“Do not even consider it, Alexander, not even for a moment,” I said as firmly as I could. “It is not your place to issue public whippings, even to Colonel Burr.”
He sighed restlessly, enough to prove he had in fact considered doing exactly that. “Oh, I won’t, Betsey,” he said. “You have my word. He’s insulted the entire city more than just me. But I wish someone would take Burr to task for what he has done.”
Mercifully, he kept his word to me. But Colonel Burr did not escape entirely. When his actions became public, New York voters took notice, and the colonel lost his seat in the state legislature. That my husband helped this loss along with numerous well-placed conversations and letters in newspapers was most likely, but not to the degree that Colonel Burr blamed after the election. I believed it more a case of a wicked man finally being held accountable for what he’d done, and being punished for it.
But that wasn’t all. Later that summer, at a private dinner attended by us, the Churches, and a number of others, Mr. Church boldly accused Colonel Burr of bribery and a number of other misdeeds. He made these accusations decisively, and loudly, too, on account of having had his share of wine. No one at the table thought much of his words, it all being the truth, but in some manner his comments were repeated to the colonel, who challenged Mr. Church to an “interview” in New Jersey, where such affairs took place.
Needless to say, Angelica and I were not informed of any of this until after the event. Gentlemen will keep their secrets, especially the deadly, dangerous ones. I’m certain Alexander knew, but also knew better than to tell me.
But Mr. Church himself was not so reticent. I was with Angelica in her bedchamber, seeing a new hat that she’d just bought, when her husband came upstairs, his face flushed with high spirits.
“That was a good morning’s work,” he announced after he’d greeted us both. “You would’ve delighted in my marksmanship, Angelica. My shot clipped the button from the very breast on his coat, neat as can be, while his was so wide of the mark that it’s likely still flying through the clouds.”
Angelica frowned, the frothy new hat still in her hand.
“What nonsense is this, John?” she asked, though I suspected she might already have guessed, as had I. “What are you saying?”
His smile was wide with smug satisfaction. “That I met that scoundrel Burr on the field of honor in New Jersey, and easily got the better of him.”
He had, too, though according to Alexander he also admitted afterwards that he’d no real proof that the colonel had accepted bribes. The duel and Mr. Church’s superior marksmanship—as well as Colonel Burr’s deplorable shot—were all the talk of New York for perhaps a week, and then forgotten, as they so often were.
In less than a month, thanks to Colonel Burr’s greed, yellow fever once again returned to New York City.
CHAPTER 23
New York City, New York
September 1799
The end of one century and the beginning of another is a momentous thing, a special time that demands reflection and consideration. The papers were full of such discussions, of all that had happened in our country in the last hundred years, and what might lie in store in our future. Likewise the sermons from various pulpits could not refrain from imparting special significance to the coming century, with cautionary warnings balanced by rich promises.
Alexander and I were much the same, I suppose, for the final months of 1799 marked the end of some things in our lives, and the beginnings of others.
In September, Alexander learned that President Adams had gathered his cabinet together, and approved a peace settlement with France that went against all current Federalist policies. The latest outbreak of yellow fever had sent Congress scuttling away from Philadelphia, and the president and cabinet were meeting in a boardinghouse in Trenton.
Hoping to make one final plea for the necessity of the army (and in the process try to convince the president not to make peace with France), Alexander interrupted the cabinet meeting to demand to speak to the president. I do not know exactly what was said between them; I doubt that even the two men themselves did, for apparently tempers ran so high that those outside the room feared that they would come to blows. When Alexander returned home afterward, all he would admit was that the peace would be signed, and that the army would be shut down. Both those things had already seemed inevitable, and I wasn’t surprised. But whatever was said on that autumn morning sealed their hatred forever with a bitterness that lingered between Alexander and Mr. Adams long past the grave.
In November Alexander and I were cheered by the arrival of little Elizabeth Holly Hamilton, our seventh child, but only our second girl. Angelica was overjoyed to have a sister after so many brothers, and I was, too.
But even the joy of a new baby could not combat the sad news that arrived only a few weeks later. General Washington had gone out riding to inspect his properties on a cold, wet day. He’d taken a bad chill, and had dined without pausing to remove his wet clothes. His developed a putrid quinsy of the throat, and died two days later.
His unexpected death shocked Alexander. I doubt there was any other gentleman in the present government who was closer to the first president than my husband, nor who grieved him more deeply. My husband had lost much more than a former commander, a president, and a friend. Over the years, he’d also depended on the great man as something of a second father, and certainly a mentor, even a protector. President Washington had been one of the first to see Alexander’s enormous talents, and had been able to make the best use of them of anyone. We wept together when we learned of his death, for the man himself and for the times that were now forever gone.