The leaders among the Creoles and better class of Americans counted on a speedy escape from this autocratic government, which was confessedly temporary. The terms of the treaty, indeed, encouraged the hope that Louisiana would be admitted at once as a State. The inhabitants of the ceded territory were to be "incorporated into the Union." But Congress gave a different interpretation to these words and dashed all hopes by the act of 1804, which, while it conceded a legislative council, made its members and all officers appointive, and divided the province. A delegation of Creoles went to Washington to protest against this inconsiderate treatment. They bore a petition which contained many stiletto-like thrusts at the President. What about those elemental rights of representation and election which had figured in the glorious contest for freedom? "Do political axioms on the Atlantic become problems when transferred to the shores of the Mississippi?" To such arguments Congress could not remain wholly indifferent. The outcome was a third act (March 2, 1805) which established the usual form of territorial government, an elective legislature, a delegate in Congress, and a Governor appointed by the President. To a people who had counted on statehood these concessions were small pinchbeck. Their irritation was not allayed, and it continued to focus upon Governor Claiborne, the distrusted agent of a government which they neither liked nor respected.
Strange currents and counter-currents ran through the life of this distant province. Casa Calvo and Morales, the former Spanish officials, continued to reside in the city, like spiders at the center of a web of Spanish intrigue; and the threads of their web extended to West Florida, where Governor Folch watched every movement of Americans up and down the Mississippi, and to Texas, where Salcedo, Captain-General of the Internal Provinces of Mexico, waited for overt aggressions from land-hungry American frontiersmen. All these Spanish agents knew that Monroe had left Madrid empty-handed yet still asserting claims that were ill-disguised threats; but none of them knew whether the impending blow would fall upon West Florida or Texas. Then, too, right under their eyes was the Mexican Association, formed for the avowed purpose of collecting information about Mexico which would be useful if the United States should become involved in war with Spain. In the city, also, were adventurous individuals ready for any daring move upon Mexico, where, according to credible reports, a revolution was imminent. The conquest of Mexico was the day-dream of many an adventurer. In his memoir advising Bonaparte to take and hold Louisiana as an impenetrable barrier to Mexico, Pontalba had said with strong conviction: "It is the surest means of destroying forever the bold schemes with which several individuals in the United States never cease filling the newspapers, by designating Louisiana as the highroad to the conquest of Mexico."
Into this web of intrigue walked the late Vice-President of the United States, leisurely journeying through the Southwest in the summer of 1805.
Aaron Burr is one of the enigmas of American politics. Something of the mystery and romance that shroud the evil-doings of certain Italian despots of the age of the Renaissance envelops him. Despite the researches of historians, the tangled web of Burr's conspiracy has never been unraveled. It remains the most fascinating though, perhaps, the least important episode in Jefferson's administration. Yet Burr himself repays study, for his activities touch many sides of contemporary society and illuminate many dark corners in American politics.
According to the principles of eugenics, Burr was well-born, and by all the laws of this pseudo-science should have left an honorable name behind him. His father was a Presbyterian clergyman, sound in the faith, who presided over the infancy of the College of New Jersey; his maternal grandfather was that massive divine, Jonathan Edwards. After graduating at Princeton, Burr began to study law but threw aside his law books on hearing the news of Lexington. He served with distinction under Arnold before Quebec, under Washington in the battle of Long Island, and later at Monmouth, and retired with the rank of lieutenant colonel in 1779. Before the close of the Revolution he had begun the practice of law in New York, and had married the widow of a British army officer; entering politics, he became in turn a member of the State Assembly, Attorney-General, and United States Senator. But a mere enumeration of such details does not tell the story of Burr's life and character. Interwoven with the strands of his public career is a bewildering succession of intrigues and adventures in which women have a conspicuous part, for Burr was a fascinating man and disarmed distrust by avoiding any false assumption of virtue. His marriage, however, proved happy. He adored his wife and fairly worshiped his strikingly beautiful daughter Theodosia.
Burr throve in the atmosphere of intrigue. New York politics afforded his proper milieu. How he ingratiated himself with politicians of high and low degree; how he unlocked the doors to political preferment; how he became one of the first bosses of the city of New York; how he combined public service with private interest; how he organized the voters—no documents disclose. Only now and then the enveloping fog lifts, as, for example, during the memorable election of 1800, when the ignorant voters of the seventh ward, duly drilled and marshaled, carried the city for the Republicans, and not even Colonel Hamilton, riding on his white horse from precinct to precinct, could stay the rout. That election carried New York for Jefferson and made Burr the logical candidate of the party for Vice-President.
These political strokes betoken a brilliant if not always a steady and reliable mind. Burr, it must be said, was not trusted even by his political associates. It is significant that Washington, a keen judge of men, refused to appoint Burr as Minister to France to succeed Morris because he was not convinced of his integrity. And Jefferson shared these misgivings, though the exigencies of politics made him dissemble his feelings. It is significant, also, that Burr was always surrounded by men of more than doubtful intentions—place-hunters and self-seeking politicians, who had the gambler's instinct.
As Vice-President, Burr could not hope to exert much influence upon the Administration, since the office in itself conferred little power and did not even, according to custom, make him a member of the Cabinet; but as Republican boss of New York who had done more than any one man to secure the election of the ticket in 1800, he might reasonably expect Jefferson and his Virginia associates to treat him with consideration in the distribution of patronage. To his intense chagrin, he was ignored; not only ignored but discredited, for Jefferson deliberately allied himself with the Clintons and the Livingstons, the rival factions in New York which were bent upon driving Burr from the party. This treatment filled Burr's heart with malice; but he nursed his wounds in secret and bided his time.
Realizing that he was politically bankrupt, Burr made a hazard of new fortunes in 1804 by offering himself as candidate for Governor of New York, an office then held by George Clinton. Early in the year he had a remarkable interview with Jefferson in which he observed that it was for the interest of the party for him to retire, but that his retirement under existing circumstances would be thought discreditable. He asked "some mark of favor from me," Jefferson wrote in his journal, "which would declare to the world that he retired with my confidence"—an executive appointment, in short. This was tantamount to an offer of peace or war. Jefferson declined to gratify him, and Burr then began an intrigue with the Federalist leaders of New England.
The rise of a Republican party of challenging strength in New England cast Federalist leaders into the deepest gloom. Already troubled by the annexation of Louisiana, which seemed to them to imperil the ascendancy of New England in the Union, they now saw their own ascendancy in New England imperiled. Under the depression of impending disaster, men like Senator Timothy Pickering of Massachusetts and Roger Griswold of Connecticut broached to their New England friends the possibility of a withdrawal from the Union and the formation of a Northern Confederacy. As the confederacy shaped itself in Pickering's imagination, it would of necessity include New York; and the chaotic conditions in New York politics at this time invited intrigue. When, therefore, a group of Burr's friends in the Legislature named him as their candidate for Governor, Pickering and Griswold seized the moment to approach him with their treasonable plans. They gave him to understand that as Governor of New York he would naturally hold a strategic position and could, if he would, take the lead in the secession of the Northern States. Federalist support could be given to him in the approaching election. They would be glad to know his views. But the shifty Burr would not commit himself further than to promise a satisfactory administration. Though the Federalist intriguers would have been glad of more explicit assurances they counted on his vengeful temper and hatred of the Virginia domination at Washington to make him a pliable tool. They were willing to commit the party openly to Burr and trust to events to bind him to their cause.