The trial ended, those of the principals whose homes were in Richmond returned to their normal pursuits in the city, while those from a distance departed to pick up the threads of their various careers elsewhere. What became of them in later years and what changes were wrought in the scene of their activities during the long hot summer of 1807 are the proper subject for a closing chapter.

Richmond itself continued to grow and prosper. Its important status as capital of the State of Virginia, the seat of the administrative branch of state government, of the legislature and the judiciary, and its favorable location as a center of commerce contributed toward a continued activity of which the Burr trial was merely one outstanding episode.

Prosperity had its reflections in the physical appearance of the city. As Lawyer Wickham’s practice became more lucrative, and as his increasing progeny began to tax his domestic establishment, he bethought himself of building a new house. For this project he engaged the services of the distinguished young architect Robert Mills. The result of their combined efforts was the handsome house, with its graceful spiral stairway, which survives to this day as the home of the Valentine Museum.

Another actor in the drama, who played a modest role as a member of the Grand Jury, also took advantage of increasing good fortune to employ Mr. Mills to build a mansion commensurate with it. Dr. John Brockenbrough, advanced from cashier to president of the Bank of Virginia, chose a site on Shockoe Hill on an eminence with a sweeping view to the east. The new abode was a fitting setting for his wife Gabriella’s salons. It has been destined to go down in history as the White House of the Confederacy.

They were but two of many other ambitious houses that altered the modest, homely face of Shockoe Hill. Even as they were rising, however, fashion was shifting westward. Within a few decades it was to sound the death knell of the Hill as a desirable residential quarter.

The only dwelling of distinction which stood there at the time of the Burr trial and which stands today is the house of Chief Justice Marshall. Restored and reverently cared for, it enables visitors to visualize what life on the Hill was like when, under its roof or in the shade of the trees on the lawn, the master penned his famous opinions.

The master himself and his beloved Molly have moved a few blocks away. They and their family and friends occupy more restricted quarters in Shockoe Cemetery. In death as in life fashion predominates. As in life fashion moved from the Hill to the West End, so in death fashion has shifted to Hollywood Cemetery. Hollywood, with its presidents and post-bellum aristocracy, has become a showplace. Only the rare visitor finds his way through a poor and forgotten quarter to Shockoe.

After his long and arduous experience presiding over the trial the Chief Justice was in need of a rest and he hurried off to the Blue Ridge Mountains. In a letter to his friend Judge Peter thanking him for the gift of a book he revealed his sense of relief: “I received it while fatigued and occupied with the most unpleasant case which has ever been brought before a Judge in this or perhaps any other country, which affected to be governed by laws.”

In those days much of the work of the Supreme Court was conducted on circuit. So the Chief Justice was able to spend a great deal of his time on official business in the congenial atmosphere of Richmond. There, after the indignation of his political opponents over his conduct of the trial had somewhat died down, he once more enjoyed the affection and respect of his neighbors.

Even after Mr. Jefferson came to the end of his term of office and retired to Monticello the feud between the Chief Justice and himself went on. In the summer of 1821 a series of articles by Judge Spencer Roane, of the Virginia Court of Appeals, attacking the Chief Justice and presenting the states’ rights argument against the extension of Federal power, appeared in The Enquirer. In a letter to his colleague Justice Story, Judge Marshall attributed the vulgarity of their tone to Roane, but imagined the “acerbity of language increased by his communications with the Great Lama of the mountains.” And even when Jefferson died the Chief Justice, kindly though he was in most human relationships, could not bring himself to the point of expressing distress or offering a word of praise.

Edmund Randolph, the elder statesman, did not long survive the trial. That, in fact, was his last memorable appearance. He died in 1813 at the age of 60 years. By an irony of fate the youngest of the counsel in the trial was the first to go. The prospects of a brilliant career were cruelly blasted when Benjamin Botts and his young wife met death in the burning of the Richmond Theater on December 26, 1811. So, save for his part in the defense of Aaron Burr, he is best known in local history as the father of John Minor Botts, a Virginia statesman.

William Wirt’s participation was a prelude to greater achievement. His distinction as a lawyer increased with the years and he eventually became Attorney General of the United States in three administrations. Wirt combined with the law the avocation of a man of letters. He wrote a life of Patrick Henry and a series of essays under the title of Letters of a British Spy in which he portrayed some of his contemporaries. These publications gave him momentary fame. He was alert to seize any inspiration for a literary composition whether it was the death of an acquaintance or an early morning stroll.

Of the two warriors who figured in the trial the futures were in striking contrast. Winfield Scott appeared there only as a youthful spectator. He won his spurs in the War of 1812 where he proved beyond a doubt that his natural calling was that of a soldier. Between military assignments he occasionally returned to Richmond to pursue his courtship of the lovely and talented Maria Mayo. It was said that he wooed her as lieutenant, captain, major, and colonel, and finally as general won her hand. He eventually rose to be Commander-in-Chief of the United States Army. But when, in that position, he was delegated the task of invading and conquering his native state, Virginia erased his name from the list of her distinguished sons and has never restored it.

The other warrior was Major General James Wilkinson. Battered and bruised from his experience at the hands of the Grand Jury and counsel for the defense he returned to the Southwest to resume his command. When, in the War of 1812, General Dearborn demonstrated beyond any doubt that he was unequal to the task of commanding the United States Army of the North, the nation once more in her dire need called on the leader who, according to his own account, had saved her from the threats of Aaron Burr.

Wilkinson, with the same lethargy of movement that had characterized his entry on the scene at the Burr trial, eventually reached the northern theater in the middle of the summer of 1813. His ensuing campaign was as disastrous to American arms as that of his predecessor had been. After a succession of failures he gladly welcomed relief from command though he had still to face a court-martial. This exonerated him from blame, which no doubt under the circumstances was a just decision. The nation at last seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that it could be saved without intercession of the General. He was not called on again. The remaining twelve years of life that fate generously granted him were spent in retirement in Mexico. His position there, though comfortable enough, was something less than it would have been had he appeared there as the commander of the conquering army of Emperor Aaron I.

George Hay who had battled so bravely, if unsuccessfully, for the Government eventually won his reward as a Republican stalwart. He was elevated to the bench as Judge of the Federal District of Virginia. Further to seal his connection with the “Virginia Dynasty,” he took as his second wife Eliza, daughter of James Monroe.

Hay’s colleague MacRae, following his appearance as counsel for the prosecution, passed through various vicissitudes of fortune. Soon after the trial he was appointed American consul in Paris. He remained in Europe a few years before returning to Richmond. What then happened to him is obscure. One account has it that he met with financial reverses. However that may be he disappeared from Richmond, leaving his wife behind, and never returned. He is reported to have died in England.

Of Andrew Jackson and Washington Irving nothing needs to be said. Their later careers are too well known to require a recapitulation here.

Following his release on bail to await the action of the Ohio Grand Jury Colonel Burr set out for the North. He was accompanied by the ever faithful young Samuel Swartwout, Luther Martin, and Harman Blennerhassett. Blennerhassett’s excuse was that he was sticking with the Colonel in the hope of recovering more of his money. Whatever the reason he seemed always ready to answer the Colonel’s beck and call and to enjoy his company, however much he might abuse him behind his back.

As they proceeded on their journey the report of the outcome of the trials in Richmond went ahead of them. It was a report of the miscarriage of justice painted in the lurid colors of the most extreme animosity of political partisanship.

The crisis came with the arrival of the party in Baltimore on November 3. That city was a hotbed of Republicanism and its frequent emotional outbursts already were conditioning it for the popular name of “Mobtown.” Handbills had been printed and distributed announcing the hour for the hanging in effigy of the Chief Justice, Burr, Blennerhassett, and Martin.

On learning of the proposed demonstration Burr, accompanied by Swartwout, discreetly embarked in a stagecoach for Philadelphia. Martin retired to his house where he enjoyed the protection of some of his law students and other friends who armed themselves and prepared to resist if the house were attacked.

Blennerhassett repaired to an inn where he was supposed to be guarded by the police—a doubtful security in the event of a public demonstration. At the frantic urging of the landlord he sought the greater safety of the attic and from a window looked down at the disorderly procession as it passed by the inn.

In the lead was a fife and drum corps playing “The Rogues’ March.” Behind it came a cart in which were the effigies of the aforesaid gentlemen on their way to be strung up on Gallow’s Hill. It was a motley array which the living models for the effigies did well to escape. Fortunately the demonstration ended without violence or bloodshed.

Burr was still under indictment in New Jersey and New York despite the fact that the death of Hamilton had occurred three years before. He did not therefore dare to show his face in public, but lived in New York City as a fugitive, cared for by devoted friends, until six months later he took passage for Europe under an assumed name.

He arrived in London in the middle of July and, because of his former distinction as well as his personal attractions, he was welcomed by such accomplished persons as Charles Lamb, William Godwin, and Jeremy Bentham. Burr was still obsessed with the idea of playing a vital part in the achievement of independence by the Spanish colonies in America. He gained an interview with the British statesmen Castlereagh and Canning and revealed a plan of action, but without obtaining either their interest or support. On the contrary, for whatever reason, the official attitude stiffened. His apartment was searched and his property seized. The property was returned but with it came an order to leave England. Some people saw in this the avenging hand of Jefferson.

Once more an exile, Burr wandered through Sweden, Denmark, and Germany, always out of funds, depending on the charity of friends, but still with enough of the old unconquerable spirit to set down in his diary a lively record of his various amours.

The Colonel at last reached Paris where he sought an interview with Napoleon in the hope once more of pushing his plans for exploiting the Spanish colonies. But the Emperor was too busy with his immediate problems in Europe to give ear to those of Burr. The latter’s situation was more desperate than ever. The only recourse left to the outcast was to return home. The American representatives in Paris, on orders from Washington, refused him a passport. By one of those odd coincidences so often encountered in life, one of the American representatives was Alexander MacRae who so short a time before had sought his conviction in Richmond.

In these trying days the Colonel, if he ever needed consolation, could still count on Theodosia. In fact the harder he was treated by the world the greater was her adulation. It reached its climax in a letter which she addressed to him in Europe:

“I witness your extraordinary fortitude with new wonder at every new misfortune. Often, after reflecting on this subject, you appear to me so superior, so elevated above all other men, I contemplate you with such a strange mixture of humility, admiration, reverence, love and pride, that very little superstition would be necessary to make me worship you as a superior being, such enthusiasm does your character excite in me.

“When I afterwards revert to myself, how insignificant do my best qualities appear. My vanity would be greater if I had not been placed so near you; and yet my pride is our relationship. I had rather not live than not be the daughter of such a man.”

At last in 1812 the Colonel was permitted to return home. By this time public opinion even in New York had relented. The war with England and other more immediate matters served to erase from the public conscience the Hamilton episode. Burr could resume his practice and his native brilliance soon restored to him his earlier reputation as a leader at the bar.

But more tragedy was in store. This time it took the form of domestic sorrow, as though fate were trying to see what else it could do to break his indomitable spirit. From Charleston came the distressing news of the death of Aaron Burr Alston, to whom the grandfather was so devoted and on whom he had counted to carry on the family tradition.

There was still more to come. Theodosia, stricken with grief and herself fatally ill, sought solace in the company of her father in New York. At noon on December 30, 1812, accompanied by her maid, she set sail from Charleston aboard a vessel named The Patriot. Not long after, a terrific storm blew up on the Atlantic. The Patriot was never heard of again. The vessel’s fate has continued to be a mystery.

The North Carolina coast in the neighborhood of Cape Hatteras was notorious in those days for “wreckers,” men who, by the ingenious shifting of lights on shore, lured ships on the shoals and, when the ships had broken up, preyed on the wrecks. There were as well rumors of the operations of pirates. In later years legends sprang up of deathbed confessions in which Theodosia Burr Alston figured as a victim of one of these bands of marauders. But convincing proof is lacking.

Whatever his innermost thoughts, Burr accepted this last and bitterest loss with the stoicism he had shown on earlier occasions. His pride demanded that he do no less.

Meanwhile retribution had caught up with another figure in the trial. Luther Martin’s constitution broke down under his persistent and unrestricted drinking. His law practice fell away. Burr learned of his condition and repaid him for past favors by giving him asylum in his home in New York.

Eventually Martin returned to Baltimore, his once brilliant mind shattered by the steady inroads of senility. He often wandered through the court rooms which had been the scene of so many of his triumphs, a drooling derelict, for whose support, in recognition of his great past achievements, each member of the bar accepted a small annual assessment.

Shortly after the episode in Baltimore Blennerhassett parted company with Burr and went to join his beloved Margaret in Natchez. He was now approaching the end of his resources, burdened with an accumulation of debts, and badgered by insolent and exacting creditors. His library, research apparatus and the furniture in the mansion on the island had to be sold. The mansion itself was allowed to go to ruin. It was taken over along with the rest of the island by a tenant who used them for the culture of hemp and the manufacture of cordage. It was not long, however, before the mansion was mercifully rescued from its humiliation by a fire which leveled it to the ground.

Despairing of ever getting any money out of Burr, Blennerhassett concentrated on his son-in-law Alston, demanding $35,000 on pain of publishing a pamphlet disclosing the Governor’s connection with the conspiracy. Alston, now Governor of South Carolina, is reported to have given him $10,000. Blennerhassett’s next venture was the purchase of a cotton plantation in Mississippi. In spite of Margaret’s loyal support this too was a failure.

At this point the acting Governor of Canada, an old and intimate friend, managed to find a seat for Blennerhassett on one of the provincial courts of the Dominion. So in 1819, disposing of what interest remained to him in the island and the plantation, he moved with his wife and sons to Canada and took up his residence in Montreal. But this solution of his problem proved temporary—he was turned out of office by what he described as the “capriciousness of the British ministry.”

All that was left to him now were claims to property still existing in Ireland. So in 1822 the Blennerhassetts set sail from Canada for home. Nothing came of the claims and, after living for a time with a maiden sister of Harman’s in England, the Blennerhassetts sought refuge on the island of Guernsey. That was Blennerhassett’s last move. There he died in 1831, leaving Margaret with little or no money and two dependent sons.

In 1842 Mrs. Blennerhassett decided to return to the United States and petitioned Congress for payment for the boats and stores seized at Marietta, Ohio, in the winter of 1806–07. On her arrival in New York with one of her sons, Henry Clay, who was then in the Senate, interested himself in her case. He described her as living in absolute want, presented her petition, and advocated its justice. But the petitioner died before the Senate had time to act.

Thus ended the tragic story of the Blennerhassetts, though they themselves may not have considered it so. For the love that had been the cause of their adventures in the new world sustained them to the last. Yet their later years were a far cry from the romantic dreams in which Blennerhassett stood at the right hand of the Emperor Aaron I while Margaret presided as first lady in waiting to the Princess Theodosia. Such was the heavy penalty the Blennerhassetts had to pay for Harman, as his partner Woodbridge put it, having “all kinds of sense except common sense.”

For some fifteen years Aaron Burr continued to practice law in New York City successfully. At the age of 77 years he had one last romantic passage which culminated in his marriage to the widow Jumel, for which nothing good could be said on either side. The episode soon ended in divorce. Time for the Colonel was now fast running out. Yet how many of his enemies had he already survived! Death came to him at last in September, 1836, at the age of 80 years.

The body of Aaron Burr was laid to rest in a grave beside those of his father and his grandfather in the cemetery at Princeton.

One evening at twilight many, many years later, two visitors stood at the foot of the grave. Instinctively both of them had removed their hats as they approached the spot. They were Burr’s biographer Walter Flavius McCaleb and Woodrow Wilson, then President of Princeton University. They remained for a moment in silence. It was broken by Wilson’s voice, pitched very low: “How misunderstood—how maligned—”

This from a historian who must have been acquainted with all the facts. Even in death, and in spite of the passage of time, Aaron Burr still exercised his fascination.