“Why doesn’t anyone stop them?” I asked, genuinely shocked.
“Oh, occasionally they do,” he said cynically. “But recall that they are all gentlemen, and in theory capable of regulating themselves. There will always be factions in any group of men, but the divide is so great now that I fear for the very government itself, let alone the army.”
I’d seldom seen him in this black a mood, nor could I think of much to say that could dispel it. “Could General Washington be persuaded to return?” I asked. “No one would dare counter him.”
“I would not presume upon his noble nature to ask,” Alexander said. “You haven’t seen him in several years, dearest. He’s much altered with age, much diminished, and though nothing will change his innate civility, he no longer possesses either the inclination or the stamina for taming jackals.”
“But he does still believe in the army, doesn’t he?” I asked. Just as I knew how much the army meant to Alexander, I was also aware that without General Washington’s leadership, it would be doomed to fail. “Surely you have his support.”
He hesitated, clearly thinking how best to answer, his distinctive profile silhouetted against the fire’s light.
“It’s not so much that he has withdrawn his support,” he said, “but rather he no longer perceives an army to be necessary. The antagonism that the French demonstrated earlier this year has faded to nothingness, and there are rumors that whatever differences may have existed will soon be resolved. With no threat of war or invasion, there’s no need for an army. And that will be an end to it.”
In this last year, I’d become accustomed to hearing him speak of the lack of support for the army with bitterness, even anger, but this resignation was new. He wasn’t ordinarily given to despondency, and it worried me. I rose from my chair and went to stand behind him, slipping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek against his back. He covered my hand with his own, finding comfort in giving it.
“It seems that I’m no longer fit for the military life,” he said ruefully. “To be here with you and the children suits me much better.”
“I’m sorry, my dearest,” I said gently. “I know how much you wished the military force to succeed, but even you cannot make an army by yourself.”
“No, I cannot,” he admitted with candor that was rare for him. “I still believe in the army, and I shall continue until I am released from my duties. I expect, however, that Adams will put an end to the endeavor as soon as he can from spite toward me.”
The spite lasted longer than I ever expected. By sheer force of will, Alexander continued to push the army forward with less and less support from Congress. General Washington himself urged him to step away, but my husband would not quit. All his life he had succeeded by hard work and his own innate brilliance, and it was, I think, inconceivable to him that he should fail at this, a project that had held such promise to him.
Yet as was always the way with Alexander, the army was not his only endeavor. Just as the last severe round of yellow fever had inspired me toward more charitable works, the same vile disease had led to the search for a better, more healthy source of water for the city, impure water being considered the major cause of yellow fever.
A plan was devised to bring fresh water from Bronx River, and the various city committees and officials were so pleased that they granted all manner of incentives and allowances to encourage it. The plan was called the Manhattan Company, and was supported by many of the city’s most illustrious gentlemen. These naturally included my husband and Mr. Church, but also Colonel Burr, who was the company’s leader.
To my considerable surprise, this time my husband saw the colonel as an ally, not an adversary.
“It’s a most welcome scheme,” he said. “If Burr can bring it all to completion, then he will have accomplished at least one honorable act in his life.”
For Alexander it was an honorable act, too, and he and I both viewed it as related to my work with the Widows Society. With his usual enthusiasm, he first produced a lengthy and detailed report on the region’s water supplies that he and the colonel presented to the mayor for approval. Next, he brought an act before the state legislature for approval. I was heartened to see him so cheerfully employed, doubly so because I was once again with child, and to have Alexander happy meant my own spirits were more agreeable, too.
Thanks to my husband’s persuasive talents, the act was easily passed by the legislature, and by April the Manhattan Company was a legal entity, signed into being by the governor. We all rejoiced, and I held a grand celebration at our house for all who had toiled so selflessly for the public good.
But before long, it became clear that the Manhattan Company had been designed primarily for the exclusive benefit of Colonel Burr and his friends, not the public. An over-looked clause in the act—carefully inserted by the colonel—permitted the Company to engage in all manner of business beyond providing water. Soon the Colonel announced the true plan for the Manhattan Company: to launch a bank that would cater exclusively to the needs of Democratic-Republican merchants, and rival both the Bank of New York and the Bank of the United States, institutions dominated by the Federalists, and initially conceived by Alexander. The new bank was launched, and the plan to bring fresh water to the city was abandoned entirely, and there was no legal recourse to undo any of it.
As can be imagined, Alexander was furious. He had not only succumbed to Colonel Burr’s false promises, but he’d been duped into doing much of the legal work that masked the colonel’s true purposes.
“The man has no conscience, no morals, no beliefs,” Alexander stormed. “He has tricked us all, and displayed his complete lack of character by creating an institution that was completely unnecessary, and will serve only to extend him for credit for his own personal extravagances—which, being the worst sort of spendthrift, he most desperately needs.”
The colonel’s extravagances were widely known; his house, Richmond Hill, was one of the finest in the city, and he denied himself nothing (including, as Angelica informed me, a veritable parade of beautiful and wanton mistresses).
“Does this mean there will be no fresh water for the city?” I innocently asked, thinking of my widows and children whose lives had been so altered by impure water and yellow fever.
“None at all,” Alexander declared with fresh outrage. “Piping in water was all a ruse, and I doubt from the first Burr ever intended it. He is a monster, Betsey, the worst sort of rogue who deserves to be publicly whipped for his audacity.”
I heard the too-familiar edge in my husband’s voice, enough to make me wary.