After his tour in the West, Burr, homeward bound, pursued his way from
St. Louis to Vincennes, thence to Cincinnati, and up the Ohio to the
beautiful island he had visited in the month of May. Change of season
had transformed a paradise of soft verdure and tender bloom into an
Eden of gorgeous foliage and gaudy flowers. The house of
Blennerhassett he saw embowered in trees magnificently colored by the
wonder-working frosts of October. The place was Færie Land, but had
not Gloriana been there, it may be doubted whether other attractions
of the lovely isle would have detained the restless conspirer. Once
more the American statesman stood in the presence of the fairest dame
west of the Alleghanies, and she received him with cordial words and
kind eyes.
"We have been expecting this visit. Your letters to my husband kept us
both in hope you would not fail to honor us before your return to
Philadelphia."
"The boat which brought me up-stream, madam, rounded into your wharf
of its own motion, attracted by some lodestone or guiding star. I am
here again, after many days."
"You have wandered far since you happened to discover our hiding-place
last May."
"Wandered is the word. Like a pilgrim, I went in Spring to come back
in Autumn."
"Bringing the palm?"
"Palm, olive, laurel, myrtle--the whole botany of lucky leaves. How
are my boys, Dominick and--what's the younger one's name?--Yes,
Harman, how are they? I am due in Philadelphia, but I delay business
to indulge inclination."
"You did not quite forget the lonely island and its solitary family?"
"He would be an insane palmer who could forget the most attractive
shrine in the round of his long pilgrimage--"
As Burr was saying these words, a soft shuffling step was heard in the
adjoining room, and a grave gentleman in spectacles made his
appearance in the doorway.
"Colonel Burr, my husband."
"A happiness and an honor to meet you, Colonel Burr."
Bow followed bow, urbane word echoed word, awkwardly protracting the
salutatory ceremony until Burr felt like a Chinese mandarin at a court
reception. According to his wife's judgment, Mr. Blennerhassett
acquitted himself admirably; she felt that Burr must recognize
sterling manhood and aristocratic breeding. This he did, and more, for
at a glance he read the book and volume of her husband's character,
interpreting more accurately than it was in her nature to do. The
woman's partial eye discovered the sound qualities it wished to see,
while the calculating insight of the man of the world detected the
flaws he was too willing to find.
The solemnities of introduction being safely over, Blennerhassett
monopolized the guest, and led the way to his study, eager to set
forth a feast of information. Among his books he could talk like a
book; out of the library he lost energy. There was one source from
which he took a current of mental force more vitalizing than any
stream of ideas from books, and that source was the superior intellect
of his wife. Hardly could he make up his mind on any practical matter,
unassisted by her thinking and advice. Doubly dependent, he was not
the man to cope with the daring, self-reliant, versatile Aaron Burr.
But once in his stronghold, bulwarked by standard editions, and, as it
were, in the arsenal of established science, the philosopher rose to
his best. He fairly glowed with learning's soft fire, while exhibiting
his telescope, microscope, electrical machine, _et cetera_, and
stating to the last shilling what each piece of apparatus cost and how
it was to be used. Burr, himself a victim of mild bibliomania, took
most interest in the loaded shelves, along which his eyes travelled
with rapid discrimination.
"I see familiars here. Your Voltaire is a match for mine.
Ah!--Rousseau, Bentley, Gibbon, Hume--I fancy myself in my study on
Richmond Hill. You must be a free-thinker. Where is the Holy Bible? I
hope you are not past that?"
"The Sacred Scripture? I have two copies. I believe they are both in
Margaret's room--I mean Mrs. Blennerhassett's. She reads the Bible
frequently, especially the poetical parts. The Hebrew mind is
poetical. I have searched the Scripture in vain for scientific data.
There is little or no exact science in the work. Nothing on physic,
though they claim that St. Luke was a doctor. Let me show you a
remarkable volume--centuries old--this folio copy of Hippocrates,
translated from the original Greek into Arabic and from Arabic into
Latin. My favorite reading, however, is purely literary--the book of
books--the incomparable Homer. Alexander the Great kept his Homer in
a golden box; I keep mine in my head, sir, or perhaps I should say, in
my heart. I have committed to memory the greater part of the epic."
"Is it possible?"
To Burr's consternation, the host seemed desirous of proving that it
was possible, by reciting the _Iliad_.
Blennerhassett kept hexameters flowing several minutes, marking
quantity with tongue and moving finger.
"What a pity we lack spondees, in English, colonel. Do you write
verse, sir?"
"Not I. I suppose you do?"
"No; not since leaving college. I admire poetry, but I could never
master the meters. It is different with Margaret--I mean my wife. She
writes correctly. She is a born poet. You recall Horace, '_poeta
nascitur_.' I confine my pen to the composition of music and political
essays."
"I have heard of your political writings, but not of your musical
compositions," said Burr; the last half of the speech being true. "Nor
have I had the good fortune to read the poems of Madam Blennerhassett.
Are they in print?"
"Some have been published, fugitively; the most of them remain in
manuscript."
"Sir, you could not give me a greater pleasure than the perusal of
those poems would afford."
The near-sighted sage unlocked a rosewood cabinet and took out three
leaves of tinted paper which he gave to Burr. On the pages were
written, in fine hand, several stanzas under the title, "Indian
Summer."
"Read this at your leisure and give me your opinion." Burr, bowing,
took the manuscript, and the complaisant husband, pointing to a pile
of sheet music, spoke on. "This is of my own composition. Do you play
the violoncello?"
Burr shook his head.
"Perhaps you prefer the violin or the flute?"
"No, I cannot play any instrument--not even a jewsharp."
"Not even that?" murmured the other, with a sigh of infinite regret.
"I am fond of the violincello, the viola da gamba of medieval times.
Properly it is not a viol--not a base viol as some suppose, but a
violin of extra large size. That is what it is."
While imparting this knowledge, the speaker drew from a baize bag the
instrument, and tuned it. He placed an open music book upon a rest,
and proceeded to entertain his audience of one. He played and played
and played. The best way to please such an artist is to humor the
illusion that his exertions give pleasure. No human performance can
last forever--not even a concert. A string broke, and the musician,
putting his 'cello aside with a sigh, suffered the conversation to run
in a new channel opened by Burr.
"Bravo! You play delightfully. There is magic in your fingers. Beware
of such skill; it may charm yourself to your injury. You have read
everything; you remember Bunyan's episode of the Enchanted Ground.
This island reminds me of that valley of rest. Is it possible you have
forgotten the world since abandoning public affairs?"
"No, sir; no. I sought retirement for many reasons, but I am a
cosmopolitan. I care for the welfare of the race. I may describe
myself as a philanthropist, a humanitarian. I know Europe, I am
learning America. My local attachments are not strong, though my
principles are like iron. I left my native country to seek a larger
freedom in the United States."
"Then why do you confine your liberty? This is a pent-up field for a
man of broad views."
"I beg your pardon. Solitude is the best school in which to study
society. In this seclusion I read, and reading makes a full man.
Though a newcomer, I try to keep myself informed concerning this
country's history and institutions. I do not understand all the
complications of your politics; I am no partisan. No one is better
prepared than yourself to expound public matters. This dispute in
regard to the boundary line between Louisiana and Mexico threatens
war, does it not?"
"I fear not," replied Burr, remarking an opportunity to inform and
bias an unwary savant. The lump had invited the leaven.
"I fear not."
"Then you desire war?"
"This Government should take care of its own, at all hazards. The
Spaniards wish to provoke hostilities. My friend and fellow-officer,
General Wilkinson, commander-in-chief of the Western troops, holds the
army in readiness to advance into Mexico at a moment's warning."
"At a moment's warning?" repeated Blennerhassett, dubiously. "General
Wilkinson told you so? Is he--a reliable officer?"
"He and I are most intimate friends. We consult on public and on
private concerns. I have just returned from his headquarters in St.
Louis, where we were considering a business enterprise--the purchase
of a large tract on the Wachita river, between the Red and the
Sabine."
"Do you purpose returning South to remain?"
"My intention is to buy those fertile lands, establish a colony, and
develop the resources of the region, as a sure and easy means of
making my own fortune, and the fortunes of my associates."
"You are confident that the prospect of increasing your capital is
good?"
"I am absolutely certain. I speak positively, but not rashly."
Blennerhassett nodded slowly, three or four times, and Burr spoke on.
"That the investment will prove enormously profitable I have not the
shadow of a shade of doubt. General Wilkinson knows the property, and
so do I. There are more than a million acres to be had for fifty
thousand dollars. The present value is ten times that amount."
"If the inquiry is not impertinent, sir, have you organized a joint
stock company? Have you completed your plans?"
"Practically, everything is arranged. Negotiations are afoot. The
necessary capital will be forthcoming. We take no risk. To you I will
say, in confidence, that the number of shareholders will be severely
limited. You know how desirable it is, in partnerships of this kind,
to admit only men of unimpeachable honor."
Again Blennerhassett nodded three or four times, like an automaton.
Burr, affecting to dismiss the topic, turned again to the book-shelves
and fell to reading the gilded titles. A copy of "The Prince" arrested
his eye. Taking this down, he opened it at random, and read aloud:
"Men will always prove bad, unless by necessity they are compelled to
be good."
"What do you think of that as an estimate of human nature?"
"Abominable!"
Burr fluttered the leaves of the famous treatise and came upon this
sentence, marked by a pen: "It is of great consequence to disguise
your inclination and to play the hypocrite well; and men are so simple
in their temper and so submissive, that he that is neat and cleanly in
his collusions shall never want people to practice upon."
"Why did you mark that passage?"
"To condemn the doctrine. The hypocrite can never thrive; the plain,
honest man always sees through the disguise. Virtue is all-seeing, but
fraud is blind."
"You mint apothegms, sir. It is an intellectual feast to hear you
talk."
Burr replaced Machiavelli on its shelf, confronted his host, and, in a
tone deferential and almost apologetic, said, "You must not accuse me
of flattery, sir, when I bluntly charge you with defrauding the world
and robbing that humanity which you profess to love."
"I can't find any flattery in such accusation. Kindly explain what you
mean. Whom do I defraud? and how is it flattery to charge a man with
insincerity?"
"Well, you seem to me to be evading your duty to the world, by hiding
from its great public interests, enterprises and conflicts. You linger
here, a magnificent hermit. If ever a philanthropist hid his light
under a bushel, thou art the man. If ever brilliant talents rusted in
a napkin, yours do. Your noble wife is cut off from the splendid
career appropriate to her, and is compelled to devote her days to
rural walks and the direction of a few negro slaves. Not to dwell on
the sacrifice of mother and sons, your own learning, fortune, and
extraordinary mental powers--your genius for dealing with men--are
here employed, not in the service of mankind, but in--" Burr was
tempted to say "fiddling," but he substituted the words--"gazing at
the stars through a telescope. Pardon me for speaking strongly. It is
only a few hours since we first met, but I am drawn to you. I admire
and esteem you, and my motive in this perhaps impertinent appeal, is
the wish to serve you."
Blennerhassett felt much gratified by the insidious censure. His
portrait, amiably regarding its original from the wall, listened
approvingly to Burr, and smiled acquiescence. "Does the mild-eyed
thing recollect me?" mused Burr. The picture betrayed no sign of
recognition and the original spoke.
"Such candor is rare, and I appreciate it. I am honored by the
outspoken confidence of the man I know you to be, not only from what I
have read of your political course, which I wholly approve, but from
Mrs. Blennerhassett's reports of your conversation. Her judgment is
unerring. I defer to it. You will confer a great favor on me by
explaining, in detail, your Southern plans."
Thus solicited, Burr adroitly availed himself of the opportunity to
divulge, not only his project of settling the Bastrop lands, but such
part of his other plans as he deemed it prudent to reveal at the time.
He learned to his satisfaction that Blennerhassett had no repugnance
to the idea of separating the Western States from the Eastern and of
invading Mexico. Burr's angling had gone on for an hour, with lures so
tempting that the gudgeon seemed about to swallow bait, hook and all,
when the conversation was disturbed by an unusual clamor of excited
voices coming from the negro quarters. Blennerhassett, in a flurry,
excused himself, and hastened to inquire what was the matter. He found
his servants, black and white, huddled together around Scipio, who had
just told the grinning crowd that Honest Moses was missing from the
plantation, having been enticed by an Ohio farmer to cross the river
and run away to the free North.
This was Scipio's story, but Peter Taylor, who stood smoking a small
pipe, with looks of austere indifference to all human interests, had
another theory to account for the leave-taking of Moses.
"I've no hidea 'e ran away to Ohio. That lazy nigger 'ated work too
much to run away to Ohio. I suspicion that the rascal drifted away on
a flatboat."
"What makes you think so, Peter?"
"I can't say that I altogether think anything sure about the nigger.
It isn't my business to think about other people's business. I only
say I suspicion. If I knew what was hid in the future, I would have
told. But it's my firm suspicion that a boatman by the name of
Sheldrake lured Honest Moses away on a flatboat."
"No; Mars Taylor," reiterated Scipio, "Moses done tole Ransom he was
gwine to run off, up Muskingum."
"When did he tell you?"
"Las' Crismus."
"For de Lawd sake!" cried out Juno, the kitchen maid, whose rolling
eyes were the first to see the master approaching. "I never 'spected
Honest Moses of sneaking fum his good home and kind Mars and Missus
like a brack thief in de night. Whar's Daniel? I hy'ard him prayin'
for Moses yesterday."
"No prayin' is gwine to keep Honest Moses fum de debil. Dat nigger's
not got no religion to his name--not a speck. Didn't I tell Missus
when she thought she cotched me and Ransom sellin' watermillions and
sweet 'tatoes to de boys from Marietta, dat it was Moses done it?"
Exasperated, perplexed, not knowing how to act, Blennerhassett sought
his wife, with whom he held a closet conference, lamenting his
troubles and soliciting counsel. The lady advised him to summon Peter
Taylor, and suggested that the two should go across the river to
Belpre, there consult the squire, and set in motion every available
agency to insure the recapture of the fugitive. The much-worried
philosopher begged Burr to excuse him for a couple of hours, and
hurriedly started on his vexatious quest, accompanied by the
phlegmatic gardener. Complying good-naturedly with a proposal of
Dominick and little Harman, and convoyed by those devoted children,
Burr explored orchards, fields and stockyard, and won the extravagant
praises of the black people by visiting their quarters and greeting
every one, from Scipio to the youngest pickaninny, with a cheerful
word and a smile. Every slave on the plantation was in voluntary bonds
to "Mars Burr, de fine gen'leman wi' de coal brack eyes."