by Desmond Dilg
The two great political parties had done their very utmost to systematically blacken the Vice President’s reputation, as per pre-arrangement between their respective leaders.
Everything that he did was misrepresented by the organs of both parties and ladled out in windy leading articles to the Great Common People. Editors “properly inspired” vied with one another in raking up every old scandal or gossip against his name; and distorting beyond recognition all his words and actions.
They cast doubts on his loyalty to his own country, upon his bravery in battle, upon his fidelity to his wife (dead 10 years) and even went so far as to say his mother was mad, and that he kept a harem of Indian and French houris at Richmond Hill.
All his financial troubles were exposed in the newspapers, his creditors pressed him and crushed him in every possible way, and they were compelled to do it by an insidious but steady pressure upon themselves.
If he had been twice over a millionaire, he could never have successfully stood up against such odds. Being a comparatively poor man and without any interstate organization, he was wholly unable to reply effectively to his pitiless assailants. He was impotent to retaliate which is the most effective way to answer political denunciations. The dead weight of entrenched Power was steadily remorselessly grinding him down.
Now, it ever seemed to be the motto of his life to express his real opinions by actions rather than by words. He liked to do things in a dignified and dramatic manner, trusting the public to judge (a very foolish trust).
Throughout all his life he was never known to apologize or express regret or penitence for anything he had ever said or done; and he scorned all underhand methods of vengeance, for he prided himself on being in all his dealings, a soldier and a gentleman of the old school. “They call me a pirate,” he was wont to say, “but may not a pirate be a gentleman?”
In 1803 the Vice President requested from Jefferson a foreign ambassadorship, thinking this might possibly be granted to him in recognition of his present position and of his past services to the Republican party—also as an old soldier of the Revolution.
His request was sullenly refused and the refusal blazoned forth insultingly. Then in fair desperation the Vice President became an “Independent” candidate for the governorship of New York. Immediately both the old parties led on by Jefferson and Hamilton entered the lists against him with all the resources and skill that money and power and government prestige could give them. The Vice President was defeated by a nonentity named Morgan Lewis, 35,000 votes against 28,000.
Burr attributed his defeat primarily to a set of very malevolent letters written by Alexander Hamilton and extensively, but privately circulated. Many of these letters came into Burr's possession afterwards, but he himself never made any public use of them.
Thus step by step, with the precision of a classic tragedy, the animosity between those two powerful personalities fanned itself to a white heat, and the thought of immediate mortal combat took possession of not only their own minds, but also the minds of their personal followers. “These two men must fight before long,” was in nearly everybody's mouth.
Burr had overthrown Hamilton in 1800 and Hamilton overthrew Burr in 1804. The one had wrecked the other and Jefferson was winning all along the line.
Thus they stood as it were like two glowering gladiators weakened by loss of blood, but still valiantly returning blow for blow, with indomitable hatred.
As the material prizes of office glided out of their grasp to Jefferson (whom both despised) the conflict grew fiercer and more rancorous and more unscrupulous.
Their friends despaired of any other solution than the total subjugation of one or the other.
Like two crouching tigers they glared into each others bloodshot eyes and waited for an excuse or a chance to spring.
The Northern States were much alarmed at this state of mutual hatred between their two greatest leaders for it meant the passing of all administrative power into the hands of Southern men, through the continued triumph of Jefferson.
The quarrel deepened. Men even talked of secession. The commercial interests of the north were systematically neglected by Jefferson, and bad blood existed between the small farmers of the North and the Baronial Planters of the South.
Then the Iron Cross interfered. It's all-hearing ear had not been deaf. It's all-seeing eye had not been blind. It saw the National danger. It heard the undergrowl of universal discontent, and it's ukase went forth.
It determined to reconcile Hamilton and Burr, or destroy them both as traitors to the Order.
Already it had acted in a perfunctory way. It had summoned both “Brothers” before its tribunal. It had officially and unofficially admonished them more than once. It had even gone so far as to threaten Hamilton with its Heavy Hand.
All to no purpose, however. The feud would not hush. It was too deep seated, too fundamental.
No open evidence was forthcoming to prove “Unbrotherly Conduct” against either one or the other, although the fact of said conduct was apparent to everyone. A man, blind, deaf and dumb, could not help knowing it. And so the Supreme Council had allowed the matter to drop from time to time for both men were strongly represented on the Council.
Finally the Supreme Seven took a decisive stand with results far-reaching.
Now the Iron Cross had always favored and even commanded the advancement of Burr and Hamilton and largely through its power, the influence and fame of both men grew and grew.
But the personal animosity between them tended to nullify the Society's deeper efforts towards grander things. This was very exasperating, and finally the Supreme Council took decisive action.
Burr had never said or done anything that could bring him officially under the cognizance of the Order. On the other hand Hamilton's hatred overmastered his discretion. It carried him off his feet. It made him act and write like a crazy person. Hatred of Burr became a brooding mania with him. He wrote letters that he would never have written, if he had been in his proper senses. These letters by devious channels fell into the possession of the Supreme Council and proved, beyond doubt, that Hamilton had deliberately broken his solemn oath and obligation to the most powerful secret society in the world.
This was a heinous offense under the constitution of the Great Iron Order. It was the crime against the spirit of the Ing that is punishable with death. It was a flagrant breach of the fundamental mandates as written on the iron leaves of the Fiery Scroll.
Upon a day appointed Major General Hamilton and Vice President Aaron Burr were summoned before the Supreme Seven in the darkened Council Hall then situated in Murray Street. The Seven sat on the raised dais, their faces hidden by red veils and a red robe of thin silk hanging from their shoulders. Each one held a naked sword in his right hand and a burning taper in the left.
After some preliminary ceremonial the spokesman of the Seven said: “Brothers Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, you have been haled before us that we may officially inquire into the growing scandal of your mutual hostility. But in order that we may do so legitimately, it is essential that one (or both) of you make a formal complaint. This will put the matter in order before us as High Inquisitors, and then we will proceed to adjudicate according to the ancient laws and customs of the Brotherhood.
“Brother Aaron Burr, I command you; upon the sign of Zoam, have you any complaint to make against brother Alexander Hamilton?”
“I have none,” replied Burr, with decision, at the same time making the Sign of Zoam.
Now, as he opened his lips to speak, a scarlet light shone mysteriously on his face (from above) so that all present could see him distinctly while being themselves unseen.
“Brother Alexander Hamilton,” said the Chief of Seven, “I command you upon the Sign of Zoam, have you any complaint to make against brother Aaron Burr?”
“I have none,” replied Hamilton, making the Sign, while upon his pale, drawn features the red light played.
“Then I cal
l upon brother William P. Van Ness to approach the altar,” said the red-robed Chief.
Judge Van Ness stepped forward, and upon him the light shone, leaving Burr and Hamilton in the shadow.
Van Ness was a tall, burly man, about 40, with a broad, determined chin, high cheek bones, cold, hard grey eyes, an eagle nose and light colored hair. He was a well-to-do land owner of an old Knickerbocker family.
“Brother Van Ness,” said the Hidden One, “you are in possession of certain important documents relative to the unfraternal conflict between these two brethren, a conflict that tends to weaken the power and bring scandal and permanent injury upon the fair name and fame of our Ancient Order. We are now in session to judge between Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr, and we call upon you, nay, we command you to now make the Accusation. This has already been intimated to you and you must obey in terms of your obligation to the Order.”
To this Van Ness answered:
“I comply with the command of the Supreme Council. I formally accuse Brother Alexander Hamilton of maliciously defaming the fair fame and private reputation of a Brother.
“I also accuse him of betraying the interests of the Iron Cross in preventing the election of Brother Aaron Burr to the Presidency of the United States; and in aiding the elevation of an enemy of the Order to the said Presidency.
“And in proof of these, my accusations, I now produce documents undeniably in the handwriting of the accused brother, and some of them formally signed by him.
“I also make this accusation purely on my own volition, for the good of the Order and in direct antagonism to the wish of my dearest friend and brother, the Vice President, Colonel Aaron Burr, whose desire is to be let alone to fight out his own fight in his own way.”
Thereupon Judge Van Ness handed over to the Chief of the Seven a packet of sealed and numbered papers, containing letters and drafts of letters, also legal and financial documents, some of them taken by force from Hamilton's possession by General John Swartwout as previously related. One of these papers contained a fully thought out and detailed plan for assailing Burr's personal reputation along the scandal lines laid down by Cicero in his defamatory attack on Catiline (the precursor of Caesar). Another was a letter relating to Burr's private amours and his marriage to Madame Provost. Another was a circular sent out to distant members of the Cincinnati, of which Hamilton was President-General. Another was the copy of a secret treaty between the Administration and a foreign Ambassador, concerning the policy and activity of the Iron Cross. Twenty-three documents relating to the secret negotiations between Bayard, Morris, Hamilton, and others in connection with the election of Jefferson.
It would now be impolitic to reprint any of these documents and papers in full. The following extracts from one of them (a political letter of Hamilton's), shows the animus sufficiently for the present.
I admit that Jefferson's politics are tinctured by Gallic fanaticism, swelling with fanciful ideas and mind-inebriated dreams, very pleasing no doubt to the thoughtless and impecunious. I also acknowledge that he is crafty and persevering in his objects and the founder of the only cult we have any reason to fear. * * * *
Neither is he very scrupulous about the means of success, nor over mindful of the truth, and though he is a contemptible hypocrite, the populace does not think so, and in this is his strength.
Like a Roman Despot of old the Mob delights to be flattered. No praise is too fulsome for it to swallow. Thus it is deified by its cunning courtiers, who know all the time (in their hearts) that it is a foul and half-insane monster. Thus its favorites are only those who can complacently sink their own individuality and orate before it the acceptable things that its madness craves for. * * * *
Also (like the despots of antiquity), the Mob is ever at bottom a Murderous Beast when its power is equal to its reasonless hate or dread. * * * Burr, on the other hand (who is Jefferson’s only possible rival), is in every way a stronger personality and an abler man, but unlike Jefferson, his brain is more inclined to action than to philosophizing. While Jefferson would be slowly evolving a thing in his mind Burr would go and do it. Burr is essentially a man of deeds and therefore the most formidable of the two radical chiefs. We must therefore “down” him first.
He understands our objects intuitively, and has similar, but rival objects in his own unbridled brain. * * * Jefferson, in office, would only exclude us for a period, but if Burr once obtained authority it would require an army to oust him again. With all the perfected enginery of a centralized government absolutely under his control he would be a monarch de facto; and could give himself whatever majority of votes he required. Although Washington refused to accept a third term, Burr is one of those men who would laugh at such a precedent. “I will make my own precedent,” he would say, “Is not Washington dead?”
Jefferson would perhaps prune our power, but Burr would tear it up by the roots. In Jefferson, therefore, we have, I think, an harmless foeman, a stingless creature, but in Burr we have a pitiless privateer, a merciless man, who would probably sink us for ever, and do it with a courteous smile and a polite bow and honied words of commiseration. I assure you Colonel Burr is a dangerous, a very dangerous man.
His mind is of the Napoleonic type. He has no reverence for Institutions, or musty Covenants, and I verily believe he would not hesitate to wring the necks of our Senators and Legislators if they dared to seriously cross his path when in power.
In private life he is also as great a libertine and voluptuary as Cataline. The numbers of his amours and natural children is past belief. But with the con- ception of a Ceasar, the brain of a Machiavelli, and the resolution of a Cromwell, he is, nevertheless, always in debt. He is lavish in money and this is his weak point. He is mortgaged up to his neck. And thus, I believe, it would be easy, by a concerted move, for us to bankrupt him entirely and thus render him comparatively innocuous. A public man you know with- out money or credit is like a ship without sails and masts, a mere drifting hulk at the mercy of every storm that blows. * * * *
It is imperative, therefore, that Colonel Burr should be defeated. I adjure you to do your utmost in this matter, and I advise the use of every method consistent with success. Promise anything reasonable. If you want money to carry on the campaign more efficiently you can draw upon Nathan Morris & Co. They will be instructed to honor your drafts on sight.
Burr has not the financial backing that we have, and therefore we possess a distinct advantage over him. Money talks. Money talks most eloquently. Money in the right hand gives Absolute Power. If Burr fails in winning this time he is insolvent beyond redemption. His sole hope is to get into power and rob the country.
Indeed, far-rolling consequences, including disgrace abroad and ruin at home, are probable fruits of a victory over us by this indefatigable intriguer. He knows altogether too much for our safety. I shrewdly suspect that he has in his possession a certain foreign treaty secret, and, as you know, he is quite capable of using it to obtain both yours and mine. He also knows the true story of the Arnold affair and has always been a partisan of Gates, the Northern General.
Burr is capable of anything. I also suspect that he has somehow got possession of other papers, very important private documents, that were taken from me by a bandit in the winter of 1800, at the muzzle of a gun.
You suggest the formation with him of a secret alliance to offset the growing influence of Jefferson, the Southern cotton planter. That cannot be however. I am his relentless foe and I know he is mine; though openly we are ever courteous to one another. Indeed, so much do I detest the man that if they cut me up into a thousand pieces, every piece would rise up to war against him. Compromise between us is out of the question. It is war to the end. He must sink me or I will sink him. And yet, for reasons I cannot well uncover to you, I must not battle against him direct, I must shoot from behind the hedge until an opportunity comes to shoot in the open.
No engagements whatever that could be made with him could be relied upon anyhow. Pr
etending faithfulness, he would only use us and play with us for the accomplishment of his own vast designs of military conquest and personal aggrandizement. * * * *
We can thus neither deceive him nor wheedle him nor obtain him as an ally. He sees all that we see and much more than most of us see. He is a deep student of history and at the same time an acute man of affairs, with preternatural powers of penetration into motives. His brain is not swayed by any of the current arguments or beliefs. In his heart he despises all our opinions and ideals and imagines himself looking down upon us from a higher mental viewpoint. And he is too cold-blooded and determined a conspirator to ever change his plan in accordance with any inducement that we could hold out to him. Thus treaties and compacts with him are impossible.
Such a man is above and beyond all human restraint. He speaks of public opinion with scorn, sarcasm, and gentle laughter; and compares the common people to a herd of cattle or a flock of bleating sheep. You might as well try to bind back the Hudson's rolling tide with a rope of twisted sand as to harness his ambition by paper promises or mere signatures. I assure you, nothing to that man is either sacred or indestructible. I verily believe that if his power was equal to his purpose he would wreck the world itself rather than submit his own will to the will of another. He will not admit the idea of a superior.
Don’t be deluded by his glib popular phrases and his fulsome protestations of purest patriotism. The shibboleths of politics and popular oratory are but words and breath to him. They are a well practiced part of his procedure of mystification and wizardism— like the incantations of an Indian snake-charmer.
As an illustration of this, I once heard him make use of the following argument at his own table: