IT is evening at the White House. The few dinner guests have departed,
and Jefferson is alone in his study. As he stands at the open window,
and gazes out across the sweep of lawn to the Potomac, shining like
silver in the rays of the full May moon, his face is cloudy and angry.
The face of the sage of Monticello has put aside its usual expression of
philosophy. In place of the calm that should reign there, the look which
prevails is one of narrowness, prejudice and wrathful passion.
Apparently, he waits the coming of a visitor, for he wheels without
surprise, as a fashionably dressed gentleman is ushered in by a servant.
“Ah, Wirt!” he cries; “be seated, please. You got my note?”
William Wirt is thirty-five--a clean, well-bred example of the
conventional Virginia gentleman. He accepts the proffered chair; but
with the manner of one only half at ease, as not altogether liking the
reason of his White House presence.
“Your note, Mr. President?” he repeats. “Oh, yes; I received it. What
you propose is highly flattering. And yet--and yet----”
“And yet what, sir?” breaks in Jefferson impatiently. “Surely, I propose
nothing unusual? You are practicing at the Richmond bar. I ask you to
conduct the case against Colonel Burr.”
“Nothing unusual, of course,” returns Wirt, who, gifted of a keen
political eye, hungrily foresees a final attorney generalship in what
he is about. “And yet, as I was about to say, there are matters which
should be considered. There is George Hay, for instance; he is the
Government’s attorney for the Richmond district. It is his province as
well as duty to prosecute Colonel Burr; he might resent my being saddled
upon him. Have you thought of Mr. Hay?”
“Thought of him? Hay is a dullard, a blockhead, a respectable nonentity!
no more fit to contend with Colonel Burr and those whom he will have
about him, than would be a sucking babe. He is of no courage, no force,
sir; he seems to think that, now he is the son-in-law of James Monroe,
he has done quite enough to merit success in both law and politics. No;
there is much depending on this trial, and I desire you to try it. Burr
must be convicted. The black Federal plot to destroy this republic and
set a monarchy in its stead, a plot of which he himself is but a single
item, must be nipped in the bud. Moreover, you will find that I am to
be on trial even more than is Colonel Burr. The case will not be
‘The People against Aaron Burr.’ but ‘The Federalists against Thomas
Jefferson.’ Do you understand? I am the object of a Federal plot, as
much as is the Government itself! John Marshall, that arch Federalist,
will be on the bench, doing all he can for the plotters and their
instrument, Colonel Burr. It is no time to risk myself on so slender a
support as George Hay. It is you who must conduct this cause.”
Wirt is a bit scandalized by this outburst; especially at the reckless
dragging in of Chief Justice Marshall. He expostulates; but is too much
the courtier to let any harshness creep into either his manner or his
speech.
“You surely do not mean to say,” he begins, “that the chief justice----”
“I mean to say,” interrupts Jefferson, “that you must be ready to meet
every trick that Marshall can play against the Government. For all his
black robe, is he of different clay than any other? Believe me, he’s
a Federalist long before he’s a judge! Let me ask a question: Why did
Marshall, the chief justice, mind you, hold the preliminary examination
of Burr? Why, having held it, did he not commit him for treason? Why did
he hold him only for a misdemeanor, and admit him to bail? Does not
that look as though Marshall had taken possession of the case in Burr’s
interest? You spoke a moment ago of the propriety of Hay prosecuting the
charge against Burr, being, as he is, the Government’s attorney for that
district. Does not it occur to you that his honor, Judge Griffin, is the
judge for that district? And yet Marshall shoves him aside to make room
on the bench for himself. Sir, there is chicanery in this. We must watch
Marshall. A chief justice, indeed! A chief Federalist, rather! Why, he
even so much lacked selfrespect as to become a guest at a dinner given
in Colonel Burr’s honor, after he had committed that traitor in ten
thousand dollars bail! An excellent, a dignified chief justice,
truly!--doing dinner table honor to one whom he must presently try for a
capital offense!”
“Justice Marshall’s appearance at the Burr dinner”--Wirt makes the
admission doubtfully--“was not, I admit, in the very flower of good
taste. None the less, I should infer honesty rather than baseness from
such appearance. If he contemplated any wrong in Colonel Burr’s favor,
he would have remained away. Coming to the case itself,” says Wirt,
anxious to avoid further discussion of Judge Marshall, as a topic
whereon he and Jefferson are not likely to agree, “what is the specific
act of treason with which the Government charges Colonel Burr?”
“The conspiracy, wherein he was prime mover, aimed first to take Mexico
from, the Spanish. Having taken Mexico, the plotters--Colonel Burr at
the head--purposed seizing New Orleans. That would give them a hold
in the vast region drained by the Mississippi. Everything west of the
Alleghenies was expected to flock round their standards. With an
empire reaching from Darien to the Great Lakes, from the Pacific to the
Alleghenies, their final move was to be made upon Washington itself.
Sir, the Federalists hate this republic--have always hated it! What they
desire is a monarchy. They want a king, not a president, in the White
House.”
“I learn,” observes Wirt--“I learn, since my arrival, that Colonel Burr
has been in Washington.”
“That was three days ago. He demanded copies of my orders to General
Wilkinson. When I prevented his obtaining them, he said he would move
for a _subpoena duces tecum_, addressed to me personally. Think of that,
sir! Can you conceive of greater impudence? He will sue out a subpoena
against the President of this country, and compel him to come into court
bringing the archives of Government!”
Wirt shrugs his shoulders. “And why not, sir?” he asks at last. “In the
eye of the law a president is no more sacred than a pathmaster. A murder
might be committed in the White House grounds. You, looking from that
window, might chance to witness it--might, indeed, be the only witness.
You yourself are a lawyer, Mr. President. You will not tell me that an
innocent man, accused of murder, is to be denied your testimony?--that
he is to hang rather than ruffle a presidential dignity? What is the
difference between the case I’ve supposed and that against Colonel
Burr? He is to be charged with treason, you say! Very well; treason is a
hanging matter as much as murder.”
Jefferson and Wirt, step by step, go over the arrest of Aaron, and what
led to it. It is settled that Wirt shall control for the prosecution.
Also, when the Grand Jury is struck, he must see to it that Aaron is
indicted for treason.
“Marshall has confined the inquiry,” says Jefferson, “to what Burr
contemplated against Mexico--a mere misdemeanor! You, Wirt, must have
the Grand Jury take up that part of the conspiracy which was leveled
against this country. There is abundant testimony. Burr talked it to
Eaton in Washington, to Morgan in Ohio, to Wilkinson at Fort Massac.”
“You speak of his _talking_ treason,” returns Wirt with a thoughtful,
non-committal air. “Did he anywhere or on any occasion _act_ it? Was
there any overt act of war?”
“What should you call the doings at Blennerhassett Island?--the
gathering of men and stores?--the boat-building at Marietta and
Nashville? Are not those, taken with the intention, hostile acts?--overt
acts of war?”
Wirt falls into deep study. “We must,” he says after a moment’s silence,
“leave those questions, I fear, for Justice Marshall to decide.”
Jefferson relates how he has written Governor Pinckney of South
Carolina, advising the arrest of Alston.
“To be sure, Alston is not so bad as Colonel Burr,” he observes, “for
the reason that he is not so big as Colonel Burr; just as a young
rattlesnake is not so venomous as an old one.” Then, impressively:
“Wirt, Colonel Burr is a dangerous man! He will find his place in
history as the Catiline of America.”
Wirt cannot hide a smile. “It is but fair you should say so, Mr.
President, since at the Richmond hearing he spoke of you as a
presidential Jack Straw.” Seeing that Jefferson does not enjoy the
reference, Wirt hastens to another subject. “Colonel Burr will have
formidable counsel. Aside from Wickham, and Botts, and Edmund Randolph,
across from Maryland will come Luther Martin.”
“Luther Martin!” cries Jefferson. “So they are to unloose that Federal
bulldog against me! But then the whisky-swilling beast is never sober.”
“No more safe as an adversary for that,” retorts Wirt. “If I am ever
called upon to write Luther Martin’s epitaph, I shall make it ‘Ever
drunk and ever dangerous!’”
On the bench sits Chief Justice Marshall--tall, slender--eyes as black
as Aaron’s own--face high, dignified--brow noble, full--the whole
man breathing distinction. By his side, like some small thing lost in
shadow, no one noticing him, no one addressing him, a picture of silent
humility, sits District Judge Griffin.
For the Government comes Wirt, sneering, harsh--as cold and hard and
fine and keen as thrice-tempered steel. With him is Hay--slow, pompous,
of much respectability and dull weakness. Assisting Wirt and Hay and
filling a minor place, is one McRae.
Leading for the defense, is Aaron himself--confident, unshaken.
Already he has begun to relay his plans of Mexican conquest. He assures
Blennerhassett, who is with him, that the present interruption should
mean no more than a time-waste of six months. With Aaron sit Edmund
Randolph, the local Nestor; Wickham, clear, sure of law and fact; and
Botts, the Bayard of the Richmond bar. Most formidable is Aaron’s rear
guard, the thunderous Luther Martin--coarse, furious, fearless--gay
clothes stained and soiled--ruffles foul and grimy--eye fierce,
bleary, bloodshot--nose bulbous, red as a carbuncle--a hoarse, roaring,
threatening voice--the Thersites of the hour. Never sober, he rolls into
court as drunk as a Plantagenet. Ever dangerous, he reads, hears,
sees everything, and forgets nothing. Quick, rancorous, headlong as a
fighting bull, he lowers his horns against Wirt, whenever that polished
one puts himself within forensic reach. Also, for all his cool, sneering
skill, Toreador Wirt never meets the charge squarely, but steps aside
from it.
Apropos of nothing, as Martin takes his place by the trial table, he
roars out:
“Why is this trial ordered for Richmond? Why is it not heard in
Washington? It is by command of Jefferson, sir. He thinks that in
his own State of Virginia, where he is invincible and Colonel Burr a
stranger, the name of ‘Jefferson’ will compel a verdict of guilt. There
is fairness for you!”
Wirt glances across, but makes no response to the tirade; for Martin,
purple of face, snorting ferociously, seems only waiting a word from him
to utter worse things.
The Grand Jury is chosen: foreman, John Randolph of Roanoke--sour,
inimical, hateful, voice high and spiteful like the voice of a
scolding woman! The Grand Jury is sent to its room to deliberate as to
indictments, while the court adjourns for the day.
It is well into the evening when the parties in interest leave the
courtroom. As Wirt and Hay, arm in arm, are crossing the courthouse
green, they become aware of an orator who, loud of tone and careless of
his English, is addressing a crowd from the steps of a corner grocery.
Just as the two arrive within earshot, the orator, lean, hawklike of
face, tosses aloft a rake-handle arm, and shouts:
“When Jefferson says that Colonel Burr is a traitor, Jefferson lies in
his throat!” The crowd applaud enthusiastically.
Hay looks at Wirt. “Who is the fellow?” he asks.
“Oh! he’s a swashbuckler militia general,” returns Wirt, carelessly.
“He’s a low fellow, I’m told; his name is Andrew Jackson. He was one of
Colonel Burr’s confederates. They say he’s the greatest blackguard in
Tennessee.”
Just now, did some Elijah touch the Wirtian elbow and tell of a day
to come when he, Wirt, will be driven to resign that coveted attorney
generalship into the presidential hands of the “blackguard,” who will
receive it promptly, and dismiss him into private life no more than half
thanked for what public service he has rendered, the ambitious Virginian
would hold the soothsayer to be a madman, not a prophet.
Scores upon scores of witnesses are sent one by one to the Grand Jury.
The days run into weeks. Every hour the question is asked: “Where is
Wilkinson?” The red-nosed one is strangely, exasperatingly absent.
Wirt seeks to explain that absence. The journey is long, he says. He
will pledge his honor for the red-nosed one’s appearance.
Meanwhile the friends of Aaron pour in from North and West and South.
The stubborn, faithful Swartwout is there, with his brother Samuel;
for, Samuel Swartwout and young Ogden and Adair and Bollman, shipped
aforetime per schooner to Baltimore by the red-nosed one as traitors,
have been declared innocent, and are all in Richmond attending upon
their chief.
One morning the whisper goes about that “Wilkinson is here.” The
whisper is confirmed by the red-nosed one’s appearance in court. Young
Washington Irving, who has come down from New York in the interest of
Aaron, writes concerning that red-nosed advent:
_Wilkinson strutted into court, and took his stand in a parallel line
with Colonel Burr. Here he stood for a moment swelling like a turkey
cock, and bracing himself to meet Colonel Burr’s eye. The latter took no
notice of him, until Judge Marshall directed the clerk to “swear General
Wilkinson.” At the mention of the name, Colonel Burr turned and looked
him full in the face, with one of his piercing regards, swept him from
head to foot, and then went on conversing with his counsel as before.
The whole look was over in a moment; and yet it was admirable. There
was no appearance of study or constraint, no affectation of disdain
or defiance; only a slight expression of contempt played across
the countenance, such as one might show on seeing a person whom one
considers mean and vile._
That evening Samuel Swartwout meets the red-nosed one, as the latter
warrior is strutting on the walk for the admiration of men, and
thrusts him into a mud hole. The lean Jackson is so delighted at this
disposition of the rednosed one, that he clasps the warlike Swartwout
in his rake-handle arms. Later, by twenty-two years, he will make him
collector of the port of New York for it. Just now, however, he advises
a duel, holding that the mudhole episode will be otherwise incomplete.
Since Swartwout has had the duel in his mind from the beginning, he and
the lean Jackson combine in the production of a challenge, which is duly
sent to the red-nosed one in the name of Swartwout. The red-nosed one
has no heart for duels, and crawls from under the challenge by saying,
“I refuse to hold communication with a traitor.” Thereupon Swartwout,
with the lean Jackson to aid him, again lapses into the clerical, and
prints the following gorgeous outburst in the _Richmond Gazette:_
_Brigadier General Wilkinson: Sir: When once the chain of infamy
grapples to a knave, every new link creates a fresh sensation of
detestation and horror. As it gradually or precipitately unfolds itself,
we behold in each succeeding connection, and arising from the same
corrupt and contaminated source, the same base and degenerated
conduct. I could not have supposed that you would have completed the
catalogue of your crimes by adding to the guilt of treachery forgery and
perjury the accomplishment of cowardice. Having failed in two different
attempts to procure an interview with you, such as no gentleman of honor
could refuse, I have only to pronounce and publish you to the world as a
coward._
_Samuel Swartwout._
The Grand Jury comes into court, and by the shrill mouth of Foreman
Randolph reports two indictments against Aaron: one for treason, “as
having levied war against the United States,” and one for “having levied
war upon a country, to wit, Mexico, with which the United States are at
peace”--the latter a misdemeanor.