The lawyer who won the acquittal for Peter Zenger was, like his friend
James Alexander, a Scot. The year of Andrew Hamilton’s birth is a matter
of some debate, an old story holding that he was in his eighties when he
appeared in the New York courtroom, while later evidence makes him
around 65 at that time. His life holds other mysteries. For one thing,
we do not know why he left Scotland. It has been said that he was forced
to flee after fighting a duel; again, the motive has been called
political, which prompts the surmise that he was implicated in the 1715
Jacobite rising—a pleasing theory in that it allows us to imagine him
and Alexander together on the same Scottish battlefield with no
presentiment that their place in history lay twenty years ahead and
three thousand miles away. We have too little evidence about this phase
of Hamilton’s life to speak authoritatively about it.
There is even some doubt that he belonged to the Hamilton clan. When he
arrived in America he went by the name of Trent. However, trouble back
home would account for the pseudonym, and before long he reverted to
Hamilton. Rivaling Alexander in the versatility of his talents, he rose
to power as soon as opportunity beckoned. He married an affluent widow,
founded a great landed estate in Maryland (“Henberry,” near
Chestertown), went back to England to study law as a member of Gray’s
Inn, and then entered Colonial politics to begin an illustrious career
crowned by his appointment to the Council and his election to the
Assembly of Pennsylvania.
From then on his name appears prominently in Pennsylvania business. He
handled legal cases for the Penn family and helped draw up addresses to
the crown. He gained a reputation for opposing arbitrary acts by the
Governor, especially with reference to the courts, which put him right
at home when he entered the Zenger trial.
Hamilton’s commanding personality had no little share in winning an
acquittal for Peter Zenger. Knowing that Chief Justice Delancey would
instruct the jury to leave the verdict to the court, Hamilton had to
maneuver them in such a way as to make them see that they ought to
ignore the instruction; and that required not only basic legal
argumentation, an assured manipulation of both fact and logic, but also
his own domination of the proceedings. His success was due to his
courtroom presence added to his maintenance of the initiative from
beginning to end. He could not afford to falter, nor did he.
By comparison, James Delancey looked like a tyro, which indeed he was—a
young man, just 32, who moreover had gained his office under dubious
circumstances, facing one whom he knew by reputation to be _the_ old
master of their common profession. Reading between the lines of the
trial we are compelled to infer that Delancey lost control partly
because of his own inadequacy, and partly because his hostility toward
Hamilton was tempered by a deferential respect due to superior
knowledge, experience, ability, and prestige. It is just as easy to see
how the spectacle of the Hamilton-Delancey duel swayed the jury,
prompting them to act on the advice of the defense attorney rather than
on the instruction of the chief justice.
Aside from this historic victory, Hamilton is memorable as the architect
of Independence Hall in Philadelphia. When the Pennsylvania Assembly
decided that it needed a new building, Hamilton was named as one of the
Commission to look into the problem. He submitted a plan for site and
structure, had it approved by the legislators, and then supervised the
work. The result was the State House in which the Assembly met for the
first time in 1736. It still stands, one of the most hallowed buildings
in America; now it is known from its place in the Revolution as
Independence Hall.
The Zenger verdict and Independence Hall—how many men in the history of
America have two comparable monuments to their memory? Andrew Hamilton
had done well the two major tasks entrusted to him when he died on
August 4, 1741, exactly six years to the day after the trial of Peter
Zenger.