by Desmond Dilg
To know her was to love her.
The historic battles were being fought. The cities were being besieged, captured sometimes, relieved sometimes, burned sometimes. Great reputations were being destroyed and great reputations were being slowly built up. There were heart burnings and jealousies and the usual troubles incidental to all war. The American people were intoxicated by the spirit of revolt and their brains teemed with visions and dreams of high hope beyond the battle glare. Every man, as he went forth to fight, felt that he had something substantial to win; and even the heart of the English soldier was not over enthusiastic in the business of fighting against his own kindred. The war became essentially a guerilla campaign upon an extended scale. In his woods the American rifleman proved himself worth a dozen ordinary “shilling a day” soldiers, drilled to move like automatons, in a barrack square. The nature of the fighting is gauged in a remark once made by the Marquis of Tweeddale:
“I hope it will never fall to my lot again,” he said, “to fight the Americans. Every one of them fights his own individual battle, and is consequently, a most dangerous enemy.”
The theory of battle outlined by the chiefs of the Iron Cross was being carried out to a triumphant success.
The thunder-deed followed the lighting thought
By daring of heart and hand,
With their face to the danger life heroes they fought,
When they stood for their own dear land.
* * * * *
The balcony of General Putnam’s house in New York. Two lovers sat there in the warm summer afternoon. He was a dark young man in a staff officer's uniform, and she a “midene faire with goudene haire.” They were talking those pleasant nothings (that can never possibly be reduced to cold type) and were apparently deeply absorbed in the said “nothings.’
In fact the world spirit at its strongest was throbbing in their souls. In each others eyes they saw the Eternal and the Light that never was on sea or land. The “song without words” was pulsing through their hearts—the Song that is sung through all animate creation—the Song of desire that shakes the Spheres and whirls the stars in their orbits—the Song that transfigures the red kingdom of the Inexorable into a realm of perpetual romance.
The two lovers had sat there for a considerable time and were very happy, exceedingly happy, in each other's company.
“I love you, Margaret,” he said.
“I know you do Aaron. I am sure you do, but what will my father say? I fear and love my father. You know he is a rigid austere Presbyterian and an uncompromising Royalist.”
“Margaret, I will marry you. I will marry you as soon as the war is ended. That won’t be long. Will you wait for me and be true to me till then?” said the young officer, coaxingly.
“I will,” replied Margaret Moncrieffe, and tears glistened in her great soft brown eyes. I will do anything you wish me to do. I love you, Aaron, as much as you love me, but why should we not get married now? Why should I not stay with you, rather than return to my father and thereafter live in continual trouble with that hateful stepmother of mine?” (Margaret's stepmother was a Miss Jay, sister of the famous Congressman and Diplomatist.)
“Margaret that cannot be,” replied Major Burr, gently. And he put his arms around her and kissed her passionately. “You are only 16 and I am not 20. I could therefore not get a marriage license in New York or elsewhere, without the consent of your father. You are also a ward of Congress and therefore the Generals would never give their consent to our marriage. As you are a hostage of war it would be a dishonorable act for me to marry you. It would be so regarded by my own Commanders as well as by Lord Cornwallis who is your father's personal friend and the foster-father of your brother. Though I love you Margaret, beyond all things I do not wish to blast my own career by doing anything that might be construed as dishonorable.”
“But what need we care for such things, Aaron. I belong to you absolutely,” she answered.
“But there are good reasons against such a course Margaret. I am a soldier and must march wherever ordered, and it would also be bad policy for me to make enemies of my commanding officers. How can I take you with me in such a way as this is going to be? (We shall never be two nights in one camp.) Then I really believe our army must evacuate New York at an early date and march inland for some severe campaigning. If I could I would marry you now Margaret, but you see it is utterly out of the question. I think it would be very impolitic for both of us.”
“O, Aaron, I'm so sorry. I hate to go back to my stepmother.”
“Nevertheless, I see no help for it. It is best for you to be near your father until I get his consent, or until the war is over. This is no place for you. Your father is furious at your detention, and Lord Howe writes, demanding your immediate surrender or exchange. He even threatens reprisals. It would cause a grave scandal if you were not surrendered.”
“My brain tells me you are right Aaron, but my heart rebels. I wish to stay where you are and go with you everywhere. I would tend you if you got wounded and weep upon your grave if you should be killed. O, how I wish this awful war was over. My father and brother fighting on one side and my lover and all my cousins fighting on the other. O, it is terrible, Aaron, terrible. Supposing you all meet in the battle and slay one another? The thought of it makes me shiver.
“O, Aaron, Aaron, I don’t want to leave you. You the lover of my heart and dreams. Something tells me we shall never meet again.”
Thus spake Margaret, and she wept as if her heart would break, which made Burr very uncomfortable and vexed with himself for being so utterly unable to comfort her.
“Margaret, Margaret, dear Margaret, please don’t weep so. It is all for the best, I feel sure it is. You are my first love, and my only love. You know it is so, but under the circumstances, how can I undertake the responsibility of abducting you—you, the ward of the American Government, the government I have sworn to serve. It would be madness for me to do it. It would disgrace and dishonor me, and you would not like to be the wife of a disgraced and dishonored man.
“Margaret, this war is my supreme opportunity to gain fame and fortune. Once to every man comes a chance, and this is mine. I know it is Margaret, I know it is. But if I thwart the will of Washington and Putnam, then my career is at an end. Washington’s word goes a long way. I could not hope for advancement if I gained his ill will, or the ill will of his confidential advisers.
“Then, again, if I do not take a prominent part in the war, I will be at a disadvantage among my fellow countrymen when peace returns. Every man among us must now fight or be shamed.
And I dream, night and day, of magnificent deeds, deeds to make you proud and happy and shout with joy. I would do great things, Margaret, things that would be memorable, and live for all time in the thoughts of men.”
“But Aaron, I would be at your side to encourage and comfort you when the strife is hardest and the hour is darkest. I am the daughter of a soldier and a race of soldiers. I have been bred amid wars and wounds, and I know how to inspire and aid those whom I love. And, as the old book says, and as my mother used to say to my father:
“Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people and thy god my god. And where thou diest I will die and there will I be buried.”
“Ah, but my country calls, Margaret, and the practical must also be considered,” said Burr, in his kindest voice.
“Do you place patriotism before love, Aaron?” she pleaded.
“I do, but it is hard, very hard, for me to do it. I place the welfare and independence of my country before every other consideration. I may be foolish in doing so. Nevertheless, Margaret, I pledge you solemnly my sacred word of honor as a soldier and a gentleman that ere the last shot is fired in anger I will come and claim you as my bride. All I ask of you now is to wait and be true to me until then, when I will take you to my home—the home perhaps, of a famous man.”
“But the war may last a long time
, Aaron, may it not?” she urged.
“I hope it will not last more than a year, Margaret, and by that time I may be a general and able to place my wife in a high and honorable position as befits her. O, Margaret, you will be proud of me yet. Meantime you have no conception of what it means to come campaigning with me. It is now more than many a strong man can endure.”
To which Margaret answered:
“I feel you are right, my love. I will do as you say. But meanwhile I am a hostage in this city. I am a captive and how shall I escape to my father or brother?”
“I have thought of a plan to get you away at an early date,” he replied. “Indeed, you must be got away somehow, for in case of bombardment, your life would be in peril. You are neither happy nor safe in New York, and I may also have to leave it at any hour.”
“What is your plan?” she inquired.
“O, a splendid one.”
“Tell it to me,” she insisted, eagerly, as she dried her tears.
“Very well, here it is,” he answered. “I have already thought it out fully and am satisfied it must succeed.
“Let us first make it appear that you are a British spy. As soon as the rumor gets about, strict watch will be set upon you, whereupon you are to act as if it were really true. You must give those who watch you excellent reasons to think it true. And then when they give in their report to Washington, he will order you to be immediately sent out of our lines. He would never think of immuring you in prison. You have too many relatives on our side for that.”
“I will do anything you desire, Aaron,” she answered. “I will trust you implicitly. I live a very uncongenial life here anyhow. The Miss Putnams are very kind to me and so is the dear old general, but all the other girls who visit us, especially the Miss Schuylers and Livingstons, are quite jealous of me; because nearly all the young American officers (including yourself) are forever making love to me. Some of them have even gone so far in their jealousy as to hint already that I am a ‘little spy.’ You see I cannot hide my feelings when they are condemning my father and reviling my king.”
“Just the very thing,” said Burr, enthusiastically, rubbing his hands with unmixed delight. “Now you must act as if you were a real spy and I will show you how.
“First, be very mysterious in your movements, and take care to be often seen writing. And when you are talking to officers, discuss the war, the guns, the number of soldiers, etc. Then, here take this. Look it over. It is a sketch of the new Richmond Hill redoubt now under construction. You must remember the place—near where you were nearly killed by Selim.”
Margaret blushed and nodded assent. And the young Major continued:
“Now take up your brush and paint a flower. Any flower will do. Exactly. Then under the flower, in faint outline, draw the left angle of the redoubt and on the back of the finished picture place the letter A. Very good.
“Now paint another flower, another and another, and under each and all of them draw a section of the map, in miniature, until finally you have copied it all. Now you see my idea. It is very simple. When all these outlines are recopied, hereafter and placed in A, B, C, D rotation, they will form a complete and mathematically correct map of our new defenses. Even the half hidden and most strategic windings of the trenches are fully and proportionately delineated.
“After you have completed all this, come and tell me. Then I will see that your paintings and their ciphers are 'discovered.' That will be convincing proof that you are a spy.
“Then I prophesy that you will be packed off to your father on Staten Island before another week has passed away.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Margaret, hilariously. “Me a spy, a British spy. Why it is quite romantic. A girl of 16 sketching the forts for the great generals! O, but it is too absurd, Aaron. And then, too, they might hang me.” Here a look of alarm came over her face.
“No fear of hanging you, Margaret, not the slightest. Is not Judge Livingston your uncle? Everybody will take it for granted that you are a real spy, for when minds are excited by fear or treachery any story gains credence, no matter how absurd. You follow my instructions and all will go right. You must escape from here. I have a thousand reasons why my intended bride should not remain in New York.”
* * * * *
Burr's scheme worked like a charm. Within a week Margaret was with her father. One morning without warning she was put aboard a barge belonging to the Continental Congress (with 12 rowers, a general officer and his suite), and taken out to the British warship Eagle. The day was very tempestuous and the heavy seas broke over the barge threatening to swamp it and soaking every one aboard with brine.
The officer in command carried with him a number of letters, one being from General Putnam to Major Moncrieffe, which ran as follows:
I send you a present of a fine daughter. If you don’t like to keep her, send her back again and I will guarantee to provide her with a true-blue Whig husband, whom I suspect she already admires and wants to marry.
In after years Washington heard of the stratagem that had been played upon him by Burr (much to Burr's disadvantage).
Now, in the lining of Margaret's bodice, when she went away, a small sheet of parchment was carefully concealed. Upon it, with chemical ink, Burr had written the “key” to a secret cipher. By this method the two lovers agreed to communicate with one another through the lines of the two hostile armies as opportunity offered.
The cipher was simply composed thus:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q, etc.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17, etc.
The letters were to be written as figures, and the figures as letters. Then to vary the cipher for each communication it was arranged that any letter might be used as number one, to be designated in a peculiar way. To vary and complicate this again a large number of arbitrary signs and words were invented to denote certain definite persons, things or facts.
Cipher writing for confidential correspondence was at that time commonly used. Even after the war had concluded, business men were chary of using the mails, except by means of some understood cipher.
* * * * *
Now, Aaron Burr had an idea in his head of hereafter becoming a lawyer. When at Princeton, he was considered an exceptionally brilliant student of law and history. Even in his leisure hours on the march he often carried his law books with him to keep up his studies. Of course, no one imagined in the early months of the war that it would last for eight years.
For months after Margaret's departure to Staten Island, Burr received many communications from her to which he replied. Sometimes she complained of being ill, which alarmed him, as she was remarkable, when in New York, for the robust vigor of her health.
One morning, when deeply immersed in his law books, he received a missive from his betrothed which upset him not a little. The following is an extract:
My Dearest Aaron:—* * * It is with mixed pain and love I address you. My tears fall fast upon the paper as I write. My hand shakes and all my soul trembles for love of you, dearest creature. And yet, Aaron, I am ill, sick, nigh unto death. I have hinted to you of this before. * * * I have been hoping from month to month to recover my health, but the doctor tells me that I am getting worse, and that if I persist in disobeying his advice my very life is in peril. * * *
O, Aaron, how can I properly explain myself? How can I make you to understand that I am wasting away because of love—because of love for you, my own darling, Aaron, O, to be beside you once more, Aaron, O, to be enjoying unbroken bliss!
The doctor, who is a kind old gentleman and a friend of my father's, tells me in his bluff, blunt way, that I must soon get married or be buried.
My father also while stroking my head the other day, asked me why I could not find a husband among all the wealthy and titled young officers of the king's army, many of whom admired me and spoke of me as ‘divinely lovely.’
Then, for the first time, I told him of you, Aaron, of the young rebel officer who s
aved my life when Selim ran away. I also told him how good and brave you were, and how you had stolen my heart for ever, and that I would never marry anybody but you, no, not even if I died.
He asked me all about you, and who you were, and I told him all I knew. Now this is the substance of his reply: 'Write to Major Burr, and tell him I will obtain for him a commission in His Majesty's army if he will come over and marry you at once. I know he is a promising young officer, for I’ve already heard of him through the Livingston's. He was also with my brother-in-law, General Montgomery, at the siege of Quebec, but he is a rebel, and I will never marry my daughter to an enemy of the king, no, not even if she dies.’
O, Aaron, do come unto me, or surely the bells shall toll my funeral dirge. I long to clasp you to my breast. I long to be with you once again. I long to live and love and not to die and be eaten by worms. Do come unto me, Aaron, do come. Do come and serve the king, and my father will make your fortune. He has great influence, both here and in London. This offer to you is my last hope. O, do accept it, Aaron, do accept it. Is not love and life greater than anything else? Now come to me, Aaron, come, and deliver me from the grave. My life is ebbing, I know it is. My heart beats are irregular, I often swoon for hours and my face is as white as snow, and my colored maid says I am 'in a decline.' I am broken-hearted, Aaron, I am broken-hearted, and I often think over the lines of the grand old tragedy you were so fond of reading:
Give me to drink mandragora,
That I may sleep out this gap of time,
My Antony is away.
When Major Burr read this letter through he put it down and wiped away the salt burning tears that welled up to his eyes. And thus he thought: