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‘Here you are Mr. Lawrence.’ A guard said, handing Lawrence a heap of luxurious clothing. Lawrence grabbed them gently through the cell and backed away to the back wall. The guard fed through two boots in between the bars, letting them thud on the cold hard ground.

‘Thank you Mr. Roberts.’ Lawrence responded.

Lawrence carefully manicured himself, brushing off dried mud that had gotten on his clothes. He stood in his cell, whispering to himself, standing up and gesturing grandiosely to a non-existent audience. He was practicing for his time in court. The guard returned to the cell.

‘Mr. Lawrence we will not be leaving for a bit, you may want to have a seat.’

Richard’s eyes darted towards the guard, who backed up slightly.

‘I ammmmm practicing for my royal address to the courts! Nothing, has ever. Been. this important, Mr. Roberts’ Lawrence hissed, immediately turning back to the crowd and gesturing.

The guard watched for a few moments as this man engaged fully and quietly the jury of stones in front of him, hoping to appeal to their sensibility. It was a sad sight for most people. Lawrence remained in isolation in his cell, alone with his delusions. He was visited with many reporters, lawyers, investigators, and doctors, only some he’d speak to. In all occasions, Lawrence made it clear that he felt no sort of remorse, nor unjustified for his attempted assassination. He spoke with complete and utter disdain for most people, the jail, Jackson, his family, he was in his mind above them all. Although he truly believed he was royalty held as a prisoner unlawfully, he conformed to interviews and tests from doctors. He answered lawyers and investigators without abandon, making a point to confess to his attempt almost every interaction he had. He couldn’t help himself.

Weeks prior, Judge Cranch had ruled that Lawrence was presumed fit to stand trial, as everyone was, until proved otherwise. Defense requested that Judge Cranch at least hear four separate doctors who were prepared to testify that Lawrence was not fit to stand trial. Given that insanity was Lawrence’s defense, he must stand trial to prove his insanity, these doctors would not be heard during the grand jury indictment. It was now April 11th 1835, Lawrence sat in silence, crouched on the ground in light pink colored attire and new looking boots, his attorneys had fetched these from his shop.

‘Get up, Lawrence.’ The guard demanded, Lawrence slowly rose and obeyed, head down and silent, he marched out of his cell and was escorted to Circuit Court in Washington. Upon arrival, Lawrence was hauled out of the buggy. He stumbled and covered his eyes, he hadn’t seen direct sunlight for sometime, it was incapacitating. The large marble courthouse seemed to glow to Lawrence, he remained stunned by its awe until he was shoved by a guard. The grounds outside the court were empty, he could hear the footsteps clopping on the steps up to the courthouse doors. The outside was not to be taken as a reflection of the interest, when the court doors opened a dull roar was released that grew louder as they recognized Lawrence.

The guards grabbed Lawrence and shoved through the immovable group of people, the deafening shouting from Jackson reporters in the halls of the courtroom. It was chaotic, Lawrence embraced this feeling of mass hatred. He enjoyed being able to cause such a commotion simply by following his own truths. He gleefully pushed his way with the guards to the court room doors, one guard pried a door open, while the other shoved Lawrence in and squeezed behind him. The other guard slid in, pulling the door closed behind him. The shouting was muted immediately, those in the courtroom greeted Lawrence and his escort silently with their eyes. Lawrence briskly walked to his seat and sat down, his counselor was already seated.

He looked nervously at Lawrence,

‘Good morning.’ Lawrence said nothing in return, simply nodding in return. The lawyer scooted his chair away and began to rifle through notes.

‘When do you think I can be done here? I surely will be let out soon and able to return.’ Lawrence stated expectantly. The attorney looked at him puzzled.

‘We will do the best we can.’ The lawyer smiled, physically turning his body from Lawrence now.

The courtroom doors flapped open and closed, allowing the crowds voices be heard, then muffled. The air was thick with tension, benches filled with journalists, politicians, lawyers, citizens to see the trial of the first assassination attempt on a president. Down the center of the room walked the prosecutor, Francis Scott Key. The crowd hushed and murmured as he passed. He was dressed in a dark, formal coat sporting a high collar, he carried himself with an air of quiet authority. Key was the district attorney for Washington D.C. at the time, and was a supporter of Jackson, he had litigated and defended some of the most high profile cases of his era. Interestingly, he had defended Sam Houston who had assaulted a U.S. Congressman from Ohio just three years earlier.

Who better to handle this case, this case would test the resolve of a young nations legal system. Questions of insanity, whether a crime was committed, and whether or not this was a conspiracy was all on display. Key knew the implications, the weight of this case, that it would not only determine Mr. Lawrence’s fate, but also set precedents for future cases and future threats to the president.

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