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.