old with some deep sorrow. What is the matter with you? Why didn’t you come and ask me to dance as you used to do. You know I have been waiting for you all the evening.”
“I thought,” he replied with a bantering smile, “that you appeared so charmed with the society and attentions of my mesmeric friend from Princeton, that I did not consider it prudent to intrude. Mr. Burr is a real “gay Lothario.” He shines among the ladies. “There, he’s in his element.”
“Now Mr. Hamilton,” don’t be so ill-natured,” said Betsy coaxingly. You know I never forget old friends.”
“Well, never mind Miss Schuyler,” he answered laughingly. “Shall I have the honor and pleasure of dancing with you now?”
“Ha, ha, you jealous man,” she laughed in mocking banter, as they moved glidingly through the figure of the old fashioned gavotte. “I hope you don’t kill Mr. Burr and hang up his gory head on an iron hook on the 'keep' of your 'donjon castle.' That's the way it goes in the story books, you know. Is it not? If you do, Mr. Hamilton, then it will be for me to jump into your castle-moat and drown: whereupon you’ll “go away to the wars and never smile again.”
Thus she bantered him from time to time as they danced gaily in the grand old stately way of our fathers. He felt young, strong and happy for he knew that all the world was yet before him.
“You are getting positively dramatic, Miss Betsy,” he said to her in his most impressive tones. “Nevertheless I may be really going to the wars before long.”
“And will Mr. Burr go too?” answered Betsy impulsively. Then she thought of the mistake she had made, and as a tear moistened her eye, she continued—
“I hope you don’t get wounded or killed, Mr. Hamilton, that would be too dreadful.”
“I must take my chances, Miss Betsy, with the rest. Men must fight, you know. It is in their nature.”
“War is dreadful, Mr. Hamilton,” said Betsy mechanically, (because she had heard others say the same thing so often before).
* * * * *
After enjoying themselves another hour with the ladies, Hamilton and Burr approached one another as if by pre-arrangement. Then they walked out of the dance hall by a side door and found themselves in a long dark corridor, at the end of which a flickering oil-lamp made the surrounding darkness barely visible.
“Hamilton,” whispered Burr, “are they all here?”
“Every one of them, and all are bold men and true, freeborn and of good standing—just as commanded in the ritual.”
“Are they all Brethren of the second degree?”
“Yes, every man of them. Some of them have been obligated for years.”
“Do they know the object of the gathering?” inquired Burr.
“Yes, they are all enthusiastic for immediate action and eager for adventure. They are the right stuff for a revolution. Not a man among them has ever had his spirit broken.”
“Who do you think we should select as our chief, Hamilton ?”
“I suggest Colonel Schuyler. First, because he is wealthy and closely connected in business with all the leading men of New York. Second, because he is our personal friend, thus he is likely in many matters to be influenced by our purpose. Thirdly, because he is a mature man of sound practical judgment, a Past Master of the Iron Cross, knows the 'Unwritten' code by heart and is respected and known to nearly everybody of any consequence. He is the wealthiest man in the city.”
“But in addition to that,” replied Hamilton, smiling frankly at Burr and noting the effect of his words, “I want to marry his daughter, Betsy—if you do not.”
The insinuation implied by Hamilton's words was thoroughly understood by Burr, who without pretending to notice them, replied warily:
“I don’t wonder at your weakness for the beautiful Miss Betsy. She is a most charming girl and so is her sister. I see you have an eye for female loveliness, Hamilton. I congratulate you upon your choice. She is an heiress too, I hear. Her father, I believe, is one of the largest Patroon land owners in Albany and Saratoga. I can assure you, Hamilton, if you want to marry her no opposition shall come from me. I am not your friend in name only. Even if I loved her (which I don’t) I would not say or do anything to prevent your success. I am a man of honor, Hamilton, and when I swear friendship to a man I mean it.
“And as you have invited her father to be our most excellent Chief I see no objection to him, though personally I had a strong predilection for Judge Livingston. When I came to New York to find out how things really were, I brought with me several letters of introduction to the Livingstons, who, as you know, are related (by marriage) to my mother's family, the Edward’s.”
“Yes,” answered Hamilton, “you told me of it before. Livingston is a thorough-going man of the “right color,' but so, also, is Schuyler. Between them they have all the hidden strings in their hands, (as far as New York is concerned) and they are also in constant correspondence with the revolutionists in Boston and Down South. I fancy also that Livingston is one of the Supreme Seven, whose identity is the standing mystery of our Order.”
“You mean the High Court of the Iron Cross?”
“Yes.”
Burr and Hamilton thus conversing walked slowly down the dark corridor to where a glimmering oil lamp swung overhead at the far end.
Here they found a white bearded, but powerful old man seated on a chair alongside of a heavy iron-studded Oaken door. In his hand he held a long broad-bladed, double-edged dagger with a square hilt of solid steel.
As the two young men approached him from out of the dark and came under the glow of the lamp, he stood up and spake unto them in tones that conveyed both command and threat. As he spake an iron door slid out of the wall behind them and moving noiselessly across the corridor it closed them in most effectually.
“Who goes there?” the old man said as he brought his shining weapon to the “point.”
“A companion,” replied Burr.
“A companion,” repeated Hamilton.
“Advance Companions Two, and give the first Sign of Om,” spake the man on guard.
Whereupon they stepped forward each at the same instant making a peculiar movement of the left hand, (ending at the left ear), and placing the right foot directly in front of the left.
Whereupon the Old Man lowered his ugly looking weapon, saying:
“Pass, brethern. The Sign is right. The Line is right. All is right. Go forward and fear not. Knock and it shall be opened unto you.”
Hamilton walked on to the door and gave five peculiar knocks at irregular intervals which were answered from the inside by a rubbing on the panel. Whereupon the great oaken door rolled back into the wall and Burr and Hamilton entered.
Just inside stood another guard or sentinel. He held in his hand a peculiar instrument with a sharp edge and shaped like a horse shoe. He also made a sign to them as they passed him which they returned.
Then the door closed seemingly of its own volition and a heavy red curtain rolled automatically across it. Upon the curtain was embroidered a gashed hand and these words:
Tuhituhi tene tehemana
Ko Na-r Thur ar.
The room or hall was oblong in shape with a stone fireplace geometrically in the center and raised dais at the North end. Its low roof was upheld by square stone pillars and the walls were white-washed. It was dimly lit by long wax candles and a large old fashioned eight-day clock ticked steadily against the Southern wall.
Upon the dais were seven black armchairs and around the room were a number of wooden benches or seats. At the North East corner was what appeared to be a tomb or mausoleum built of wooden blocks and painted to look like granite. The floor was of stone flags one of which swung easily open on a pivot (if trod upon) displaying a dark yawning chasm down below from which a peculiar light shone. Attached to the roof were strange instruments and several sets of falling curtains, each curtain of a different color. The curtains hung on hooks and links made of white bone, and upon each curtain was painted emblematic scenes from the Oral Legend and the Flaming Scroll.
Twenty-one men were present, mostly young men all dressed in the then height of fashion. The stamp of superior station, assured standing, and even of culture was observable on the faces of many. (The reader is here expected to remember that the American Revolution was led and organized entirely by men of independent position—indeed the wealthiest men of their day.)
Vivaciously they chatted together in groups, some sitting, some walking, some standing. The dangers of the times, the distracted state of the country, the trend of passing events, and the various personal charms and attractions of the ladies (left behind in the ballroom) were the principle subjects under discussion or dispute.
However, as soon as Hamilton and Burr strode in, the buzz of voices gradually subsided, for everybody expectantly recognized in them the master spirits of the gathering.
For a week past Burr and Hamilton had been quietly yet successfully “sounding” their most trustworthy acquaintances with regard to the formation of another private revolutionary lodge of the Iron Cross. Nearly every man approached consented to join.
The first business transacted upon this particular evening was the election of a presiding officer. Colonel Phillip Schuyler, (nominated by Burr and seconded by Hamilton) was unanimously appointed to the position—formally chosen “Master of the Hammer.” He was thereupon installed by the united brethren in due style. Each brother signified his allegiance to “the Wielder of the Weapon” by a sign and a symbolic word.
Colonel Schuyler then seated himself in the left-hand chair upon the dais. Over his head on the wall hung the original rebel standard of the Thirteen Colonies. It consisted of bright orange silk with a hissing black rattlesnake coiled in the center. The snake had thirteen rattles, its head being raised menacingly as if to strike. Painted underneath the serpent was the extremely suggestive and eloquent motto:
DON'T TREAD ON ME.
Four of the brethren then went over to a half-hidden alcove in the eastern wall, where they lifted up an oblong heavy object, carried it out and ceremoniously placed it in front of the Master of the Hammer. Over this heavy object hung a black pall—afterwards hooked up to the low ceiling in the form of a square.
Upon raising the cover a common but very heavy pine coffin painted black was disclosed. On one side of the coffin curious characters were traced apparently in some cryptic sign language—and on the other side, these words in plain English:
?
Then with flint and steel a small fire of dry resinous wood was lit in the exact middle of the hall—by Judge Livingston.
As the bright red flame flared up a pungent but very pleasing odor pervaded the air.
On top of the coffin two yellow tapers were placed one at each end and upon the center lay an open book alongside a glass bowl of red liquid like unto blood. Also sticking through the coffin was a broad shining sword with a plain square hilt.
The open book had iron leaves and raised gold characters thereon and from it streamed forth a curious radiance which in the semi-darkness appeared to illuminate the space immediately around with a sort of magical, semi-religious glow.
When subsequently the central fire became from time to time obscured during the course of the impressive and weird ceremonial a similar mysterious light shone like a halo or aura from the broad gleaming blade of the uplifted Sword.
IV
The Initiation of Betsy
My brothers, My brothers,
Come speak to me true,
What now shall we do?
What now shall We do?
For sufficient reasons it has been decided to omit the short pithy speeches that the brethren made in the arcanum of the secret lodge. According to the custom of the order every member had to openly express an opinion whenever business of importance came up.
There were present on this occasion John Swartwout, Robert Troup, Henry Lee, Henry Bayard, Phillip Freneau, Tench Tilghman, Isaac Roosevelt, besides Burr, Hamilton, Schuyler, Livingston and many others.
Hamilton's address bristled with practical suggestions for stirring up the multitude—Roosevelt spoke of finance and the possibility of a big loan from King Louis of France to fight King George of England—Colonel Schuyler spoke of Indian tactics, bush warfare and the ease with which disciplined armies might be paralyzed by systematic guerrilla strategy—Judge Livingston spoke of what he had already done to precipitate a crisis in N. Y.—Robert Troup spoke upon the possible dangers of mobocracy hereafter— John Swartwout urged the necessity of safeguarding title deeds after the British power had been broken— Tench Tilghman spoke of the necessity of actively promoting each others material prosperity, and Aaron Burr concluded by urging the justice of active resistance to a tyrannical government, affirming that men of property should never hesitate to defend their possessions by force of arms against all attack whether made by kings, or mobs, or governors.
Now the most striking thing about all these speeches when read today is that in no sense do they conform to the current conventional ideal that our revolutionary forefathers were intense “equality lovers.” Rather do they go to show that the men who forcibly changed our form of government 125 years ago were intense patricians in all their sympathies, in all their theories, and in all their final purpose. Hence many things.[*]
“Burr speaks with startling boldness,” said Judge Livingston to Phillip Schuyler. “He is a strong, strange young fellow with almost heathen clearness of vision, and his voice rings in one's ears like a clarion of battle.”
“You are right,” replied Schuyler, “and he will go far. But I fancy he hasn’t told us all he thinks. There are fathomless recesses in that man’s mind. There is an elemental ‘something' in him.”
“However, I believe he is thoroughly sincere,” said Livingston, “and at bottom a resolute and noble spirit, but I wonder where he obtained those strong, intense, clear-cut, level-headed thoughts and at so young an age, too. Everything about him conveys the idea of force, character, originality and indomitable will.”
“He is the son of the Reverend Aaron Burr, President of Princeton College.” replied Schuyler, “and has probably studied books in the recesses of the college library that average men have never even heard of.”
“What do you think of young Hamilton?” inquired Livingston.
“I have a good opinion of him also. He possesses natural eloquence of a high order probably derived from the French blood that I believe runs in his veins. I think his is a saner brain than Burr's, however.”
“Colonel Schuyler, I think both these young men are distinct acquisitions,” said Livingston. “They are college bred, full of spirit and ambition. They are noble in bearing and noble in speech. Indeed I think they are the very men we require to bridle incendiary demagogues and at the same time overthrow the printed and spoken arguments of such aggressive royalists as Dr. Cooper, Chief Justice De Lancey, and the Rivington Press. Livingston (as Burr says) we must be just as ready to defend our liberties and property from the greed of a mobocracy as from the greed of a tyrant.”
“I have just been thinking the v
ery same thought.” replied Livingston. “Burr and Hamilton are the very men we want.”
“Now what do you say to take them up between us? You and I have done well in this world already, and we can thus well afford to push these two young men’s fortunes. Clinton may also agree to lend a hand, I am aware that neither Burr nor Hamilton are over well supplied with ready cash, and without cash they cannot do much.”
“I have already half adopted Hamilton, myself. He is a great favorite in my family,” said Philip Schuyler smiling.
“And so he is in mine,” replied Livingston. “But personally I have a strong predilection for Burr. He comes well recommended, from the North with strong letters of introduction to friends of mine in New York. After tonight I shall surely take him in hand. I shall see to it that his brain is not mullified for want of financial means. It is money that talks, Schuyler. Want of gold is a great hindrance to a man.”
“Verily,” answered the Colonel, smiling. “Money is king, the king of kings.”
“No doubt of that,” said Livingston. “It can perform miracles. It can hire heroes. It can organize armies. It can conquer tyrants, aye and tame the madness of the maddest majority.”
“Yes,” said Schuyler. “It can do nearly anything. As my friend, Dr. Franklin, saith, 'it can postpone death, cure disease, release the captive, bring sight to the blind, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, destroy the despot, win the love of women, and procure all reasonable earthly happiness to any man who is not entirely too old. In course of time perhaps it may even resurrect the dead, create life and storm the very gates of heaven, for money is force and force is the essence of the universe.'”