While we learn much more about Stephen Burroughs’s criminal activities in this second part of the narrative, nevertheless I feel as if I still do not know who Burroughs really is—criminal, victim, liar, actor, or genuine American idealist. All of these separate identities swirl around Burroughs, making it difficult to pin down how I as a reader think of him. One thing that I noticed this week was the frequent, yet subtle, humor present in the story. Burroughs describes his adventures with pathos and religious overtones, but there are still moments when the humor shines through. For example, when describing the horrible treatment he receives from the sheriff, Burroughs notes, “The sheriff then came to take his farewell, and parted with some hearty curses for my incorrigible conduct. The curses he received back again with interest” (112). At this point, the humor interacts with the other gruesome parts of the tale. In an odd way, this joke in the middle of the narrative alleviates the discomfort that the reader feels concerning Burroughs’s bodily conditions as a prisoner. It also heightens the ambiguity of Burroughs’s identity. If he can truly add jests into his narrative at this apparently painful recollection, then was his treatment as barbaric as he describes? The editor seems to believe so: “Notwithstanding his aggravated crimes, and irritating conduct, there is no question but Burroughs received punishment far exceeding his deserts” (115). Yet, because Burroughs is so deceptive, I find it hard to trust his descriptions. If Burroughs can wittingly recall some of his lowest moments, perhaps the entire imprisonment narrative is highly stylized and exaggerated.
Along with Burroughs’s funny streak, he also has a penchant for ruling. His language, especially when he is at Castle Island, is impetuous and almost regal. He claims that “I had gained such an ascendancy over the prisoners, that they implicitly gave up to my opinion in all our little matters […]” (139). Soon after, he “orders” a fellow prisoner to make an iron crow. When they escape, another escapee challenges his throne of power, and this potential Wat Tyler scathingly remarks, “Well, Captain Burroughs, as you have had the command until you do not know what to do, it is best for some other person to take, who does know what to do” (144). Yet, this usurper is soon dealt with, and Burroughs continues to steer towards land and display his ability to quell any rebellion within his realm of power. Later, his grandiose plan to seize control of the island exhibits idealism and a false sense of security, which rash leaders sometimes possess. Burroughs’s enjoyment of ruling raises some questions: Does a counterfeiter naturally have tendencies to lead, to take charge, or to manipulate people for personal gain? Why do men like Burroughs, Syllavan, or even Rosencrantz become the apparent head honchos of their respective criminal operations? If we see many similarities between Benjamin Franklin and Stephen Burroughs, what qualities make one a leader in American politics and the other a leader of criminal rogues? The lines between Franklin and Burroughs appear to become increasingly indistinct. Interestingly, while Burroughs claims that his position as a leader was ostensibly thrust upon him, in a later reflection on the prisoners at Castle Island Burroughs notes “that person who could relate the most desperate and daring transgression of the laws of national justice, was considered the most honorable character among the prisoners” (177). Again, Burroughs’s narrative contradicts his earlier claims of innocence. If he is the leader of the prisoners, and yet the leader would necessarily, according to Burroughs, be the most villainous of the group, it seems as if Burroughs wishes to fulfill two roles at once—both saint and sinner. Just as the use of humor creates disparate images of the same man, Burroughs’s conduct and his subsequent philosophic or political ruminations seem to generate a character that escapes definition or understanding. Yet, is this not what a counterfeiter does?
Hi Kate, thanks for the interesting and insightful response. Your questions about SB's reliability and deceptiveness are quite germane. Lindberg commented that the con man is so many people that ultimately he--or she--is no one, that it all becomes external performance and that there is no one left inside. this might be true with SB. We encounter a narrator--a fictional representation of a historical figure--and we don't really know how accurate this representation is. In fact, we have several reasons to distrust the narrator's reliability. I tend to think that the historical author[s] might have intended this deconstructive thread. The narrator at times contradicts himself, glosses over some issues, and offers alternative readings of himself. We have a lot to discuss in class. Thanks for your comments. dw
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