by Desmond Dilg
Weary of their unaccustomed long walk the two men entered the tavern and ordered a bottle of wine, some cheese and biscuits, which Hamilton paid for.
Two recent newspapers lay on the tavern table. One was the American Citizen, edited by Cheat'em, and the other the Richmond Register, edited by Carender.
Sitting down wearily, Hamilton picked up the “Citizen,” and leaning back in his chair he commenced to glance curiously through its contents and study the flaring headlines. Suddenly his attention became riveted.
Swartwout meanwhile opened up the “Register” and looked over it with languid curiosity, then also with intense interest.
Several minutes passed away, both men deeply absorbed in what they read. Suddenly Hamilton burst out into a loud guffaw, and about the same instant Swartwout did the same.
Both were seemingly highly amused at what they saw printed in the two hostile opposition journals— and yet neither man knew exactly what the other was laughing at.
What Hamilton read was a stinging editorial against himself as “The Machiavelli of New York politics,” etc. The first headline being— “Major General Hamilton . . . the saw-dust hero.”
Underneath were sub headlines and such sentences as follows:
A WOULD BE NAPOLEON.
who spills more ink than blood . . . turned the Treasury Department into a Seraglio . . . Has never accounted for that “Lost Million.” . . In a suburban cabbage garden he now plays at being Cincinnatus with a hoe in one hand and “Cicero-on-Catiline” in the other. . . . His drunken editor in N. Y. assails the sunny and genial disposition of the Hero of Hackensaack. . . . madly jealous of Colonel Burr's talents and popularity. . . Describes the great Republican Party as “Robespierre Jefferson's red-rag rabble.” Insinuates that the home life of the Man of Monticello is not idyllic. . . Reynolds, “the husband” of his paramour, disappears. . . Said to have been knocked on the head (to close his mouth), and then flung into the North River at midnight. . . John Adams, President of the United States, describes this half-Britisher—this crafty West-Indian who calls the Great Common People “a Beast”—this would-be Man-on-Horseback—who aspires to the seat of Washington—as “the bastard brat of a Scotch peddler.”[*]
So the article ran on and on for a column and a half. Presently Hamilton threw the paper down and laughed heartily, till the tears came to his eyes.
(Here it must be clearly understood that men like Hamilton, Jefferson, Burr, and Swartwout were “old” at the game of politics. They knew exactly what ink-slinging was worth and what it cost and what it was intended for. Indeed they were so accustomed to newspaper vilification that they seldom lost their temper, even in face of the most venomous allegations.)
Now, Swartwout was as much amused as Hamilton at what he also had been perusing. As soon, therefore, as he concluded the article that interested him he handed his paper across the glasses to Hamilton— pointing out at the same time the following editorial:
THE RED-RAG ROBESPIERRE AND HIS CONGO HAREM.–THE DIVINE AND DUSKY SALLY HENNESY.–MONTICELLO SWARMING WITH BLACK-AND-TAN JEFFERSONS.–THE VIRGINIAN VOLTAIRE AND HIS PHILOSOPHIC FOGS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A chat with Tom Jefferson's overseer, Grady * * * and Captain Bacon. * * * The philosopher of human equality * * * does not permit his slaves to be flogged except for very heinous offenses. * * * Then he sells them in Richmond at a sacrifice * * * He orders a beautiful Octoroon girl to be freed * * * as nearly white as anybody, and very beautiful * * * said to be his own daughter * * * she has tawny red hair and is inclined to philosophy * * * Sends her north by post chaise to be educated in the City of Brotherly Love * * * Sarah Hennesy, from Senegambia * * * Young Randolph * * * The Angelic Fiddler, and his Cotton Factory * * * How his cotton mill is driven. Child slaves.”
Now, Thomas Jefferson had never been very popular at the North. He was (in spite of all his protestations), considered as favoring the great Southern tobacco and cotton growers rather than the commercial and manufacturing interests of the North Atlantic States.
John Swartwout, as a firm follower of Burr, never liked Jefferson, but supported him for policy's sake.
“Hamilton,” he said, sipping his wine, “that damned editor fellow of yours is a brilliant genius. He must be worth his weight in gold to the 'Feds.' There seems no limit to his riotous imagination. But you’ve put him up to this hav’nt you? Last month he was shrieking against your old friend Burr as a cross between Blue Beard, Old Nick and Judas Iscariot.”
“Ah, Swartwout, all is fair in love and war; and to that may be added politics. Was it not Jefferson's vitriolic editor, Callender, who ferreted out my harmless little intrigue with Mrs. Reynolds.[*] You’ve read the pamphlet I had to publish in rebuttal. The affair was unfortunate for me, on account of the strong Puritan sentiment in the North. My mistake was in appointing “the husband” to a clerkship in the Treasury Department. That's where your people had the advantage over me.”
“Ah, I know all about it,” answered Swartwout, smiling suggestively. “However, it destroyed you as a Presidential possibility. Of course it is all politics. Everybody knows that, but as your opponent I'm not supposed to say so.”
When Hamilton finished the article that represented his own side of the argument both men looked across with a smiling but inquiring glance at each other.
“All these charges and counter charges are bunkum,” said Hamilton impressively. “Upon my honor they are.”
“Certainly,” replied Swartwout, refilling both glasses from the bottle. “It's all politics right through—intended for effect—to fool the free and independent.”
“Men of sense don’t believe such insane diatribes,” remarked Hamilton. “Men of sense are somewhat scarce and far between,” answered Swartwout. “The vast majority of men, being futile and hopelessly weak, always delight in having the successful men among them taken down a peg. Hence the plebeian appetite for journalistic scandal-mongering.”
“It’s a great evil,” said Hamilton.
“That is so,” answered Swartwout, “but we must put up with it. It seems to be human nature. If a man is bold enough to seize the greatest game, he must expect to face the petty jealousy of those who haven’t the heart to dare anything.”
“Yes,” replied Hamilton. “That's the devil of it. No man’s private life is held sacred any more. His goings forth and his comings home are watched and chronicled. The mob wants to pry into everything. A man's lightest peccadillos are magnified a hundred fold and blazoned abroad with a view to catch the votes of the vulgar. If he happens to wink at a beautiful woman he is held up as a monster of iniquity to the dear old grannies of both sexes. If he does not (in all things) conform to the standards of the herd, he is straightway trampled under foot. O, Politics, Politics, what a hideous thing thou art!”
“Truly,” answered Swartwout. “Politics would soil the Prince of All Evil himself. But as we’ve taken the plunge we may as well make the most of it. A man who leaps into an ocean of slime must swim in it, or drown in it.”
“By the way,” said Hamilton, “have you read Cal- lender's book on Gen. Washington?”
“No. Have you? I’ve never heard of it.”
“You ought to read it, Swartwout. It's equal to Junius for style and subtlety of insinuation. Jefferson prompted it I feel sure. He always cherished a secret hatred and jealousy of Washington. He keeps Callender going with money, too. Callender is one of those strange men of talent who, like Edmund Burke, can write on any side of a question if properly in- spired.”
Swartwout to this answered:
“Yes, I know, 'if properly inspired.' And Callender and Cheat'em are convivial bosom friends, aren’t they?”
“Yes, I believe so. But who would ever suspect it to read the lurid diatribes they every now and then hurl at one another?” said Hamilton.
“Nobody! These newspaper men are a curious set. Like the priests of antiquity they know the whole gamut—friends in private—foes in public. Always
burning with divine patriotism, you know.”
“Many of them are men of striking genius, yes, 'striking,' that's the very word. They can strike a man to death with a grey goose quill. The pen is mightier than the sword, you know, Swartwout.”
“It is in the copy books, as Burr would say in his searching sardonic way,” replied Swartwout, with a laugh. “But I don’t believe it.”
“Do you think Burr will be elected?”
“I do. He has an even number of Republican votes and the Federals are all for him to a man, so he cannot help winning.”
“I hope he may win,” said Hamilton, impressively. “He deserves it. He is my dear old friend and his abilities are transcendently great. While I disagree with him politically, I admire him deeply. He will make an excellent and patriotic Chief Magistrate, in every way superior to that wearisome old demagogue, Jefferson.”
“If that be so, Mr. Hamilton, why not throw all your weight for Burr and thus give the presidency to New York. Pinckney and Adams have no chance whatever, and the tie between Jefferson and Burr still stands unbroken.”
“It would delight me very much, Mr. Swartwout, I assure you. if I could be of any present service to my dear brave old friend, Colonel Burr. But don't you think it is too late now?”
“As you say, I think it is too late, General Hamilton. I’ve always known you had a very high personal regard for Colonel Burr, and I know he sincerely reciprocates your kindly sentiments.
“If he wins the Presidency he may probably retain you as his Secretary of the Treasury. You have already made a record in that Department.”
“I wish he had assured me of that before, Swartwout,” said Hamilton, impressively and with a strange twitching around the corners of his mouth.
“So do I,” answered Swartwout, reaching for his hat and rising to go.
Thereupon the two men stood up, refilled their old- fashioned, long-shanked glasses, smiled sweetly across the table, and drank the old toast, “Here's to true friendship,” and departed by different roads.
“Little he knows,” thought Hamilton, “that I have just given Burr the deadliest thrust and knock-down blow he ever received in his life.”
“Little he thinks,” thought John Swartwout, “that I know the whole of his devilish game.”
XVI
The Secret Tribunal
At every step solemn and slow,
The shadows blacker fall.
The marriage of Senator Burr's beautiful daughter Theo, to Joseph Alston took place in Albany, and was a memorable society event. The marriage party rode to the old church in sleighs jangling with bells; three feet of snow laying on the ground.
Nearly all the legislators, their wives and daughters, were at the wedding, which passed off with great eclat, for Colonel Burr was at all periods of his life a superb joy-master. Indeed he delighted in hospitality, first because it was his nature, and second because he found it to be “good politics.”
Being a thorough judge of human nature, he clearly saw that the vast majority of men and women were always more inclined to be swayed by such means than by dry arguments, or mere logic addressed to their understanding.
Early in his career he discovered that the “understanding” of average persons was very limited.
Now, Joseph Alston, the happy bridegroom, was a dilettante young millionaire-planter of South Carolina. Like the young millionaires of the present time he was utterly without high ambition. Until he came in contact with Aaron Burr he had no higher idea of life than to be a fashionable man-about-town. Sated with “good things,” the desire to grandly excel had little scope to develop within him. (He had very little notion of the power and glory that lies hidden in the aggressive use of money).
Afterwards, however, he entered public life (at Burr's suggestion) and became governor of his native state, but possessing little real ability he never rose higher. He owned too much money at the commencement of his career.
At the time of his marriage he had 500 slaves, also numerous relatives in high positions, and nearly 100,000 acres of land inherited from early English settlers.
Theodosia upon her wedding was presented by her father with a necklace of pearls. The money that purchased the necklace came from the Manhattan bank, that is to say Burr made his enemies pay for his daughter's dowry.
The method employed by him to do this was most astute.
The Manhattan Bank had been founded by Burr in teeth of relentless opposition. Afterwards his shares were bought up by political enemies, whereupon they straightway began to freeze him out. They refused him accommodation and threatened him with bankruptcy. But he turned the tables and made them beg for mercy. One morning he drove down to the managing director and pointed out that he could if he so willed, wreck the credit of the bank because of a flaw in the original charter—a charter which he himself had drawn up. The bank understanding the gravity of the threat, surrendered, and not only surrendered, but promised to financially carry Burr for many years thereafter. Nothing showed the preternatural foresight of this man in the extraordinary fact that he thus actually compelled his most relentless enemies to provide him with ready money and unlimited credit wherewith to fight themselves. But that also is another tale—for another time.
During the seven days of secret balloting and negotiating for the Presidency, when the entire community was distraught with excitement and in a turmoil of expectancy—while civil war, revolution, anarchy, were wildly predicted by the Federal editors (because of their defeat) while Hamilton, Jefferson and Bayard were quietly planning his political and financial extinction, Burr was busily engaged at Albany (where he was a legislator), in arrangements for the nuptials of his idolized daughter.
All Theodosia's former suitors had been invited to the wedding. Many of them came and did their best to appear joyful, while their hearts were bursting with disappointment and anger.
Now, at the time of the inauguration of Jefferson, Major General Hamilton and Colonel Aaron Burr met in one of the corridors of the Supreme Court. Hamilton was accompanied by Bayard of Baltimore, Burr by Judge Van Ness of New York. Hamilton saluted courteously saying:
“How-de-do Mr. Vice President?” Hamilton laid particular stress on the word VICE and there was an ironic ring in his voice which did not escape the affable Colonel.
Hamilton smiled blandly and Burr bowed benignly saying in a condescending and patronizing tone:
“Good morning, Mr. Major General.”
Then both men shook hands effusively and Hamilton again spoke saying:
“Permit me to congratulate you, my dear old friend and comrade-in-arms, upon your elevation to the second highest position of honor and emolument in the gift of your admiring fellow citizens.”
Whereupon Burr answered blithely in his most seductive tones, at the same time laying his right hand upon his left breast and bowing profoundly:
“Thanks, dear brother and kind old comrade. I reciprocate your friendly interest in my present advancement. I know it wells from the bottom of your heart. In answer allow me to say that as one good turn deserves another I treasure the earnest hope of someday aiding in your elevation to an even higher position.
“I assure you that when my opportunity comes, and of course it must, nothing shall give me keener rapture than to repay (with interest) your disinterested and very fraternal kindnesses.
“You must be well aware, my dear Major General, that I have always sincerely believed in the Golden Rule of doing unto others as they do unto me.”
Then the four men smiled delightedly, waved their adieus to one another and arm in arm went their respective ways.
Soon Hamilton spake to his companion in soothing congratulatory tones saying:
“Ah Bayard, this is my innings.”
Whereupon Bayard replied, saying:
“Don’t be so sure, Hamilton. Burr is a hard man to down. His smile makes me shudder. When he spake just now his words had in them the hiss of a snake.”
Burr walked on erec
tly clenching his hands self-repressingly until his finger nails sank into the flesh. Then he turned to Van Ness and said:
“Ah! Van Ness, he would jeer at me! But, some day I will 'elevate' him. He laughs best who laughs last. My turn cometh... I know how to wait.”
Van Ness replied with venom in his voice:
“Yes. Damn him, the cunning old fox. We’ll hang his scalp in our wigwam yet.”
“Ah,” replied the Vice President, “Fox! Truly a Sir Reynard! Mark me Van Ness, you and I will be 'in at the death.'”
* * * * *
In 1804 Colonel Burr's term as vice president expired. In taking official leave of the Senators he made a very remarkable and highly prophetic valedictory address which moved many of those hardened sinners to tears. Singularly enough his concluding words have been preserved:
“This house is a sanctuary,” he said, “and a citadel of law, of order, of liberty; and it is here; here in this exalted refuge; here if anywhere, that resistance will be made to the storms of popular frenzy and the silent arts of corruption.
“And if the Constitution is ever destined to perish by the sacrilegious hand of Demagogue or Usurper (which may God avert) its expiring agonies shall be witnessed upon this floor.”
But we anticipate.
By the time 1804 had arrived the Vice President's fame had so sank in public estimation that it would have been fatuous for him to again become a presidential candidate.