AFTER HAMILTON'S DEATH, I remained at Richmond Hill for ten days. I confess that I was not prepared for the response to our interview. Apparently no one had ever fought a duel in the whole history of the United States until Aaron Burr invented this diabolic game in order to murder the greatest American that ever lived {after George Washington, of course}. Over night the arrogant, mob-detesting Hamilton was metamorphosed into a Christ-like figure with me as the Judas-no, the Caiaphas who so villainously despatched the godhead to its heavenly father {George Washington again} at Weehawk, our new Jerusalem's most unlikely Golgotha. I
After Hamilton's death, I spent ten days at Richmond Hill, taken aback by the public's reaction to our duel. It seemed that, until then, no one in the United States had engaged in such a lethal confrontation, and that Burr had, in effect, created this dark tradition to eliminate a towering figure like Hamilton. The shift in perception was swift; Hamilton transformed from a proud and confrontational individual into a figure of almost reverent status.
In the aftermath, I felt as though I had become a traitor of sorts, akin to Judas or Caiaphas, betraying a leader who many came to view as a godlike figure. People began to see Hamilton not just as a politician but as a martyr, elevating his memory while casting me in a villainous light for my role in his demise. This dramatic transformation of public sentiment was unexpected and deeply unsettling for me.
