Memoirs of Aaron Burr, Volume 2.

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I have great anxiety to be employed against Quebec, should an army be
ordered thither, and have letters prepared asking of the president a
brigade in that army. From the support which that request will have,
if not obtained now, I doubt not it will be at the first increase of
the military force, which, if the war be seriously carried on, must be
as soon as Congress meet. Then, be the event what it may, I shall at
least gain something. Adieu.

Yours, with respect and regard,

JOSEPH ALSTON.

The effect upon Burr of this blow may be imagined by those who have
noticed his constant and unceasing anxiety for his grandson, Aaron
Burr Alston. In his intercourse, however, with the world, and in his
business pursuits, there was a promptitude and an apparent
cheerfulness which seemed to indicate a tranquillity of mind. But not
so in his lone and solitary hours. When in the society of a single
friend, if an accidental reference was made to the event, the manly
tear would be seen slowly stealing down his furrowed cheek, until, as
if awakening from a slumber, he would suddenly check those emotions of
the heart, and all would again become subdued, calm, dignified.

During this autumn (1812) Theodosia's health continued to be
precarious. Deep-settled grief, in addition to her protracted disease,
was rapidly wasting her away. She continued to correspond with her
father; but at length, in November, it was determined that she should
join him in New-York. A few short extracts of letters will unfold and
close this melancholy tale.

FROM TIMOTHY GREEN.

Charleston, S. C., December 7, 1812.

I arrived here from New-York on the 28th ult., and on the 29th started
for Columbia. Mr. Alston seemed rather hurt that you should conceive
it necessary to send a person here, as he or one of his brothers would
attend Mrs. Alston to New-York. I told him you had some opinion of my
medical talents; that you had learned your daughter was in a low state
of health, and required unusual attention, and medical attention on
her voyage; that I had torn myself from my family to perform this
service for my friend. He said that he was inclined to charter a
vessel to take her on. I informed him that I should return to
Charleston, where I should remain a day or two, and then proceed to
Georgetown (S. C.) and wait his arrival.

Georgetown, S. C., December 22, 1812.

I have engaged a passage to New-York for your daughter in a pilot-boat
that has been out privateering, but has come in here, and is refitting
merely to get to New-York. My only fears are that Governor Alston may
think the mode of conveyance too undignified, and object to it; but
Mrs. Alston is fully bent on going. You must not be surprised to see
her very low, feeble, and emaciated. Her complaint is an almost
incessant nervous fever. We shall sail in about eight days.

TIMOTHY GREEN.

FROM JOSEPH ALSTON TO THEODOSIA.

Columbia, S. C., January 15, 1813.

Another mail, and still no letter! I hear, too, rumours of a gale off
Cape Hatteras the beginning of the month! The state of my mind is
dreadful. Let no man, wretched as he may be, presume to think himself
beyond the reach of another blow. I shall count the hours till noon
to-morrow. If I do not hear then, there will be no hope till Tuesday.
To feelings like mine, what an interval! May God grant me one word
from you to-morrow. Adieu. All that I have left of heart is yours. All
my prayers are for your safety and well-being.

January 19, 1813.

Forebodings! wretched, heart-rending forebodings distract my mind. I
may no longer have a wife; and yet my impatient restlessness addresses
her a letter. To-morrow will be three weeks since our separation, and
not yet one line. Gracious God! for what am I reserved?

JOSEPH ALSTON.

FROM JOSEPH ALSTON TO COL. BURR.

Columbia, January 19, 1813.

To-morrow will be three weeks since, in obedience to your wishes,
Theodosia left me. It is three weeks, and not yet one line from her.
My mind is tortured. I wrote you on the 29th ult., the day before
Theo. sailed, that on the next day she would embark in the privateer
_Patriot_, a pilot-boat-built schooner, commanded by Captain
Overstocks, with an old New-York pilot as sailing-master. The vessel
had dismissed her crew, and was returning home with her guns under
deck. Her reputed swiftness in sailing inspired such confidence of a
voyage of not more than five or six days, that the three weeks without
a letter fill me with an unhappiness--a wretchedness I can neither
describe nor conquer. Gracious God! Is my wife, too, taken from me? I
do not know why I write, but I feel that I am miserable.

Charleston, January 31, 1813.

A call of business to this place for a few days occasioned your letter
of the 20th not to be received till this morning. Not a moment is lost
in replying to it. Yet wherefore? You ask of me to relieve your
suspense. Alas! it was to you I looked for similar relief. I have
written you twice since my letter of December 29. I can add nothing to
the information then given. I parted with our Theo. near the bar about
noon on Thursday, the last of December. The wind was moderate and
fair. She was in the pilot-boat-built schooner Patriot, Captain
Overstocks, with an experienced New-York pilot, Coon, as
sailing-master. This vessel, the same which had been sent by
government last summer in pursuit of Commodore Rodgers's squadron, had
been selected as one which, from her reputed excellence and swiftness
in sailing, would ensure a passage of not more than five or six days.
From that moment I have heard nothing of the schooner nor my wife. I
have been the prey of feelings which you only can imagine. When I
turned from the grave of my boy I deemed myself no longer vulnerable.
Misfortune had no more a blow for me. I was wrong. It is true, I no
longer feel, I never shall feel as I was wont; but I have been taught
that there was still one being in whom I was inexpressibly interested.
I have in vain endeavoured to build upon the hope of long passage.
Thirty days are decisive. My wife is _either captured or lost_. What a
destiny is mine! and I live under it, engage in business, appear to
the world as though all was tranquil, easy. 'Tis so, but it cannot
endure. A short time since, and the idea of capture would have been
the source of painful, terrible apprehension; it now furnishes me the
only ray of comfort, or rather of hope, that I have. Each mail is
anticipated with impatient, yet fearful and appalling anxiety. Should
you hear aught relative to the object of this our common solicitude,
do not, I pray, forget me.

JOSEPH ALSTON.

FROM JOSEPH ALSTON.

February 25, 1813.

Your letter of the 10th, my friend, is received. This assurance of my
fate was not wanting. Authentic accounts from Bermuda and Nassau, as
late as January 30, connected with your letter from New-York of the
28th, had already forced upon me the dreadful conviction that we had
no more to hope. Without this victim, too, the desolation would not
have been complete. My boy--my wife--gone, both! This, then, is the
end of all the hopes we had formed. You may well observe that you feel
severed from the human race. She was the last tie that bound us to the
species. What have we left? In surviving the 30th of June [1] I
thought I could meet all other afflictions with ease, yet I have
staggered under this in a manner that I am glad had not a witness.
Your letter of January 28 was not received till February 9. The Oaks,
for some months visited only at intervals, when the feelings the world
thought gone by were not to be controlled, was the asylum I sought. It
was there, in the chamber of my wife, where every thing was disposed
as usual; with the clothes, the books, the play-things of my boy
around me, that I sustained this second shock, doubled in a manner
that I could not account for. My son seemed to have been reanimated,
to have been restored to me, and to have just perished again with his
mother. It was the loss of both pressing upon me at the same moment.

Should it be my misfortune to live a Century, the 30th of June and the
10th of February are so impressed upon my mind that they will always
seem to have just passed. I visited the grave of my boy. The little
plans we had all three formed rushed upon my memory. Where now was the
boy? The mother I cherished with so much pride? I felt like the very
spirit of desolation. If it had not been for a kind of stupefaction
and confusion of mind which followed, God knows how I should have
borne it. Oh, my friend, if there be such a thing as the sublime of
misery, it is for us that it has been reserved.

You are the only person in the world with whom I can commune on this
subject; for you are the only person whose feelings can have any
community with mine. You knew those we loved. With you, therefore, it
will be no weakness to feel their loss. Here, none knew them; none
valued them as they deserved. The talents of my boy, his rare
elevation of character, his already extensive reputation for so early
an age, made his death regretted by the pride of my family; but,
though certain of the loss of my not less admirable wife, they seem to
consider it like the loss of an ordinary woman. Alas! they know
nothing of my heart. They never have known any thing of it. Yet, after
all, he is a poor actor who cannot sustain his little hour upon the
stage, be his part what it may. But the man who has been deemed worthy
of the heart of _Theodosia Burr_, and who has felt what it was to be
blessed with such a woman's, will never forget his elevation.

JOSEPH ALSTON.

This distressing correspondence between Colonel Burr and Governor
Alston was continued during the year 1813; but the unfortunate
Theodosia was never again heard of, except in idle rumours and
exaggerated tales of her capture and murder by pirates. These reports,
it is believed, were without foundation. The schooner on board which
she had taken passage probably foundered, and every soul perished in a
heavy gale which was experienced along our whole coast a few days
after her departure from Georgetown.

Colonel Burr, on his return to the United States, mingled but little
in society. He only knew those who first recognised him. In the
ordinary conflicts of the political parties of the day he seemed to
feel but little interest, and rarely interfered. From them he sought
neither honour nor emolument. He pursued his profession, however, with
great ardour and some success; but was continually embarrassed, and
sometimes experienced great difficulty from the pressure of his old
debts. The following extract will afford some general idea of his
situation.

TO JOSEPH ALSTON.

New-York, October 16, 1815.

I have found it so difficult to answer that part of your letter which
regards myself and my concerns, that it has been deferred, though
often in my mind. At some other time I may give you, in detail, a
sketch of the sad period which has elapsed since my return. For the
present, it will suffice to say that my business affords me a decent
support. If I had not been interrupted in the career which I began, I
should, before this, have paid all my debts and been at ease.

My old creditors (principally the holders of the Mexican debts) came
upon me last winter with vindictive fury. I was held to bail in large
sums, and saw no probability of keeping out of prison for six months.
This danger is still menacing, but not quite so imminent. I shall
neither borrow nor receive from any one, not even from you. I have
determined not to begin to pay unless I see a prospect of paying all.

A. BURR.

When any great political question agitated the country, such as a
presidential election, Mr. Burr seemed to feel it his duty to express
his opinion to those whom he supposed confided in his discernment or
his patriotism. On these occasions he spake with great freedom and
boldness. Many of his letters exhibit all that sagacity and talent for
which he was so pre-eminently distinguished. It has been seen by the
extract from Blennerhassett's private journal, that he did not
complain in 1807 of any act done by General Andrew Jackson. The
following will show that he remained under the influence of similar
feelings in 1815.

TO GOVERNOR JOSEPH ALSTON.

New-York, November 20, 1815.

A congressional caucus will, in the course of the ensuing month,
nominate James Monroe for President of the United States, and will
call on all good republicans to support the nomination.

Whether we consider the measure itself, the character and talents of
the man, or the state whence he comes, this nomination is equally
exceptionable and odious.

I have often heard your opinion of these congressional nominations.
They are hostile to all freedom and independence of suffrage. A
certain junto of actual and factitious Virginians, having had
possession of the government for twenty-four years, consider the
United States as their property, and, by bawling "Support the
Administration," have so long succeeded in duping the republican
public. One of their principal arts, and which has been systematically
taught by Jefferson, is that of promoting state dissensions, not
between republican and federal--that would do them no good--but
schisms in the republican party. By looking round you will see how the
attention of leading men in the different states has thus been turned
from general and _state_ politics. Let not this disgraceful domination
continue.

Independently of the manner of the nomination and the location of the
candidate, the man himself is one of the most improper and incompetent
that could be selected. Naturally dull and stupid; extremely
illiterate; indecisive to a degree that would be incredible to one who
did not know him; pusillanimous, and, of course, hypocritical; has no
opinion on any subject, and will be always under the government of the
worst men; pretends, as I am told, to some knowledge of military
matters, but never commanded a platoon, nor was ever fit to command
one. "_He served in the Revolutionary War!_"--that is, he acted a
short time as aid-de-camp to Lord Stirling, who was regularly
********. Monroe's whole duty was to fill his lordship's tankard, and
hear, with indications of admiration, his lordship's long stories
about himself. Such is Monroe's military experience. I was with my
regiment in the same division at the time. As a lawyer, Monroe was far
below mediocrity.

He never rose to the honour of trying a cause of the value of a
hundred pounds. This is a character exactly suited to the views of the
Virginia junto.

To this junto you have twice sacrificed yourself, and what have you
got by it? Their hatred and abhorrence. Did you ever know them to
countenance a man of talents and independence? Never--nor ever will.

It is time that you manifested that you had some individual character;
some opinion of your own; some influence to support that opinion. Make
them fear you, and they will be at your feet. Thus far they have
reason to believe that you fear them.

The moment is extremely auspicious for breaking down this degrading
system. The best citizens of our country acknowledge the feebleness of
our administration. They acknowledge that offices are bestowed merely
to preserve power, and without the smallest regard to fitness. If,
then, there be a man in the United States of firmness and decision,
and having standing enough to afford even a hope of success, it is
your duty to hold him up to public view: that man is _Andrew Jackson_.
Nothing is wanting but a respectable nomination, made before the
proclamation of the Virginia caucus, and _Jackson's_ success is
inevitable.

If this project should accord with your views, I could wish to see
_you_ prominent in the execution of it. It must be known to be _your_
work. Whether a formal and open nomination should now be made, or
whether you should, for the present, content yourself with barely
denouncing, by a joint resolution of both houses of your legislature,
congressional caucuses and nominations, you only can judge. One
consideration inclines me to hesitate about the policy of a present
nomination. It is this--that Jackson ought first to be admonished to
be passive: for, the moment he shall be announced as a candidate, he
will be assailed by the Virginia junto with menaces, and with
insidious promises of boons and favours. _There is danger that Jackson
might be wrought upon by such practices_. If an open nomination be
made, an express should be instantly sent to him.

This suggestion has not arisen from any exclusive attachment to
Jackson. The object is to break down this vile combination which rules
and degrades the United States. If you should think that any other man
could be held up with better prospect of success, name that man. I
know of no such. But the business must be accomplished, and on this
occasion, and by you. So long as the present system prevails, you will
be struggling against wind and tide to preserve a precarious
influence. You will never be forgiven for the crime of having talents
and independence.

Exhibit yourself, then, and emerge from this state of nullity. You owe
it to yourself, you owe it to me, you owe it to your country, you owe
it to the memory of the dead.

I have talked of this matter to your late secretary, but he has not
seen this letter.

A. BURR.

Your secretary was to have delivered this personally, but has changed
his course on hearing that Jackson is on his way to Washington. If you
should have any confidential friend among the members of Congress from
your state, charge him to caution Jackson against the perfidious
caresses with which he will be overwhelmed at Washington.

A. B.

New-York, December 11, 1815.

A copy of the preceding went under cover to Dr. Wragg. Since that date
things are wonderfully advanced, as your secretary will write or tell
you. These will require a written message (letter) from yourself and
others (or yourself alone, but three names would look more formal),
advising Jackson what is doing; that communications have been had with
the Northern states, requiring him only to be passive, and asking from
him a list of persons in the Western states to whom you may address
your letters.

A. BURR.

FROM JOSEPH ALSTON.

Charleston, February 16, 1816.

Your letter of the 20th of November, entrusted to Mr. Phillips, was
received through the postoffice about the middle of last month. It
was, of course, too late, had circumstances been ever so favourable,
to be acted upon in the manner proposed. Had it even been received,
however, in due season, it would have found me utterly incapable of
exertion. On my way to Columbia, in November, I had another severe
attack of illness, which rendered absolutely impracticable either the
immediate prosecution of my journey or my attendance during the
session of the legislature. As soon as I was able to bear the motion
of a carriage, I was brought by short stages to this place, where I
have been confined ever since. Yesterday was the first time for two
months that I have been out of the house. So much for the miserable
remnant of myself.

With regard to the subject of your letter of the 20th of November, I
fully coincide with you in sentiment; but the spirit, the energy, the
health necessary to give practical effect to sentiment, are all gone.
I feel too much alone, too entirely unconnected with the world, to
take much interest in any thing. Yet, without the smallest solicitude
about the result, I shall certainly not fail to discharge my public
duty, whenever the opportunity occurs, by giving a very strong and
frank expression of my opinion on the subject suggested.

Vanderlyn, I perceive from the papers, has returned to New-York.
Nothing, I trust, has prevented his bringing back the portrait [2] you
left with him. Let me again entreat you to use your influence with him
in procuring me a good copy. I received some days since, through the
kindness of Mr. John B. Prevost, a miniature, which appears to have
been taken from Vanderlyn's portrait. The execution is good, but in
expression it is by no means equal to the portrait. There was a small
portrait of Natalie which you took with you, of which, if Vanderlyn
embraces that kind of painting in his present plan, I should be glad
also to obtain of him a copy. The original picture, I think, was the
best portrait I ever saw.

Yours affectionately,

JOSEPH ALSTON.

In this depressed state of mind and debilitated state of body Governor
Alston remained until summer, when he died. Whatever may have been
appearances to the contrary, it is highly probable that, after the
death of his son and wife, he never enjoyed happiness. Their loss
continually preyed upon him. To Colonel Burr, and, it would seem, to
him alone, he unbosomed himself. All his letters breathe a deep and
settled gloom, bordering on despondency--a gloom which time could not
subdue or change.

FROM WILLIAM A. ALSTON.

Rosehill, near Georgetown, October 4, 1916.

SIR,

It was enjoined on me, and my brother John A. Alston, verbally, by our
late brother Joseph Alston, to send a certain trunk to you, which he
never had the courage to open, containing, as he said, some things
that belonged to your daughter Theodosia; and to send a certain
collection of other articles (of dress, I believe), that had also been
hers, to the eldest daughter of Mr. J. B. Prevost. Pray point you out
the way, sir, in which our trust is to be executed.

In his will, of which a copy shall be sent you if desired, my brother
has given all demands up to you that he had against you. Very
respectfully,

WILLIAM A. ALSTON.

P. S. These are alone the words relating to you in the will: "To my
father-in-law, Aaron Burr, I give, devise, and bequeath all demands I
may have against him, whether by judgment or otherwise."

The trunk and other articles above referred to were subsequently
transmitted to Colonel Burr. Among the private papers of Theodosia
there are some fragments and scraps of much interest. In the summer of
1805 she was dangerously ill, and she appears, from the following
letter, to have been greatly depressed in mind.

FROM THEODOSIA TO JOSEPH ALSTON.

August 6, 1805.

Whether it is the effect of extreme debility and disordered nerves, or
whether it is really presentiment, the existence of which I have been
often told of, and always doubted, I cannot tell; but something
whispers me that my end approaches. In vain I reason with myself; in
vain I occupy my mind, and seek to fix my attention on other subjects
; there is about me that dreadful heaviness and sinking of the heart,
that awful foreboding, of which it is impossible to divest myself.
Perhaps I am now standing on the brink of eternity; and, ere I plunge
in the fearful abyss, I have some few requests to make.

I wish your sisters (one of them, it is immaterial which) would select
from my clothes certain things which they will easily perceive
belonged to my mother. These, with whatever lace they find in a large
trunk in a garret-room of the Oaks house, added to a little satinwood
box (the largest, and having a lock and key), and a black satin
embroidered box, with a pincushion; all these things I wish they would
put together in one trunk, and send them to Frederic, with the
enclosed letter. I prefer him, because Bartow's wife would have little
respect for what, however trifling it may appear, I nevertheless deem
sacred.

I beg Sister Maria will accept of my watch-ring. She will find a
locket which she gave me, containing the hair of her mother; she had
better take it. If the lace in my wardrobe at the Oaks will be of any
use to Charlotte, I beg she will take it, or any thing else she
wishes. My heart is with those dear amiable sisters, to give them
something worth preserving in recollection of me; but they know that a
warm friendship is all I have to give.

Return to mamma the eagle she gave me. Should an opportunity to
Catharine Brown ever occur, send her a pearl necklace, a small diamond
ring, a little pair of coral tablets, which are among my trinkets at
the Oaks. I pray you, my dear husband, send Bartow's daughter some
present for me, and to himself and Frederic a lock of my hair. Return
Natalie the little desk she gave me, accompanied by assurances of my
affectionate recollection, and a ring of my hair. Remember me to
Sally, who is truly amiable, and whom I sincerely esteem.

I beg, also, you will write immediately to New-York, for warding some
money for the comfortable support of _Peggy_ until my father can
provide for her. Do not permit grief at the loss of me to render you
forgetful of this, for the poor creature may expire of want in the
mean time. I beg this may be attended to without delay.

To you, my beloved, I leave our child; the child of my bosom, who was
once a part of myself, and from whom I shall shortly be separated by
the cold grave. You love him now; henceforth love him for me also. And
oh, my husband, attend to this last prayer of a doting mother. Never,
never listen to what any other person tells you of him. Be yourself
his judge on all occasions. He has faults; see them, and correct them
yourself. Desist not an instant from your endeavours to secure his
confidence. It is a work which requires as much uniformity of conduct
as warmth of affection towards him. I know, my beloved, that you can
perceive what is right on this subject as on every other. But
recollect, these are the last words I can ever utter. It will
tranquillize my last moments to have disburdened myself of them.

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