OLD SAINT JOHN'S
The distance was so great from the more populous part of the town to
Saint John's on Church Hill, and the road thereto so steep, in hot
weather dusty, in wet deep in mud, that it had become the Richmond
custom to worship within the Capitol, in the Hall of the House of
Delegates. But during this August of the year 1807 the habit was
foregone. It was the month in which Aaron Burr, arrested in Alabama in
January, brought to Richmond in the early spring, and, since the finding
of a true bill, confined in the penitentiary without the town, was to be
tried for his life on the charge of high treason. Early and late, during
the week, every apartment of the Capitol was in requisition, and though
the building itself was closed on Sunday, the Capitol Square remained, a
place of rendezvous, noise, heat, confusion, and dispute. There was in
the town a multitude of strangers, with a range from legal, political,
military, and naval heights, through a rolling country of frontiersmen,
to a level of Ohio boatmen, servants, and nondescript. Many were
witnesses subpoenaed by the Government, others had been called by Burr,
and yet others brought upon the scene by varied interests, or by the
sheer, compelling curiosity which the trial evoked. One and all were
loudly and fiercely partisan. The lesser sort and ruder fry congregated
in numbers beneath the trees about the Capitol, and it was thought with
propriety that during this month church-going ladies would prefer to
attend Saint John's. Here, therefore, on a Sunday in mid-August, the
Reverend John Buchanan preached to a large and noteworthy assemblage.
The day was hot, but the chestnut trees and sycamores gave a grateful
shade, and large white clouds in a brilliant blue threw now and then a
transient screen between sun and earth. The broad and murmuring river
and the far stretch of woodland upon the Chesterfield side gave, too, a
sensation of space and coolness. Faint airs carried the smell of
midsummer flowers, and bees droned around the flat tombstones sunk in
honeysuckle. The congregation gathered slowly, the masculine portion of
it lingering, as was the custom, in the wide old churchyard until the
second tinkling of the bell should call them indoors. They had thus the
double advantage of talk and observation of the Progress of Women. These
traversed the path to the church door like a drift of blossoms in the
summer air, saluted on either hand by the lowest of bows, the most
gallant lifting of bell-shaped hats. Whatever might be said of the men's
dress, from the fair top-boot to the yards of lawn that swathed the
throat, that of the weaker sex, in the days of the Empire, was admirably
fitted for August weather. Above pale, thin stuffs, girdled beneath the
breast and falling straight and narrow to the instep, rose bare white
neck and arms, while each charming face looked forth from an umbrageous
bonnet of fine straw. Bonnet and large fan appeared the only ample
articles of attire; even the gloves were but mitts. By ones and twos, or
in larger knots, the wearers of this slender finery entered Saint John's
with sedateness, took their seats in the dim old pews, and waited in the
warm, fragrant, whisper-filled air for the ringing of the second bell
and the entrance of the men. After church, custom would still reign, and
all alike would linger, laugh, and talk beneath the trees, while the
coaches drew up slowly and the grooms brought the saddle-horses from the
rack, and those who meant to walk gathered courage for the dusty
venture.
Jacqueline Rand and Unity Dandridge, the one in her customary white, the
other in a blue that marvellously set off dark hair, dark eyes, and
brilliant bloom, entered Saint John's together and passed up the aisle
to a seat halfway between door and pulpit. By some miscalculation of
Unity's they were very early, a fact which presently brought a whispered
ejaculation of annoyance from Miss Dandridge. "I love a flutter when I
come in and the knowledge that I've turned every head--and here we've
entered an empty church! Heigho! Nothing to do for half an hour."
"Read your prayer book," suggested Jacqueline. "Oh! does it open just
there as easily as all that?"
"It always did open just there," answered Miss Dandridge. "It's
something in the binding. Heigho! 'Love, honour, and obey.' Obey!"
"Your entrance," said her cousin, "was not entirely unseen, and here
comes one whose head is certainly turned."
"Is it?" asked Unity, and hastily closed the prayer book as Fairfax Cary
entered the pew behind them.
Jacqueline turned and greeted the young man with a smile. There was now
between Greenwood and Roselands, between the house on Shockoe Hill and
the quarters of the Carys at the Swan, a profound breach, an almost
utter division. Lewis Rand and Ludwell Cary were private as well as
political enemies, and all men knew as much. There had been no attempt
on the part of either to conceal the fact of the duel in November. Their
world of town and country surmised and conjectured, volubly or silently,
according to company, drew its conclusions, and chose its colours. The
conclusions were largely false, for it occurred to no one--at least
outside of Fontenoy--to connect the quarrel and the duel with the
President's proclamation and the Burr conspiracy. During the past winter
Cary had been much in Albemarle, little in Richmond, and the encounters
of the two had not been frequent. In the spring, however, matters had
brought him to the city, and in the fever and excitement of the ensuing
summer he and Rand were often thrown into company. When this was the
case, they spoke with a bare and cold civility, and left each other's
neighbourhood as soon as circumstances permitted. Cary came, of course,
no more to the house on Shockoe Hill. Jacqueline, remaining in town
through the summer because her husband remained, saw him now and again
in some public place or gathering. He bowed low and she inclined her
head, but they did not speak. Her heart was hot and pained. She had
pleaded that afternoon in the cedar wood for his better understanding of
Lewis, and to what purpose?--an open quarrel and a duel! She did not
want to speak; she wanted to forget him.
But for Fairfax Cary, friend and shadow though he was of the elder
brother, her feeling was different. He was a man to be liked for
himself, and he loved and was to marry Unity. He adopted his brother's
quarrel: he and Lewis barely spoke, and that despite the fact that Lewis
had for him a strange half-grim, half-vexed admiration; he came no more
than the elder Cary to the house on Shockoe; but when they met abroad,
Jacqueline was sure of some greeting, half gay, half stiff, some talk of
Fontenoy, some exchange of sentiment upon one topic dear to each, some
chivalrous compliment to herself. He made a gallant and devoted lover,
and Jacqueline could not but applaud Unity's choice and feel for him an
almost unmixed kindness.
Because of the trial, which drew friends, kindred, and acquaintances to
Richmond, the marriage, which was to have been celebrated in August, had
been postponed to September. Unity came to town for a month and stayed
with her cousin. Her lover would not enter Lewis Rand's house, nor did
she ask him to do so. Her kindred in Richmond were numerous, and they
might and did meet in a score of Federalist mansions, at various places
of entertainment, and, as now, at church.
He answered Jacqueline's welcome and Miss Dandridge's bright blush and
brief "How d'ye do?" with the not-too-profound bow, the subdued and
deprecatory smile, and the comparative absence of compliment that church
demanded, then, seating himself, leaned forward with his arm upon the
back of their pew and entered into low-toned conversation.
"They were early."--"Yes: too early!"--"So much the better, for now they
could see all the famous folk enter. Army, Navy, Law, and Letters are
all coming to church. To-morrow is the indictment."
"Ah!" murmured Jacqueline; and Unity, "They say he held a levee at the
Penitentiary yesterday. Personally, I prefer a surly traitor to one who
is so affable, smiling, and witty."
"I also," agreed her lover. "But Colonel Burr is no Grand Seigneur of a
traitor out of the dismal romances that you read! He meant no harm--not
he! His ideas of _meum_ and _tuum_ may be vague, but when all's said,
he's the most courteous gentleman and a boon companion! I think that we
are well-nigh the only Federalists in town who have not forgotten that
this man slew Hamilton, and who keep the fact in mind that, defend him
as they please, his counsel cannot say, He loved his country and wished
no other empire!' After the indictment to-morrow, Hay will speak and the
Government begin to call its witnesses. Who is this coming in--the lady
with Mrs. Carrington? Look! It's Burr's daughter--it's Mrs. Alston!"
"She's a brave woman," said Unity. "One can't but honour such spirit,
courage, and loyalty. She's dressed as if it were a gala day!"
"If you'll let me pass," whispered Jacqueline, "I will speak to her. We
met at the Amblers' the other night. There's an anxious heart behind
that fine fire!"
She rose and, slipping past Unity, moved up the aisle to the Carrington
pew. The two left behind looked after the gliding white figure in
silence. Unity sighed. "To me Lewis Rand's like a giant, and she's like
his captive. And yet--and yet there's much that's likeable in the giant,
and I can perfectly well see how the captive might adore him!"
"I can't," retorted the other. "I'll grant his ability, but there's a
little worm at the heart! Even his genius will one day turn against him;
it is the tree too tall that falls the soonest. He's not coming here
to-day?"
"No. He's out of town. All the Republican papers are wondering why the
President did not include him among the counsel for the Government."
"I dare say," said the younger Cary grimly. "Well, that would have been
an entertainment worth hearing, that speech for the prosecution!"
"Don't let's talk of him any more. I feel a traitor to Jacqueline when I
do. How slow the people are in coming!"
"They may stay away as long as they please," murmured her lover. "I like
a quiet time for worship before all the fuss and flutter. You should
always wear blue, Unity."
"You told me yesterday that I should always wear pink. At last, here
enters a man!"
"It is Winfield Scott, just up from Williamsburgh. He doesn't like the
law and will go into the army. Here are all the Randolphs and the
beautiful Mrs. Peyton!"
Unity moved to let Jacqueline reënter the pew. The church was beginning
to fill, and the whispering and noise of fluttering fans increased. All
the windows were open to the breeze, and the soft scents and sounds and
colours, the dimness within the church, and the August skies and waving
trees without, combined to give a drowsy, mellow, and enchanted air to
old Saint John's and to the gathering people.
"The choir have come into the gallery," said Fairfax Cary. "I hear the
scrape of Fitzwhyllson's viol."
"The quiet is over and here comes the world," answered Jacqueline. "Who
is that with Mr. Wickham--the tall, lean man?"
"It is the Governor of Tennessee and a fire-eater for Burr--Andrew
Jackson by name. The third man is Luther Martin."
"He may be learned in the law," murmured Unity, "but I would like to
know the University that taught him dress. See, Jacqueline, Charlotte
Foushee has the newest bonnet yet!"
"That is Commodore Truxtun coming in with Edmund Randolph. He looks a
seaman, every inch of him! Who is the young gentleman in blue?"
"Oh, that," replied Unity, "is Mr. Washington Irving of New York. He has
just returned from the Grand Tour, and he writes most beautifully. He
has sent me an acrostic for my keepsake that--that--"
"That I could not have written had I tried till doomsday," finished
Fairfax Cary. "Do you like acrostics, Mrs. Rand?"
Jacqueline smiled. "No, nor keepsakes either. Unity and I both like
strong prose and books with meanings. Her _façons de parler_ are many."
"Well, anyhow," said Miss Dandridge, "I like Mr. Washington Irving. He
doesn't only write acrostics; he writes prose as well. Here is the Chief
Justice."
"The second bell is ringing. We'll have all the churchyard now. Here
comes the Tenth Legion--Hay, Wirt, and McRae! Mark Wirt bow to Martin!"
"Will General Wilkinson be here?"
"Speak of--one that's often named in church--and see the waving of his
red cockfeather! This is the General now. Ahem! he looks what he is."
"And the other with the sash?"
"Eaton. They are both tarred with the same brush! Here, coming toward
us, is one of very different make! You met him yesterday, did you not?
Ha! Captain Decatur, allow me to give you anchorage!"
As he spoke, he held open the pew door. Captain Stephen Decatur smiled,
bowed, and entered, and was presently greeting with a manly, frank, and
engaging manner the beautiful Mrs. Rand and the equally lovely Miss
Dandridge, to both of whom he had been presented at an evening
entertainment. The church was now filled and the bell ceased ringing.
From the gallery came the deeper growl of the bass viol and the
preliminary breath of a flute. A moment more and the minister walked up
the aisle and, mounting the tall old pulpit, invoked a blessing, then
gave out in a fine mellow voice with a strong Scotch accent:--
"The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue, ethereal sky
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim."
The choir in the gallery, viol, flute, and voices, took up the strain,
and the congregation beneath following in their turn, there arose and
floated through the windows a veritable pæan, so sweet and loud that the
boatmen on the river heard.
On went the service until the sermon was reached, and on went the sermon
from "firstly" to "eighteenthly and last, my brethren." The sermon was
upon Charity, and included no allusion to the topic of the day uppermost
in men's minds, for this minister never evinced any party spirit, and
thought politics not his province. The discourse ended, the plate was
carried and the benediction given, whereupon, after a decorous pause,
the congregation streamed forth to the green and warm churchyard.
Here it broke into groups, flowery bright on the part of the women,
gallant and gay enough on the side of the attending gentlemen. The broad
path was like the unfolding of a figured ribbon, and the sward on either
hand like sprinkled taffeta. The sky between the large white clouds
showed bluer than blue, and the leaves of the sycamores trembled in a
small, refreshing breeze. The birds were silent, but the insect world
filled with its light voice the space between all other sounds. Outside
the gate coaches and horses waited. There was no hurry; the ribbon
unrolled but slowly, and the blossomy knots upon the taffeta as
leisurely shifted position.
Theodosia Alston and Jacqueline came out of church together, in a
cluster of Carringtons and Amblers. Besides her affianced, Unity had for
company Captain Decatur, Mr. Irving, and Mr. Scott. The throng, pressing
between, separated the cousins. Aaron Burr's daughter, though she talked
and laughed with spirit and vivacity, was so evidently anxious to be
away that the friend with whom she had come made haste down the path to
their waiting coach. Jacqueline, meaning to tarry but a moment beside
the woman for whom all, of whatever party, had only admiration and
sympathy, found herself drawn along the path to the gate. The Carrington
coach rolled away, and she was left almost alone in the sunny lower end
of the churchyard.
The ribbon was unrolling toward her, and she waited, glad of the
moment's quiet. She saw Unity's forget-me-not blue, and Charlotte
Foushee's bonnet, piquant and immense, and Mrs. Randolph's lilac
lutestring, and all the blue and green and wine-coloured coats of the
men moving toward her as in a summer dream, gay midges in a giant shaft
of sunlight. A great bee droned past her to the honeysuckle upon the
wall against which she leaned. She watched the furred creature, barred
and golden, and thought suddenly of the bees about the mimosa on the
Three-Notched Road.
A middle-aged gentleman, of a responsible and benevolent cast of
countenance, came up to her. "A very good day to you, my dear Mrs.
Rand!"
"And to you, Colonel Nicholas."
"You are of my mind. You do not care to dilly-dally after church. 'Tis
as bad as a London rout, where you move an inch an hour. Well, there are
men here to-day who have made some stir in the world! Do you go
to-morrow to the Capitol?"
"Yes. My cousin and I have seats with Mrs. Wickham."
"It will not be such a trial as was Warren Hastings's. Yet it will have
its value both to the eye and the ear. If it were possible, I would have
there every young boy in town. Is Mr. Rand at home?"
"No. He is in Williamsburgh for several days."
The gentleman hesitated. "Vexatious! I have something for his own hand,
and I myself go out of town after to-morrow. It may be important--"
"Cannot I give it to him?"
"It is a small packet, or letter, from the President. He sent it to me
by a private messenger, with a note asking me to do him the friendly
service to place it directly in Mr. Rand's hand. I have it with me, as
I thought I might meet Mr. Rand here."
"He will hardly return before Wednesday. When he comes, I will give him
the letter with pleasure."
The other took from his pocket a thick letter, strongly sealed, and
addressed in Jefferson's fine, precise hand. "I must be away from
Richmond for a week or more, and the matter may be important. I can
conceive no reason why, so that it be put directly into Mr. Rand's hand,
one agent should be better than another. I'll confide it to you, Mrs.
Rand."
"I will do as the President directs, Colonel Nicholas, and will give it
to my husband the moment he returns."
She put out her hand, and he laid the packet in it. Hanging from her arm
by a rose-coloured ribbon was a small bag of old brocade. This she
opened, and slipped into the silken depths the President's somewhat
heavy missive. "He shall have it on Wednesday," she said.
The dispersing congregation touched and claimed them. Mr. Wirt and
Commodore Truxtun bore off her companion, and she herself, after a
moment of gay talk with all the Randolphs, rejoined Unity and her court.
Fairfax Cary called their coach, and Captain Decatur and Mr. Irving and
Mr. Scott saw them in, and still talked at the lowered windows until Big
Isham on the box, with a loud crack of his whip, put the greys in
motion.
The coach went slowly down the hill. Unity yawned and waved her fan. "I
like Captain Decatur. Think of sailing into a tropic harbour and
destroying the Philadelphia on a day like this! Lend me your fan; it is
larger than mine. What have you in your bag?"
"My prayer book, and something that Colonel Nicholas gave me for Lewis.
I could think only of Theodosia Alston, and of how long to-night will be
to her!"
"She believes that he will be acquitted."
"She does not know, and pictures of what we fear are dreadful! Knowledge
is like death sometimes, but not to know is like frightened dying! Oh,
warm, warm! I shall be glad when it is all over and we leave Richmond
for the mountains and the streams again, and for your wedding, dearest
heart!"
"Oh, my wedding!" said Unity. "My wedding's like a dream. I don't
believe I'm going to have any wedding!"