The Belle of Bowling Green
general air of luxury which was the distinguishing quality of his life.
To the gay persiflage of his conversation madame paid little attention.
She was lost in thoughtful reminiscence, and when she re-entered the
society of those around her she returned to the conversation which the
entrance of Achille had interrupted.
“I have been taking thought, Leonard,” she said, “and I wonder me at
you! Of good days are you tired? If so, then join yourself to Aaron
Burr. I am not pleased that you should do this, but so, nothing will
help, I fear--at least no ordinary advice.”
“Is not that a hard thing to say, madame?”
“Very well, but it is the truth. So then, to make short work of it, no
ordinary advice will I give you; but an extraordinary reason, that may
perhaps turn your mind another way. I know not--there are none so blind
as those who will not see.”
“First, madame, permit me to ask Mr. St. Ange, in your presence, if he
thinks I require either ordinary or extraordinary arguments against the
course I have marked out for myself.”
Madame moved her head in assent, and then Leonard, in a few sentences,
told Achille of his proposed study with Mr. Burr, and asked him frankly
“if he considered Mr. Burr’s duelling experience inimical to business
relations with him?”
And Achille answered promptly: “If Mr. Burr had not fought Mr. Hamilton
I should consider your engagement with him disastrous, both to your
social and business reputation. Mr. Hamilton had slandered Mr. Burr in
public and in private, and even while Mr. Burr supposed him to be his
friend he had disseminated the unguarded sallies of his host while a
guest at his dinner table. As I understand the subject, Mr. Burr had no
alternative between two inexorable facts--to fight, which might mean
physical death; not to fight, which would certainly mean social and
political death. Mr. Burr had, I think, a too great patience. I would
have appealed to the sword to stop the tongue long before Mr. Burr
did.”
Leonard was delighted and grateful, and said so, and Achille added: “We
must remember that Cheetham, who edited Hamilton’s newspaper, asked the
public through that organ: ‘Is the Vice-President sunk so low as to
submit to be insulted by General Hamilton?’ It seems to me then that
Cheetham really sent the challenge to Mr. Burr, and that the
Vice-President had no honourable alternative. He had to fight or be
eternally branded a poltroon, a dastardly coward!” And he uttered these
shameful words with such passionate scorn that they seemed to disturb
the air like wildfire.
“About duelling there may be two opinions,” said Madame, “but when
treason is the question, what then?”
“But that question was settled by Mr. Burr’s trial, madame,” answered
Leonard. “The law and the testimony, the judge, and the jury decided
that Mr. Burr was not guilty of treason. Should we go behind that
settlement?”
“The people have gone behind it, and will do so.”
“I doubt that as a final result,” said Leonard. “Many are of Mr.
Vanderlyn’s opinion, that the natural boundaries of the United States
are the Atlantic and Pacific, and that all foreign authority must be got
rid of within that territory. If Aaron Burr did not succeed, he thought
others would.”
“But Aaron Burr would have set up a monarchy for himself.”
“That is not conceivable, madame. I said so to Mr. Vanderlyn, and he
laughed at the idea. He said, ‘Burr had remarkable military genius, and
that his object was to atone for his political failure by some great
military feat, but whatever the feat he contemplated, it would have been
in the end for his country.’ Vanderlyn put aside all evidence to the
contrary, because given by men who had been at first confederate with
Burr, and then betrayed him. What reliance could be placed on anything
such men said? I believe,” said Leonard, with confident fervour, “that
Mr. Burr will outlive the memory of his faults and attain yet the
success his great abilities deserve.”
“_He will not!_” said madame. “The hatred of the living a man may fight,
and hope to conquer, but the vengeance of the dead, who then can escape
that? Sooner or later it drives ‘the one followed’ to destroy himself.
This trouble began twelve years gone by. Hamilton and Burr called it to
themselves, that night they tricked justice, slandered the innocent, and
let the guilty go free. Snuff the candles, Achille, the room is full of
shadows; more light give us, and I will tell you when, and how, the doom
of both men was called to them.”
There was a few minutes’ delay, during which the silence was unbroken,
and then madame continued:
“It was in the year of God eighteen hundred, in the month of March, and
we had come near to the spring. Mr. Hamilton was then of all the lawyers
in New York the most famous, and it was one of the sights of the city to
see him going to court with his papers and books. In that month came
the trial of Levi Weekes for the murder of the beautiful Gulielma Sands,
and Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr were united in the defence of Weekes. Very
well indeed I knew Elma Sands, for she lived with her uncle and aunt
Ring, who were tenants of mine for many years. At the time of her murder
they lived in Greenwich Street, near Franklin; and Weekes boarded with
them. He was a brother of Ezra Weekes, who kept the famous City Hotel,
and with his brother he could have boarded. But not so, with the Rings
he stayed, because of Elma, and every one said they were promised to
each other, and when the spring came were to be married. Well, then,
this dreadful thing happened--Elma Sands went out with Levi Weekes one
Sunday in December, 1799, and never again was she seen by any one.
Distracted were her uncle and aunt, and everywhere, far and near, Elma
was sought. It was no good. What I could do, I did, for I had watched
the orphan girl grow from her childhood to her womanhood, and so sorry
also was I for the uncle and aunt, who slept not, nor yet rested, and
whose terrible suspense was ended in five weeks, by the finding of
Elma’s body in a well eighty feet deep. Then the city went wild about
her murder; for the appearance of the body left no room for doubt as to
what poor Elma’s fate had been; and every one felt quite sure that Levi
Weekes was the criminal.” Here madame paused and appeared to be much
affected, and Achille, without a word, pushed a glass of water closer to
her, and having drank of it, she continued:
“It was Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr that defended the prisoner; the
prosecutor was Cadwallader D. Colden, and Chief Justice Lansing was the
judge. On both sides there were great lawyers, and the trial was long
and wearisome; but never were Elias Ring and his wife absent from it,
no, not for one hour. So the end came at last. It was a stormy night in
April that it came, and very late, and the court room was but dimly
lighted, for some of the candles had burned themselves away, and had not
been renewed, and the people had been listening to Hamilton’s speech,
and thinking of nothing else. A great speech it was; my son Judge
Bloommaert told me it was wonderful; and though every one was worn out,
none left the building.
“Then Aaron Burr arose. Some facts he set forth in such a way as to
throw all suspicion on the chief witness against Weekes; and while
people were amazed at the charge, and no time had been given to examine
it, or deny it, he lifted two candles from the table and flashed them in
the face of the man he had accused; and as he did this thing he cried
out in a voice like doom: ‘_Gentlemen, behold the murderer!_’ Shocked
and terrified was the man, and like a foolish one he rushed from the
room; and this cry of Aaron Burr’s the weary, excited jury took for the
truth, and so then, Levi Weekes was declared ‘not guilty.’ Stupefied
were all present, and before they could recover themselves from their
astonishment Catherine Ring stood up. She was a Quakeress and to speak
in public accustomed, and so, lifting her face and hands to heaven she
refused the verdict; and gave the case ‘_to the justice of God and the
vengeance of the Dead!_’
“I say plainly, every one was thrilled with awe and terror. Her voice
was low and even, but straight to every heart it went; and those
furthest away heard it clear and fateful as those close at her side. Mr.
Hamilton began to put up his papers, but she stepped close to his side
and said: ‘Alexander Hamilton, if there be justice in heaven, heaven
will see that thee dies a bloody death; and thy helper shall help thee
to it!’ At these words Burr rose, and looked at her with a smile, and
she continued, ‘Take thy time, Aaron Burr. Thee need not hurry; thee
will long for death, long before death will have thee. Nay, but thee
shall be a dead man long before thee can hide thyself in the grave. And
all that we have suffered in that long month of not knowing, thee shall
suffer many times over. Dost thee think God had no witness in this room?
Go thy way, Alexander Hamilton! Go thy way, Aaron Burr! There is _one
that follows after_!’ She turned then to Judge Lansing, but he had left
the bench. Then she touched her husband’s arm, and said: ‘Come, Elias,
the unrighteous judge cannot escape the righteous one. Some day he will
go out, and be heard of no more forever.’[2]
“And here is the wonderful thing--all the time she was dooming these
three great men not one soul moved or spoke. The entire audience sat or
stood silent and motionless; and when out of the court-room they went,
it was as if they were leaving a church. And Elias and Catherine Ring
passed through them, and though they had the pity and respect of all
there, no one spoke to them, and no one stayed them. For every word of
doom Catherine Ring had uttered had been heard; and her inspired face
spoke to the crowd; Elias walking at her side praying aloud as he
walked.
“My son Gerardus was present during the entire trial; he heard all, he
saw all, and he told me the story I have just told you. And what I say
is the truth--Hamilton’s earthly doom has been fulfilled; Burr is yet
learning the unpitying vengence of the dead. That insane idea of
conquest, who drove him to it? Who, at the critical hour, turned his
confederates against him? Who sent him to wander in Europe a degraded,
desperate man? What a cup of shame and poverty he drank there, I and a
few others know. Then, when reckless with his misfortune, back he comes
to New York, and for a short time he is lifted up by the many old
acquaintances who remember his abilities and his sufferings. But only to
be cast down is he lifted up. In less than one month he hears of the
death of his grandson, a beautiful, intelligent boy of twelve years old,
on whom all his future hopes were built. A terrible blow it was, but
only the beginning of sorrow. Six months afterwards his idolised
daughter left Charleston for New York. She was heartbroken by the loss
of her son, and was coming to her father to be comforted. She sailed on
the thirtieth of December, 1811, A. D., and ought to have been in New
York about the fifth of January. She did not come. She never came. She
was never heard of again. It was then Catherine Ring’s promised
retribution overtook him. Who can tell what agonies of suspense he
endured? There was daily hope, and there was daily despair! Such nights
of grief! Such days of watching! His worst unfriends pitied him. To have
heard of the unhappy woman would have pleased every one; but no, no,
never a word came. When some weeks were gone over, there was a report
that the ship in which she sailed had been taken by pirates, and all on
board murdered except Mr. Burr’s daughter. She, it was said, had been
put on shore a captive. The miserable man! He would not, he could not,
bear this idea. He said to me one morning, as I talked with him at the