“You once marveled at my Hamilton moderation--wondered that I did not stop his slanders with convincing lead?”
“You shall wonder no longer, my friend. The hour of his death is about to strike.”
Van Ness breaks into a gale of protest. Hamilton, beaten, disgraced, deposed, is in political exile! Aaron, powerful, victorious, is on the crest of fortune! There is no fairness, no equality in an exchange of shots under such circumstances! Thus runs the opposition of Van Ness.
“In short,” he concludes, “it would be a fight downhill--a fight that you, in justice to yourself, have no right to make. Who is Alexander Hamilton? Nobody--a beaten nobody! Who is Aaron Burr? The second officer of the nation, on his sure way to a White House! Let me say, sir, that you must not risk so much against so little.”
“There is no risk; for I shall kill the man. I shall live and he shall die.”
“Cannot you see? There is the White House! Adams went from the Vice-Presidency to the Presidency; Jefferson went from the Vice-Presidency to the Presidency; you will do the same. It’s as though the White House were already yours. And you would throw it away for a shot at this broken, beaten, disregarded man! For let me tell you, sir; kill Hamilton and you kill your chance of being President. No one may hope to go into the White House on the back of a duel.”
About Aaron’s mouth twinkles a pale smile. It lights up his face with a cold dimness, as a will-o’-the-wisp lights up the midnight blackness of a wood.
“You have a memory only for what I lose. You forget what I gain.”
“Ay, friend, what I gain. I shall gain vengeance; and I would sooner be revenged than be President.”
“Now this is midsummer madness!” wails Van Ness. “To throw away a career such as yours is simple frenzy!”
“I do not throw away a career; I begin one.”
Van Ness stares; Aaron goes slowly on, as though he desires every word to make an impression.
“Listen, my friend; I’ve been preparing. Last week I closed out all my houses and lands! to John Jacob Astor for one hundred and forty thousand dollars. The one lone thing I own is Richmond Hill--the roof we sit beneath. I’d have sold this, but I did not care to attract attention. There would have come questions which I’m not ready to answer.”