The oft-deferred and eagerly expected hour came, in which the charges
brought against Aaron Burr by the United States District Attorney of
Kentucky were to be investigated before a Grand Jury, Judge Hary Innes
presiding. The court-room was crammed from wall to wall with a crowd
of men impatiently awaiting the first move in the anticipated war of
words between two famous lawyers, who were known to be not only
political antagonists, but also personal enemies. The cause of the
impending battle was worthy of the contestants. On the result of that
day's testimony and debate hung the fortunes of the conspirator and
his federaries. This Burr realized, though few of his devoted
adherents in that crowded room had suspicion that the charges against
him were true. In the minds of most of them he figured as a martyr, a
patriotic citizen maligned and traduced. There were many in that
assemblage who, had they believed his designs traitorous, would have
greeted him not with applause, but with a volley of rotten eggs.
When Judge Innes stepped behind the high desk of justice, and took his
official seat, a buzz of expectation went round. The clerk of the
court bustled in with an air of importance, and shook hands with the
District Attorney, whose troubled, anxious eye shot piercing glances
in every direction. Daviess appeared to be seeking for somebody he
hardly hoped to find. Old Jim, standing in a corner, craned his neck
to get a better view, wheezily murmuring in the ear of his friend, the
backwoodsman, "Jo looks cross. I reckon he has lost somethin'."
"'Spect he has lost his case," remarked Buckskin Breeches, stooping to
spit tobacco juice on the floor. At this moment a cheer, seconded by
general handclapping, announced the coming of Burr and his counsel,
Clay and Allen. The judge did not check the demonstration; on the
contrary, he smiled a beaming welcome and was unjudicial enough to nod
familiarly from his high bench.
The case was called with the usual forms of procedure, when, to the
disgust of Old Jim and the auditors generally, Daviess asked a further
postponement owing to the absence of an indispensable witness, John
Adair. The judge hesitated, Burr had nothing to say, and the
spectators manifested signs of democratic protest against being
disappointed in their hopes of a forensic entertainment. Burr's
lawyers were very willing to treat the populace to a taste of oratory,
which, in the guise of legal discussion, might produce remote
political effects, for office-seeking was a fine art in the good old
days of Jackson and Clay. Colonel Allen arose to insist that the
investigation go on or else be abandoned finally and entirely, and to
this the judge seemed to assent. Daviess, fearful that the court and
the balance of public opinion were against him, felt the difficulty of
his position, but determined to summon all his power of argument and
persuasion, hoping to turn the tide in his favor. A bold man, ready in
debate, sharp at repartee, the leader of his party, the District
Attorney was considered a match for any member of the Kentucky bar.
The judge, the assembled lawyers, and the waiting audience perceived
in the very attitude of Daviess, when he rose to plead for
postponement, that he was loaded with a great speech. They were not
mistaken. For more than an hour he held the absorbed attention of
every listener. He set forth clearly and forcibly the fundamental
reasons why the accusation of treason against a prominent citizen
should be fully investigated.
"Your Honor," said he, in conclusion, "I appear before you and before
the people of this State and county, and before the throne of Almighty
God; I come in the discharge of an imperative duty, as a servant of
the United States, to which I am bound by a sacred oath; I come to lay
before you damning evidence that the accused is guilty of treason to
his country. Only give me time--grant me another day. I shall produce
unwilling witnesses whose testimony will convince even the most
prejudiced politician, will persuade even his own deluded followers
that Aaron Burr is engaged in machinations to destroy this Federal
Union which the men of Lexington and Bunker Hill fought and died to
establish. Behold the Brutus who would stab, not a despotic Cæsar,
but the nourishing bosom of his native country. We have here, in loyal
Kentucky, a Lexington, our most populous city. Remember that it was
named in commemoration of the first battle of the Revolution. Shall
our Lexington be suffered to become a hot-bed of sedition? No, your
Honor--a thousand times, no!"
The effect of this peroration was for the moment overwhelming. A dead
silence prevailed throughout the court-room. Garrulous Old Jim
attempted no sarcastic criticism; he rolled his blear eyes in the
direction of the backwoodsman and shook his head as if to say, "I give
it up." The climax of the day's oratory, however, was yet to come.
Daviess took his seat and Clay instantly sprang up to answer him.
"Harry of the West," already a popular idol, was the most celebrated
speaker in Kentucky. Not yet thirty years of age, he had just been
chosen to represent his State in the Senate of the nation. Burr,
soliciting his professional aid, had written a note denying either
treasonable intentions or complicity with traitors. "You may be
satisfied," wrote he, "that you have not espoused the cause of a man
any way unfriendly to the laws, the government, or the interest of his
country." Relying on this assurance, Clay gave his services without
fee, perhaps in anticipation of the satisfaction he would enjoy in
vanquishing with the tongue the man who had once challenged him to
mortal combat with pistols. His resolute mien, tall, graceful figure,
expressive gestures, flashing eye, and mellifluous voice captivated
independently of the substance of his discourse. Clay was eloquent by
nature. There was no resisting the flood of his impassioned speech.
In the course of his address, which was meant as much for the public
ear as for that of the judge, he said: "These paltry charges, may it
please your Honor, these foul and slanderous charges, the filthy ooze
of an irresponsible newspaper, are incredible, preposterous--nay,
mendacious! They are not made in good faith. The purpose of those who
are fomenting mischief, under the pretence of performing public duty,
is not what it professes to be. The motives underlying this show of
public virtue are sinister and selfish."
"Do you mean to cast reflections on my character, sir?" demanded
Daviess.
"Not at all. You are brilliant enough to shine by your own light.
Look, sir, a moment, at the history of this illustrious American
citizen whom you are called upon to vex and vilify; remember his
heroic conduct in war, his splendid services in peace; recall the
story of his public sacrifices and his private misfortunes; who, I
ask, is worthy of a generous people's gratitude and confidence if
Aaron Burr be not worthy? Do you charge him with disloyalty? him the
hero of Quebec, of Long Island, and of Monmouth? him the very sword
hand of Washington?" This flourish of rhetoric added an extra inch to
the length of Jim Sweet's craned neck.
"Sock it to 'em!" he tried to shout, but his phthisicky effort ended
in a spell of coughing.
"Order in the court!" shouted the clerk, fixing the disturber with
threatening eye.
"They tell us Republics are ungrateful, and it seems that my learned
friend, the district attorney, would have you believe that miserable
maxim. Out upon such a sentiment! We boast, sir, of the hospitality of
Old Kentucky, especially of the Blue Grass region, and well we may
boast. Our people are magnanimous--their hearts are great. But what
shall be said of the unspeakable meanness, baseness, perfidy, of that
man or that community which would betray the stranger at the gates,
that would traduce and malign a high-minded, unsuspecting guest? What,
your Honor, is the hospitality of that section or city in this vast
Republic, the function of whose tribunals is to protect the rights of
the individual; what is the hospitality of a neighborhood which
permits a citizen to lie in wait to assassinate a pilgrim of peace?
That, your Honor, is what the prosecutor purposes. He would blacken
the reputation of his brother who happens to be of a different
political complexion. He would filch from the ex-Vice-President of the
United States his good name."
"He'd flitch his own mother," ventured Jim, on whose brain the
dipperful of whiskey was producing mixed results.
"Hold yer gab," said the backwoodsman, hoarsely. "Listen!"
The orator turned full upon the district attorney and thundered: "Has
it come to such a pass that a private citizen cannot make a tour of
observation through this free country without being dragged before a
court to answer trumped-up accusations as preposterous as they are
malignant? What will become of your rights and mine? Will some
prosecuting attorney arrest me on my way to Washington, because I have
somewhere, at some time, expressed private opinions from which he
dissents! I would like Mr. Daviess to tell us what the Constitution
means? Does it not insure to us all the right of habeas corpus?"
The outcome of the day's debate was a substantial victory for Burr,
though a technical one for Daviess. The court adjourned to the
following morning. Again the officers of the county, the jury, the
lawyers, and the great concourse of citizens, assembled. The district
attorney submitted his indictment and sent his evidence to the jury.
The jury heard witnesses and returned the presentment, "Not a true
bill."
On hearing the foreman announce this decision, the partisans of Burr
and his counsel broke out in tumultuous rejoicing. Hadley stood up on
a bench and shouted:
"Three cheers for Aaron Burr; Hip, hip, hurrah!"
The judge could not or did not check the enthusiasm.
"Three and a tiger for Clay!" squeaked Old Jim, and the cheers were
repeated.
Burr, escorted by his attorneys, made his way through the crowd,
shaking hands right and left. On the sidewalk, near the court-house,
the three gentlemen were accosted by the ghostly Solitarius.
"Awake from your dreams!" said the mild lunatic, in his peculiar,
hollow, monotonous voice--and he rolled his overlustrous eyes upon
Burr.
"Brethren, be not forgetful to entertain the stranger! I am that
Solitarius, to whom this new gospel was revealed, by an angel of God,
while I dwelt in a cell at the foot of the Alleghany Mountains, in the
year of our Lord 1799."
Clay drew his client forward by the arm, but not before "Solly" had
thrust into Burr's hand a copy of the "Millennial Prophecy."
"Awake from your dreams!" These repeated parting words of the crazy
prophet stuck in Burr's memory.
The ordeal of a legal investigation had been endured, apparently
without scath to the accused. The grand jury, not satisfied with
acquitting Burr, pressed upon him a written declaration, signed by
every member, exonerating him completely. A public ball was given in
his honor. Exulting in his triumph, he danced and made merry, admired
by the chivalry and adored by the beauty of the choicest society in
Frankfort and Lexington.
On the very day in which Daviess moved for a process to compel Burr's
appearance before the Frankfort court, a woman clothed in black and
closely veiled was granted an interview with the President of the
United States, in his private office at Washington City. She came from
Philadelphia, and appeared to have no acquaintance in the new capital
on the Potomac. She declined to unveil her face or to impart her name.
"I am here to put into the hands of the President a written statement,
accompanied by copies of letters and other documents, revealing the
secret plans of a conspirator, who, if not quickly arrested in his
career of treason, will disrupt this Union and establish a rival
government in the Southwest."
The President mechanically accepted the package handed him, and the
mysterious woman left his apartment, re-entered her carriage, and
ordered the driver to take the road back toward Philadelphia.