Hamilton managed to tell Dr. Hosack he believed the wound was fatal before he lost consciousness. The ball had passed through his liver and lodged in his spine. He was rowed back across the river to New York and, suffering great pain, lingered through the day and night and died the following afternoon.
An incident which occurred on Burr’s return to Richmond Hill, his handsome country home outside the city, affords a momentary glimpse into the strange character of the man. A young relative, unaware of what had happened, dropped by and found Burr engrossed in ordinary household matters. He accepted an invitation to breakfast where the conversation was confined to general topics. After breakfast the young man said goodby and went down to Wall Street where a friend inquired if he had heard that Burr had killed Hamilton in a duel. “Impossible,” exclaimed the relative, “I have just had breakfast with the Colonel and he said nothing about it.”
Those who knew him well say that Burr would have expected no mourning had he, and not Hamilton, been killed.
But if Burr’s conscience was clear, not so that of the local community. Before this meeting public opinion had turned strongly against dueling as a means of settling personal differences. Anger reached fever heat when the victim was so distinguished and popular a man as Hamilton. The public cried out for punishment. Burr was indicted for murder in New Jersey and for a misdemeanor in New York. To escape the action of the courts he had to leave home and, as he expressed it, “give a little time for passions to subside.”
When men faced the possibility of death in a duel it was customary for them, on the eve of the meeting, to set down parting messages. Burr’s on this occasion was a touching farewell to his daughter Theodosia. Hamilton’s contained an apology for his attacks on Burr. Confessing that in some particulars he might have been influenced “by misconstruction of misinformation,” he concluded: “It is also my ardent wish that I may have been more mistaken than I think I have been, and that he, by his future conduct, may show himself worthy of all confidence and esteem, and prove an ornament and a blessing to the country.” Later events were to give a prophetic quality to the doubt expressed.
The situation in which he found himself did little to disturb Burr’s natural buoyancy. He allowed himself to be involved in a romantic episode with a lady named Celeste and wrote gaily to Theodosia: “If any male friend of yours should be dying of ennui, recommend to him to engage in a duel and a courtship at the same time. Prob. est.”
Burr’s objective at this time was a reunion with Theodosia, who had married Joseph Alston, a wealthy South Carolina planter. The Alstons, and their little son Aaron Burr Alston, had a home in Charleston. Before going there Burr spent a brief vacation at St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. His traveling companion, who acted also as secretary and aide-de-camp, was Samuel Swartwout, whom Burr described as “a very amiable young man of twenty or twenty-one.” Samuel was the younger brother of John Swartwout, onetime Collector of the Port of New York and a political ally of Burr who had been ignominiously discharged by Jefferson. More will be heard of Samuel.
In the journey from Georgia to Charleston Burr included a 200-mile canoe trip by inland waterways which revealed his exceptional powers of endurance at the age of 48 years.
Around the beginning of the New Year of 1805 Burr was back in Washington as presiding officer of the Senate. His admirable conduct of the impeachment trial of Justice Samuel Chase has been mentioned. But his official days were numbered. In the election of 1804 the Republicans chose DeWitt Clinton, his New York rival, for second place on the ticket. The Republicans were again the victors and Jefferson and Clinton took office on March 1, while Burr went out.
The Vice-President made a dramatic exit. On the eve of his departure he addressed the Senate. No scribe was at hand to record for posterity his exact words. He himself stated that he had made no previous preparation, but spoke merely from the heart. What posterity does know is that he spoke so earnestly, so eloquently, and so convincingly that some of his colleagues in that austere body broke down and wept unashamedly. When he had finished, in spite of the duel, in spite of political animosities and suspicions, they “Resolved, unanimously, that the thanks of the Senate, be presented to Aaron Burr, in testimony of the impartiality, dignity and ability with which he has presided over their deliberations, and of the arduous and important duties assigned him as President of the Senate.”