A FORTNIGHT – HOW MANY OF THOSE HAD I SPENT ON THIS wretched adventure, wishing the hours gone in vain hope of some future consolation? True, I had spent many fortnights at sea in my time, but then the rhythms of the ship and the work of maintaining it had absorbed me. Now, whether on packet-ships, mail coaches, horses or flatboats, it seemed all I did was idle away my time without any benefit of leisure or repose. And, of course, with the threat of capture or murder always hanging over me. With the ice and snow thick on the ground, it was little wonder some of it seemed to have entered my soul.
Which is not to say it was an uneventful fortnight. On the contrary, few days passed without activity. It emerged that in surrendering himself Burr had also surrendered his army, so we were all under a sort of arrest, though permitted for the most part to remain in our camp. As the camp was certainly as miserable as any prison, that was scant concession. A succession of militia officers came to inspect us, searching for muskets (which they did not find) and occasionally moving us to some more convenient location down the river. Even though they could see our feeble strength, and readily agreed we posed an unlikely threat, they could not shake off the terror which had convulsed the country. They wandered through our camp wide-eyed and anxious, peering under every cask and blanket as though it might conceal a troop of charging hussars or a company of artillery. It was as if Buonaparte had landed on Dover beach with only a ragged platoon of voltigeurs for his army – no-one could quite believe it.
Nor could their fears have been eased by the rumours which still swept down the river. Burr might be captive, but the general opinion held that this would only enrage his partisans further and drive them to violent rebellion. Nobody could believe that the men with Burr were anything more than a vanguard, or perhaps a suitably cunning ploy to deflect attention from his main force. How could it be otherwise, they asked? The sheer weight of rumour alone confirmed it. So the tales multiplied: if everything we heard was to be believed, the upper reaches of the Mississippi were as busy as the Thames at Westminster. First it was reported that two thousand men were descending in a fleet of flatboats, armed to the teeth and ready to die for Burr’s cause; then came the counter-rumour that ten gunboats were bound for our camp by the personal command of the Secretary of the Navy, to seize Burr and drag him in chains back to Jefferson. Needless to say, all these rumoured reinforcements proved as chimerical as the rest of Burr’s army.
One week after he had left us, Burr returned to the camp for an afternoon. In the intervening days I had consoled myself that however forlorn my predicament, his must be worse, but even this transpired to be false. He bounded out of his boat with great good humour, shaking our hands and joking with the men as though we were at a country fair. He had obtained a smart new suit and a snug cloak, and showed no distress at all at having been taken from us.
‘We have nothing to fear,’ he declared offhand. ‘Wilkinson and Jefferson have emptied their broadside half-cock – they have nothing against me save malice. I will make fools of them in court, and we will be on with our business within the week. Have our reinforcements arrived? I have had word that there are two thousand men a few days up river.’
Tyler answered that we had not yet heard from them.
‘They had best hurry, or they will miss the glory.’
‘But what of yourself?’ Blennerhassett asked. ‘Are they treating you well?’
Burr shrugged. ‘It is not altogether drab. I have many friends in these parts, so I do not want for company. My friend Colonel Osmun has been kind enough to host me at his manor. Is Miss Lyell present? The citizens of Natchez are to hold a ball in my honour tomorrow night and I fancy I will need an escort.’
Natchez was a town of some prosperity thirty miles down the river, not far from the territorial capital of Washington where Burr was to be tried (not, as I had originally supposed, the eponymous national capital). It seemed odd that its citizens should throw a ball for a man accused of treason, though I suppose it was not so very different to the adulation shown the highwaymen of old as they marched to the gallows. There are few spectacles so seductive as a caged and unrepentant villain. Far more aggrieving was the prospect of Catherine and Burr dancing their gay nights away – with who knew what other intimate exertions? – while I froze and fretted in the wilderness.
Naturally, that was not her principal concern. ‘What shall I wear?’ she asked, when the invitation was put to her. ‘All the clothes I brought from Pittsburgh are quite worn out, and none of them is suited to a ball in any event.’
‘Do not fret yourself over that,’ said the ever-gallant Burr. ‘The dressmakers in Natchez are the finest in the territory. They will run you something up in no time, and every buck at the ball will vie to have his name on your card.’
Her fears thus allayed, Catherine consented to accompany Burr.
‘As for the rest of you,’ he said, ‘I will join you as soon as I have cleared my name of these slanders. For now, stay here and stand fast.’
I believe Burr had intended his visit to cheer our morale, but in this, as in so much else, he was to be disappointed. Indeed, it seemed to have the contrary effect. Men who had previously sworn they would stick by their colonel come death or damnation now muttered that it was all very well him living like a lord with his rich friends, but they were left cold, hungry and forgotten. Some remembered that they had been promised twelve and a half dollars a month yet had seen not a cent of it; others wondered openly whether he had been entirely honest with them as to his intentions. Of course, Burr himself was not present to answer the criticism, so they turned with increasing frequency to the casks of whiskey we carried. Blennerhassett tried to soothe them as best he could, but his scholarly manner was not the thing to calm a gang of drunken, failed revolutionaries. In the end he retreated to his boat, while the men discussed how they might sell our provisions to buy more whiskey.
The trial began a week later in the town of Washington. Sensible of the ammunition my presence would afford his enemies, Burr had ordered me to lie low and keep quiet, but in this I defied him. Though reluctant to admit it, I had fallen sufficiently under his spell that I wanted to discover what would become of him. Mostly, I hoped he would be found guilty, which would bring an end to my unfortunate association with him, but there was a perverse part of me which, against all reason, still hoped he might escape.
The night before the trial, I took a room at King’s Tavern in the town of Natchez, some six miles down the road from Washington. Both town and inn were busy with spectators for the trial, but I managed to find a seat in a dim corner and order some food. I ate alone: Burr was at his friend’s manor, with Catherine most likely accompanying him, and I thought it best to avoid being seen in public with his known accomplices. I could not entirely escape company, though, for the boy who brought my food had an enquiring spirit.
‘I guess you’re from England,’ he said, apparently having deduced this from the few words I used to request the food.
I produced the lie I had prepared for such enquiries. ‘A long time ago. I came over on a ship to New York and gradually worked my way down the rivers.’
‘You been to London?’
‘On occasion.’ I picked up my knife and fork and began sawing at the meat, keen not to discuss my English provenance.
Ignoring the signal, the boy leaned back against the wood column and started expounding on all the facts he had heard about London. ‘Some day, I’ll go down to N’Awlins and make me a sailor, get on one of them ships and see the world. I’ll—’
To my great relief, the gentlemen next to me had finished their dinner and made to withdraw, forcing the boy out of their path and away to the demands of his other patrons. The empty seats beside me were quickly filled, but I ignored the new arrivals and kept my attention resolute on my meal.
‘Loo-tenant Jerrold, is it?’
I glanced up, a piece of beef suspended halfway between my plate and my mouth. Three men had seated themselves beside me, hemming me into my corner – three of the most dangerous, villainous-seeming men I had ever seen. All were dressed in the manner of trappers or Indian traders, with fringed, coarsely dyed shirts and low hats which hid their eyes. All had pushed back their chairs just enough that I could see a fearsome array of bone-handled knives and long pistols jammed in their belts. All were looking at me with venomous intent.
‘It is Loo-tenant Jerrold, ain’t it? Or Leff-tenant, perhaps I should say.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Moses Hook,’ answered the nearest of the three. He smiled, exposing a maw of black and crooked teeth. ‘I reckon I’ve a few questions you could answer for me.’
‘I would rather eat my dinner,’ I told him.
He reached down and tugged out a pistol. It made a menacing thud as he laid it on the table, the muzzle aiming at my ribs. ‘I’d rather you told me what I want to know.’
My eyes flickered past him to the crowded room behind. None of the other patrons seemed to have noticed my predicament, or perhaps the sight of guns on the tables was not uncommon here. Hook’s two companions leaned in closer. For all their wicked appearance, none of them seemed quite comfortable with it: there was something stiff in their bearing and professional in their manner which reminded me more of soldiers than banditti.
Hook shrugged. ‘Well, if you won’t answer here perhaps you’ll come down to N’Awlins with me. There’s a gentleman there mighty keen to speak with you.’
I shied away, pressing myself against the brick wall at my back. ‘I will do no such thing. Is this the liberty for which America is famed? I—’
I broke off as Hook’s bony hand reached out and closed around my wrist. ‘You’ll come down to N’Awlins with us, you and Colonel Burr both. General Wilkinson’s got a whole lot to ask of you.’
He stood, dragging me to my feet. Without his steely grasp on my arm I would probably have fainted under the table; as it was, I could do nothing but follow him through the busy room, his two companions close on my heels. Panic consumed me. What would the Americans do to an Englishman who had conspired to overthrow the Union and take command of the continent – if I even made it so far as the American authorities? I doubted that these desperadoes brazenly kidnapping me from a public house would bother with even summary justice.
We were halfway to the door, pushing between the crowded benches, when I looked down and spied a half-eaten plate of stew on the table beside me. In desperation, I reached out my free hand and swept the plate away from its owner, over the edge of the table and onto the stone floor. The tin dish resounded like a gong, while hot gravy sprayed over the ankles of nearby customers.
There are certain sounds which will halt conversation and draw attention in any setting, even a tavern on the American frontier, and the sound of a plate dropped on the floor is one. The company fell silent, as if all air had suddenly been sucked from their lungs, and every eye settled upon me. The only noise was the scrape of a bench, as the gentleman whose dinner I had spoiled rose to his feet.
‘What the damn hell do you think you’re doing?’
In any other circumstances, a confrontation with an irate, ox-like American would have terrified me. Now, the prospect of a fight served only to increase the attention we had drawn.
‘You must help me,’ I gasped. ‘These ruffians are kidnapping me.’
My antagonist looked uncertainly at the trio surrounding me.
‘That’s horse shit,’ said Hook. ‘I am Captain Moses Hook of the United States army; these are my lieutenants. We are arresting this man on account he’s conspired with a certain gentleman – you may’ve heard of him – who’s put this territory to a great deal of trouble.’
‘You don’t look like officers to me,’ said a voice from the back of the room.
‘And even if you are, I never heard the federal army had a right to detain a free man against his will.’
‘Not without a warrant. You got a warrant?’
‘And Colonel Burr’s an innocent man, leastways until the court says different.’
I could hardly believe this – it was as if I had stumbled upon a convocation of lawyers. By the black look on Hook’s face he could scarce credit it himself. I saw him glance to the door, but a stout ostler had placed himself before it and seemed disinclined to step aside.
Hook paused, testing the hostility in the room. Soldier that he was, he could see when surrender had become inescapable.
‘I guess we may’ve made a mistake,’ he said. ‘Best be leaving before Mr Jerrold spoils someone else’s dinner.’
He jerked his hand off my wrist and pushed through the crowd, his lieutenants hurrying behind. He turned by the door and looked back at me.
‘I’ll be seeing you around.’
I passed the night with the door barred and a knife at my bedside. At first light, I went downstairs and found a group of men setting out for the spectacle in Washington, who readily agreed to let me accompany them. All along the snowbound road I kept fearful watch lest Hook and his men be lurking in the trees, but I arrived at my destination unmolested. Even at that hour the courtroom was almost full, but I managed to squeeze in on a wooden stool at the back.
A black-cloaked beadle announced that the Supreme Court of the Mississippi Territory was in session, and the officials processed in. I stared in astonishment. There were two judges and two lawyers, and three of the four were known to me. Putting the case for the prosecution was Mr Poindexter, the sharp young attorney who had come to our camp to arrange Burr’s surrender. Opposing him, defending Burr, was none other than Major Shields, the officer who had accompanied Poindexter on his errand and who had been quite determined to prise Burr out of his Louisiana redoubt. It seemed Burr was unlikely to obtain a full-blooded defence from him, unless his views had markedly altered in the past fortnight; but perhaps that did not matter when one considered the men who would sit in judgement on him. One was a man named Rodney, a stoop-backed, owlish man with a high forehead and cheeks like a sow’s ears. The other, to my utter amazement, was Judge Bruin, at whose house we had first had word of our betrayal. I had not spent long in his company, and most of that in a delirium of pain, but surely Burr had counted him a loyal supporter and partner? Perhaps Burr had good reason to confide in the protection of the law. He was there now, sitting at the front with his lawyers, and though I could see only the back of his head he seemed in a bullish humour.
Judge Rodney announced that the court recognized the Attorney General for the Mississippi Territory, Mr Poindexter.
Poindexter rose to his feet. ‘May it please the court, Your Honour, I move that the proposed bill of indictment against Colonel Burr be dismissed.’
There was a moment’s silence, then uproar throughout the chamber. Rodney had to bang his gavel several times before order was restored. He fixed Poindexter with a piercing, angry stare.
‘Am I correct in apprehending that the counsel for the prosecution wishes to dismiss the case?’
Mr Poindexter agreed that he did.
‘On what grounds?’
‘On two grounds, Your Honour. First, that the territorial Supreme Court, being an appellate court only, enjoys no jurisdiction over a case de novo. Second, that none of the crimes imputed to the defendant have been committed within the territory of Mississippi.’
Another wave of consternation surged through the audience, some voices decrying Poindexter’s arguments and others defending them. Once again, Rodney had need of his gavel.
‘This is extraordinary,’ he declared. ‘It sounds as if it has been prepared for you by Colonel Burr himself.’
Judge Bruin leaned forward over the table. ‘I must say I find much merit in the prosecutor’s motion. I am minded to grant it.’
‘Well I am not,’ snapped Rodney. For a moment, I feared he might use the gavel in his hand to assault his colleague. ‘Colonel Burr has been summoned here for trial, and try him we will.’
‘I concur, Your Honour,’ said Shields smoothly, leaving me utterly befuddled.
Had I misunderstood the whole enterprise? Was American justice such a topsy-turvy affair? Here was the prosecutor pleading to dismiss the charges before they had even been laid, and the defendant’s attorney countering equally vigorously that his client would be prosecuted come what may. It was an extraordinary impasse, and the judges seemed to have little notion how to manage it. They conferred in whispers together for some minutes before Rodney announced to the court, ‘As the bench has divided on the merits of Mr Poindexter’s motion, it is considered denied. The trial will commence.’
‘If the bench divides over the question of my guilt, will that also be considered denied?’ enquired Burr. For a man on trial for his life he exhibited not the least concern. He sat comfortably on his chair, leaning back and examining his cuffs, occasionally waving to some familiar face in the audience.
‘If the defendant has anything to impart, he may say so either in the witness stand or through his attorney,’ said Judge Rodney. ‘He may have been the flashest lawyer in New York city, but he is not recognized in this courtroom.’
He turned to the jury and extracted solemn oaths that they would discharge their duties honourably and with due reverence for the laws of the United States. I counted twenty-three of them: it seemed that an American needed twice as many judges and jurors to try him as an Englishman, though I did not know why that should be.
Next, Rodney set out the jurors’ duties. It was a long speech, chiefly notable for its irrelevance. Beginning with Cain, he offered a comprehensive treatise on treachery through the ages, touching on Absalom, Judas Iscariot, Cataline, Macbeth, the Old and Young Pretenders and Benedict Arnold. Burr, he implied, would find himself among kindred spirits in their company – though it took Rodney the greater part of an hour to actually mention him. When he did, it was with the severest of reprimands.
‘This once illustrious citizen has been lately accused of a nefarious design to separate the western country of the United States from the Union, and to combine it with a part of the whole of Mexico, and to erect them into a new and independent empire for himself, or for some rich patron under whom he acts.’
I shrank into my seat. Had he accompanied us all the way from Pittsburgh, he could hardly have produced a more accurate summary of Burr’s ambitions. Was he equally well aware who Burr’s rich patrons had been?
‘This accusation,’ Rodney continued, ‘has agitated the people and alarmed the government in such a manner as to put them to a great deal of trouble and expense. It will be with you, gentlemen’ – he indicated the jury – ‘to enquire into the truth of this accusation.’
A great sigh rippled through the courtroom, either satisfaction that the malefactor had been brought to the seat of justice, or relief that Rodney’s interminable address was finished. It soon turned to dismay, though, when it transpired that the public entertainment had concluded, and that the jury would now retire to read through a bundle of depositions taken from all the principals in the affair. I think the audience had hoped to see Burr on the stand blazing righteous anger and innocence, shooting down Rodney’s charges as coolly as he had shot down Mr Hamilton, but in that they were disappointed. The courtroom emptied. Burr and Shields hung back until the end, and I waited for them to pass.
‘What did Rodney mean by the rich patron under whom you acted?’ I called, tugging Burr towards me. ‘Is every facet of your scheme known?’
Burr frowned. ‘Not so loud. As for Rodney, pay him no heed. He is merely casting his net as wide as he can, hoping to dredge up some charge which will damn me. He knows nothing. I had thought I could rely on him, for he was a friend of mine, but I fear a higher power has exerted itself on him. His son, Caesar Augustus, is the Attorney General of the United States, and no doubt he has communicated Jefferson’s desires plain enough.’
‘Then what will you do?’
‘I will put my faith in American justice.’
‘But if the judge—’
‘Judge Rodney holds no sway over my fate. That will be decided by the men of the jury, twenty-three men good and true. All the better and truer for the fact that Bruin has packed them with Federalists, who hate Jefferson almost as much as they hate the Spanish.’ He clapped me on the back. ‘The court will find in my favour, and we will be free to continue our enterprise. Regarding which, I had meant to ask you something. One of my drafts on Mr Ogden has come back protested, and it is greatly inconvenient that we should be without funds at present. Can you think why Ogden should have done this? You were with Lyell in New York – he deposited his investment without difficulty, did he not?’
I confirmed to Burr that I thought he had.
‘Then it is most peculiar. But no matter: it is probably an error on the part of a bank clerk.’
I murmured an agreement, though privately I doubted it. Even if news of our current difficulties had not yet reached Lyell, he had seen the paucity of Burr’s army on Blennerhassett Island, the long odds against him. Knowing the old miser as I did, I would not have been at all surprised if he had returned to New York and reclaimed his investment. One by one, Burr’s friends were falling away as the noose around him tightened, however many of the jurors he may have befriended.
‘I was at King’s Tavern in Natchez last night,’ I said. ‘Three men cornered me there, and would have abducted me had I not escaped. They dressed as ruffians, but in fact they admitted to being officers in the army.’
We had progressed out of the courthouse into the narrow corridor which led to the street. With this last intelligence, Burr turned suddenly and stared up at me. ‘Wilkinson’s men?’
I nodded. ‘They meant to capture both of us and prove you had conspired with England to betray your country.’
Burr slammed a fist against the wainscoting, one of the few times I had ever seen his temper. ‘I knew it. Wilkinson will stop at nothing. He knows that I can ruin him – that I will ruin him, by God – for his treachery. He means to murder me, I am sure of it, so that his part in this scheme sinks with my coffin. How did these villains appear?’
I described them briefly. ‘Their leader named himself Captain Moses Hook; the others, he said, were his lieutenants. They were armed to the teeth.’
Burr peered along the corridor, as if Hook and his men might even now be advancing on him. ‘This is most alarming news. I will retire to Colonel Osmun’s house and lie low. We will depart this place as soon as the jury deliver their verdict.’
The jury duly delivered it the following afternoon. Burr was not in court, but his attorney was there looking pleased with himself. We rose for Judges Rodney and Bruin, then watched all twenty-three of the jurors shuffle into the room. Their foreman stood. In his hand he held several pages of notes, which seemed extravagant when only one or two words were required of him.
Judge Rodney rapped his gavel, bringing the courtroom to order.
The foreman cleared his throat.
‘The grand jury of the Mississippi Territory, on due investigation of the evidence brought before them, are of the opinion …’
He looked up to ensure that he held the audience’s attention.
‘… that Aaron Burr has not been guilty of any crime or misdemeanour against the laws of the United States, or of this Territory.’
Whatever else he had to say was lost as the courtroom erupted in cheers, whooping and applause. Shields turned around and began shaking hands with Burr’s supporters, while Poindexter sat stoically in his chair and watched the proceedings with indifference. He gave no sign of being surprised by the verdict.
At the judges’ bench, Bruin was smiling and exchanging pleasantries with his friends in the crowd, mimicking the happy motion of a raised glass. Beside him, Judge Rodney glared angrily. He banged his gavel with sepulchral monotony, so often that I thought the handle might snap off, but it must have been five minutes before anyone heeded him. At last, the hubbub subsided enough that he could address the court.
‘This is a most irregular verdict,’ he began.
Almost immediately, he was interrupted by the jury foreman. ‘Excuse me, Your Honour, but I’ve not finished.’
Rodney fixed him with a glare like a bayonet. ‘What else do you have to say?’
The foreman consulted his notes. ‘We’ve some more findings to announce.’
Rodney clearly wished to hear nothing more from this lamentably uncooperative jury, but Bruin waved the foreman to continue. Whereupon the entire assembly was treated to a ten-minute harangue on the iniquities of first the governor, then General Wilkinson, and finally President Jefferson himself. In the jury’s eyes, it seemed these men were a gang of despots who had usurped their powers and abominated justice to a degree not seen in history since the tyrants of ancient Rome. Governor Mead had declared a private war on an innocent citizen; Wilkinson had destroyed personal liberty; while Jefferson had ravished every principle of their cherished constitution. It was as well the gentlemen concerned were not present, or by the end of the speech they might have found themselves standing trial in the dock.
Through all the speech, Bruin had been nodding sympathetically, while Rodney’s face contorted into ever more outlandish scowls and shades of crimson. When the foreman had finished, Rodney needed almost a minute to bring his fury into abeyance.
‘Thank you, gentlemen. You are dismissed.’
Shields rose. ‘If it please, your Honour, I would like to move that my client be released from his recognizance, and the bail he has paid returned to his bondsmen.’
Rodney cracked down his gavel. ‘Denied,’ he barked. ‘Colonel Burr is still under the supervision of this court and will be required to report here again. Do not think this is the end of the matter.’
‘But he has been found innocent,’ Shields objected. For the first time, the quiet confidence he wore had slipped. ‘You have no authority to hold him.’
Rodney leaned forward over his desk, like a preacher blasting forth fire and damnation. ‘Do not presume to tell me my authority, Mr Shields. In this courtroom and this jurisdiction, my word is law. Where is Burr now?’
‘Awaiting delivery of the verdict at Colonel Osmun’s, I should think,’ said Shields.
Rodney turned to the sheriff. ‘Fetch him here.’
The sheriff departed, and the two judges withdrew to their chamber. I cannot imagine what they said to each other there. The rest of us sat in the cold courtroom and waited, talking in subdued voices. From those around me, I gathered that holding a man who had been declared innocent was an unheard-of innovation, a travesty of American justice.
After half an hour the sheriff returned. Judge Rodney and Judge Bruin took their places. Burr was nowhere to be seen.
‘Well, Sheriff, where is Colonel Burr?’ asked Rodney.
A bashful sheriff doffed his hat and held it before him, as though warding off an impending blow. ‘He hasn’t come, Your Honour.’
‘What do you mean he has not come? You were ordered to bring him here by any means necessary. Did you find him?’
The sheriff shifted in discomfort. ‘I did, Your Honour, and then I didn’t. Burr was there when I got to Colonel Osmun’s house, but begged me five minutes to compose himself. I waited five minutes on the porch, knocked on the door, and waited another five minutes. When he still didn’t come out, I started pounding on that door fit to break it in, until one of Colonel Osmun’s negroes opened it. He played dumb, pretended he’d never heard of Colonel Burr, but I got past him and searched the house, top to bottom. Burr ain’t there. He’s run.’
Once again the room erupted in pandemonium. It did not subside until Rodney had beaten it back, swinging his gavel like an undertaker hammering nails into a coffin.
‘The said Aaron Burr is a fugitive and an outlaw,’ he announced with malicious pleasure. ‘His bail is forfeit. A reward of two thousand dollars is hereby offered to any man who brings him before this court.’
His pronouncement was almost drowned out by the tumult in the room, though he no longer made any effort to quell it. Through the din, I heard his final words.
‘Alive or dead.’