That sentiment assuaged a little some of the bitterer things. Young Alexander Hamilton, George Washington’s handsome protégé and Thomas Jefferson’s relentless enemy, dying, after he had fired dramatically in the air, from the bullet of Aaron Burr. And there had been Burr, as Jefferson knew, always plotting, dreaming up his grandiose schemes to set up an empire of his own in the West, fleeing to England when his treasonable activities were discovered, forfeiting his bail.
John Marshall had been to blame for that. John Marshall, John Adams’ midnight appointee, named for petty spite, and the sworn and bitter enemy of Thomas Jefferson, had so muddled Burr’s trial that a jury had acquitted the man of treason and altered the charge to some trivial misdemeanor. And then Marshall had had the effrontery to subpoena the President of the United States as a witness!
These are they who had worked all manner of evil against me, the words ran through the old man’s tired brain. Yet do I stand and my arm prevails against them. Curious how darkness and silence always brought back to him some line or other from the thousands of books he had read. That was something he would do at Monticello to fill up his days—catalogue all his books, almost ten thousand of them there must be now, for he had sent home boxes full every year. He would teach his older grandsons, Jefferson Randolph and Francis Eppes, to appreciate books too, and some of the girls might show some signs of possessing an eager mind like his Patsy’s.
Someone opened a door below and the blare of a marching tune came to his ears which likely meant that the dancing company were going down the chilly halls to the unfurnished rooms where the collation was spread on trestle tables. Jefferson found himself drumming his fingers on his chest in time to the music. There had been so much martial music in his life. He thought of Patrick Henry riding into Williamsburg on that cloudy morning at the head of his militia. Gallant, shabby Patrick, who had stood so tall in his run-down boots and worn leather breeches, his coat out at the elbows, who had twice sent great words ringing on the air of America, words that were so trumpet-strong and stirring that they still echoed in the ears of men and made a small thrill quiver in the breast of Thomas Jefferson himself.