Chapter VI: Part 6

The Richmond community shared wholeheartedly in this tidal wave of indignation. The sensational news from Norfolk reached the city almost simultaneously with the Grand Jury’s indictment of Burr and Blennerhassett and their alleged fellow conspirators. Momentarily the trial yielded first place in the public consciousness to this threat against national sovereignty from abroad.

In its issue of Saturday, June 27, the _Enquirer_ published a dispatch from Norfolk, dated three days earlier, which revealed the intensity of public feeling there and clarified the reports and rumors that had reached Richmond by presenting an orderly account of what had actually happened.

“We are now to present our readers,” said the _Enquirer_, “the details of the most unexampled outrage, on the perpetration of which the blood of our countrymen has been shed by the hand of violence, and the honor and independence of our nation insulted beyond the possibility of further forbearance.” There followed a vivid account of the attack.

Most of the young male population of Richmond was organized into uniformed militia companies among which there was a strong and healthy rivalry. They seized upon this opportunity to demonstrate their patriotism and willingness to strike a blow in preserving the nation’s honor. The Richmond Light Infantry Blues assembled at the Bell Tavern and adopted resolutions declaring that “Members of this company pledge their fortunes and their lives.” The Manchester Cavalry, meeting across the river at Brooks Tavern, resolved that “We render our services to the Government.” The smart Richmond Troop of Cavalry, calling its members to the Eagle Tavern, appointed a committee to draft a suitable address to the President of the United States making a tender of its services.

The demonstrations of loyalty were not confined to the military. On July 1 a great mass meeting of the citizens of Richmond and Manchester and their vicinities was assembled to take under consideration the “late hostile attack upon the _Chesapeake_.” Judge Spencer Roane, of the Virginia Court of Appeals, was in the chair. Editor Thomas Ritchie acted as secretary. John Gamble, Colonel Robert Gamble’s son; Peyton Randolph, Edmund’s son; the venerable mayor Dr. Foushee; William Wirt; and District Attorney Hay were among the speakers who swayed the crowd. At the conclusion of the meeting a letter was addressed to the President of the United States asserting that “While we are sensible of the evils which must result from war, we are prepared to encounter them in defense of our dearest rights.”

Not content with the _Leopard_ having humiliated the United States Navy by its attack on the _Chesapeake_, the commander of the British squadron, which included the offending frigate now anchored in Lynnhaven Bay, poured salt on the wound by addressing threatening remarks to the authorities of Norfolk. Governor William Cabell interpreted this as a threat and an insult to the sovereign State of Virginia. He promptly called his council together and, after consultation with it, issued an order to the Virginia militia to march to Lynnhaven Bay and there oppose any offensive action the British might take.

Among the militia contingents were some from Richmond and there were few dry eyes as they marched off down Main Street to what many believed would soon be war.

One interested spectator at the trial up to this point found his enthusiasm shifting from the court to the military. Winfield Scott, though not then a member of the militia, mounted his horse and rode posthaste thirty miles through the night to his home town of Petersburg to volunteer his services. They were accepted, but the quartermaster was hard put to it to find a uniform large enough for the youth’s massive frame. Somehow the problem was solved and Scott accompanied the Petersburg troops to Norfolk. This was his first taste of military life and it got into his blood. From then on the army, not the bar, was his vocation.

Still another man to succumb to the military contagion was William Wirt. To his friend Dabney Carr he wrote an impassioned letter announcing his intention to hand his wife back to her father for the time being and join the army. Wirt formed an ambitious plan for creating a legion of four regiments; he was to be the colonel of one, Carr colonel of another. For a few days his letters re-echoed the idea. But the plan aroused opposition and, as the war fever abated, the proposal died. Thereafter Wirt was as completely wedded to the law as Winfield Scott was to the military. Wirt’s brief dabbling in the military was to serve as a source of ridicule among his contemporaries.

In the very middle of the excitement over the _Leopard-Chesapeake_ affair came July 4. Even under ordinary circumstances the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence was regularly observed by the Richmond community with appropriate ceremonies as a patriotic celebration. The crisis acted as an extra stimulus on this occasion.

At daybreak the populace was awakened by the firing of a single gun. At sunrise there followed a salute of seventeen guns. Those units of the military which had not gone to Norfolk played a conspicuous part in the ceremonies. At 9 A.M. a troop of light horse, three volunteer companies of light infantry, and several more militia companies assembled on the parade ground. From there they marched to the Capitol Square with bands playing and colors flying. Meanwhile, in the House of Delegates, where Judge Marshall’s court had so recently adjourned, the more sedate people of the community were listening to orations from leading citizens of the town, then a popular form of entertainment.

At 2 P.M. the military and civilians joined forces in the Capitol Square. There, according to regular custom, the military formed a great circle and from the center Mayor Foushee solemnly read the Declaration of Independence. At its conclusion three cheers were given, the band struck up “Yankee Doodle” and followed it by “Hail, Columbia,” while soldiers and civilians joined in the chorus.

A silence then fell over the crowd as Shelton Jones, Esquire, distinguished for his eloquence, mounted the platform and delivered a funeral oration in memory of the seamen who had lost their lives on the _Chesapeake_. During the oration the troops stood at attention with arms reversed and, as the orator concluded his address, the solemnity of the occasion was emphasized by the roll of muffled drums and the firing of minute guns.

These serious ceremonies duly performed, the public now turned to the lighter features of the celebration. The militia companies repaired to the various places of entertainment previously designated for them while many of the civilians assembled in the Capitol for the drinking of toasts. Word had gone out that in keeping with the theme of independence native drinks--and no others--were to be the order of the day. At the Capitol the official count showed that seventeen standing toasts were drunk, the first having been proposed by Governor Cabell.

There is no mention of the Chief Justice having been present at the celebration at the Capitol. But Richmond was a busy place that day and the festivities were by no means confined to one spot. His absence from the Capitol might have been traced to another and more exclusive assemblage at an inviting spot several miles to the west of the town known as Buchanan’s Spring. This was a shady picnic spot on the property of the Rev. John Buchanan. It was the regular meeting place of the social organization known as the Barbecue Club, of which Judge Marshall was an enthusiastic member. The club, composed of the leading citizens of the town, had already been in existence some twenty years and it met regularly for sumptuous dinners at which individual members took turns at being host. The Fourth of July was always the occasion of a meeting of the club.

The dinner, laid out on a table under an open shed, had been prepared by Jasper Crouch, Richmond’s most popular caterer. Crouch enjoyed eating food as much as he did preparing it and, according to contemporary accounts, he had by this time “acquired gout and the rotundity of an alderman.” The custom of the club forbade either dessert or wine. The ample meal was washed down with toddy, punch, and mint julep. A diversion greatly enjoyed by members of the club was pitching quoits, at which the Chief Justice excelled. Tradition has it that his quoits were made especially for him and were heavier than those used by other members.

One celebrity who, perforce, was unable to join the general public in these festivities was Colonel Burr. He was now a prisoner in the penitentiary; and, if his own word is to be believed, every effort both official and unofficial was being exerted to make his stay there as comfortable as possible. To Theodosia he wrote describing the considerate behavior of his jailer:

“Jailer: ‘I hope, Sir, that it would not be disagreeable to you if I should lock this door after dark?’

“Burr: ‘By no means, I should prefer it to keep out intruders.’

“Jailer: ‘It is our custom, Sir, to extinguish all lights at 9 o’clock. I hope, Sir, you will have no objection to conform to that.’

“Burr: ‘That, Sir, I am sorry to say, is impossible, for I never go to bed till 12, and always burn 2 candles.’

“Jailer: ‘Very well, Sir, just as you please. I should have been glad if it had been otherwise, but, as you please, Sir.’”

A few days later Burr wrote Theodosia again: “My friends and acquaintances of both sexes are permitted to visit me without interruption, without inquiring their business, and without the presence of a spy. It is well that I have an ante-chamber, or I should often be gené with visitors.”

Alluding to the possibility of Theodosia joining him in Richmond, he added: “If you come I can give you a bedroom and parlor on this floor. The bedroom has three large closets, and it is a much more commodious one than you ever had in your life.” Once more he admonished her to observe the stoical role he expected her to play: “Remember, no agitations, no complaints, no fears or anxieties on the road, or I renounce thee.”

Among Richmond’s smart society it became the fashion to prepare dainty dishes for the distinguished and charming prisoner now suffering persecution at the hands of the irascible tyrant in the White House. The Colonel was overwhelmed with wine jelly, a favorite Richmond sweet. Lemons, pineapples, and other rare and exotic fruits were showered upon him. Admirers brought him fresh butter; and to preserve it in the torrid heat of a Richmond summer, an icebox was installed and generously stocked by the owners of icehouses. In short, his friends did all they could during the weeks he was behind the bars to relieve the ennui of his confinement and to supply him with all the luxuries his fastidious nature craved.

The ladies were foremost in their attentions. This was in contrast to the behavior of some of the men. In a letter to a friend, Washington Irving reported that it had almost been considered culpable to evince toward Burr the least sympathy or support. He had, he said, seen many a “hollow-hearted caitiff,” who basked in the sunshine of Burr’s bounty when he was in power, and who now skulked from his side and mingled among the most glamorous of his enemies. But this, heaven be praised, was not the attitude of the ladies.

“The ladies alone,” observed Irving, “have felt, or at least had candor and independence sufficient to express these feelings which do honor to humanity. They have been uniform in their expressions of compassion for his misfortunes, and a hope of his acquittal; not a lady, I believe, in Richmond, whatever may be her husband’s sentiments on this subject, who would not rejoice on seeing Col. Burr at liberty. It may be said that Col. Burr has ever been a favorite with the sex; but I am not inclined to account for it in so illiberal a manner; it results from that merciful, that heavy disposition, implanted in the female bosom, which ever inclines in favor of the accused and the unfortunate.”

Irving might have observed that the actions of some of the ladies, whose husbands were in some manner connected with the trial, could well have caused those husbands embarrassment. It was fortunate for them that Richmond viewed the personal entanglements with a tolerance that has seldom been granted in other criminal cases.

Irving could, for example, have been referring to Mrs. Robert Gamble. The former Catherine Grattan, who had braved Indians and panthers and other perils of the frontier in her youth, was not now to be overawed by a son-in-law who was one of the leading lawyers for the prosecution. Let William Wirt employ his eloquence to get Aaron Burr hanged. Nevertheless Mrs. Gamble felt free to send refreshments from her kitchen to the prisoner. After all, were they not neighbors? The Gray House and the penitentiary occupied adjoining promontories. They shared equally the architectural genius of Benjamin Henry Latrobe. Why should not Catherine Grattan Gamble welcome Burr with all the courtesies customarily extended by Richmonders to a new resident with the proper social background?

Irving’s description of Burr in prison was nothing like so glowing as that of Burr himself. The only reason for immuring the Colonel in that abode of “thieves, cut-throats and incendiaries,” commented Irving, was that it would save the United States a couple of hundred dollars, which would have been the charge for guarding him at his lodgings.

Contrary to Burr’s statement that his friends had ready access to him, Irving reported that, “I found great difficulty gaining admission to him for a few moments. The keeper had orders to admit no one but his counsel and his witnesses--strange measures these!

“That it is not sufficient that a man against whom no certainty of crime is proved, should be confined by bolts, and bars and massy walls in a criminal prison; but he is likewise to be cut off from all intercourse with society, deprived of all the kind offices of friendship, and made to suffer all the penalties and deprivations of a condemned criminal. I was permitted to enter for a few moments, as a special favor, contrary to orders.” Could it have been that the Colonel was afraid the enthusiastic young man might stay too long?

Irving thought the Colonel seemed in lower spirits than formerly. He was composed and collected as usual, but there was not the same cheerfulness that Irving had hitherto remarked. The Colonel told him that it was with difficulty that his very servant was allowed occasionally to see him. “He had a bad cold, which I suppose was occasioned by the dampness of his chamber which had lately been whitewashed.” It was with a heavy heart that Irving left him.

The Colonel’s and Irving’s accounts of the imprisonment could hardly be more contradictory. But then Burr was trying to relieve Theodosia’s anxieties, whereas Irving’s purpose in being in Richmond was to use his talents to turn public opinion in Burr’s favor.

Irving’s obligation to Burr’s friends for enabling him to be present at the trial was not a small one. The young man at this stage of his life delighted in mingling with the great and the near-great and he had had a rare opportunity to do so in Richmond.

To his brother-in-law James Paulding, associate editor of _Salmagundi_, he wrote enthusiastically of his experience: “I have been treated in the most polite and hospitable manner by the most distinguished persons of the place--those friendly to Burr and those opposed to him, and have intimate acquaintances among his bitterest enemies. I am absolutely enchanted with Richmond, and like it more and more every day. The society is polished, sociable and extremely hospitable, and here is a great variety of distinguished characters assembled on this occasion, which gives a strong degree of interest to passing incidents.”

But there must be an end to all good things. Irving had his magazine in New York to think about. No telling how long the trial would take. He had been in Richmond two months and the Court had done no more than get through the preliminaries. So before the actual business of trying Burr began, Irving had to set out on his return home. On the way he stopped off in Washington and from there wrote a letter to his confidante, Miss Mary Fairlee, a charming young person who then was the reigning belle in New York. To her he confided that, as much as he enjoyed Richmond society, he had been faced by a serious personal problem. It was of a sort that was likely to happen to a handsome and eligible young man on his first appearance in a community. He was pursued by designing young women.

“By some lucky means or other,” Irving informed Miss Fairlee, “I got the character, among three or four novel-read damsels, of being an _interesting young man_ [the italics are Irving’s]; now of all characters in the world, believe me, this is the most intolerable for any young man, who has a will of his own to support, particularly in warm weather. The tender-hearted fair ones think you absolutely at their command; they conclude that you must, of course, be fond of moonlight walks, and rides at daybreak, and red-hot strolls in the middle of the day (Fahrenheit’s Thermom. 98½ in the shade) and ‘melting hot-hissing hot’ tea parties, and what is worse, they expect you to talk sentiment and act Romeo, and Sir Charles and King Pepin all the while! ’Twas too much for me; had I been in love with any one of them, I believe I could have played the dying swain, as eloquently and foolishly as most men, but not having the good luck to be inspired by the tender passion, I found the slavery unsupportable; so I forthwith set about ruining my character as speedily as possible.

“I forgot to go to tea parties; I overslept myself of a morning. I protested against the moon and derided that blessed planet most villainously. In a word I was soon given up as a young man of most preposterous and incorrigible opinions, and was left to do e’en just as I pleased. Yet, believe me, I did, notwithstanding, admire the fair damsels of Richmond exceedingly; and, to be candid at once, the character of the whole sex, though it has ever ranked high in my estimation, is still more exalted than ever.”

Bless the young man! The fair damsels would have been flattered at his general impressions of them, even though not one of them had succeeded in winning his heart. They may have reflected that, had they encountered him when Richmond weather was more on their side they might have made greater headway. If Miss Fairlee was as sentimentally inclined as the young ladies in Richmond she must have felt reassured by this evidence that the handsome young Washington Irving would return home to New York as detached and uninvolved as though he had never been exposed to the wiles of designing southern belles. On the other hand, after reading the letter and reflecting on the character it unconsciously revealed, might she not have concluded that Irving’s imperviousness to the assaults of impressionable females knew no sectional bounds?

During the first week in June the _Enquirer_ in its columns had hailed the arrival in Richmond of the “celebrated Cowper.” The _Enquirer_ hoped that the manager of the new brick theater on the edge of Shockoe Hill would not fail to avail himself of the opportunity of gratifying the public by engaging him for a few evenings at least.

The “celebrated Cowper” was without doubt Thomas Abthorpe Cooper, a handsome and talented young Irish actor. No doubt Cooper, too, had been attracted to Richmond by the gathering of celebrities there and had concluded that the list would not be complete without the presence of the leading actor of the day.

Richmond in the summer of 1807 not only attracted the leading actor of the day; it attracted also an artist recently arrived from France who was making a name for himself in the cities of the coast through his ingenious manner of making likenesses. On Friday, July 17, the _Enquirer_ carried on its front page a paid notice under the heading “Likenesses Taken and Engraved.” It stated that the subscriber, as an advertiser was politely known in those days, begged leave to inform the ladies and gentlemen of the city of Richmond that “he takes and engraves Likenesses in a style never introduced before in this country.”

The subscriber respectfully solicited the same favor and patronage he had met with in the largest cities in the United States. Samples of his work, said the announcement, could be seen at the subscriber’s lodgings in Mrs. Harris’s house nearly opposite the Custom House. To stir the Richmonders to prompt action he closed his public notice by stating that in order not to disappoint those who might desire to “set for their likenesses,” he begged leave to suggest that his stay in the city would be short. The notice was signed, “St. Mémin.”

The subscriber, to give him his full name, was Charles Balthazer Julien Ferret de Saint-Mémin. Born in Dijon, France, of an aristocratic family, he fled the French Revolution and arrived in New York in 1793. He proceeded at once to tour the cities of the East. He visited Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Annapolis successively. Wherever he went he left behind him a trail of his crayon portraits. They were done in black and white crayon on pink paper with the aid of a device invented by the gentleman himself and known as a “physionotrace.” The profile of the subject was thrown as a shadow on the paper and there traced with mathematical exactness. Saint-Mémin was an artist as well as a technician. The portrait executed life size was framed in black and gold and the whole presented a lifelike and satisfying effect.

But that was not all. In addition to every life-size portrait, the artist made a small copper plate about two inches in diameter from which were struck off a dozen engravings. The sitter received the framed portrait, the engravings, and the plate. Saint-Mémin’s usual price was $25 for gentlemen and--somewhat ungallantly--$35 for ladies. Though high according to contemporary values the price was not exorbitant as portraits go.

Saint-Mémin’s reputation preceded him to Richmond. Shrewd man that he was, he no doubt counted on the trial to provide a healthy lot of potential customers. If so, he was not disappointed. He did the Chief Justice. He did John Wickham, and Mrs. Wickham too. He did William Wirt, and the Cabells, the Gambles and the Mayos, and others prominent in Richmond society.

Modern art critics are inclined to turn up their noses at Saint-Mémin’s work because of its mechanical quality. Yet from the standpoint of social prestige the money paid out for it could not have been better spent. No doubt there were many men and women in Richmond who thought of engaging Saint-Mémin. They may then have reflected that $25 or $35 was a goodly sum. They would have been unusual if they had not had more pressing demands than portraits--perhaps new parlor furniture, or a great four poster bed in the heavy empire style just coming into vogue. Perhaps they reflected that at least part of that sum might be needed to pay the fees for their children at the dancing class going on at the Haymarket Gardens. What better and more direct way to obtain social prestige than by sending children to a dancing class? Or a room may have needed papering or a leaking roof called for attention.

Whatever the practical, common-sense reason, there were many who failed to seize the opportunity presented them by Saint-Mémin. They could not know that a hundred years or so after they had gone to their reward their portraits, in black and white crayon on pink paper, hanging on a wall in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Annapolis, or Richmond, and duly authenticated as an ancestor, entitled its owner to a place in the most exclusive social circles.

In a country where a coronet is not worn a “Saint-Mémin” comes closest to being the equivalent symbol of nobility. Anyone who unguardedly inquires “what is a Saint-Mémin?” could offer no better proof of not belonging. The moral of the Saint-Mémin episode is that whenever an offer to be extravagant appears, take it. No telling what social prestige it may bring one’s descendants.

No, following the indictment of Burr and the others, and the adjournment of court, and while waiting for it to convene again on August 3, Richmond was far from dull.

_Chapter_ XII

As the day for his trial approached Burr felt the need for Theodosia. His daughter was now in Charleston with her husband and little boy. But Burr was not the kind to yield to sentimentality. His appeal was quite impersonal; it might have been made to any stranger. It was based on logical reasons and did not for once intimate that in this crisis of his life he needed the affection and understanding which only Theodosia could give him.

“I want,” he wrote toward the close of July, “an independent and discerning witness to my conduct and to that of government. The scene which has passed and those about to be transacted will exceed any reasonable credulity, and hereafter will be deemed fables, unless attested by very high authority.”

If there was any doubt in his mind as to the outcome he evidently was determined not to let Theodosia know it. In his letter he breathed nothing but self-confidence. “I repeat what has heretofore been written, that I should never invite anyone, much less those so dear to me, to witness my disgrace. I may be immured in dungeons, chained, murdered in legal form, but I cannot be humiliated or disgraced. If absent you will suffer great solicitude. In my presence you will feel none, whatever may be the malice or the power of my enemies and in both they abound.”

It was as though Burr had trained his daughter from her birth with this critical moment in view. And the training had been carried out with all the puritan vigor that ran in the blood of the Burrs and the Edwardses. The child was the first born to the Colonel and his wife, the widow Theodosia Bartow Prevost. The event took place in 1783 while the Burrs were still living in Albany. The infant was named for her mother though Theodosia Prevost Burr professed that she wanted to name it for Aaron’s sister Sally.

Soon after the baby’s arrival the mother wrote to Sally’s husband, Tapping Reeve, announcing the event: “Providence smiled upon our wishes and on the 21st of June blest us with a lovely daughter ... and you will believe me, Reeve, when I tell you the dear little girl has the eyes of your Sally, and promises to be as handsome. I would also have given her her name; but Burr insisted on calling her Theo--assure my sister for me that I submitted with the greatest regret.”

The baby was barely five months old when the family moved to New York City, and there the child grew up. Soon after, another daughter was born to the Burrs, but she died in a few years and little is known about her. Early in little Theo’s life she exhibited a marked devotion to her father. At the age of four years Mrs. Burr was reporting, “Our sweet prattler exclaims at every noise, ‘There’s dear papa’ and runs to meet him.” It was said that her attachment for her father was not of a common nature and that when he was away she could not hear him spoken of without an apparent melancholy.

Such accounts sound suspiciously like an effort on Mrs. Burr’s part to flatter the Colonel into forgiving her for having presented him with two daughters and no sons. They might be dismissed as such had not their truth been clearly demonstrated by later events. By this time the once delicate baby had grown into a plump, gay little girl with rosy cheeks and a winning smile.

Little Theo’s upbringing became almost immediately the special care of the Colonel. The way he went about it suggests that subconsciously at least he was trying to make amends for her not being a boy. Wherever business might take him and however occupied he might be with his law practice and politics and other personal matters, his thoughts were never far away from his daughter and her training.

Burr was years ahead of his time in his acceptance of revolutionary theories on the education of women. Someone had put in his hands a book by the pioneer feminist Mary Woolstonecraft entitled _Vindication of the Rights of Women_. He had been greatly impressed by it. Writing to his wife he said: “I had heard it spoken of with a coldness little calculated to excite attention; but as I read with avidity and prepossession everything written by a lady, I made haste to procure it, and spent last night, almost the whole of it, in reading it. Be assured that your sex has in her an able advocate. It is, in my opinion, a work of genius.”

The burden of Miss Woolstonecraft’s argument was that women are as capable of receiving an education as are men, if not more so. Burr embraced the theory; or else he was determined to test it. Forthwith he proceeded to put it into practice in the education of his own daughter. To his wife he remarked: “But I yet hope, by her, to convince the world what neither sex appears to believe, that women have souls.” So obsessed was he with this idea that he later confided to his wife: “If I could foresee that Theo would become a mere fashionable woman with all the attendant frivolity and vacuity of mind, adorned with whatever grace or allurement, I would earnestly pray God to take her forthwith hence.” Strange sentiments coming from a man who in his usual contacts with women was reputed to be attracted chiefly by their physical attributes.

In his determination to give his daughter the same education he would have given a son the Colonel spared no expense in employing tutors. At this period, with a flourishing law practice, he was probably better off financially than at any time in his life. Two or more hours both in the afternoon and evening were reserved for the child’s instruction. And Theo proved an excellent student, thriving under what surely would have broken down the health of an ordinary child. By the age of ten years she was reading Horace, Terence, and Lucian and preparing to begin Homer and Vergil. Exercises in Greek grammar shared a place with the study of Gibbon. Her curriculum included as well philosophy and political economy, French and German.

The Colonel’s solicitude did not confine itself to Theo’s mind. It extended to her deportment, speech, expression, and dress as well. Nor was her musical education neglected. Under competent instruction she mastered the two popular instruments of the day--the pianoforte and the harp. Besides all this, in the hours set aside for recreation she was taught to ride, skate, and dance. Not even a princess being prepared to sit some day on a throne could have been subjected to a more well-rounded program of education than that which Colonel Burr bestowed on Theodosia.

Colonel Burr’s prosperity was more apparent than real. Possessed of extravagant tastes and a flair for lavish entertainment, he was condemned forever to live beyond his means. In addition to his house in the city he purchased an estate outside which he named Richmond Hill. It comprised a commodious dwelling house, a stable, a dairy, numerous other appurtenances, and abundant ground.

Theodosia was barely ten years old when her mother, after an illness of several months, died of cancer. Since there was no one else for the Colonel to call on, at that tender age Theodosia assumed the exacting duties of acting as hostess for her father. This was no insignificant task as the Colonel delighted in extending the hospitality of his house to distinguished visitors who were constantly arriving in New York. Theodosia presided at table with dignity and poise and without self-consciousness in the presence of such notables as Talleyrand, Louis Philippe, and Jerome Bonaparte.

It is not surprising that her fame spread throughout the city and beyond it. An English traveler who had the privilege of being received at Richmond Hill noted in his diary that this precocious young lady was “elegant without ostentation, learned without pedantry” and “educated with uncommon care.” He found her speaking French and Italian with facility and “perfectly conversant with the writers of the Augustan Age.”

The Colonel schooled his daughter, too, in fortitude and stoicism, two qualities which he regarded as being among the higher virtues, and which he practiced so industriously himself. There was a tradition that even while she was little more than a child he required her to sleep alone in a remote part of the house the better to exercise her courage.

Yet in spite of this exacting routine, the prodigy lost none of her feminine charm. The English visitor at Richmond Hill observed that she “danced with more grace than any young lady in New York.” Theodosia is reputed to have had a number of suitors. When she had become famous many were attributed to her with whom she was barely if at all acquainted. Washington Irving’s name, for example, was linked with hers, though there is no convincing evidence that they ever met.

It was to be assumed that so gifted a young woman would be hard to please and that she was not likely to be won by an ordinary man. However, Theodosia proved not to be unconquerable. At the age of seventeen years she was writing to young Joseph Alston in Charleston, South Carolina: “I shall be happy to see you whenever you choose; that, I suppose, is equivalent to very soon.... My father laughs at my impatience to hear from you, and says I am in love.... I had not intended to marry this twelvemonth ... but to your solicitation I yield my judgment.”

Joseph Alston was in every way eligible. He was the son of Colonel William Alston, a South Carolina planter, whose wealth ran to land and slaves. He had read law and, at the age of 22 years, was the owner of two estates in South Carolina as well as a mansion on the Hudson River above New York. He already had displayed talent that promised to carry him far in his profession and in the public affairs of his state.

The young people, very much in love with each other, were married at Albany in February, 1801. After a honeymoon spent at Richmond Hill they journeyed to Washington to be present when the Colonel was inaugurated as Vice-President of the United States. From there Alston took his wife to Charleston where her personality earned for her the same popularity she enjoyed in New York.

Theodosia seems not to have been altogether happy with her in-laws. A letter is attributed to her in which she remarked: “We travel in company with the two Alstons. Pray teach me how to write two A’s without producing something like an ass.” This is one of the few unkind comments that has been credited to her. It suggests that the Alstons must indeed have been trying. On the other hand, how could ordinary elderly folk entertain a young woman who had been accustomed to the stimulating company of Aaron Burr?

In the spring of the year following their marriage a son was born to the Alstons. They named him Aaron Burr Alston. The Colonel was delighted. The boy was not yet two years old when his grandfather began planning for him the same exacting educational program he had imposed on his mother. “You do not say whether the boy knows his letters,” he wrote to Theo. “I am sure he may be taught them. He may read and write before he is three years old. This, with speaking French, would make him a tolerably accomplished lad of that age, worthy of his blood.”

Most remarkable of all Theodosia’s qualities was the genius she displayed in bestowing her affection equally upon her father and her husband without arousing the jealousy of either of them or bringing on herself charges of favoritism or neglect. In no case was the Colonel’s spell cast more magically than over his daughter. In her eyes he could do no wrong. Let others accuse him of political chicanery, let them question his integrity, let the public of New Jersey and New York condemn him as a murderer. Let the Government of the United States charge him with treason and its President declare that his guilt was beyond question. In the face of it all Theodosia remained steadfast, her faith unshaken. Though it must have been a mortification to her pride to know that he was in prison, she did not blame him but attributed this base treatment to the machinations of his enemies.

Toward her husband Theodosia’s demonstrations of affection were eloquent. During their engagement she wrote him with all the girlish enthusiasm of her seventeen years: “Where you are, there is my country, and in you are centered all my wishes.” And again, on an occasion when they were separated from each other: “Every moment I feel that I have lost so much of your society which can never be regained.”

The birth of little Aaron left the mother weak and subject to physical disorders that she was never entirely to be free of. For a time she despaired of her life and in one of her melancholy moods she wrote Alston: “Death is not welcome. I confess it is ever dreaded. You have made me too fond of life. Adieu, then, thou kind, thou tender husband. Adieu! friend of my heart. May Heaven prosper you and may we meet hereafter.”

In the fateful summer of 1806 when Colonel Burr departed from the East “never to return,” he was joined in the western country by the Alstons--Theodosia, Joseph, and little Aaron. The Alstons were for a time guests of the Blennerhassetts on their island in the Ohio River. There Theodosia won the undying affection of Margaret Blennerhassett and the admiration of her husband Harman. Although the Alstons were not present at the time of the alleged “overt act,” their visit a short time before served to increase the public’s suspicion of Alston’s implication in the plot. His name, it will be recalled, was mentioned in Burr’s letter to Wilkinson of July 29.

The circumstance caused Alston intense embarrassment. He had become accustomed to the annoyance of receiving requests for loans from his father-in-law, but that was a small matter compared with the Colonel’s use of his name in so damaging a document as the cipher letter to Wilkinson. In his perplexity Alston unburdened himself in a letter to his friend Charles Pinckney, then Governor of South Carolina.

“I have,” he said, “received and read the President’s message with deep mortification and concern; but the letter annexed to it, stated to be a communication in cypher from Col. Burr to Gen. Wilkinson, exacted my unfeigned astonishment.

“I solemnly avow that, when that letter was written, I had never heard, directly or indirectly from Col. Burr or any other person, of the meditated attack on that place, or any other part of the United States, than I have at this moment to suspect that our militia will be forthwith ordered on an expedition against Gibraltar. On the other hand, I had long had strong grounds for believing that Col. Burr was engaged by other objects, of a very different nature from those attributed to him, and which I confess the best sentiments of my heart approved. I need not add that those objects involved not the interests of my country.

“Without adverting to that integrity of principle, which even my enemies I trust have allowed me, can it be supposed that a man situated as I am--descended from a family which has never known dishonor, happy in the affection and esteem of a large number of relations and friends, possessed of ample fortune, and standing high in the confidence of his fellow-citizens--could harbor for an instant, a thought injurious to the country which was the scene of those blessings?

“Whatever may be thought of the _heart_ of Mr. Burr, his _talents_ are great beyond question, and to reconcile with such talents the chimerical project of dismembering the union, or wresting from it any part of its territory is difficult indeed.... He imagined perhaps--which, by the way, he had no right to do--that his influence would be sufficiently great to induce my assent and thought, therefore he might as well consider it already obtained; or which is more probable, he might have imagined that by the apparent concern of a number of persons from different States, a stronger impression would be made on his correspondent.”

Alston’s letter, of course, soon became public property. Could a young man have found himself in a more embarrassing position? His good name had been dangerously compromised. Alston rightly felt he should clear himself of the suspicions which mention of his name in the letter naturally aroused. But how could he do that without casting reflections on his father-in-law? And how could he cast reflections on his father-in-law without showing disloyalty to Theodosia?

The effort was not altogether successful. The first paragraph of the letter was favorable to the Colonel in that it repudiated any idea that he was contemplating an attack on New Orleans or on any other part of the United States. It was as much a defense of the Colonel as it was of himself. But the closing passages did not express sentiments which were flattering or with which Colonel Burr could be greatly pleased.

The distinction made between Burr’s “heart” and his “talents” intimated that while the moral issue involved in a conspiracy against the Government would not have restrained him, his intelligence would have told him the idea of dividing the Union was impractical. Then Alston had gone on to state frankly that Burr had no right to use his name without his consent and to suggest that it had been only a cheap trick to impress Wilkinson. It definitely was not the sort of letter to help preserve peace in the family.

On the other hand, when the Government was stretching forth its mighty hand to grasp Burr certainly was no time for discord between him and his son-in-law. It was reported in some quarters that when Burr heard about the letter there was a scene between the two men. If so, wisdom and necessity triumphed over ill temper. Whatever their innermost feelings may have been, Burr and Alston presented to the world a solid front.

So the Colonel wanted Theodosia at his side. She was not well, but well or not there could be only one response to his request. The Alstons soon were on their way from Charleston to Richmond, taking little Aaron with them. The Colonel had time for one last letter: “I am informed that some good natured people here have provided you a house, and furnished it, a few steps from my ‘town house’ [he was referring to Luther Martin’s]. I had also made a temporary provision for you in my town house whither I shall remove on Sunday; but I will not, if I can possibly avoid it, move before your arrival, having a great desire to receive you in this ‘mansion.’ Pray, therefore, drive directly here.” It took more than confinement in the penitentiary to dampen Burr’s naturally ebullient spirits.

The Alstons duly arrived in Richmond and drove directly to the penitentiary. They spent their first night there, then moved to the house the “good natured” Richmonders had offered them. From there Theodosia could supervise the menage of her father and Luther Martin in Martin’s house nearby. Her sojourn in Richmond witnessed a repetition of her triumphs elsewhere. The Federalist upper crust found her to be a welcome addition to their exclusive and accomplished society. She went about making friends everywhere until observers came to the conclusion that by her mere presence in Richmond she did more to further the cause of the defense than all of Burr’s brilliant array of counsel. Long after the actors in the drama had gone to their various rewards Theodosia’s stay in Richmond and the impression her exceptional personality made on the community was established as a part of local legend. She could scarcely have been treated with greater deference had she really been the empress with whose attempted creation Aaron Burr was charged.

_Chapter_ XIII

Dudley Woodbridge, who was his partner, said of Harman Blennerhassett that he had every sort of sense except common sense. That is the simplest explanation why this Irish gentleman found himself in the summer of 1807 in the State Penitentiary in Richmond, facing a charge of treason against the United States.

Harman Blennerhassett was born quite by chance, in Hampshire, England, while his parents were there on a visit from Ireland. He was the youngest son of a family described as distinguished. As a boy he attended the famous Westminster School in London and from there went on to Trinity College, Dublin, where he was graduated with honors. He chose law as his profession and at the age of 25 years was admitted to the bar. Through the death of his elder brother he unexpectedly succeeded to the family estates, which were considerable.

Harman’s sister Katherine married Captain Robert Agnew, Lieutenant-Governor of the Isle of Man. They had a daughter Margaret who, on reaching her teens, was sent to school in England. While Harman was on a visit to the Agnews he was entrusted with the pleasant mission of crossing to the mainland to bring his niece home. Harman at this time was 31 years old and Margaret 18. In the course of the trip he became completely infatuated with her and proposed marriage. No doubt dazzled by this man of the world thirteen years her senior, Margaret accepted him. When the newly married uncle and niece arrived on the Isle of Man and Harman introduced Margaret to her parents as his wife the Agnews were furious. In their anger and humiliation they disinherited Margaret and repudiated Harman. In fact the Agnews and their friends made the situation so unpleasant that the Blennerhassetts concluded their only recourse was to leave home and seek asylum in the United States.

Blennerhassett sold his estates, which brought him $100,000, a tidy sum in those days, and he and Margaret sailed for New York where they arrived in 1796. As though this were not enough to rid them of the curse that had descended on their romantic adventure, they did not linger long in the East but set out to look for a permanent home on the frontier.

Reaching Pittsburgh in the fall of the year, they bought a keelboat and dropped down the Ohio River. The valley of the Ohio was then a wilderness save for a few small settlements at favorable spots along the stream. One of these was Marietta where the Blennerhassetts found a society of refined and cultivated people who received them cordially. There they remained throughout the winter while they reconnoitered the neighborhood for a suitable site for an estate.

At last they found what pleased them on an island in the river two miles below the present Parkersburg, West Virginia, at the mouth of the Little Kanawha. This island they purchased. It consisted of 170 acres, which lay in Wood County, Virginia, a significant circumstance in the light of later developments. There the Blennerhassetts spent $30,000 erecting a spacious two-story dwelling with wings and numerous appurtenances. In keeping with the custom of the time, they also purchased slaves to serve the household and work the land.

In this American wilderness they brought into being an establishment such as might have been found in England or on the continent of Europe. The spacious mansion was painted white and the fields surrounding it were neatly inclosed in white post fences. Attached to the house was a formal garden with shrubbery and hedges in the English style and espaliers of peach, apricot, quince, and pear. With stables, barns, overseers’ houses, and quarters for the slaves the settlement made an impressive sight indeed.

No less impressive was the interior of the mansion which was richly furnished from top to bottom. Costly paintings adorned the walls and handsome imported rugs covered the floors.

Margaret Blennerhassett was above average height, well proportioned and graceful. Her eyes were blue and her hair dark brown and, in keeping with the prevailing mode, she wore it in a turban. In England she had enjoyed the benefits of the best education that was to be had by a young woman. She spoke French and Italian fluently and was well versed in Shakespeare’s plays, which she liked to recite. She herself wrote poetry. In spite of these intellectual qualities she delighted also in the rugged out-of-doors life the island afforded. She rode horseback and not infrequently took long walks on the mainland of from ten to twenty miles in a day. Withal she was a good housekeeper and kept an excellent table.

Nature had been less kind to Harman. He was a spare man, standing six feet tall, and his distinguishing feature was a long nose. He was so near-sighted that he was helpless without his eyeglasses, and it was jocularly reported that on the rare occasions when he went hunting he had to take his wife and a servant along to aim the gun! Unlike his wife he was not partial to outdoor exercise, preferring to spend his time with books and engaging in scientific experiments. He was interested in chemistry, electricity, and astronomy. In fact he came to know too much about electricity and its dangerous properties. A thunderstorm so played on his nerves that he had to close the doors and windows and get into bed. In addition to his scholarly talents Blennerhassett was an accomplished musician, playing both the violin and the ’cello.

The Blennerhassetts had two sons whom they named Dominic and Harman. What with their children, their servants, their livestock, their well-appointed house and grounds, and their deep affection for each other they seemed at last, after a somewhat inauspicious start, to have achieved domestic bliss. But, under the surface disturbing forces were at work. After eight long years, life on the island was growing monotonous and the proprietor and his family restless. Even more disturbing, the plantation failed to clear expenses and Blennerhassett saw his fortune gradually wasting away.

Such was the situation when Aaron Burr, on his first trip to the West in 1805, passed down the Ohio River from Pittsburgh in his houseboat. He mentioned in one of his letters to Theodosia at this time that whenever he came upon a likely looking house along the river he would dispatch a note to the owner stating that Mr. Burr, the former Vice-President of the United States, was in the neighborhood and would like to call. He boasted that not once was such a request refused. Naturally Blennerhassett Island did not escape his keen eye and he was duly impressed with its magnificence. He sent his customary note and his request to call was readily granted.

The master was away but the Colonel was cordially received by Mrs. Blennerhassett. It must have been a surprise to Burr to discover in this remote frontier a woman of Margaret Blennerhassett’s breeding and cultivation, which were of a quality little inferior even to Theodosia’s. And surely so polished a man as Burr, and one so capable of making himself fascinating to women, must have been a welcome sight to Margaret who seldom had an opportunity to entertain such congenial company. Burr probably did not discern the financial problem that hung over the Blennerhassetts. On the contrary, the elaborate appurtenances of the estate may readily have misled him into estimating their fortune at a figure much greater than it was in fact. At any rate, his attitude toward the Blennerhassetts indicated that he considered their acquaintance well worth pursuing.

Burr must at some time on this first trip to the West also have encountered Harman, for a correspondence sprang up between them in the course of which Burr suggested several plans by which Blennerhassett might improve his fortune, and the latter asked Burr’s opinion as to the advisability of his moving to Louisiana.

The Colonel was not above using flattery to ingratiate himself with the Irishman. “Your talents and acquirements,” he wrote, “seem to have destined you for something more than vegetable life, and since the first hour of our acquaintance I have considered your seclusion as a fraud on society.” How Blennerhassett’s ears must have burned on reading that high praise from a man of the Colonel’s standing in the great world.