The Magnificent Adventure

by Emerson Hough

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE QUALITY OF MERCY

  In Richmond jail lay Aaron Burr, the great conspirator, the ruins ofhis ambition fallen about him. He had found a prison instead of apalace. He was eager no longer to gain a scepter, but only to escape anoose.

  The great conspiracy was at an end. The only question was of thepunishment the accused should have--for in the general belief he wascertain of conviction. That he never was convicted has always been oneof the most mysterious facts of a mysterious chapter in our nationaldevelopment.

  So crowded were the hostelries of Richmond that a stranger would havehad difficulty in finding lodging there during the six months of theBurr trial. Not so with Meriwether Lewis, now one of the country'sfamous men. A score of homes opened their doors to him. The townbuzzed over his appearance. He had once been the friend of Burr,always the friend of Jefferson. To which side now would he lean.

  Luther Martin, chief of Burr's counsel, was eager above all to have aword with Meriwether Lewis, so close to affairs in Washington,possibly so useful to himself. Washington Irving, too, assistant toMartin in the great trial, would gladly have had talk with him. Allasked what his errand might be. What was the leaning of the Governorof the new Territory, a man closer to the administration at Washingtonthan any other?

  Meriwether Lewis kept his own counsel. He arranged first to see Burrhimself. The meagerly furnished anteroom of the Federal prison inRichmond was the discredited adventurer's reception-hall in thosedays.

  Burr advanced to meet his visitor with something of his own oldhaughtiness of mien, a little of the former brilliance of his eye.

  "Governor, I am delighted to see you, back safe and sound from yourjourney. My congratulations, sir!"

  Meriwether Lewis made no reply, but gazed at him steadily, well awareof the stinging sarcasm of his words.

  "I have few friends now," said Aaron Burr. "You have many. You are onthe flood tide--it ebbs for me. When one loses, what mercy is shown tohim? That scoundrel Merry--he promised everything and gave nothing!Yrujo--he is worse yet in his treachery. Even the French minister,Turreau--who surely might listen to the wishes of the great Frenchpopulation of the Mississippi Valley--pays no attention to theirpetitions whatever, and none to mine. These were my former friends! Ipromised them a country."

  "You promised them a country, Colonel Burr--from what?"

  "From that great ownerless land yonder, the West. But they waited andwaited, until your success was sure. Why, that scoundrel Merry is herethis very day--the effrontery of him! He wants nothing more to do withme. No, he is here to undertake to recoup himself in his own losses byreasons of moneys he advanced to me some time ago. He is importuningmy son-in-law, Mr. Alston, to pay him back those funds--which once hewas so ready to furnish to us. But Mr. Alston is ruined--I amruined--we are all ruined. No, they waited too long!"

  "They waited until it was too late, yes," Lewis returned. "Thatcountry is American now, not British or Spanish or French. Our men arepassing across the river in thousands. They will never loose theirhold on the West. It was treason to the future that you planned--butit was hopeless from the first!"

  "It would seem, sir," said Aaron Burr, a cynical smile twisting histhin lip, "that I may not count upon your friendship!"

  "That is a hard speech, Colonel Burr. I was your friend."

  "More than your chief ever was! I fancy Mr. Jefferson would like tosee me pilloried, drawn and quartered, after the old way."

  "You are unjust to him. You struck at the greatest ambition of hislife--struck at his heart and the heart of his country--when youundertook to separate the West from this republic."

  "I am a plain man, and a busy man," said Aaron Burr coldly. "I mustemploy my time now to the betterment of my situation. I have failed,and you have won. But let me throw the cloak aside, since I know youcan be of no service to me. I care not what punishment you mayhave--what suffering--because I recognize in you the one great causeof my failure. It was _you_, sir, with your cursed expedition, thatdefeated Aaron Burr!"

  He turned, proud and defiant even in his failure, and when MeriwetherLewis looked up he was gone.

  Even as Burr passed, Meriwether Lewis heard a light step in the longcorridor. Under guard of the turnkey, some one stood at the door. Itwas the figure of a woman--a figure which caused him to halt, causedhis heart to leap!

  She came toward him now, all in mourning black--hat, gown, and gloves.Her face was pale, her eyes deep, her mouth drooping. Theodosia Alstonwas always thus on her daily visit to her father's cell.

  Herself the picture of failure and despair, she was used to avoidingthe eyes of all; but she saw Meriwether Lewis standing before her,strong, tall, splendid in his manhood and vigor, in the full tide ofhis success. She was almost in touch of his hand when she raised hereyes to his.

  These two had met at last, after what far wanderings apart! They hadmet as if each came from the Valley of the Shadows. Out of thevastness of the unknown, over all those long and devious trails, intowhat now seemed to him a world still more vast, more fraught withdesperate peril, he had come back to her. And she--what had been herperils? What were her thoughts?

  As his eye fell upon her, even as his keen ear had known her coming,the hand of Meriwether Lewis half unconsciously went to his breast. Hefelt under it the packet of faded letters which he had so long keptwith him--which in some way he felt to be his talisman.

  Yes, it was for this that he had had them! His love and hers--this hadbeen his shield through all. What he saw in her grave face, hermournful eyes uplifted to his own--this was the solution of the riddleof his life, the reason for his moods of melancholy, the answer to athousand unspoken prayers. He felt his heart thrill strong and full,felt his blood spring in strong current through his veins, until theystrained, until he felt his nerves tingle as he stood, silent,endeavoring to still the tumult within him, now that he knew the greatand satisfying truth of truths.

  To her he was--what? A tall and handsome gentleman, immaculately clad,Governor of the newest of our Territories--the largest and richestrealm ever laid under the rule of any viceroy. A bystander might havepondered on such things, but Meriwether Lewis had no thought of them,nor had the woman who looked up at him. No, to her eyes there stoodonly the man who made her blood leap, her soul cry out:

  "Yea! Yea! Now I know!"

  To her also, from the divine compassion, was given answer for herquestionings. She knew that life for her, even though it ended now,had been no blind puzzle, after all, but was a glorious and perfectthing. She had called to him across the deep, and he had heard andcome! From the very grave itself he had arisen and come again to her!

  Even here under the shadow of the gallows--even if, as both knew intheir supreme renunciation, they must part and never meet again--forthem both there could be peaceful calm, with all life's questionsanswered, beautifully and surely answered, never again to rise forconquering.

  "Sir--Captain--that is to say, Governor Lewis," she corrected herself,"I was not expecting you."

  Her tone seemed icy, though her soul was in her eyes. She was all uponthe defense, as Lewis instantly understood. He took her hand in bothof his own, and looked into her face.

  She gazed up at him, and swiftly, mercifully, the tears came. Gently,as if she had been a child, he dried them for her--as once when a boy,he had promised to do. They were alone now. The cold silence of theprison was about them; but their own long silence seemed a golden,glowing thing. Thus only--in their silence--could they speak. They didnot know that they stood hand in hand.

  "My husband is not here," said she at length, gently disengaging herhand from his. "No one knows me now, every one avoids me. You must notbe seen with me--a pariah, an outcast! I am my father's only friend.Already they condemn him; yet he is as innocent as any man ever was."

  "I shall say no word to change that belief," said Meriwether Lewis."But your husband is not here? It is he whom I must see at once."

  "Why must you see him?"

 
"You must know! It is my duty to go to him and to tell him that I amthe man who--who made you weep. He must have his satisfaction. Nothingthat he can do will punish me as my own conscience has alreadypunished me. It is no use--I shall not ask you to forgive me--I willnot be so cheap."

  "But--_suppose he does not know_?"

  He could only stand silent, regarding her fixedly.

  "He must never know!" she went on. "It is no time for quixotism tomake yet another suffer. We two must be strong enough to carry our ownsecret. It is better and kinder that it should be between two thanamong three. I thought you dead. Let the past remain past--let it buryits own dead!"

  "It is our time of reckoning," said he, at length. "Guilty as I havebeen, sinning as I have sinned--tell me, was I alone in the wrong?Listen. Those who joined your father's cause were asked to join intreason to their country. What he purposed was _treason_. Tell me, didyou know this when you came to me?"

  He saw the quick pain upon her face, the flush that rose to her palecheek. She drew herself up proudly.

  "I shall not answer that!" said she.

  "No!" he exclaimed, swiftly contrite. "Nor shall I ask it. Forgive me!You never knew--you were innocent. You do right not to answer such aquestion."

  "I only wanted you to be happy--that was my one desire."

  She looked aside, and a moment passed before she heard his deep voicereply.

  "Happy! I am the most unhappy man in all the world. Happiness?No--rags, shreds, patches of happiness--that is all that is left ofhappiness for us, as men and women usually count it. But tell me, whatwould make you most happy now, of these things remaining? I have comeback to pay my debts. Is there anything I can do? What would make youhappiest?"

  "_My father's freedom!_"

  "I cannot promise that; but all that I can do I will."

  "Were my father guilty, that would be the act of a noble mind. Buthow? You are Mr. Jefferson's friend, not the friend of Aaron Burr. Allthe world knows that."

  "Precisely. All the world knows that, or thinks it does. It thinks itknows that Mr. Jefferson is implacable. But suppose all the world wereset to wondering? I am just wondering myself if it would be right tosuborn a juryman, like John Randolph of Roanoke!"[6]

  [Footnote 6: The import of the visit of Governor Lewis and Mrs. Alstonto the court-room during the Burr trial is better conveyed if there beheld in mind the personality of that eccentric and extraordinary man,so prominent in the history of America and the traditions ofVirginia--John Randolph of Roanoke. Irascible, high-voiced,high-headed, truculent, insolent, vitriolic--yet gallant, courteous,kind, just, and fair; the enemy and the friend in turn of almost everypublic man of his day; truckling to none, defiant of all, sure to dowhat could not be predicted of any other man--it was always certainthat John Randolph of Roanoke would do what he liked, and do what--forthat present time--he fancied to be just.

  Now the ardent adherent, again the bitter caluminator of Jefferson, itwould be held probable that John Randolph of Roanoke would do what hefancied Thomas Jefferson had not asked him to do, or had asked him notto do. But the shrewd old man at Washington spoke advisedly when hesaid that John Randolph of Roanoke would try the Burr case in thejury-room, and himself preside as judge, counsel, and jury all inone!]

  "That is impossible. What do you mean?"

  "I mean this. This afternoon you and I will go into the trial-roomtogether. I have not yet attended a session of the court. Today I willhand you to your seat in full sight of the jury box."

  "You--give your presence to one who is now a social pariah? The ladiesof Richmond no longer speak to me. But to what purpose?"

  "Perhaps to small purpose. I cannot tell. But let us suppose that I gowith you, and that we sit there in sight of all. I am known to be theintimate friend of Mr. Jefferson. _Ergo_----"

  "_Ergo_, Mr. Jefferson is not hostile to us! And you would dothat--you would take that chance?"

  "For you."

  And he did--for her! That afternoon all the crowded court-room saw thebeadle make way for two persons of importance. One was a tall, grave,distinguished-looking man, impassive, calm, a man whose face was knownto all--the new Governor of Louisiana, viceroy of the country thatBurr had lost. Upon his arm, pale, clad all in black, walked thedaughter of the prisoner at the bar!

  Was it in defiance or in compliance that this act was done? Was it byorders, or against orders, or without orders, that the President'sbest friend walked in public, before all the world, with the daughterof the President's worst enemy? It was the guess of anybody and thequery of all.

  There, in full view of all the attendants, in full view of thejury--and of John Randolph of Roanoke, its foreman--sat the twopersons who had had most to do with this scene of which they now madea part. There sat the man who had explored the great West, and thewoman who had done her best to prevent that exploration; Mr.Jefferson's friend, and the daughter of the great conspirator, AaronBurr. _Ergo, ergo_, said many tongues swiftly--and leaned head to headto whisper it. Mind sometimes speaks to mind--even across the rail ofa jury-box. Sympathy runs deep and swift sometimes. All the worldloved Meriwether Lewis then, would favor him--or favor what hefavored.

  The issue of that great trial was not to come for weeks as yet; butwhen it came, and by whatever process, Aaron Burr was acquitted of thecharges brought against him. The republic for whose downfall he hadplotted set him free and bade him begone.

  But now, at the close of this day, the two central figures of thetragic drama found themselves together once more. They could be alonenowhere but in the prison room; and it was there that they parted.

  Between them, as they stood now at last, about to part, therestretched an abysmal gulf which might never personally be passed byeither.

  She faced him at length, trembling, pleading, helpless.

  "How mighty a thing is a man's sense of honor!" she said slowly. "Youhave done what I never would have asked you to do, and I am glad thatyou did. I once asked you to do what you would not do, and I am gladthat you did not. How can I repay you for what you have done today? Icannot tell how, but I feel that you have turned the tide for us. Ah,if ever you felt that you owed me anything, it is paid--all your debtto me and mine. See, I no longer weep. You have dried my tears!"

  "We cannot balance debits and credits," he replied. "There is no wayin the world in which you and I can cry quits. Only one thing issure--I must go!"

  "I cannot say good-by!" said she. "Ah, do not ask me that! We are butbeginning now. Oh, see! see!"

  He looked at her still, an unspeakable sadness in his gaze--at herhand, extended pleadingly toward him.

  "Won't you take my hand, Merne?" said she. "Won't you?"

  "I dare not," said he hoarsely. "No, I dare not!"

  "Why? Do you wish to leave me still feeling that I am in your debt?You can afford so much now," she said brokenly, "for those who havenot won!"

  "Think you that I have won?" he broke out. "Theodosia--Theo--I shallcall you by your old name just once--I do not take your hand--I darenot touch you--because I love you! I always shall. God help me, it isthe truth!"

  "Did you get my letters?" she said suddenly, and looked him fair inthe face.

  Meriwether Lewis stood searching her countenance with his own graveeyes.

  "_Letters?_" said he at length. "_What letters?_"

  Her eyes looked up at him luminously.

  "You are glorious!" said she. "Yes, a woman's name would be safe withyou. You are strong. How terrible a thing is a sense of honor! But youare glorious! Good-by!"