The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 05, March, 1858

In speaking of his duel with Gen. Hamilton, we do not intend to judge Col. Burr's conduct by the rules by which a more enlightened public opinion now judges the duellist. He and his adversary acted according to the custom of their time; by that standard let them be measured. Mr. Parton thinks that the challenge was as "near an approach to a reasonable and inevitable action as an action can be which is intrinsically wrong and absurd." By this we understand him to say that the course of Col. Burr was in accordance with the etiquette which then governed men of the world in such affairs. We think differently.

During the election for Governor, Dr. Cooper, of Albany, heard Hamilton declare that he was opposed to Burr, and made a public statement to that effect. Gen. Schuyler denied the truth of this assertion, which Dr. Cooper then reiterated in a published letter, saying that Hamilton and Judge Kent had both characterized Burr as "a dangerous man, and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government," and that "he could detail a still more despicable opinion which Gen. Hamilton had expressed of Mr. Burr." Nearly two months after this letter was written, Burr addressed a note to Hamilton asking for an unqualified acknowledgment or denial of the use of any expression which would justify Dr. Cooper's assertion. The dispute turned upon the words "more despicable," and as to them there obviously were many difficulties. Cooper thought that the expression, "a dangerous man and one who ought not to be trusted with the reins of government," conveyed a despicable opinion; but many persons might think that such language did not go beyond the reasonable limits of political animadversion. Burr himself made no objection to that particular phrase; he did not allude to it except by way of explanation. The use of such language was common. In his celebrated attack upon John Adams, Hamilton had spoken of Mr. Jefferson as an "ineligible and dangerous candidate." The same words had been publicly applied to Burr himself, two years before. He did not see anything despicable in the opinion then expressed. A man may be unfit for office from lack of capacity, and dangerous on account of his principles. The most rigid construction of the Code of Honor has never compelled a person to fight every fool whom he thought unworthy of public station, and every demagogue whose views he considered unsound. If Dr. Cooper, then, was able to discover a despicable opinion where most people could find none, might he not have seen what he called a more despicable opinion in some remark equally innocent? Burr did not ask what were the precise terms of the remark to which Cooper alluded; he demanded that Hamilton should disavow Cooper's construction of that expression. He took offence, not at what had been said, but at the inference which another had drawn from what had been said. The justification of such an inference devolved upon Cooper, not Hamilton,—who by no rule of courtesy could be interrogated as to the justice of another's opinions. These difficulties presented themselves to the mind of Hamilton. He stated them in his reply, declared that he was ready to answer for any precise or definite opinion which he had expressed, but refused to explain the import which others had placed upon his language. Unfortunately, the last line of his note contained an intimation that he expected a challenge. Burr rudely retorted, reiterating his demand in most insolent terms. The correspondence then passed into the hands of Nathaniel Pendleton on the part of Hamilton, and William P. Van Ness, a man of peculiar malignity of character, upon the part of Burr. The responsibility of his position weighing upon Hamilton's mind, before the final step was taken, he voluntarily stated that the conversation with Dr. Cooper "related exclusively to political topics, and did not attribute to Burr any instance of dishonorable conduct," and again offered to explain any specific remark. This generous, unusual, and, according to strict etiquette, unwarranted proposition removed at once Burr's cause of complaint. Had he been disposed to an honorable accommodation, he would have received Hamilton's proposal in the spirit in which it was made. But, embarrassed by this liberal offer, he at once changed his ground, abandoned Cooper's remark, which had previously been the sole subject of discussion, and peremptorily insisted that Gen. Hamilton should deny ever having made remarks from which inferences derogatory to him could fairly have been drawn. This demand was plainly unjustifiable. No person would answer such an interrogatory. It showed that Burr's desire was, not to satisfy his honor, but to goad his adversary to the field. It establishes the general charge, which Parton virtually admits, that it was not passion excited by a recent insult which impelled him to revenge, but hatred engendered during years of rivalry and stimulated by his late defeat. Burr must long have known Hamilton's feelings towards him. Those feelings had been freely expressed; and Burr's letters discover that he was fully aware of the distrust and hostility with which he was regarded by his political associates and opponents. A man has no claim to satisfaction for an insult given years ago. The entire theory of the duello makes it impossible for one to ask redress for an injury which he has long permitted to go unredressed. The question being, not whether the practice of duelling is wrong, but whether Burr was wrong according to that practice, we have no difficulty in concluding that the challenge was given upon vague and unjustifiable grounds, and that Gen. Hamilton would have been excusable, if he had refused to meet him.

It may be said, that, if Hamilton accepted an improper challenge, he should receive the same condemnation as the one who gave it. But, even on general grounds, some qualification should be made in favor of the challenged party. His is a different position from that of the challenger. A sensitive man, though he think that he is improperly questioned, may have some delicacy about making his own judgment the rule of another's conduct. Besides, there were many considerations peculiar to this case. The menacing tone of Burr's first note made it evident that he meant to force the quarrel to a bloody issue. Hamilton, jealous of his reputation for courage, could not run the risk of appearing anxious to avoid a danger so apparent. Moreover, he was conscious, that, during his life, he had said many things which might give Burr cause for offence, and he was unwilling to avail himself of a technical, though reasonable objection, to escape the consequences of his own remarks. Neither could he apologize for what he still thought was true. These considerations were doubly powerful with Hamilton. His early manhood had been passed in camps; his early fame had been won in the profession of arms. He was a man of the world. He had never discountenanced duelling; he himself had been engaged in the affair between Laurens and Lee; and a few years before, his own son had fallen in a duel. Neither his education nor his professions nor his practice could excuse him. It was too late to take shelter behind his general disapproval of a custom which was recognized by his professional brethren and had been countenanced by himself. It is true that he would have shown a higher courage by braving an ignorant and brutal public opinion, but it would be unjust to censure him for not showing a degree of courage which no man of his day displayed. He and Burr are to be measured by their own standard, not by ours; and tried by that test, it is easy to see a difference between one who accepts and one who sends an unjustifiable challenge; it is the difference which exists between an error and a crime.

There was an interval of two weeks between the message and the meeting. This was required by Hamilton to finish some important law business. When he went to White Plains to try causes, he was in the habit of staying at a friend's house. The last time he visited there, a few days before his death, he said, upon leaving, "I shall probably never come here again." During this period he invited Col. Wm. Smith, and his wife, who was the only daughter of John Adams, to dine with him. Some rare old Madeira which had been given to him was produced on this occasion, and it was afterwards thought that it was his intention by this slight act to express his desire to bury all personal differences between Mr. Adams and himself. These, and various other little incidents, show that he felt his death to be certain; yet all his business in court and out was marked by his ordinary clearness and ability, all his intercourse with his family and friends by his usual sweetness and cheerfulness of disposition.

On the Fourth of July, Hamilton and Burr met at the annual banquet of the Society of Cincinnati. Hamilton presided. No one was afterwards able to remember that his manner gave any indication of the dreadful event which was so near at hand. He joined freely in the conversation and badinage of such occasions, and towards the close of the feast sang a song,—the only one he knew,—the ballad of the Drum. But many remembered that Burr was silent and moody. He did not look towards Hamilton until he began to sing, when he fixed his eyes upon him and gazed intently at him until the song was ended.

Hamilton was living at the Grange, his country-seat, near Manhattanville. The place is still unchanged. His office was in a small house on Cedar Street, where he likewise found lodgings when necessary. The night previous to the duel was passed there. We have been told by an aged citizen of New York, that Hamilton was seen long after midnight walking to and fro in front of the house.

During these last hours both parties wrote a few farewell lines. In no act of their lives does the difference in the characters of Hamilton and Burr show itself so distinctly as in these parting letters. Hamilton was oppressed by the difficulties and responsibilities of his situation. His duty to his creditors and his family forbade him rashly to expose a life which was so valuable to them; his duty to his country forbade him to leave so evil an example; he was not conscious of ill-will towards Col. Burr; and his nature revolted at the thought of destroying human life in a private quarrel. These thoughts, and the considerations of pride and ambition which nevertheless controlled him, are beautifully expressed in language which is full of pathos and manly dignity. He had made his will the day before. He was distressed lest his estate should prove insufficient to pay his debts, and, after committing their mother to the filial protection of his children, he besought them, as his last request, to vindicate his memory by making up any deficiency which might occur. Burr's letters to Theodosia and her husband are mainly occupied with directions as to the disposal of his property and papers. The tone of them does not differ greatly from that of his ordinary correspondence. They do not contain a word such as an affectionate father or a patriotic citizen would have written at such a time. They do not express a sentiment such as a generous and thoughtful man would naturally feel on the eve of so momentous an occurrence. There are no misgivings as to the propriety of his conduct, nor a whisper of regret at the unfortunate circumstances which, as he professed to think, compelled him to seek another's blood. He addressed to his daughter a few lines of graceful compliment, and, in striking contrast with Hamilton's injunction to his children, Burr's last request with regard to Theodosia is, that she shall acquire a "critical knowledge of Latin, English, and all branches of natural philosophy."

The combatants met on the 11th of July, 1804, at a place beneath the heights of Weehawken, upon the New Jersey side of the Hudson,—the usual resort, at that time, for such encounters. Burr fired the moment the word was given, raising his arm deliberately and taking aim. The ball struck Hamilton on the side, and, as he reeled under the blow, his pistol was discharged into the air. "I should have shot him through the heart," said Burr, afterwards, "but, at the moment I was about to fire, my aim was confused by a vapor." Burr stepped forward with a gesture of regret, when he saw his adversary fall; but his second hurried him from the field, screening him with an umbrella from the recognition of the surgeon and bargemen.

Hamilton was carried to the house of Mr. Bayard, in the suburbs of the city. The news flew through the town, producing intense excitement. Bulletins were posted at the Tontine, and changed with every new report. Crowds soon gathered around Mr. Bayard's house, and in the grounds. So deep was the feeling, that visitors were permitted to pass one by one through the room where Gen. Hamilton was lying. From the first, there was no hope of his recovery. This opinion of the most eminent surgeons in the city was concurred in by the surgeons of two French frigates in the harbor, who were consulted. Gen. Hamilton was a man of slight frame, and a disorder, from which he had recently suffered, prevented the use of the ordinary remedies. He retained his composure to the last; nor was his fortitude disturbed until his seven children approached his bedside. He gave them one look, and, closing his eyes, did not open them again while they remained in the room. He expired at two o'clock on the day after the duel.

He was not the only victim. His oldest daughter, a girl of twenty, whose education he had carefully directed, and whose musical talents gave him great pleasure, never recovered from the shock of her father's death. In her disordered fancy, she visited by night the fatal ground at Weehawken, and told her friends that she crossed the river and returned before morning. Her mind soon gave way entirely; and only last spring death released her from a total, though gentle insanity of fifty years' duration.

The sudden and tragic death of Alexander Hamilton produced a universal feeling of sympathy and sorrow. As the leader of the bar, the advocate of the Constitution, the statesman who had given the law to American commerce, the most accomplished soldier in the army, and connected with the still recent glories of the Revolution,—his name had become familiar to every ear, and was associated with every subject of popular interest. His career was, in all respects, an extraordinary one. He came here a stranger, without fortune or powerful family connections. While yet a school-boy, he had borne a creditable part in the discussion of public affairs. At an age when the ambition of most young soldiers is satisfied, if, by the performance of their ordinary duties as subalterns, they have attracted the regard of their superiors, he was in a position of responsibility, and occupied with the most serious and complicated matters of war. He was one of the youngest and at the same time one of the most influential members of the Constitutional Convention. To this distinction in affairs and arms he added equal distinction at the bar. It will be difficult to find in our history, or in that of England, an instance of such eminence in three departments of action so distinct and dissimilar. Although it may he said of Hamilton, that he had not the intuitive perception, which Jefferson possessed, of the necessities imposed upon the country by its anomalous condition, yet, as a statesman under an established government, he was surpassed by no man of his generation. His talents were of the kind which most attracts the sympathies and impresses the understandings of others. He was a grave man, occupied with business affairs, but not unequal to occasions which required the display of taste and eloquence. His solid qualities of mind inspired universal confidence in the soundness of his views upon all questions which were not the subject of political dispute. There were many plain Republicans of that day who were firmly attached to the principles which Jefferson advocated, but who thought that Jefferson was a dreamer and an enthusiast, and that Hamilton was a far safer man in the ordinary affairs of government.

The grief which the death of Hamilton caused in the nation reacted upon Burr; and when the correspondence was published, a storm of condemnation burst upon him. Indictments were found against him in New York and New Jersey. In every pulpit, upon every platform, where the virtues and services of Hamilton were celebrated, the features of his malignant foe were displayed in dramatic contrast. He was compared to Richard III. and Catiline, to Saul, and to the wretch who fired the temple of Diana. This feeling was not confined to orators and clergymen, nor to this country. It reached other communities, and was shared by men of the world like Talleyrand, and retired students like Jeremy Bentham. The former, a few years before his death, related to an American gentleman, that Burr, on his arrival in Paris, in 1810, sent to him and requested an interview. The French statesman could not well refuse to receive an American of such distinction, with whom he was personally acquainted, and by whom he had formerly been hospitably entertained, and told the gentleman who brought the message,—"Say to Col. Burr, that I will receive him to-morrow; but tell him also, that Gen. Hamilton's likeness always hangs over my mantel." Burr did not call upon him. Talleyrand directed that after his death the miniature should be sent to Hamilton's descendants, with some newspaper scraps relating to him, which he had thrust into the lining. When Burr was in England, he became intimate with Bentham. The latter, in his "Memoirs and Correspondence," makes a brief allusion to the acquaintance, in which the following passage occurs: "Burr gave me an account of his duel with Hamilton. He was sure of being able to kill him: so I thought it little better than a murder."

Previously to his retirement from the Vice-Presidency, in March, 1805, Burr had formed the design of seeking a home in the Southwest. Little more than a year before, Louisiana had been annexed, and then offered a wide field to an ambitious man. Encouraged by some acquaintances, he projected various political and financial speculations. In April, he repaired to Pittsburg, and started upon a journey down the Ohio and the Mississippi. On the way, curiosity led him to the house of Herman Blennerhassett, and he thus accidentally made the acquaintance of a man whose name has become historic by its association with his own. Blennerhassett was an Irishman by birth; he had inherited a considerable fortune, and was a man of education. Beguiled by the belief that in the retirement of the American forests he would find the solitude most congenial to the pursuit of his favorite studies, he purchased an island in the Ohio River near the mouth of the Little Kanawha. He expended most of his property in building a house and adorning his grounds. The house was a plain wooden structure; and the shrubbery, in its best estate, could hardly have excited the envy of Shenstone. Men of strong character are not dependent upon certain conditions of climate and quiet for the ability to accomplish their purposes. But Blennerhassett was not a man of strong character; neither was he an exception to this rule. He was, at the best, but an idle student; and his zeal for science never carried him beyond a little desultory study of Astronomy and Botany and some absurd experiments in Chemistry. His figure was awkward, his manners were ungracious, and he was so near-sighted that he used to take a servant hunting with him, to show him the game. His credulity and want of worldly knowledge exposed him to the practices of the shrewd frontiers-men among whom he lived. He soon became involved in debt, and at the time of Burr's visit his situation made him a ready volunteer for any enterprise which promised to repair his shattered fortunes. That the enterprise was impracticable, and that he was unfit for it, only made it more attractive to his imaginative and simple mind. The fancy of Wirt has thrown a deceptive romance around the career of Blennerhassett, yet there is enough of truth in the account of the misfortunes which Burr brought upon him and his amiable wife to justify the sympathy with which they have been regarded.

Soon after his arrival at New Orleans Burr seems to have formed bolder designs. From this time we find in his correspondence, and that of his friends, vague hints of some great undertaking. This proved to be a project for an expedition against Mexico, and the establishment there of an Empire which was to include the States west of the Alleghanies; subsidiary to this, and connected with it, was a plan for the colonization of a large tract of land upon the Washita.

It is difficult to believe that a design so absurd can have been entertained by a man of common sense; yet it is certain that it was seriously undertaken by Burr. His conduct in carrying it out furnishes the best measure of his talents and a signal exhibition of his folly and his vices. His high standing, his reputation as a soldier, attracted the vulgar, and brought him into intercourse with the most intelligent people of the Territory. The fascination of his manners, and the skill in the arts of intrigue which long discipline had given him, enabled him to sustain the impression which the prestige of his name everywhere produced. The details of his political conduct could not have been accurately known in a region so remote. The affair with Hamilton had not injured his reputation in communities where such affairs were common and often applauded. The circumstances of the time, to his superficial glance, seemed to be encouraging. A large portion of the country had lately passed under our flag;—many of the inhabitants spoke a foreign language, and retained foreign customs and predilections;—the American settlers were an adventurous race, and eager for an opportunity to indulge their martial spirit;—Mexico was uneasy under the Spanish yoke;—and some indications of a war between the United States and Spain held out a faint hope that the initiatory steps of his enterprise might be taken with the connivance of the government. To recruit an army among the hardy citizens of Kentucky and Tennessee, to excite the jealousies of the French in Louisiana, to subdue feeble and demoralized Mexico, and create a new and stable empire, did not appear difficult to the sanguine imagination of a man who was without means or powerful friends, and who at no time had sufficient confidence in those with whom he was engaged to fully inform them of his plans. But he pursued his purposes with a tenacity which leaves no doubt of his sincerity, and an audacity and unscrupulousness seldom equalled. A few whom he thought it safe to trust were admitted to his secrets. Upon those in whom he did not dare to confide he practised every species of deception. He told some, that his intentions were approved by the government,—others, that his expedition was against Mexico only, and that he was sure of foreign aid. He represented to the honest, that he had bought lands, and wished to form a colony and institute a new and better order of society; the ignorant were deluded with a fanciful tale of Southern conquest, and a magnificent empire, of which he was to be king, and Theodosia queen after his death. So thoroughly was this deception carried out, that it is difficult to determine who were actually engaged with him. Without doubt, many acceded to his plans only because they did not knew what his plans really were. He made rapid journeys from New Orleans to Natchez, Nashville, Lexington, Louisville, and St. Louis. In the winter of 1805 he returned to Washington, and in the following summer again went down the Ohio. Wherever he went, he threw out complaints against the government,—charged it with imbecility,—boasted that with two hundred men he could drive the President and Congress into the Potomac,—freely prophesied a dissolution of the Union, and published in the local journals articles pointing out the advantages which would result from a separation of the Western from the Eastern States. Gen. Eaton had been denounced in Congress, and had a claim against the government; Burr tempted him with an opportunity to redress his wrongs and satisfy his claim. Commodore Truxton had been struck from the Navy list; he offered him a high command in the Mexican navy. He took every occasion to flatter the vanity of the people; attended militia parades, and praised the troops for their discipline and martial bearing. Large donations of land were freely promised to recruits; men were enlisted; Blennerhassett's Island was made the rendezvous; and provisions were gathered there.