While Blennerhassett tramped about Belpre, his wife assumed the
government at home, and Burr studied fresh means of invading her
heart. The lady neither saw nor wished any escape from the pleasant
task of entertaining the affable "pilgrim." Considering how seldom a
person of extraordinary mental gifts brought to her isolated home the
sparkle of wit, the hostess made the most of a golden opportunity. She
waited with eagerness for Burr's return from his ramble with the boys,
whose adhesiveness she knew by experience might prove too constant,
like the clinging of Sindbad's Old Man of the Sea.
Burr, despite his professed fondness for the company of boys, longed
to exchange the society of Dominick and Harman for that of their
winsome mother. Therefore, he managed to engage the lads in the
construction of a mimic fort in a cornfield. Promising to inspect the
grand earthwork when it was completed, the colonel slipped away to
reconnoiter another field.
Retreating in good order, he arrived at the long portico, and, under
its cover, passed to the hall, through which he reached the cosy room
where he and Arlington had been entertained. The French sofa, the
ebony stand, the clavier, looked familiar. The gilded harp stood
invitingly in a place of honor. He drew near the instrument, and,
smiling to himself, thrummed a few notes on the lower strings. As if
summoned by the sound, from the routine of household tasks, the
mistress of the mansion entered in her regal manner and begged pardon
for having neglected her guest.
Burr was in his element as the bird in air; his winged words now
skimmed the surface of common levels, now soared, then circled round
subjects grave or gay, often fluttering, but never failing. The range
of discussion was wide and free. They talked society, arts, countries,
travels, the pleasure of life and its pain. He told of his sojourn in
New Orleans, describing a city not celestial, but abounding in the
delights of this world. She gave reminiscences of her birthplace, the
Isle of Wight, spoke of her marriage and subsequent journeyings in
Europe and America.
Burr recalled the incidents of his previous visit, and besought madam
to sing again the songs which had delighted him that evening after the
ramble in the woods. She cheerfully complied; for singing was her
prime accomplishment. The lady felt keen enjoyment in the
consciousness of being understood and sympathized with, by a man of
brains and character.
The hour for lunch having arrived, Burr was conducted to the
dining-room, and the pair sat down to a dainty repast, served by a
black damsel, who cast furtive glances upon the stranger, and observed
that the "Missus" wore her finest jewels and seemed refreshed by the
cares of hospitality. Never before had such enlivening gossip been
heard by a servant in that sober house. The table-talk played
familiarly with names and individuals.
"What became of the handsome young Arlington?"
"You think him handsome? He is in Virginia. I expect him to join me in
a business enterprise. A fine fellow, thorough-bred. His name calls to
mind your _protégée_, the golden-haired Yankee beauty. Arlington was
smitten by her demure eyes--pierced to the heart. Those wild violets
worked him woe."
"Are you sure? Did he own it?"
"He did not confess in words, but I divined the secret, which was no
secret, for he revealed it by every sign known to the Court of Love.
He was struck as by lightning--stunned by a love bolt."
"The stroke was harmless. On his return from Cincinnati he passed
through Marietta, where he knows Evaleen lives, and made no effort to
meet her, but rode by her house; I was with her on the porch, and we
both saw him trot past on a black horse. He stared our way and must
have identified us, yet he turned his face forward and spurred on."
"Incredible! Your eyes deceived you."
"No; it was Mr. Arlington; he made a flying trip to the island in
company with a peculiar person, one Plutarch Byle."
"Byle? I shall never forget Plutarch!" interjected Burr, laughingly.
"Dominick christened our fort, 'Fort Byle.'"
"Have you seen our gaunt Hercules? Isn't he an odd Grecian? In his
'piroque' he brought Mr. Arlington here. I was from home, as I said.
My husband suggested to your Virginian friend that he ought to call on
the Hales, but the faithless cavalier slighted us. I much doubt his
interest in Evaleen."
"I am certain he was smitten."
"Then he is inconstant, or else belongs to the tribe of faint hearts.
How ridiculous the idea of folks falling in love at first sight! Yet
they often do. The girl was pleased with him, and she still likes
him."
"Likes him, does she?" drawled Burr, sarcastically, and lifted a
gherkin to his teeth.
"Yes, don't you like him?"
"Very much."
He bit the pickle quite savagely.
"What do you think of _her_?"
"It cannot be the fault of the male sex that she remains single."
"Some women are not inclined to marry."
"Is Miss Hale one of those foolish virgins?"
"She is wise in taking time to select. She has many suitors."
"And you think she likes Arlington?"
"I know she does."
"Humph! she might do better."
"She might fare worse."
"Does he write to her?"
"No, not that I know of."
"He is an idiot."
"You show a jealous interest in the young man." Here madam halted
abruptly. "Pardon me; I hear the boys; their father must have
returned."
She rose expecting to receive her husband at the dining-room door, but
the footsteps she heard were not his. The vociferous boys came rushing
in. "Fort Byle" was finished. Wouldn't "General" Burr come and see?
"You should not storm in, rudely, children; you disturb us. Harman,
you have ruined your clothes; you are covered from head to foot
with--I don't know what!"
"Spanish needles and sticktights; they won't hurt. Juno will scrape
them off. We're hungry."
"Won't he come to the fort after luncheon?" importuned Dominick.
"Yes, I will come."
"Listen," said the mother. "My son, you must first go with me to the
ferry. I am uneasy about papa. He did not intend to be gone longer
than a couple of hours. We must try to meet him. Perhaps the colonel
will go along, down to the landing."
"Certainly," replied the colonel, studying how to get rid of the
"sticktights."
After luncheon, all set out on the proposed walk to the river-side.
The island and the vistas it commanded naturally drew folks out of
doors. Finer weather could not be imagined. The distance from the lawn
to the wharf, by way of the winding road, measured not less than a
quarter of a mile. The boys raced ahead in the frolic fashion of human
colts, yelling, leaping and throwing stones. Slowly the matron and her
escort followed, far in the wake of the obstreperous juveniles.
"They are growing up like savages," said the mother, deprecatingly.
"What shall I do with them? To teach them properly seems impossible. I
am the parent of a brace of barbarians. Yet they are dear sweet
boys--loving and brave. They despise meanness and never tell lies."
"Then you are the mother of nobles. They will be men--to-morrow.
Plato truly says the boy is the most unmanageable of animals. Boys
have an element of the cruel and ferocious. But we need not take this
much to heart. They will outgrow the savage. We must not look for ripe
fruit on green sprouts, nor for elaborate reason or virtue in
children."
"Yet I cannot bear to have them grow up in wild ignorance."
"No; youth must be guided. No greater evil can befall a lad than to be
left to do as he pleases. Yet in well-born children, such as yours,
much may be trusted to nature. I rely on human essence. Freedom is the
best school. I don't believe we are born with evil passions and base
propensities. God made our faculties. The doctrine of total depravity
slanders the Creator. The perfect man uses all, abuses none of his
organs or energies. To educate a man is to give his hands, brain, and
heart their maximum power. This can be done outside of academies. The
free schooling out of school, which your sons now enjoy, is a
discipline towards success in life. Those fellows will be of some
account, depend upon it. The ancient Eastern wisdom said, 'Know
thyself'; the new Western oracle says, 'Do something worth doing.'"
"How true and how encouraging," exclaimed the enthusiast at his side.
"I wish Mr. Blennerhassett could hear your broad views. But I am not
sure you are right in relying entirely on weak human nature. I was
taught to mistrust the natural man. Is not conversion necessary?"
"In case the soul begins with a pure inheritance, I see no necessity
for regeneration. We come into the world potentially complete. The
thorough development of body and mind will furnish the world with a
perfect man. The best education gives man's natural powers the right
direction and the greatest efficiency. _We must trust_ in what we
are,--in our own selfhood. Give man elbow room, give him breathing
space, liberty to think, feel and do. This is true living."
Mrs. Blennerhassett stooped to pick up a blood-red leaf. They were
nearing the boat-landing. The way was overarched by spreading branches
of gigantic maple-trees. The boys had wandered to the head of the
island, two furlongs away.
"What of woman's education? Should it differ from man's?"
"No; I train my daughter as I might train a son."
"Are her thoughts like yours?"
"I put slight restraint on her thoughts or emotions. There is no sex
in soul. Woman should be free as the free breeze singing in the leaves
over our head, and ruffling the waves out yonder on the river."
"You grow eloquent. Is it the singing breeze or the rippling water
that causes you to put your principles in language so poetical?"
"Do I speak poetically? That grand oak tree may shed Dodonian
influence. It looks the king of trees--the emperor. These magnificent
maples, robed and crowned in emerald, gold, and royal crimson, are the
queens."
"I am glad you love the forest, and are susceptible to nature's
subtile appeals. I don't like people who have no feeling for scenery,
and are not affected by the sublime and beautiful in nature. Mr.
Blennerhassett does not agree with me in applying such a test to judge
one's friends by. He thinks I might be deceived, and says that very
wicked folks may delight in very lovely scenes. In my opinion the good
and the beautiful are in harmony, and a wicked heart seldom goes with
an æsthetic taste. I may be wrong, but I like to think that souls
which are thrilled by the stars and the mountains and the sea, and by
such forms and colors as we now contemplate, must be the nobler and
purer for the experience."
Burr listened attentively to this rhapsody. The melodious voice spoke
on: "I never grow tired gazing on this landscape. Splendid!"
"Splendid!" echoed Burr.
A subdued rapture animated the lady's features and imparted fresh
vitality of beauty to her breathing form. She advanced to the edge of
the water, stepped upon the ferryboat, an uncouth scow, like a
floating wharf, with stout railing upon the sides. From this platform
she could take in a fuller prospect. The joy of admiration possessed
her. She stood, self-forgetful, looking upon the gleaming river and
the distant, gorgeous Ohio hills. Burr, lingering on the bank, a few
yards behind, certainly took an intense human interest in the
landscape, seeing in the foreground that symmetrical figure, with
plump arm outstretched. To be the sole spectator of that unstudied
pose was worth more than the Vatican and all the galleries in the
world.
"See the bright sunshine, the soft shadow, the dim gold of the water,
and the misty blue of the sky! Those magnificent hills seem not solid
substance but piled clouds, yellow, and green, and scarlet. Can any
other valley in the world show a more satisfactory picture, outlines
as lovely, tints so delicate!"
"Nowhere else, in all my travels," murmured Burr, speaking from his
point of view. "Nowhere have I seen so much beauty at a single glance.
The picture is unrivalled."
"Do you say this in earnest or only to please me?" queried the frank
gentlewoman, turning her face shoreward in time to see a pair of dark
eyes regarding her with unaccountable ardor. Burr courteously
proffered his hand to assist her from the pedestal, the deck of the
scow. She accepted his aid, and lightly sprang to the damp sand of the
beach, into which her foot sank deep enough to print a pretty track.
"Look out, you will soil your shoes; shall I remove the mud?" said
Burr, taking out his handkerchief.
"No, thanks; it is only clean sand." A tuft of soft green grass
furnished a ready mat, on which she wiped her small foot, not
invisible to Burr while he modestly inspected the mussel shells and
polished pebbles washed ashore by the plashing ripples. From the beach
he picked a bone-like fragment resembling milky quartz. This he
brought to the lady, who had chosen a mossy seat on the trunk of a
fallen sycamore.
"It is a lucky-stone," she remarked. "It brings fortune."
"I will send it to Theodosia," said the finder, pocketing the
treasure.
A pensive mood had succeeded the anxious wife's elation. She gazed
across the river expectantly. Not a rowboat in sight, excepting a
skiff lying alongside the scow.
"I fear he is having needless bother. How miserable! Our slaves are a
burden, not worth the trifles they pilfer. I wish they would all run
away, then we might have an excuse for flying."
"And could you leave your earthly paradise?"
"Yes; though I am attached to the island. I should regret to lose the
trees, the river, the sky."
"Earth and sky stretch far. I sympathize with your feeling for the
place. I told your husband it was like Bunyan's Enchanted Ground.
Beulah, however, and the Delectable Mountains lie beyond the Enchanted
Ground."
"More poetry!"
"Could I make verse, I would sing of October in the Ohio Valley, or of
Indian Summer, which comes in November, don't it?"
She glanced up inquiringly. He held some leaves of pink paper covered
with writing, recognizing which, she flushed.
"How did you come by that? Did he--?"
She made a motion as if to take the paper. Burr, pretending not to see
the gesture, began to read in a low voice, infusing into the verse
more thought and sentiment than it contained. His perfect reading gave
the commonplace stanzas æsthetic effect. The authoress confessed
their merit to her secret soul.
"I am vexed that Harman gave you that. It is silly stuff."
"On the contrary, it is literature. You don't know, madam, how good it
is. I have a favor to beg; allow this poem to be printed in the _Port
Folio_. I know the editor, Jo Dennie, and shall call and give him this
copy when I reach Philadelphia. You will not deny me this pleasure?"
Confident that she would not take offense he slid the lines on Indian
Summer into his breast pocket, to keep company with the lucky-stone.
The situation had become riskily sentimental and intensely stimulating
to Burr's disposition as a social trifler. He was reckless of
consequences, vain of conquest over any woman, and scrupulous only to
avoid failure in his amours. The more innocent and virtuous the
victim, the keener and more careful was he in pursuit. To entrap
unsuspecting game without exciting alarm he considered the most
exquisite art of gallantry. What sport it was to entangle this superb
creature in a web of invisible gossamer threads!
"Tell me more about your Theodosia. Have you a picture of her?"
The question and request smote the father's conscience with a
momentary compunction.
"I will tell you all about Theodosia. I like to think and speak of
her. She is my life, my soul, my ambition, my joy. Theodosia has no
fault that I can see, no trait which I do not admire and love. She
is--"
The sentence was stopped short by a startling cry--a scream. Madam
Blennerhassett sprang to her feet, trembling, and saw Dominick running
towards her. He fell at her feet exhausted, caught at her gown and
gasped:
"Harman! Harman will drown!"
She took the boy's hand and made him stand up.
"Be a man. Keep calm. Speak plain. What is the matter?"
"O mother! He wouldn't mind me! He pushed a rotten, old leaky dugout
from the sandbar and climbed in, with a piece of paddle, and got out
so far that the current caught him."
"What sandbar? Which channel?"
"This side. The Ohio side."
The mother suddenly grew faint. Speech forsook her tongue. The trees
vanished and the air was a blur, through which she saw a moving shape
that looked the shadow of a human figure. All this in an instant. The
swoon passed, the trees reappeared, the shadow took the form of Aaron
Burr, tugging at a chain which fastened a skiff to a timber of the
scow. A violent jerk wrenched out the strong staple that held the
chain padlocked to the ferryboat, and the mother saw the colonel leap
into the skiff, seize the oars, and launch out into midstream. This
natural act, heroic in her esteem, she saw and her heart grew big with
gratitude. She beheld another sight which caused at once a shock of
hope and a shudder of despair. She had hurried to the deck of the scow
to get an unobstructed view of the river both up stream and down.
Dominick at her side uttered a wild cry. "There he comes now!"
"There he comes!" But where she could not at first make out. Dominick
pointed to an object like a drifting log in the middle of the
swift-flowing stream. The object--a wooden trough, not three yards
long--carried one mariner, the venturesome baby, Harman. The tiny
craft and its helpless passenger came into plain view nearly opposite
the landing. Burr's boat was rapidly nearing the crazy dugout when the
terror-stricken castaway, catching a glimpse of his mother, rashly
stood up and called "Mamma! Mamma!"
"Sit down! Sit down!" shouted Burr.
"Keep still! Sit down!" screamed Dominick.
The distracted mother, to enforce obedience, added gestures to cries.
The scared child, further agitated by these demonstrations, entirely
lost self-control. His posture caused the unstable trough to topple
over and the lad was plunged into the flood. The frothing mouth of a
wave swallowed him. No; his doom was not sealed; taught by instinct or
by pluck, the little fellow had the presence of mind to save himself
by clinging to the capsized canoe. He held on tenaciously, drifting
like a part of the treacherous log. Burr's skiff was in full chase a
few rods in the wake. The mother watched the race, breathless, numb,
with all-seeing eye. Her hands gripped the oaken bar fastened across
that end of the ferryboat which was farthest out in the river and she
stretched forward head and body, heedless of the down-tumbling mass of
her loosened hair, reckless of everything but the fate of her boy. Her
strained gaze kept focussed on the precious drift. Dominick wept
aloud.
"What shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, if papa were only here!"
"Hush! Don't cry. Don't speak. What could your father do? Pray with
all your soul; pray to Heaven that Colonel Burr may save your
brother."
The aching eyes measured the diminishing distance between the two
boats. It seemed to the mother possible, for nothing is impossible to
faith, that by the sheer force of her projected will she might hold
the child back from death. Even while she solaced her dread with this
fancy the gliding log slipped free from the lad's tired fingers, and
again the woman watching from the ferry gave up hope. She shuddered,
closed her eyes, and pressed her forehead hard against the oak
railing.
"O my God, my God! our darling is gone!"
At this crisis Dominick believed he saw what his mother, bowed and
blinded, did not see--a miracle working. Pantingly he cried out
"Mamma!" The only response to his call was a moan and the despairing
words, "Drowned! My baby is drowned!"
"No! No! Look, mother! See there! Colonel Burr won't let Harman sink!
Look! He has him by the arm, he has pulled him into the skiff. It did
good to pray."
Burr, acting as any man would have done under the circumstances,
having rescued the child without danger to himself and with little
difficulty, was a demi-god in the estimation of the Blennerhassett
family. Little Harman's misadventure, the enforced long swimming in
rough water, the two duckings and their disagreeable effects on throat
and lungs, left him in a wretched condition, but by no means in need
of a coffin. His teeth chattered, his hands were blue, he whimpered,
but when Burr landed him high, if not dry, on a bed of gravel at the
river's margin, the drenched youngster mustered heroism enough to
comfort his mother by piping out the assurance, "I'm all right."
"Thank God you are, my sweet pet, and thank Colonel Burr for saving
you," sobbed Madam Blennerhassett, while she gathered the shivering
young one into her bosom, and almost extinguished the life that was
left in him with tears and fondlings.
Burr took off his coat, and wrapped it about the protesting infant,
and carried him home, a feat as glorious, in the mother's mind, as his
historic exploit of bearing Montgomery's body from the battlefield.
Dry clothing, doses of cordial, vigorous chafing of body and limbs, by
many loving hands, soon brought the patient "round." By the time his
father came home, soon after the rescue, the urchin declared he was
"well" and would rather upset again in the river than be rubbed and
hugged any more.
The endeavors of Blennerhassett to trace Honest Moses proved futile.
That the slave had escaped by water, the balance of testimony rendered
probable. Abe Sheldrake, in all likelihood, had coaxed the negro away.
When night came, Blennerhassett, holding curtain council, as usual,
with his wife, dutifully repeated to her what Burr had revealed of the
Wachita speculation, and asked advice. She made up his mind promptly.
"Share the enterprise, if you think he really wishes your
co-operation. Do whatever he desires. We can never cancel our debt of
obligation. We owe him everything. He saved your namesake's life."
Convinced by this womanly reasoning, Harman, senior, could scarcely
sleep nor wait till morning, so eager was he to lay his influence, his
purse and his property at Burr's disposal. Before the clock struck
five he was out of bed, and the quavering of his flute disturbed the
colonel's slumber. No sooner was breakfast over than the conference on
the land-purchase project was resumed, Madam Blennerhassett
participating.
"You propose," said Blennerhassett, "to buy forty thousand acres for
forty thousand dollars, and you have the pledge of Mr. Clarke, of New
Orleans, and of your son-in-law, Governor Alston, that they will stand
surety for you. I will gladly make a third with these gentlemen."
The offer was graciously accepted as a trust betokening future
transactions of mutual profit. Further confidential discourse ensued,
and it was agreed that Mr. Blennerhassett should assist the cause by
writing, under a pseudonym, a series of essays for the Ohio _Gazette_,
on the commercial interests of the West, indirectly favoring disunion.
Burr congratulated himself on the successful issue of his second
campaign in the Enchanted Ground. He had won the islanders. Promising
to keep the Blennerhassetts apprised of the progress of his plans, he
bade old and young good-bye, and departed for Philadelphia, the
lucky-stone in his breast pocket.