Richmond owed its commercial prosperity to being the city in the state farthest inland on navigable water. It was dominated by Scotch merchants who imported manufactured goods from Europe and sold them to their fellow townsmen and the planters nearby. Then they bought from the planters grain and tobacco which they marketed abroad or in the cities to the north, taking a nice profit on each transaction.
The town had been laid out many years before by Col. William Mayo, a friend of the second William Byrd, its founder. The Colonel adopted a checkerboard plan, the streets running east and west paralleling the river, each on a higher level than the other, and intersected at right angles by streets running north and south. The capitol sat in the middle of an open space of several acres known as Capitol Square, whose steep slopes were scarred with unsightly gullies. Behind the capitol the ground leveled off into a plateau whose north side, bearing the name of Shockoe Hill, served as the fashionable residential section of the town.
The Eagle Tavern to which Burr had been conducted stood on Main Street, an east-west thoroughfare at the foot of Capitol Hill occupied chiefly by shops and other business establishments. A trifle less refined than the Swan Tavern at the top of the hill, it catered to a wide variety of guests, including sportsmen, legislators, and planters who came up to Richmond periodically for a brief respite from the monotony of their plantations. The hostelry was identified by a sign, eight feet by five, displaying a golden eagle. This was no ordinary bird. It had been painted by the artist Thomas Sully, who in his later years was to become one of the leading portraitists of his day and to number among his subjects the young Queen Victoria of England. Sully got $50 for the eagle, not an insignificant sum according to 1800 standards of value.
At the tavern Colonel Burr remained under informal arrest over the weekend waiting to be handed over by the military to the civil authorities. The warrant, issued by the Chief Justice of the United States and written in his own hand, was based on the charges of treason against the United States and of a high misdemeanor in preparing a military expedition against the dominions of the King of Spain, with whom the United States was at peace.
In the early days of the Federal judiciary there were no judges of appeal, the appellant functions being performed by the justices of the Supreme Court to each of whom was assigned a circuit. Virginia, in which state Burr’s crimes were alleged to have been committed, lay in the circuit assigned to the Chief Justice. The Judiciary Bill of 1801, rushed through the Congress by the Federalists, provided for appeals judges. But it had been repealed by the Jeffersonians. Thus the presence of Chief Justice Marshall in Richmond on this occasion was attributable to Jefferson’s counterattack on the Federalists, unmindful though he may have been of the particular effect it was going to have on the trial of Aaron Burr.
The formal procedure took place on Monday, March 30. It was a matter of note among the Jeffersonians that the Chief Justice did not order the prisoner to be brought to court but instead went himself to the Eagle Tavern. They saw in this evidence of bias rather than a demonstration of John Marshall’s consideration for a fellow man once exalted and now humbled and reduced.
Over the weekend Colonel Burr had supplied himself with a suit and fresh linen more in keeping with his station as a former Vice-President of the United States than the homely disguise he had worn on making his entry into Richmond. Shortly after mid-day Maj. Joseph Scott, the United States Marshal for the Virginia district, appeared at Burr’s quarters and politely informed him that the time had come for the serving of the warrant. News of Burr’s arrival had spread through the town and attracted a crowd of the curious to the tavern. It was “an awfully silent and attentive assemblage of citizens” that looked on as the Colonel was conducted by Marshal Scott to a retiring room where the Chief Justice was waiting to examine him.
Present in the room with Judge Marshall were Caesar Rodney, newly appointed Attorney General of the United States, and George Hay, the District Attorney, representing the Government; and Edmund Randolph and John Wickham, attorneys for the defense. Present also, in addition to a few subordinates and friends of the accused, was Nicholas Perkins, who had conducted the prisoner from Alabama to Richmond.
Of the principals the youngest man there was Caesar Rodney. He had just turned 35 and was an enthusiastic Jeffersonian who had seen service in the United States House of Representatives. His situation was embarrassing since he had recently been on friendly terms with Burr. Next in order of youth was Hay. Not a brilliant lawyer but a plodder, and a determined one, he had rapidly forged to the front at the local bar. In his rise he had no doubt been assisted by his loyal adherence to Republican ideals. In an atmosphere that laid emphasis on birth it was not overlooked that he was the son of Anthony Hay, keeper of the Raleigh Tavern in Williamsburg. Richmond, however, was producing so many self-made men that while the fact of humble origin may have been noted, and perhaps mentioned privately, it placed no obstacle in the path of those who were on their way up.
In contrast to these rising luminaries was Edmund Randolph, the eldest in the group. Men developed early in those days and though Randolph was only 54 years old he was nearing the close of a distinguished career. He traced his descent from William Randolph of Turkey Island and his wife Mary Isham. In producing worthy descendants these two were to Virginia what Jonathan Edwards was to New England. They produced in quantity as well as quality, and were referred to as the Adam and Eve of Virginia. In the drama that was unfolding in Richmond both prosecution and defense were represented by a rash of their descendants. Proud though he may have been of his heritage, Aaron Burr could not complain that in Richmond he was not largely in the company of his social peers.