The American Chronicle 1 - Burr (54 page)

I returned to Washington in November, and called upon Merry who said, “You have been betrayed, Colonel,” and showed me a copy of the Philadelphia
Gazette
.

I put as good a face as I could on it. “It is not possible to set something like this in train without a thousand tales being told and of the thousand one is apt, by the law of averages, to be true.”

Merry then made his confession. “I have received no instructions from London. I cannot think why.”

“What of Colonel Williamson?”

“He is still in London.”

“So we are where we were last summer.”

“I fear that is the case.”

I was disappointed to say the least. I needed British military aid. I also needed British money (the New York gamblers were not as generous as I had hoped). Since British gold could only be got by appearing to serve British interests, I was obliged to re-kindle Merry’s enthusiasm. I told him what he wanted to hear: that the westerners were anxious to separate from the east. As for the people of Louisiana, “they detest the Administration,” which was the exact truth, “and will fight, if they must, to break away,” which might have been true. “They want me to lead them.” Again the truth. “To set up a republic under the protection of England.” This could be made true. At that time the people of New Orleans were desperate to rid themselves of the back-country American barbarians. If England would do this for them, then English they would become. “Otherwise they will apply to Paris.” This had the desired effect.

“His Majesty’s government would take a most grave view if that were to happen.” I could do no more at this point. I had inspired him to write again to London. Now all depended upon Prime Minister Pitt’s response.

The day after my arrival at Washington, Mrs. Merry insisted that I accompany her to the race track where each November from Tuesday to Saturday there were—are?—all sorts of horse-races culminating in the annual Jockey Club Ball, held at a near-by tavern. This was the event of the “season.”

We stood beneath a canopy on a brilliant ice-clear day, and enjoyed ourselves tremendously. All around us the exuberant blades of Washington were having a fine time, swigging rum against the chill, and betting on the races. As always Mrs. Merry managed to surround herself with pretty women and intelligent men. I had quite forgotten my imperial dreams until, just before the last race of the day, a large lumbering bear-like figure came toward me from the far end of the track. It was the new vice-president George Clinton, looking old and uncomfortable.

“Burr!” he exclaimed, as though he loved me. “Good to see you here.”

“My successor! My ... son. I do feel like your father. No, like your father’s ghost! Avenge me!”

“Mmm?” Clinton’s mind was never a swift instrument. “We been hearin’ about you in the west.”

“Don’t believe a word of what you hear.”

“You was there all summer, they say. Well, that there part of the world better stay with us if they know what’s good for ’em.”

“Are you enjoying the vice-presidency?”

“Stupidest job there ever was, ain’t it? And for me, George Clinton, the governor that was, and at my age!”

The following day, I dined with the President and a dozen members of Congress. I found Jefferson in good form and could not think why. I was so intrigued by his high spirits that I asked if I might see him privately; most readily he gave me an appointment.

I was received in the basement office, filled now with gardening implements as well as
two
copying machines. Apparently he had discovered a contraption that really worked. “Such a convenience, Colonel. You must get one.”

“When I settle down, I most certainly shall.”

“Yes.” Not once did he look me in the face during an interview that lasted two hours.

I was almost entirely candid with him and for once he was as candid with me as his nature would allow.

“You have read of my supposed plans for the west.” I began
in medias res
. I had vowed that there were to be no disquisitions on architecture or on the nature of music.

“I have read the newspapers.” Jefferson fiddled with a globe of the world. He was seated in a chair of his own design which could turn this way and that, most disconcertingly, on a swivel.

“Let me tell you then that there is not the slightest chance in this world of the western states leaving the union.”

“I am relieved.” The attempt at lightness was plucky.

“I might add that you yourself are personally most popular in the west.” This was true, as he of course knew.

“That is gratifying. I would like some day to go to that part of the world, when I’m free of this hateful place.”

I promptly forstalled what I have come to regard as “The Presidential Lament.” It is a constant song of self-pity first sung by Washington and taken up by all his successors, rather like part-singing. Last year even Andrew Jackson sang to me of that malign destiny which had made him our chief magistrate. I cut Jackson short; told him I was not in the least moved by his sad song. I will say that of the lot only Jackson has the humour to laugh at himself—not much but a little and that little is refreshing.

“Let me tell you how things stand at the west.” And tell him I did, as accurately as I was able.

Jefferson listened attentively; asked precise questions; confessed, finally, that “I have never before been told so many things I ought to have known but did not.”

“I enjoy sharing with you since what I have learned is of far more use to you than it is to me.”

Jefferson spun the globe slowly on its axis. “I must tell you, Colonel, that I have not believed any of the more ... sensational reports that I have read of your travels. I am certain that you would never attempt a separation of the western states.”

Later Jefferson was to deny having heard at this time so much as a rumour of my “treasonous” activities. Actually there was little he did not know. After all, I was as open with him as I could be.

“General Wilkinson and I would like very much to raise an army—much like the one you had in mind at the time of the Michaux expedition—and liberate Mexico. As you know, this has been the sole object of my western travels during which I discovered that every American in that part of the world wants to drive the Dons from our continent.”

Jefferson did not answer for some time. He played with the globe; turned it, finally, to Mexico. “You put me in a difficult position, Colonel.”

“It is my impression that this position is one that you have for a long time wanted to be in. You have always said that our empire would not be complete without the Floridas, Canada, Cuba—and Mexico.”

“Yes, of course. And we shall have the whole hemisphere one day. I am certain of that. But I can do nothing unless there is war with Spain.”

“It has been my impression that you have been ... and that you are ... preparing for such a war.”

“There are things, Colonel, that you don’t know.” Jefferson pushed the globe away from him and sat so far back in his peculiar chair that I thought he would tumble over. “I have just received an offer from the Emperor Napoleon. As usual, he needs money for his wars. He has offered to ‘persuade’—that was his ambassador’s tactful verb—the Spanish government to let us have West Florida. For this kindly act of persuasion he would like two million dollars. I am tempted to give the Corsican bandit his
pour-boire
.”

I was astonished by the offer. I was even more astonished by Jefferson’s acceptance of it. “But you are now buying what you have already paid for. Wasn’t West Florida part of the Louisiana Purchase?”

“That has always been my ... uh,
construction
of a somewhat unfinished document. But neither my construction nor Congress’s acts will ever gain us a square foot of Spanish territory.”

“War will gain you the western hemisphere.”

“No doubt. But the cost of sending an army—and a fleet—to Mobile would come to rather more than two million dollars. The Cabinet think that we should hire the Emperor, on the ground that it will be cheaper in the long run.”

“This Congress will not appropriate the money.”

“Properly approached, I am certain they will.”

“Then there will be no war with Spain.”

“I fear not.” My obvious chagrin no doubt added to Jefferson’s quite evident sense of well-being. He was complacent. “I do think that we are the first empire in history to
buy
its territory rather than to conquer it.”

“There has never been any doubt, anywhere, of our uniqueness.” I was thoroughly cast down by the news.

“What will you do now?” Jefferson pretended sympathy.

“I don’t know.” And I did not know. “I may settle on some property I’ve acquired on the Washita River ... and wait for a war with Spain.”

“I am sure that one day it will come.”

“If not ... what would your view be of a liberated Mexico?”

“I would applaud the result.” Jefferson was again the diplomat at Paris. Each swift response rich with ambiguities.

“But the preparation ...?”

“I give you the same advice that I gave Genêt and Michaux. Be quick, be successful, and do not implicate this government.”

I rose to go.

Jefferson noted with surprise that we had been together for two hours. “I have never known time to go so rapidly, or so profitably.” He walked me upstairs to the draughty entrance hall, filled with smoke from a faulty fireplace in the dining-room.

“We are having our problems with one of the flues.”

“If you like, I’ll rebuild it for you.” When close to starving in Paris, I remodelled several chimneys for money. A useful talent.

“Colonel, you have touched my single ... at least my most
noticeable
vanity! I alone tinker in this house.”

“So be it.”

An usher opened the front door. In the muddy front yard a groom stood with my horse. Jefferson looked at me curiously. “I must say that I had rather thought you would be coming back to live here.”

“To this house?” I asked most pleasantly.

“Why not? But I meant to Washington City, to the Congress, representing one of the western states.”

“It is still a possibility.”

“You ought not to waste yourself, Colonel.”

“I do not think that it is I who have done the wasting.”

Jefferson blushed; and bade me farewell.

At this point I was willing to abandon the Mexican project. Without a Spanish war, most of my western confederates would refuse to risk the Administration’s disfavour by taking up arms. Worse, despite Merry’s efforts, I could get nothing from England.

Much discouraged, I moved on to Philadelphia where Jonathan Dayton tried to re-awaken my enthusiasm. I had also received a letter from Harman Blennerhassett who wanted to sell his island and throw in his lot with me.

“He’s a fool but he has a good deal of money.” Dayton and I sat by the meagre fire at Richard Dell’s rather humble tavern, and I confess that I was as depressed as the winter day. Dayton did his best to rally me. “Let’s approach Don Carlos.”

I told him that I did not think Spain was apt to finance an expedition whose aim was to take Mexico away from her.

“That’s not exactly the way I would put it to Don Carlos.” Dayton grinned: he was a born peddler of snake-root. “Quite the opposite. I’d begin by saying that although we had once contemplated such an undertaking at the suggestion of the British minister ...”

“The wise man never lies.” I quoted the Jesuit aphorism, but to no avail.

“Everything I tell him will be true but inside out. Of course the Spanish know what we’re about, and he’s more apt to believe me if I admit to everything.”

“So what do we have to offer Spain?”

“The revival of the Spanish Conspiracy.”

Dayton had several meetings with Don Carlos who ended by giving Dayton $1,500, and wishing us luck. At the time I did not know just what it was that my colleague had said to the Spanish minister. I was not pleased when Dayton finally confessed to me that he had told Don Carlos that our real aim was to seize Washington, capture the President and the Congress, steal the money from the Bank of the United States, board the ships in the Navy Yard and sail to New Orleans where we would set up a western republic.

“You have now convinced Don Carlos that I am an out-and-out lunatic.”

“What do you care?” Dayton was purest brass. “He takes the plan seriously enough to pay us money.”

Sick of the whole business, I returned to Washington and applied to Jefferson for a government appointment. I was willing to take any post, no matter how humble.

Our interview took place on February 22, 1806. I humbled myself. Jefferson was ravished. I have never seen him so—
exalted
.
There is no other word. With the serene justice of God Himself he told me, ever so softly, that since the public had lost its confidence in me, there was nothing he could give me in the way of an appointment.

“The lack of confidence shown by a few newspapers is hardly significant,” I said. “We have all been tarred by them.”

“True. But unfortunately
political
confidence in you has also been withdrawn.”

“In the recent election for governor of New York, I not only carried the city but—”

“No, Colonel. I mean at the time of the last presidential election when, although you were the incumbent vice-president, you did not receive a single vote.”

Jefferson rose and busied himself with the mockingbird’s cage.

I had vowed to maintain a humble pose, but this was too much. “I did not get a single vote because the electors knew that I was
not
a candidate. The reason I was not a candidate for re-election as vice-president was
your
decision, not mine or theirs, and reflects not at all on either my competence or their confidence.”

Jefferson released the mocking-bird from its cage and it flew to his shoulder. He sat down; again remarked that he was sorry. He could do nothing for me. Public confidence once withdrawn ...

I stopped him short; reminded him that as recently as the year before when he had needed me in the Senate neither he nor the public had shown any lack of confidence in me.