Still another man to succumb to the military contagion was William Wirt. To his friend Dabney Carr he wrote an impassioned letter announcing his intention to hand his wife back to her father for the time being and join the army. Wirt formed an ambitious plan for creating a legion of four regiments; he was to be the colonel of one, Carr colonel of another. For a few days his letters re-echoed the idea. But the plan aroused opposition and, as the war fever abated, the proposal died. Thereafter Wirt was as completely wedded to the law as Winfield Scott was to the military. Wirt’s brief dabbling in the military was to serve as a source of ridicule among his contemporaries.
In the very middle of the excitement over the Leopard-Chesapeake affair came July 4. Even under ordinary circumstances the anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence was regularly observed by the Richmond community with appropriate ceremonies as a patriotic celebration. The crisis acted as an extra stimulus on this occasion.
At daybreak the populace was awakened by the firing of a single gun. At sunrise there followed a salute of seventeen guns. Those units of the military which had not gone to Norfolk played a conspicuous part in the ceremonies. At 9 A.M. a troop of light horse, three volunteer companies of light infantry, and several more militia companies assembled on the parade ground. From there they marched to the Capitol Square with bands playing and colors flying. Meanwhile, in the House of Delegates, where Judge Marshall’s court had so recently adjourned, the more sedate people of the community were listening to orations from leading citizens of the town, then a popular form of entertainment.
At 2 P.M. the military and civilians joined forces in the Capitol Square. There, according to regular custom, the military formed a great circle and from the center Mayor Foushee solemnly read the Declaration of Independence. At its conclusion three cheers were given, the band struck up “Yankee Doodle” and followed it by “Hail, Columbia,” while soldiers and civilians joined in the chorus.
A silence then fell over the crowd as Shelton Jones, Esquire, distinguished for his eloquence, mounted the platform and delivered a funeral oration in memory of the seamen who had lost their lives on the Chesapeake. During the oration the troops stood at attention with arms reversed and, as the orator concluded his address, the solemnity of the occasion was emphasized by the roll of muffled drums and the firing of minute guns.
These serious ceremonies duly performed, the public now turned to the lighter features of the celebration. The militia companies repaired to the various places of entertainment previously designated for them while many of the civilians assembled in the Capitol for the drinking of toasts. Word had gone out that in keeping with the theme of independence native drinks—and no others—were to be the order of the day. At the Capitol the official count showed that seventeen standing toasts were drunk, the first having been proposed by Governor Cabell.
There is no mention of the Chief Justice having been present at the celebration at the Capitol. But Richmond was a busy place that day and the festivities were by no means confined to one spot. His absence from the Capitol might have been traced to another and more exclusive assemblage at an inviting spot several miles to the west of the town known as Buchanan’s Spring. This was a shady picnic spot on the property of the Rev. John Buchanan. It was the regular meeting place of the social organization known as the Barbecue Club, of which Judge Marshall was an enthusiastic member. The club, composed of the leading citizens of the town, had already been in existence some twenty years and it met regularly for sumptuous dinners at which individual members took turns at being host. The Fourth of July was always the occasion of a meeting of the club.
The dinner, laid out on a table under an open shed, had been prepared by Jasper Crouch, Richmond’s most popular caterer. Crouch enjoyed eating food as much as he did preparing it and, according to contemporary accounts, he had by this time “acquired gout and the rotundity of an alderman.” The custom of the club forbade either dessert or wine. The ample meal was washed down with toddy, punch, and mint julep. A diversion greatly enjoyed by members of the club was pitching quoits, at which the Chief Justice excelled. Tradition has it that his quoits were made especially for him and were heavier than those used by other members.
One celebrity who, perforce, was unable to join the general public in these festivities was Colonel Burr. He was now a prisoner in the penitentiary; and, if his own word is to be believed, every effort both official and unofficial was being exerted to make his stay there as comfortable as possible. To Theodosia he wrote describing the considerate behavior of his jailer:
“Jailer: ‘I hope, Sir, that it would not be disagreeable to you if I should lock this door after dark?’