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CHAPTER II

A SHRINE OF LIBERTY

THE light from the great candelabrum fell upon the wine in the glass and cast a blood-red shadow upon the damask tablecloth beneath. The wineglass was lifted high above his head and the holder uttered in French the sentiment, "To the memory of those brave Frenchmen who died in defence of liberty, and to secure the preservation of human rights."

As those words, spoken in an impassioned manner, fell from the lips of the speaker, his hearers arose to their feet with one accord and the toast was drunk standing. The guests resumed their seats. The gentleman who responded to the toast also spoke in French, and gave a dramatic recital of those terrible events, which, some years before, had taken place in the fair land of France and had been followed by that Reign of Terror, at the contemplation of which the whole civilized world had stood aghast. The sentiments of the after-dinner orator were loudly applauded and it was evident that the minds of his auditors were in full accord with the sentiments which he expressed. But to this apparent unanimity there was one notable exception. A gentleman who sat at the right hand of the host had not arisen when the toast was proposed, and the wine remained untasted in his glass.

The occasion was a merry dinner party given by the owner of the old colonial mansion, known as Richmond Hill, to some of his New York friends and to some

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visitors from France who were his guests while in this country.

At the head of the table sat a man small in stature and slight in figure, but with a face finely cut and almost classic in its mold. From beneath his eyebrows gleamed a pair of remarkable eyes: one moment bright and piercing; the next, influenced by sympathy, full of a deep and tender light. No matter how they might look at the beholder, the latter could not but acknowledge their beauty, and ineffectually try to withstand the fire or charm of them. His hair, brushed backward, disclosing a very wide forehead, was shaped at the back into a peruke. His coat, cut in the fashion of a century ago, was of black velvet, as was also his long waistcoat above which was seen a ruffled shirtfront, while similar ruffles adorned the wrists. The knee-breeches were also of black velvet, the stockings of black silk, while upon the tops of his low shoes he wore the silver buckles which were considered so appropriate and fashionable by our ancestors.

At the other end of the table, placed in an armchair, could be seen a portrait of a young and beautiful woman, the daughter of the house. One could easily infer from this that the one of whom it was a counterfeit presentment was unable to be present, and that the father had placed it there so that he could look upon the picture if not upon the face he loved so well.

The host was Aaron Burr, Vice-President of the United States. The oil painting was that of his daughter Theodosia, wife of Joseph Alston of South Carolina, destined at a future day to become governor of that State.

Toast after toast was proposed and each was followed by an appropriate speech.

The conversation during the enjoyment of the sumptuous repast which had preceded the time devoted

to toasts and speechmaking was largely in French; spirited, bright, witty one moment, scientific the next, touching upon literary matters, then upon music or art, and then suddenly descending, or rising, into badinage.

It was midnight before the convivial party dispersed to their homes, carrying with them pleasant memories of a most enjoyable evening.

Colonel Burr, after their departure, invited his guests from France, Colonel DeVigny and M. Romaine, to accompany him to his library. There cordials, eau-de-vie, and cigars were served, and conversation was prolonged far into the morning hours.

"You have a fine estate here, Colonel Burr," said Colonel DeVigny. "I notice that your grounds are splendidly laid out, and the river view is magnificent.'

"Yes," assented Burr; "yes, before I had sufficient money to buy it I used to come and look at it, and wonder whether I should ever become wealthy enough to own it."

"Such a house must have an interesting history connected with it," remarked M. Romaine. "I should be delighted to hear them, if you can give us the particulars."

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'In order that you may fully understand," replied Burr, "I must go back quite a period of time.

"In the days of old New York, in what was then the centre of the city, near which Canal Street is now located, was a large fresh-water pond. At certain seasons of the year this pond became stagnant and the effluvia which arose therefrom caused much annoyance to those living near the pond and much sickness in their families.

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Finally, Peter Rutgers offered to fill in the pond if the city would give him the land covered with water, amounting to about seventy acres. This was agreed to. Rutgers never derived any pecuniary benefit from

this transaction, but from it a great fortune fell to Leonard Lispenard, who, later, married his daughter." "M. Rutgers was fortunate in having a daughter so as to keep the money in the family," remarked Colonel DeVigny.

Colonel Burr smiled, and continued: "The land that had been filled in was known as the Lispenard Meadows. On the western side, near the Hudson River, were two small elevations or hills on one of which this house was erected." Burr lighted a fresh cigar, then continued his story.

"During the siege of New York by the British, in 1776, General Washington made this house his headquarters. Near the river, on what is now a part of this estate, stood a public house kept by an Englishman, who was allowed to continue his business under strict surveillance by the military guard. Despite their vigilance a plot was hatched there, having for its object the abduction of General Washington, it being the opinion of the British military authorities that with his capture the Rebellion would fall to pieces."

"And how was the plot frustrated?" cried M. Romaine, evidently greatly interested.

"By a peculiar chain of circumstances," Burr responded. I was aide-de-camp on the staff of General Israel Putnam, whose headquarters were located at No. 1 Broadway in this city. A young English girl, not more than fourteen years of age, named Margaret Moncrieffe, the daughter of a British colonel, was held by us as hostage and was ordered by General Washington to reside in General Putnam's family. I became convinced that she was conveying intelligence to the enemy and I wrote a letter to General Washington informing him of my suspicions. By his orders, she was at once sent out of the city. The chain of circumstances was followed up and it was discovered that the mayor of the city, who was a Tory, and Governor

Tryon, the British commander, who made his headquarters on board the Duchess of Gordon, a British man-of-war lying below here in the river, were implicated in the plot."

"And were you publicly thanked by the commanderin-chief?" asked DeVigny.

"Not by name," said Burr, somewhat abruptly, and he thought of the manner in which his name had been coupled with that of the young lady in question.

Without waiting for further inquiries upon that point, he resumed his story.

'It was in this house that John Adams resided while he was Vice-President of the United States. From that time until I purchased it I am not acquainted with the names or social position of its occupants."

"We are much indebted to you for this interesting knowledge," said M. Romaine, and Colonel Burr assured his guests that it had been a pleasure to supply the information.

"But who was that gentleman," asked Colonel DeVigny, "who left his wine untasted and who evidently found our sentiments of sympathy with the French Republic incompatible with those maintained by himself?"

"That was General Alexander Hamilton, one of our great political leaders, and a prominent member of the New York bar," Burr responded.

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What kind of man is he?" inquired M. Romaine. "I mean, is he American born or is he an Englishman who has made this his adopted country?"

"You have hit very near the truth," Burr replied. "I make it a rule not to speak to my own countrymen about my political opponents or legal antagonists, but, as you are strangers here, I will make an exception in your case, only premising that the gentleman concerning whom you have inquired is my most determined opponent both in politics and at the bar."