Four men on horseback were nearing the country house of Colonel George
Morgan, a veteran of the Revolutionary War, living near Cannonsburg,
Pennsylvania. Two of the riders were Colonel Morgan's stalwart sons,
and they were escorting Aaron Burr and Colonel Dupeister, one of
Burr's confederates. The ex-Vice-President rode beside the elder
brother, who was an officer of high rank in the militia.
"Speaking of Washington County, General Morgan,--are the people of
your neighborhood prosperous and contented?"
"We are a community of farmers, very prosperous and hopeful. Our
population is increasing rapidly. We have no cause for discontent."
"What is the condition of the new college at the county seat? I am
told there is an educational awakening among your young men."
"Yes; we are proud of Jefferson College; the institution is now in its
fourth year, and is flourishing beyond expectation."
"You call it Jefferson College; it was named for Washington _and_
Jefferson, was it not? The lesser star is in the ascendant, and
twinkles amazingly now that the greater has set. Don't you think we
are too much be-Jeffersoned?"
"Thomas Jefferson is an able man," was the commonplace reply, spoken
bluntly, and accompanied by a look of irritation at the sarcastic
question. Burr, conscious of the disapproval implied in the officer's
curt answer, managed to change partners so as to ride abreast of the
younger brother, Thomas, while Dupeister spurred forward and engaged
John in discourse on stock-raising and the prospect of crops. With
Thomas, an aspiring soul, in the flush of those discursive hopes and
speculations which make ambitious youth restless, Burr employed his
usual suasive arts, hopeful of winning a recruit.
"Your brother and I were speaking about the outlook here, for
enterprising citizens. What are your pursuits? Are you a Knight of the
Plow?"
"No, sir; not permanently; I am trying to make a lawyer of myself."
"That's good in a way, as a stepping-stone. The study of the law
disciplines the mind, but is not profitable otherwise. The practice is
a species of servitude, often a servitude to inferiors, for doubtful
reward. Politics is better, but not the best."
"What is the best?"
"That depends upon the man. Some are easily contented. But I am not
sure that contentment is a trait of a noble mind. I used to own negro
slaves in New York. They were contented. To rest satisfied is the
virtue of slaves."
"Yes, the niggers are contented, generally speaking. You were about to
say what you think the best profession."
"The best for an ignorant African may be bondage to a good master; the
best for you would be something more aspiring. I regard military
life--the profession of arms, as the highest and most independent."
"Not in times of peace."
"This is not a time of peace, Mr. Morgan. We are on the eve of war and
stupendous conquests. I speak advisedly. I am a soldier myself. You
have heard rumors of war on the Sabine?"
"Yes; rumors. The Morgans are a military family, also; and I feel
fighting blood stir in me when I read about the Spaniards."
"Does the red stuff boil? Your blood is right. You can't help it. If
you, or your younger brother--I believe you have a brother besides
the general?"
"Yes, George. My name is Thomas. They call me Tom."
"Tom, eh? Well, then, Tom, I was about to say if you and your brother
George--"
"Spur up, gentlemen, we are leaving you behind," shouted General
Morgan, looking back. "We are within half a mile of father's
residence."
"More talk another time," said Burr, not finishing his sentence, and
the pair, urging their horses to a faster gait came up with the
others. Just then the party met a robust countryman who saluted the
Morgans, as he trotted by on a skittish colt.
"What a fine-looking fellow! I wish I had ten thousand just such
vigorous young giants!"
"What would you do with them?" the general asked. "Ten thousand would
form a large colony. That is one of the farm hands. Those are our
barns and the house is just beyond."
On their arrival, Colonel George Morgan stood on the porch to receive
his guests. A well-preserved old gentleman, he might have said:
"My age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty, but kindly."
His career had been eventful, aggressive, venturesome, and romantic.
At the close of the Revolutionary War he felt aggrieved because of the
non-payment of claims he held against the Government. Odium attached
to his name on account of his procuring from Spain a grant of lands
west of the Mississippi, on which he founded the village of New
Madrid. He had expressed sympathy for Aaron Burr, whom he regarded as
a much-abused statesman. The prevailing sentiment among army men
justified the duel with Hamilton.
After dinner, the visitors repaired to the parlor, where was held a
conversation in which Burr was the principal talker. More virulent and
less discreet than usual, he indulged in witty flings at public men
and roundly censured the administration, not aware that most of his
auditors heard him with impatience. Colonel Morgan attempted to
introduce another theme, by referring to the rapid spread of
population westward.
"When I first went out West on my New Madrid scheme, there was
scarcely a family between the Alleghanies and the Ohio. Now we have
three great States. We shall have to remove the National capital to
Pittsburg."
"No, never," said Burr, positively. "In less than five years you will
be totally divided from the Eastern States."
"God forbid! I hope no such disaster will come in my time."
"Disaster or no disaster, the Union will split, or I am a false
prophet. How can it be otherwise? What is to hold us together?
Congress is a shadow, the executive a phantom too thin to cast a
shadow. With two hundred armed men I could drive Congress, the
President and Cabinet into the Potomac; with five hundred I could take
New York City. Ask Colonel Dupeister!"
Dupeister nodded an emphatic yes; but not so did bluff John Morgan.
"By God, sir, you couldn't take our little village of Cannonsburg with
five hundred men!"
"That, then, is because _you_ are at the head of the militia. I should
want your Cannonsburgers in my five hundred. But I talk too loud.
Pardon; let us get out of doors; I would like to go the round of your
plantation and look through the mill. Tom, won't you oblige us?"
While Tom piloted the visitors about the place, the eldest son took
occasion to speak a word of warning to the father. "You may depend
upon it, Colonel Burr is here on a secret errand to you. He will open
himself to you this night. He is engaged in some suspicious enterprise
in which he wants Tom to join."
"What foolishness you talk, my son; Aaron Burr is a soldier, a loyal
man who fought for his country's flag; he would never do a
dishonorable thing; certainly he would not approach _me_ with improper
suggestions."
"Then my precaution is needless. Yet have your mind prepared. Tom
revealed to mother some of Burr's words, which, if seriously meant,
are not such as you will approve."
The subject was dropped, nor was any more said in the course of the
afternoon on political topics. About nine o'clock the guests were
shown to their bedrooms and the members of the family also retired,
except Colonel and Mrs. Morgan. They were in the habit of sitting up
late, the wife reading aloud to her husband in the quiet hours, after
the rest of the family had retired. The book which engaged their
attention was "Modern Chivalry," the first novel written and published
west of the Alleghanies. They had reached that part of the story which
describes how Teague O'Regan was treated to a coat of tar and
feathers. The passage amused the grizzled colonel, and he listened
eagerly to the words:
"By this time they had sunk the butt end of the sapling in the hole
dug for it, and it stood erect with a flag displayed in the air, and
was called a liberty pole. The bed and pillow-cases had been cut open,
and were brought forward. The committee seized Teague and conveyed him
to a cart, in which the keg of tar had been placed."
"That's correct," interrupted the veteran. "That's the way to do it.
Read on."
Mrs. Morgan proceeded: "They stripped him to the waist, and, pouring
the tar upon his naked body, emptied at the same time a bed of
feathers on his head, which, adhering to the viscous fluid, gave him
the appearance of a wild fowl of the forest."
"Ha! ha! I've seen that done more than once; the author describes it
well. What next?"
The tall Dutch clock in the next room, after a grumble and whirr,
struck eleven, as if reproving the old couple for sitting up so late
to read a novel. Before the ringing of the last stroke died away,
footsteps were heard descending the stairs. Mrs. Morgan gave her
husband a significant glance, saying in a low tone, "John was right;
you have it now," and hurriedly left the parlor by a back door. She
had scarcely made her exit when Burr entered, with a lighted candle in
his hand.
"What, Colonel Burr, are you still up?"
"You yourself are not yet abed. Do I intrude?"
"Oh, no, no, no! Take a chair. We have a practice of sitting up to
read after the children have gone to bed. John, Tom, and George are
the children. Mrs. Morgan has been reading aloud from 'Modern
Chivalry.'"
"A clever book," said Burr, "very lively and ingenious."
"I agree with you. The story gives a true picture of scenes which the
author must have witnessed in Pittsburg. We were laughing over the
account of Teague's adventure with the tar-and-feather committee. Poor
Teague! He should have been spared. His persecutors were guilty, and
not he."
"That's the way of the world, Colonel Morgan. Often the wrong man is
blackened with the tar of calumny. You and I have not escaped. Pardon
me for claiming a few moments' conference. You have had much
experience, know many public men, and are a judge of human nature. I
wish to ask your counsel."
Morgan blinked hard at the candle, nodding his willingness to listen,
and tapping nervously on the table with his middle finger. Burr drew
from an inside pocket a long, narrow memorandum book, written full of
names.
"This is what I call my Roster of the Faithful," he said, and looked
searchingly into the face of the patriarch, whose glum reticence
puzzled him.
"Umph! Faithful to what?"
"To their principles and their friends. I assume that we know each
other's history and political views. Colonel Morgan has not always had
justice from those clothed in brief authority; you have freely
exercised your individual right to better your worldly condition; you
were not acting inconsistently as a citizen when you entered into
perfectly proper contracts with a foreign 'power.'" The speaker
paused, for he was aware of a bristling antagonism on Morgan's part.
"Yes," grunted the old gentleman, "perfectly proper."
Burr hesitated, more and more doubtful of his ground; but his was an
audacious nature. Turning over the leaves of his memorandum book, he
asked,
"Do you know Mr. Vigo, at Fort Vincent, a Spaniard?"
"I ought to know him! I have every reason to believe he was deeply
involved in the British Conspiracy of '88, the object of which was to
separate the States. The design which Vigo abetted was nefarious, yes,
sir, nefarious! yes, damnable! The same disloyal and turbulent spirit
caused the Whiskey Rebellion here in Pennsylvania, which General Dave
Morgan, General Neville, and I crushed out. The diabolic sentiment of
disunion survives yet; Pittsburg tolerates a set of seditious young
men, a nest of vipers of the Vigo species."
The general checked his tirade, noticing that Colonel Burr put the
list of names into his pocket with an air of hurt dignity.
"You must excuse me; I would not be rude, but soldiers use plain
terms. You asked me about Vigo, and you have my opinion."
"Your feeling in regard to Colonel Vigo certainly is not flattering to
the gentleman. I regard him as a deserving patriot. May you not be in
error? Give the devil his due. You must not tar-and-feather the wrong
man."
"Yes, yes, yes! I mean to be just. The devil should have his due. As
for Vigo, I want no dealings with him, or with any of his stripe. I
shouldn't hesitate to recommend a coat of tar-and-feathers and a ride
upon a fence-rail for him. And if I should ever detect Tom, or any of
my boys, even sympathizing in any attempt to dissolve the Union, I
would warm the pitch for them myself, as sure as there is a God
Almighty."
"Good-night," said Burr, stiffly, and went upstairs to bed. The next
morning he and Dupeister rose early, and were on the way to Pittsburg
before their host was well awake. The sons arose betimes, however, and
bade the parting guests good speed.
After breakfast, Colonel Morgan summoned his family and told what had
passed between himself and guest.
"He has insulted us by assuming us to be traitors at heart. Aaron Burr
is meditating dangerous designs. I will write to the President."
Tom and George, impressed by their father's stern seriousness, and now
realizing the presumably infamous nature of the service to which
temptation might have lured them, hung their heads. The mother held
hers high. Her jealous patriotism was alarmed and quickened. No taint
of disloyalty should infect her sons, nor should word or look of hers
hint weak misgiving of their rectitude. She assumed the Morgan stock
incorruptible, and spoke proudly as befits an American matron. There
was no tremor in her voice, no indecision in her steady eye, which
flashed the sentiments uttered by the tongue.
"The brightest name in the world's history is that of George
Washington--the blackest that of--" She paused, and her youngest
son pronounced the detested name, "Benedict Arnold."
"Benedict Arnold--yes; his sword was recreant, his heart false. In
all our annals only this one officer's record is polluted, God forbid
the rise of a second traitor. But, my sons, if treason should again
threaten liberty, I know on which side the Morgans will be found."
So speaking, this true "Daughter of the Revolution" unlocked a
colonial chest containing relics cherished as credentials of family
honor, and took from it a banner, tattered and rent in battles of the
Revolutionary War. Dark stains consecrated its stripes and stars.
"This is my only brother's blood. My boys are patriots by inheritance
from two lines of ancestors; you will always stand faithful to your
Mother Land as to me, your mother."
"Have no fear for us, mother," said Tom. "The Morgans and the American
flag stand or fall together."
"Amen!" added the deep voice of the husband and father.