I had heard this story many times; and got him back to what interested me. “It is my impression”—I was cautious—“that the western states are now quite pleased with the Administration. After all, they have New Orleans. Except for Baton Rouge the Mississippi is American.”
“But the Dons are still at Mobile. We still lack the Floridas! And they are ours by every right of treaty—yes, ours God-given!” Wilkinson suddenly sounded like Jefferson.
“What is the mood of the people at New Orleans?”
“Bloody, Burr, bloody! They hate Jefferson. Hate the Yankees. You—and I—could free that city with a thousand—no, with five hundred men.”
I was amused. “Why do we need so many men since the defender of New Orleans is the commanding general of the American army—you!”
Wilkinson laughed—a sudden thick bubbling sound like German soup cooking on a Franklin stove (a quotidian simile, Charlie, if ever there was one). “Now you begin to see why I came back to the army five years ago. Why I got myself made commanding general.” This promotion was not as lofty as it sounds. Since Jefferson preferred not to have any army, it was hard to find a self-respecting military man eager to take over the ridiculously under-manned “forces” of the United States.
“I had wondered.” Until that night in Philadelphia, Jamie had only revealed to me bits and pieces of his intentions. We had been corresponding with one another since 1794 (in cipher, at his urging). But our correspondence was never of much interest. I apprised him of the political situation at Washington while he gave me news of sentiment at the west where my popularity continued to grow year after year. The westerners appreciated my role in the admission of Tennessee to the union, as well as my opposition to Hamilton. Distance, too, lends enchantment. By the summer of 1804, I was—next to Jefferson—the most popular American west of the Alleghenies.
“I saw my chance in 1799. When it looked as if there might be war with France, I told General Hamilton …” Jamie stopped; chin suddenly sagged over his collar; eyes popped like a light-snared toad’s. Had he been tactless?
“The name does not distress me.” I was soothing.
“Must say—never knew you was such a fine shot!” And Jamie giggled. He was good company, in his way, and for all his pomposity saw the humour in everything but himself. I am rather the reverse.
Jamie gave me his version of how he had got Hamilton to appoint him commanding general of the Mississippi Territory. “I was as frank with him as I am with you.” This sentiment, no matter by whom proposed, invariably proclaims if not a liar a lie. “I said, ‘General Hamilton, it is only a matter of time before we go to war with France. And now that France has got her hands on Spain that means all the Spanish territories like Louisiana and the Floridas and Mexico and the next continent down, the whole lot can be ours for the taking.’ Well, he gave me that condescending look he was so good at and says, ‘My dear Wilkinson, never tell a superior officer what he already knows.’ Well, there were a lot of things I could have told him he didn’t know but I was ever so polite and humble, the way he liked you to be, and that warmed him up enough to tell me how it was his idea—and General Washington agreed—that we make an alliance with England and with their fleet and our army we attack New Orleans, Havannah, Vera Cruz, and then go on to the next continent down.”
I listened to Jamie’s narrative with a certain bemusement. I recognised Hamilton’s dreams. On the other hand, I could not believe that Hamilton dared use Washington’s name in their support.
“Anyway, as soon as Hamilton knew I was as on fire as he was to go after the Dons, I got the Mississippi Territory.”
I was in the Senate at the time of Jamie’s return to the army as a brigadier-general, and I recall discussing him with the new major-general Hamilton who simply said, “Wilkinson’s supposed to be a good officer. But you know him better than I. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”
Hamilton was awkward with me on this occasion, as well he might be: he had stopped my own appointment as brigadier-general. Although I think it unlikely that Hamilton knew Wilkinson was a Spanish subject, he did know of his connection with the Spanish Conspiracy because McHenry, the secretary of war, had told him bluntly that Wilkinson was so deeply involved with the Dons that he ought not to be allowed to command any troops near the border. “But Hamilton insisted”—McHenry made a face as he told me the story—“and whatever Hamilton wanted General Washington wanted so I could do nothing.”
Why did Hamilton insist on promoting Wilkinson? The only answer is that he wanted to have under him someone as eager as himself to conquer Mexico and so he assumed that Wilkinson’s new interest would cancel his old commitment to Spain. It was a stupid if not corrupt thing to assume. But then I was equally stupid, if not corrupt.
“You and I together—with a thousand men—can take Mexico in three weeks.” The round, innocent, not entirely focussed eyes were fixed upon me, as though a steady point of reference in a dissolving world.
“Not without support from the sea.” Although I had by no means decided what my future would be, I had like Hamilton thought much of Mexico, and studied in some detail that vice-royaume’s defences and knew, right off, that without at least one naval squadron to seize the port of Vera Cruz any invasion by land would fail.
“Details! Details!” Jamie was interested only in exciting me with thoughts of conquest. He was also interested in knowing the President’s view of the subject. I told him that Jefferson would be delighted if Mexico were detached from Spain. “But I don’t think he would look with a kindly eye upon me as the detacher.”
I ought to have been more suspicious of Jamie than I was. But I could not, simply, take him seriously. No one could. That is how he came to deceive Washington, Hamilton and me, not to mention any number of other Spanish and American potentates, military and civilian.
The next morning, suffering seriously from headache, the Commanding General departed, after proposing that I meet with a certain Mr. Williamson—who turned out to be Colonel Charles Williamson, an old acquaintance from the Revolution. “You will find him trustworthy. And well-connected in England. He has the ear of Prime Minister Pitt. The Prime Minister will do whatever he says.”
“But what does he say?”
Jamie looked at me over a third cup of steaming black French coffee provided by the Biddle butler. “He has a plan for the conquest of Mexico …”
“Who does not?”
“But he—we need a leader. We need Aaron Burr. Once you agree …” A low deep slow belch, memorial to Charles Biddle’s port of the previous evening. “You spoke last night of needing naval support at Vera Cruz.” No matter how much Jamie drank he not only missed nothing that others said but like a true conspirator never forgot a word that he himself had said. “Well, England has a fleet.”
I was skeptical. Jamie overrode me. “You are the answer, Burr. See Williamson! He waits upon you at Oeller’s Hotel. And now farewell, my commander, my superior!” I half-expected him to kiss if not my hand both cheeks in the Spanish manner. But Jamie merely saluted me—his salute every bit as sloppy now that he was commanding general as it had been when he was a thick crude boy at Cambridge.
That afternoon I walked to Oeller’s Hotel. It was not easy for me to appear anywhere in public for, invariably, I would attract a silent crowd that would stare at me with the most intense interest. Fortunately, there was little outright hostility. But then I was protected not only by my office as second magistrate of the republic but by my ridiculous (and continuing) celebrity as a great marksman. No one wanted to offend me.
I felt clothed with invisible armour as I moved out of the sunny street into the cool dim interior of Oeller’s where I was greeted somewhat shyly by friends, among them Colonel Williamson who saluted me. “We need you, Sir. We need you.” Then he took me to a dark corner of the first-floor parlour and for an hour showed me maps; whispered knowingly of troops, of ships, of victuals. Finally, “I go to England presently. The Prime Minister wan
ts a plan. I have the plan. He also wants a general. Shall I tell him that I have found the man we want?”
I was cautious. “You know my interest in the liberation of Mexico. Everyone’s interest. I think I can even speak for the President when I say that he, too, would like Mexico liberated …”
“So we’ve heard!” Williamson was as impressed as I intended him to be.
“But one cannot make a move unless there is war between Spain and the United States.”
“There is always trouble …”
“Not trouble—war.”
“War might be arranged. General Wilkinson …” He did not need to finish. We both knew that Wilkinson could create a border incident with the Spanish whenever he chose.
I asked, “What can we expect from England?”
“Whatever we need. Pitt is with us!”
Several well-wishers approached at this point. I rose and shook hands. When they departed, Williamson said, “I am delighted, Colonel, with your attitude.”
“I am interested, but no more.”
“Of course. You want other assurances. And I have them. Right here in this hotel. Upstairs someone of the greatest importance is waiting for you.” Williamson then bade me go to the second floor, to a corner bedroom, and there rap twice on the door. Reluctantly, I did as he asked.
“Come in.” The voice was curt. I opened the door and there at the centre of the bedroom, looking most ill-at-ease, was His Britannic Majesty’s minister to the United States, Anthony Merry.
“Vice-President, how good of you to come!” Merry gave me a small bow which I returned. We were as courtly as it is possible to be in a hotel bedroom with the bed unmade from the previous night’s occupant, and a spittoon filled to overflowing with tobacco juice. Since there was nowhere to sit except upon the bed, we stood.
We spoke of our last meeting in Washington at the President’s House. “I am glad, if I may say so, to be in Philadelphia. My wife and I have been spending a most agreeable summer here. A true city. Not like your capital which resembles, if I may so, similar hamlets in Poland.”
The Merrys had been accredited to Washington City for less than a year—a most unhappy year since Jefferson had managed to insult them at their first presidential dinner party. In the interest of demos, Jefferson had decided that season to forgo protocol. One did not go into table according to rank but, as he unfelicitously put it, “pell-mell.” Shoved aside by guests intent on sitting close to the sun of democracy, the Merrys decided that England had been mortally offended, and Mrs. Merry never went back to the palace which pleased Jefferson who, invariably, referred to her as “that bitch-virago.” Personally I found her delightful; large and fleshy in the English manner with a sharp humorous way of saying things. In other words, the sort of woman Jefferson hated on sight. I enquired after Mrs. Merry’s health.
“My poor lady is most unwell. She has taken to her bed. And when Congress meets, I shall have to go back without her.”
“We shall miss her at the capital.”
Merry took his cue. “Then you intend to go back?”
“Of course. I must preside over the Senate in the fall.”
“I see.” Merry was the least diplomatic of diplomats. He looked at me so blankly that I felt obliged to explain.
“I am not under indictment for murder in Washington City, only in New York state.”
“I see.” He was plainly uncomfortable.
“The indictment against me in New York is of course illegal since the fatal business was transacted in New Jersey.”
“I see.”
“I could of course be indicted for murder in New Jersey, but so far no action has been taken.” Actually, at that very moment, an indictment against me for murder was being prepared in Bergen County while New York state, having tardily consulted the law, changed its indictment of me from murder to that of the misdemeanour of having issued a challenge to a duel.
As subtly as Merry could, he spoke of Senator Pickering. Had I heard from him? As subtly, I indicated that I did not see much hope for the Federalist plan to separate New England from the rest of the union. “To succeed one must be certain of the majority’s support in New England and our friends do not have that support. Also, to succeed, they need New York.”
Merry nodded. “Your defeat, Vice-President, was a grave blow. Without New York …” He stopped. He did not need to say more. It was common knowledge that it was the British minister’s policy to encourage the Federalists, or anyone else, who wanted to break up the union. Because of this policy or passion (there is some evidence that the British government did not share Merry’s loathing of Jefferson), His Excellency and I now faced one another across an unmade bed at Oeller’s Hotel. I noted with some distaste that the vase de nuit had not been emptied.
“You have heard Colonel Williamson’s plan?” Merry placed a lace handkerchief soaked in eau-de-cologne over his nose, and inhaled as voluptuously as any snuff-taker.
“I think the plan reflects the dream of most Americans, to extend our empire west and south.”
“Vice-President, would you be willing to undertake such a conquest?”
“Liberation, Minister! The liberation of a suffering colonial people from Spanish despotism.”
“Of course. Liberation. Of course.”
I moved obliquely. “Next March I step down as vice-president. I have a number of plans, and all involve the west. Naturally, I am tempted by any practical plan for liberating Mexico. I have reason to believe that my friends in Tennessee and Kentucky would rally to me. They hate the Dons. They claim to be attached to me. I believe I could raise a considerable army which I am also in a position to finance.” This was a bold thing to say since I was known to be deeply in debt, but I did believe that I would have access to money for such an expedition since Mexico is every American’s El Dorado and its conquest has an abiding appeal to our gamblers.
“I have been told that you could be in such a position if you chose.”
“Unfortunately, any expedition would need naval support and that is beyond my means and capability.”
“I see.”
“In short, if England were to help me at sea, I can promise you a Mexico free of Spain and free of the United States.” The handkerchief was withdrawn revealing a face foolish with calculation. “A Mexico in permanent alliance with England.” Thus I made my bid.
“I shall report this to His Majesty’s government. I know that the Prime Minister is interested in such a scheme.”
“No doubt you are, too.”
“I?” He looked befuddled. “Yes, of course. That is, I reflect His Majesty’s government.”
“No, Minister. I mean that it might be of interest for you to help—at a distance, naturally—in the liberation of Mexico. The rewards—if such things amuse you—would be considerable.” It is not wise to under-estimate the cupidity of any man.
“My assistance must be very much from afar.” Merry mumbled about his duty to his sovereign but the seed, as they say, was well-planted.
From a near-by room came the whooping of westerners. Merry grimaced; he was never democratically inclined. “It is your president’s clothes I cannot bear,” he used to say with a shudder. “And those down-at-heel slippers!”
“You are most popular, Colonel Burr, at the west.” Merry cleared his throat.
“I have been, I hope, of some use to the people there.”
Merry then made his bid in what sounded to be a rehearsed speech. “Colonel Williamson has led me to believe that you might be interested in placing yourself at the head of the western states in the event that they might wish to dissolve their union with the United States.”
I was startled at Merry’s boldness; not to mention Williamson’s presumption. I was forced to thread my way most delicately through the labyrinth. “Sir, I have never given Colonel Williamson, or anyone else, leave to speak for me in this matter.”
“I am sorry, Sir. I had thought …”
“But it is no
secret that I believe the western states will one day form their own nation centred upon the Mississippi.”
“Do you think this a desirable thing?”
“I express no opinion, except to note that under the Constitution they have every right to secede. My view is identical with that of Mr. Jefferson.”
Merry sneezed into his handkerchief. Blew his nose. Betrayed excitement. He now had a marvellous subject for his next report to the Foreign Ministry. “Surely the President does not want a secession.”
“He claims to be indifferent. In his eyes we are all Americans, easterners or westerners, united or not.”
“I see. I see.”
I returned to my offer. I spoke plainly. “If your government will support me at sea in the liberation of Mexico, I shall most willingly mount an expedition by land.”
The response was swift. “I shall certainly recommend that His Majesty’s government support you. As for the western states …”
“With me at Mexico City, who knows where their eventual allegiance will be?”
I was careful to commit myself in no way to a breaking up of the union. My interests were, first, Mexico; second, Texas; third, the Floridas. I never saw myself as King of Kentucky. Yet at this very moment I was, according to Jefferson, plotting treason.
“You must join Mrs. Merry and me for dinner before you leave Philadelphia.”
“I thought she was ill.”
“Only at Washington City where she suffers from acute Jeffersonitis. Philadelphia does her affliction a world of good.”
“I shall dine with pleasure.” This was sincere. I particularly enjoyed Mrs. Merry’s disdain for our empire. A propos Jefferson’s proud remark that with the addition of the Louisiana Territory the United States was now the second largest nation on earth, she said to me, “Your president is mad! Africa is ever so much larger, and its people ever so much blacker even than the Virginians, while London has rather more white people in it than there are in all of Mr. Jefferson’s ‘empire’! Mark my words, there’ll come a day when you poor wretches will be crying for us to take you back and we won’t, ever!”