Jefferson and Hamilton

II

While Jefferson was calmly observing the development of the conspiracy, and Gouverneur Morris was reflecting on the absurdity of the human comedy, Alexander Hamilton sat in his office in New York writing feverishly to the leaders of his party. If he wrote in bitterness it was because he was fighting for the last vestige of his prestige as a leader. It had been ominous enough when he lost control of the party caucus and the leaders of the second class deserted him for Adams, but now, to his horror, he found the leaders of the first class scheming for the election of Burr, his pet aversion, to the Presidency. This was too much. Through the latter part of December, the indignant sparks flew from his fast-flying pen as he sought desperately to dissuade the conspirators who had been his faithful servitors. On the 16th he wrote Wolcott of his hope that ‘New England at least will not so far lose its head as to fall into this snare.’ Jefferson was infinitely preferable, because ‘not so dangerous a man’ and because he had ‘pretensions to character.’ But Burr was a ‘bankrupt beyond redemption except by the plunder of his country.’ He was ‘the Catiline of America.’ Would Wolcott communicate these views to Marshall and Sedgwick and reply speedily?[1875] The next day Hamilton and his erstwhile idolater, Otis, were both busy with their pens. The former, in an evident fever of anxiety, was writing again to Wolcott. It was incredible that Federalists should be considering Burr. Within the last three weeks at his own table he had toasted the French Republic, the commissioners on both sides who had negotiated the peace, Bonaparte and Lafayette. Could anything have been more monstrous? ‘Alas, when will men consult their reasons rather than their passions?’ he asked. Elect Burr merely to mortify the Democrats by the defeat of Jefferson? ‘This disposition reminds me of the conduct of the Dutch moneyed man, who, from hatred of the old aristocracy, favored the admission of the French into Holland to overturn everything. Adieu to the Federal Troy if they once introduce this Grecian horse into their citadel.’[1876]

While Hamilton was writing thus to Wolcott, Otis, in Boston, was writing to Hamilton. ‘It is palpable,’ he wrote, ‘that to elect Burr is to cover the opposition with chagrin and to sow among them the seeds of morbid division.’ But how open communication with Burr? ‘We in Massachusetts do not know the man. You do. Please advise us.’[1877] Hearing a few days later that Sedgwick was deep in the plot, Hamilton wrote him with almost hysterical earnestness. ‘For heaven’s sake, let not the Federalist party be responsible for the elevation of this man [Burr].’[1878] Two days more, and Hamilton was writing in New York; Harper, who had been his idolater, was similarly engaged in Baltimore. The former was writing Morris, seeking an understanding with Jefferson; Harper was writing Aaron Burr, proffering an alliance. ‘Jefferson or Burr? The former without all doubt,’ wrote Hamilton. ‘Let our situation be improved to obtain from Jefferson assurances on certain points—the maintenance of the present system, especially on the cardinal articles of public credit—a navy, neutrality. Make any discreet use you think fit with this letter.’[1879] Alas, the flimsiness of political friendship! At that very hour Harper was writing Burr that the contest would be settled in the House. ‘The language of the Democrats is that you will yield your pretensions to their favorite.... I advise you to take no step whatever by which the choice of the House ... can be impeded or embarrassed. Keep the game perfectly in your own hands, but do not answer this letter, or any other that may be written to you by a Federal man, nor write to any of that party.’[1880]

No importunities from Hamilton were necessary in the case of Morris, who had taken the high ground ‘that since it was evidently the intention of our fellow citizens to make Mr. Jefferson their President, it seems proper to fulfill that intention.’[1881] Such was his response to Hamilton, who responded gratefully to the loyalty of one follower. ‘If there is a man in the world I ought to hate,’ he wrote, ‘it is Jefferson. With Burr I have always been personally well. But the public good must be paramount to every private consideration.’[1882] The next day Hamilton was bearing down hard on James A. Bayard, a Federalist Representative from Delaware, with an excoriation of Burr as liable to overturn the government to extend his power. Was it possible that Federalists were thinking of arrangements with a man of Burr’s character? ‘No engagement that may be made with him can be depended upon. While making it, he will laugh in his sleeve at the credulity of those with whom he makes it; and the first moment it suits his views to break it he will do so.’[1883] At the same time he was appealing to John Rutledge of South Carolina to assist in crushing the Federalists’ conspiracy as ‘a service to your country.’[1884] That month, too, Senator Ross of Pennsylvania heard from New York. ‘Mr. Burr is the last man in the United States to be supported by the Federalists,’ he read. Why not seek an understanding with Jefferson?[1885]

But as December faded from the calendar, the colossal genius of Federalism found himself in a position of pitiful impotency and isolation. Morris and Jay shared his views, but even the New York friends of his youth, like Troup, were unresponsive, and most of the leaders, who had once responded gladly to his nod, were ignoring his frantic efforts and proceeding with their plans. On the day he was writing Bayard, two men knocked at the lodgings of Morris, and Robert Goodhue Harper and Senator Henry Latimer of Delaware appeared to electioneer the delightful cynic whose cynicism held so much of wisdom. The voluble Harper was the spokesman. Burr, he said, was his ‘intimate friend.’ It was advisable, he thought, to elect Burr ‘without asking or expecting any assurances respecting his future administration.’ There was enough in Burr’s temper and disposition to give ample security ‘for a conduct hostile to the democratic spirit.’ Morris listened patiently, and dryly suggested the wisdom of the House suspending its determination ‘until they can have more light as to the merit and probable conduct of the candidates.’[1886] Unable to see with the majority of his party, Morris, who had touched life at so many points and in so many places, did not share in Hamilton’s rage. ‘Indeed, my dear friend,’ he wrote Robert Livingston about this time, ‘this farce of life contains nothing which should put us out of humor.’[1887] With Harper making a personal canvass for Burr, Judge Samuel Sewall, of the Essex Junto, was urging Otis to stand for ‘a steady and decided vote of the Federal party for Mr. Burr,’ because it might at any rate prevent an election—a consummation ‘most desirable.’[1888]

Meanwhile Burr, pretending preoccupation with the approaching nuptials of his brilliant Theodosia, was suavely simulating, if he did not feel, a distaste for the plan of his ‘intimate friend’ Harper. When the movement in his behalf was first launched, he wrote General Sam Smith that he would ‘disclaim all competition’ with Jefferson, that the Federalists ‘could entertain no wish for such an exchange,’ and that his friends would dishonor his views and insult his feelings ‘by a suspicion that I would submit to be instrumental in counteracting the wishes and expectations of the United States.’ But eight days later, Harper had written him an encouraging letter on the prospects and he appears to have followed the admonition not to reply. After that—silence.

At Conrad’s boarding-house the calmest man at the long table in the dining-room was Jefferson. He knew the plans of the opposition to prevent an election or to elect Burr, and noted the gloom among his friends and the exultation of his enemies. He was quite calm.

III

January found Hamilton still feverishly busy at his writing-desk. His worst fears had, by this time, been confirmed. His bosom friends had smiled incredulously upon his protests against Burr. The conspiracy was spreading ominously. His voice had lost its potency, his sword its shimmer. Grimly he fought against fate. McHenry had been impressed with the propaganda for Burr. A number of the Federalist leaders had escaped from the frog ponds of the capital to enjoy Christmas festivities in Baltimore, and from these he heard but one opinion—Burr should be supported. Burr’s letter to Smith? These worldly Federalists laughed derisively. He would not resent being elected by Federalist votes. Even McHenry thought that with Burr elected ‘we may flatter ourselves that he will not suffer the executive power to be frittered away.’ Still, he had misgivings. ‘Can we promise ourselves that he will not continue to seek and depend upon his own party for support?’[1889] It was with these doubts in his mind that McHenry opened a letter from Hamilton, whom he worshiped. Here he found Burr denounced as ‘a profligate,’ as a ‘voluptuary,’ as ‘an extortionist’ in his profession, as insolvent and dangerous.[1890] A word from Hamilton was enough, and McHenry joined his leader in combating the Federalist plans in Maryland—and not without effect. But with Senator William Hindman, who had been a supporter of Hamilton in the House, nothing could be done. He was aggressively for Burr.[1891] In early January, Pickering, still pitying himself, was not shocked at the idea of Burr’s election. The suggestion that ‘the federalist interest will not be so systematically opposed under Mr. Burr as under Jefferson’ impressed him. Then ‘in case of war with any European power there can be no doubt which of the two would conduct it with most ability and energy.’[1892]

Meanwhile Bayard had sent a non-committal reply to Hamilton. He had found ‘a strong inclination of the majority’ of the Federalists to support Burr with the disposition growing. He ought, therefore, to have strong grounds for separating himself from the others. While their action could not bind him, it would be a painful wrench to leave them. Still, ‘the magnitude of the subject forbids the sacrifice of strong conviction.’ As the pen of Bayard traveled over the page, the conspirators were moving about him, for he wrote in the House of Representatives.[1893] In truth, all Hamilton’s advices were disturbing. Former Senator Gunn of Georgia, in sympathy with him, was afraid ‘some of our friends have committed themselves by writing improperly to Burr.’[1894] Even John Rutledge, while disgusted at the idea of either Jefferson or Burr in the Presidency, found his party associates convinced that ‘Burr will be the least mischief,’ and that his election would be prodigiously afflicting to the Virginia faction and must disjoint the party.[1895]’

It is easy to imagine Hamilton laying down the letter of Rutledge with a frown, to open one which had arrived from Sedgwick in the same mail, to get a greater shock. It was a vigorous plea for Burr. The author found it ‘very evident that the Jacobins dislike Mr. Burr as President’ and that ‘he hates them for the preference given to his rival.’ He had ‘expressed displeasure over the publication of his letter to General Smith.’ Would not ‘this jealousy and distrust and dislike ... every day more and more increase and more and more widen the breach between them?’ Would not the election of Burr by the Federalists cause ‘incurable’ wounds? Then again, ‘to what evils should we expose ourselves by the choice of Burr, which we should escape by the election of Jefferson?’ True, given an opportunity, Burr would be more likely to become a ‘usurper’—but what of that?[1896]

About this time, in the middle of the month, the Federalists met to determine on their course. The caucus was not entirely harmonious, but the Burr sentiment was overwhelming. Shocked and inwardly enraged at the disaffection of his friends, Hamilton now redoubled his efforts, and in a ‘very, very confidential’ letter to Bayard dissected the character of Burr, demolished the arguments of his Federalist supporters, and pronounced Jefferson far superior in real ability. To this he gave a personal touch—something he had hitherto held back. ‘It is past all doubt,’ he said, ‘that he has blamed me for not having improved the situation I once was in to change the government; that when answered that this could not have been done without guilt, he replied, “Les grandes âmes se soucient peu des petits moraux”; and when told that the thing was never practical from the genius and situation of the country, he answered, “That depends on the estimate we form of the human passions, and of the means of influencing them.” Does this prove that Mr. Burr would consider a scheme of usurpation as visionary?’[1897] Four days after sending this letter to Bayard, Hamilton was writing Morris of the inability of the conspirators to get assurances from Burr, who complained that it would injure him with his friends. ‘Depend upon it,’ he warned, ‘men never played a more foolish game than will do the Federalists if they support Burr.’[1898] But Hamilton was striving against the basest, lowest instincts of his party. One of his Boston followers was writing King at this very time that he favored Burr because ‘his opposition heretofore’ had ‘arisen from ambitious motives,’ and because he was ‘not as honest in his politics as Jefferson.’[1899] No one was a stouter contender against Hamilton’s decent patriotic impulses than Sedgwick, who was moved by the motives just indicated.[1900] No one knew it better than Hamilton, but he persisted. ‘I never was so much mistaken,’ he wrote Sedgwick, ‘as I shall be if our friends in the event of their success do not rue the preference they will give to that Catiline.’[1901] Fighting desperately, Hamilton looked clear-eyed upon the repudiation of his leadership of the party into which he had breathed the breath of life and given the dignity of power by the prestige of his genius. Among his friends he made no secret of his depression, admitting to them that his ‘influence with the federal party was wholly gone’ and that he ‘could no longer be useful.’[1902] Had he created a Frankenstein to destroy not only himself but his policies and country? he wondered.

All through that month there was only serenity at Conrad’s boarding-house in Washington. Thoroughly informed of every move made by the enemy, Jefferson discussed the situation in the evenings with Gallatin, the Nicholases, and General Smith. Such was his imperturbable temperament that in the midst of the intense excitement he was able to write to one friend of a meteorological diary from Quebec, and to another on a similar one from Natchez.[1903] His cause was in the keeping of Gallatin, who was quietly checking up on all members of the House, closing his own ranks, preparing for every possible contingency, and concluding that ‘the intention of the desperate leaders must be absolute usurpation and the overthrow of our Constitution.’[1904] Thus January passed, and February came with its fateful possibilities.

IV

As the time for the contest approached, the village capital overflowed with visitors of stern visage. The boarding-houses packed with members of Congress, these onlookers found lodgment in Georgetown and in Alexandria. Notwithstanding the bitterness of the fight there was no trouble—due to stern repression. A little spark would have caused an explosion. The American people had determined on Jefferson, and it was no longer a secret that forces were at work to defeat the public will. Some of the Federalist papers deprecated the attempt to elect Burr with Federalist votes. The New York ‘Commercial Advertiser’ made vigorous protest in denunciation of the conspirators. ‘They are now taking the ground which the Democrats have occupied and descending to the baseness of supporting their cause by railing, abuse and scurrility. Nothing can be less politic or honorable. It is the duty of good citizens to acquiesce in the election and be tranquil. It is proper that Mr. Jefferson should be made Chief Magistrate.’[1905] The same note was struck by the New York ‘Gazette.’ ‘Many advocate the support of Mr. Burr,’ it said. ‘In matters of such importance it is idle to suffer our passions to get the better of our reason; and in statesmanship it would be particularly culpable from such puerile motives to risk the welfare of the nation.... Bad as both these men [Jefferson and Burr] are, there is no comparison between them.’[1906] But the organ of the Essex Junto was openly advocating Burr’s election. The ‘Centinel’ of Boston teemed with Burr propaganda. ‘The people of New England have yet faith to believe that a good tree cannot bring forth bad fruit, nor vice versa,’ it said. ‘They think the stock from which Mr. Jefferson has sprung to be bad because his works are known to be so; and ... that whatever Mr. Burr may be reported to be he will eventually turn out good; as he is the grandson of the dignified Edwards, the great American luminary of Divinity, and a son of President Burr who was also a burning and shining light in the churches.’[1907] At times it fell into verse:

A correspondent from Washington was quoted approvingly on the plan to support Burr—‘the expediency of which course is so palpable to common sense ... that I am astonished any Federal man should hesitate upon the subject.’[1909] And the ‘Centinel’ expressed the hope that it would be able ‘by Saturday next to announce either that the people will have another opportunity to elect a Federal President; or that the House, rejecting a theoretical and experimental philosopher, will prefer, as a very respectable member of Congress describes Mr. Burr, “a practical gentleman who will have judgment, taste and genius enough to appreciate the usefulness of our federal fabric, and nerve enough to preserve its integrity.”’[1910]

There was no longer any doubt that the Federalist hot-heads were ready for usurpation and revolutionary measures. It was known to every Democrat of any consequence in the country. Gallatin, counting noses, had no fear of desertions from the Jeffersonian ranks. The real danger, as the little conclave at Conrad’s saw it, was the prevention of an election, and Gallatin was certain that, to prevent this calamity, a Federalist from Maryland and Morris of Vermont would go over to Jefferson. A plan to meet this contingency was drawn up by Gallatin and accepted by the chief. More sinister still was the threat, commonly heard, that should the Federalists succeed in preventing an election, they would pass a law placing the Presidency in the hands of Marshall or some other official. This the Democrats were prepared to resist by physical force. To prevent this usurpation, the Jeffersonians notified Governor M’Kean of Pennsylvania and Governor Monroe of Virginia, who were prepared to march troops instantly upon the capital ‘for the purpose, not of promoting, but of preventing revolution and the shedding of a single drop of blood.’[1911] A careful survey convinced Gallatin that this scheme of usurpation would not have mustered more than twenty votes among the Federalist members. Only Henry Lee, ‘a desperate character,’ and Roger Griswold of Connecticut, a bigot, appeared to Gallatin to be really favorable to such a monstrous measure. Even so the rumor spread, and it was said that fifteen hundred men in Virginia and Maryland had agreed in the event a usurper were placed in the Presidency to move on Washington to assassinate him.[1912]

Jefferson had other plans in view, which he conveyed only to Madison and Monroe—to call a convention to reorganize the Government and amend the Constitution, but he concealed this from Gallatin.[1913] The Gallatin plan, with its military feature, leaked out, causing some uneasiness among the conspirators, who proceeded, however, with their plans. The ‘Centinel’ boasted that Federalists had no fear of Southern and Western fighters. ‘Our General [Burr] if called upon can assure them that he has seen southern regiments in former times and knows what they are composed of.[1914]

Meanwhile the Federalists proceeded with their plans. Burr, concealing himself in Albany, was maintaining a discreet silence, and on February 1st, Jefferson wrote him a letter. At no time had he any confidence in Burr’s political honesty or reliability. During the two Federalist Administrations he had observed that, whenever a great military or diplomatic appointment was to be made, Burr had hurried to Philadelphia and was ‘always at market if they wanted him.’ Jefferson had thought it wise to remain rather distant.[1915] But he was too sagacious to reveal his distrust at this juncture. He had no thought of giving Burr any excuse for treachery, and enemies had been busy with a forged letter bearing Jefferson’s signature setting forth uncomplimentary opinions. He wrote to call attention to the forgery and denounce it. ‘It was to be expected,’ he wrote, ‘that the enemy would endeavor to sow tares between us that they might divide us and our friends.’ If the letter was ever answered, the reply has been lost.

On the day Jefferson sat in his room at Conrad’s writing Burr, Gouverneur Morris’s morning slumber was interrupted by two visitors who wished to discuss with him the organization of Burr’s Administration. ‘Laughable enough under the circumstances which now exist,’ chuckled the cynic.[1916] Two days later, still serene, Jefferson was writing Dr. Caspar Wistar of some bones recently discovered which the Doctor wished for the museum. The candidate had taken the trouble to write Chancellor Livingston, and the reply was inspired by the latter’s letter in answer. With the village capital crowded, with talk of revolution, usurpation, assassination, he wrote at length. Perhaps it would be better to ask only for the bones missing from the museum’s collection, as the town where they were found would probably be loath to part with them at all. Even then the philosopher and scientist was not wholly lost in the politician.[1917]

In New York, Hamilton, having gone his limit, was no longer writing letters. The indifference of his erstwhile followers had left him depressed and bitter. Then, one day at the Tontine Coffee-House, he had an opportunity to renew his warning in the most dramatic manner. Wolcott had resigned from the Cabinet, his treachery still unsuspected by Adams, to be wined and dined by the Federalist members of Congress in Washington, and toasted by the merchants of Philadelphia and New York. After the regular toasts had been given at the Tontine and volunteers were in order, Hamilton rose, and in his most impressive manner proposed: ‘May our government never fall a prey to the dreams of a Condorcet nor the vices of a Catiline.’[1918] ‘The vices of a Catiline’ was the one expression remembered by the diners as they poured out into the streets.

The next day the balloting was to begin. On the day of the dinner at the Tontine the ‘Commercial Advertiser’ predicted the election of Burr on the second ballot; and that same day Representative William Cooper was writing a friend of the determination of the Federalists ‘to run Burr perseveringly’ and to ‘leave the consequences to those who have hitherto been his friends.’[1919] At Conrad’s boarding-house all was serene.

V

In a blinding snowstorm the lawmakers and spectators fought their way to the Capitol on Wednesday morning, the 11th. Nature spread a white mantle over the crudities of the village as though to dress it becomingly for the great day. The great plain between the foot of the hill and the river was covered with a spotless sheet, and even the shop of the shoemaker and the home of the washwoman took on the appearance of beauty. No one minded the storm, not even Joseph H. Nicholson of Maryland, who, though bedridden with fever, insisted on being carried through the storm to cast his ballot for Jefferson. The electoral votes being counted in a joint session of the two houses, the members of the House retired to their own chamber to elect a President. The crowded gallery was ordered cleared. The visitors, grumbling loudly, filed out into the corridors. When Samuel Harrison Smith, editor of the ‘National Intelligencer,’ who had established his paper in the capital on the advice of Jefferson, insisted on remaining, he was angrily ordered out by Theodore Sedgwick, the Speaker. Arrangements were thereupon made by the Jeffersonians to keep Smith informed hourly of the fortunes of the fight. In a committee room off the chamber lay Nicholson on a bed, burning with fever, an anxious wife at his side to give him water and medicine. Even the conspirators could not restrain their admiration. ‘It is a chance that this kills him,’ wrote Otis. ‘I would not thus expose myself for any President on earth.’[1920] The stricken Democrat was not there, however, against the wishes of his wife, who had the fighting spirit of a Spartan woman.

The first ballot found Jefferson with eight States—Burr with six—nine necessary to a choice. Another ballot immediately—the same result. A third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh—no change. As each ballot was taken, a teller from Maryland entered the little committee room where Nicholson lay fighting the fever, his head supported by the arm of his wife. He was awakened from his fitful sleep, a pencil was put in his trembling fingers, and with his wife’s aid in guiding the pencil the name of Jefferson was written. The pencil fell from his hand—he slept again.[1921] At the end of the eighth ballot a motion to vote again in an hour prevailed. There was little electioneering—men’s minds were made up. Only a buzz of conversation, some laughter.

The ninth ballot, the tenth, eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth ballots—and no change. Darkness had long since fallen on snow-covered Washington. Bed-clothing, blankets, pillows, had been brought in. The Federalists had determined to hold on without adjournment. At nine o’clock the sixteenth ballot brought no change. At ten o’clock the seventeenth, at eleven the eighteenth—and no change. The motion was made to adjourn until Thursday, only to be voted down. At midnight the nineteenth ballot was taken, with the lines unbroken. By this time the members were slipping off to cloak and committee rooms between ballots to sleep, and some slept in their chairs. As a ballot was called, it was ‘ludicrous to see them running from committee rooms with night caps on.’[1922] The crowd in the corridors dwindled, a few stubbornly held on. Every hour a messenger waded laboriously through the heavy snow to the home of the editor of ‘The Intelligencer’ with the results. No sleep in that house that night. When the knock at the door was heard, the editor’s wife, her heart beating audibly, as she thought, could scarcely open to receive the paper.[1923]

At one o’clock another ballot—then at two. Nature was beginning to claim its toll when it was agreed not to vote again until four o’clock. After that the ballots were taken hourly throughout the night. When the twenty-seventh ballot was taken at eight o’clock and the motion was made to vote no more until noon, there were no protests. The vote at noon found the opposing lines unbroken. The House adjourned until eleven o’clock on Friday—the next day.

Friday: larger crowds about the Capitol. Nicholson still on his bed. When the twenty-ninth ballot showed no change, an adjournment was taken until noon on Saturday.

Meanwhile the participants in the struggle were sending out meager reports on the results. While the first ballots were being taken on Wednesday, Jefferson had written Tench Coxe: ‘For some time since, a single individual has said he would by his vote make up the ninth State. On Saturday last he changed, and it stands at present eight one way, six the other, and two divided. Which of the two will be elected, and whether either, I deem perfectly problematical; and my mind has long since been equally made up for either of the three events.’[1924] Otis, writing his wife, was more interested in the scene at the sick bed than in conjectures.[1925] Gallatin wrote Mrs. Gallatin of the results without comment, other than that he had slept from eight o’clock until noon on Thursday morning.[1926] Saturday found the lines still holding, but with the conspirators subjected to a heavy and disturbing fire from outside. An imposing petition from Federalists in Maryland had been sent John Chew Thomas declaring that two thirds of his constituents favored Jefferson. Gallatin did ‘not know what effect they would have.’[1927] and the thing that worried the Federalists was that they knew no better. Some of these were finding the backfire distressing. Others were openly disgusted with Burr. ‘Had Burr done anything for himself, he would long ere this have been President,’ wrote Cooper of New York.[1928] It was clearly time to push the contest. Thus, on Saturday three ballots were taken without results, and the House adjourned until noon Monday.

Meanwhile, Jefferson, presiding over the Senate, surrounded by hatred and excitement, presented an unruffled front, an untouched temper. From time to time he could hear the angry discussions of his enemies, but he made no sign. His impartiality was beyond question. ‘A spectator,’ wrote a contemporary, ‘who watched his countenance would never have surmised that he had any personal interest in the impending event.’[1929] From the Capitol he walked like one unconcerned back to Conrad’s, enjoying the snow. Some of the politicians sought to wring concessions from him to gain support, but he was adamant. General Sam Smith, without his authority or knowledge, entered into a negotiation, which had no effect beyond furnishing the groundwork for the charge of his enemies in history that he had made arrangements. As far as we know he was openly approached by but one—and he was acting on the suggestion of Alexander Hamilton.

One day, as Jefferson was descending the steps of the Capitol, he met Gouverneur Morris and they paused to exchange compliments. Differing as widely as the poles, they had enjoyed their social contacts in Paris. The conversation turned naturally to the contest, and Morris observed, significantly, that the opposition to Jefferson’s election on the part of some was the fear that he would turn all Federalists out of office, put down the navy, and wipe out the debt. All that was necessary to his election was the assurance that none of these steps would be taken. ‘I must leave the world to judge the course I mean to pursue by that which I have pursued hitherto,’ Jefferson replied. ‘I believe it my duty to be passive and silent during the present contest. I shall certainly make no terms, and shall never go into the office of President by capitulation, nor with my hands tied by any conditions which will hinder me from pursuing the measures which I shall deem for the public good.’ The two parted in the best of feeling.

The crisis was now approaching. Public sentiment was asserting itself unmistakably, and statesmen could hear afar off the cracking of the whips. The Jeffersonians would clearly not budge. Even Nicholson was recovering instead of sinking under the exposure and excitement. The Federalists in their caucuses were breaking up after stormy meetings. It was agreed that nothing was left but desperate measures, and, while but few urged their adoption, few openly disapproved. Burr was an ever-increasing torment. Only his coöperation was needed, said Bayard afterward, to have won. ‘By deceiving one man (a great blockhead) and tempting two (not incorruptible), he might have secured a majority of the States.’[1930] But Burr was in Albany, silent as the sphinx and inactive as a mummy.

Over Sunday the leaders caucused and cursed. When the House met on Monday, Gallatin understood that Bayard was going to vote for Jefferson and end the fight. But on the one ballot taken on Monday, he remained with Burr. ‘But it is supposed,’ wrote Gallatin to his father-in-law, ‘that the cause of delay is to make an attempt on his party and some others to prevail on the whole Federal party to come over.’[1931]

The conferences continued on Monday and by night a decision had been reached. Nothing could be gained by fighting for a man who would not fight. The public was in an ugly mood. Hamilton’s friends, like Bayard, were feeling a little ashamed of themselves. On Tuesday a crowd was packed in the corridors of the Capitol and in front of the building. Weary men in petulant mood pushed their way through these farmers, mechanics, and politicians to the House. A vote was immediately taken. Morris, Federalist from Vermont, withdrew, permitting Matthew Lyon to cast the vote of the State for Jefferson. The Maryland Federalists cast blank ballots—permitting the Democrats to put their State in the Jefferson column. Bayard, after much meandering, finally satisfied Hamilton by casting a blank, which, being the only vote to which his State was entitled, left Delaware out entirely. And Theodore Sedgwick, in a rage, was forced formally to announce the election of Thomas Jefferson. The throng in the corridors and in front of the Capitol gave way to noisy rejoicing, and the conspirators hurried to their lodgings to escape the scowls of the populace.

VI

While most of them hurried home, three members of the House, including two of the vanquished, with Thomas Pinckney as spokesman, made their way with many jests, we may be sure, up the slushy Avenue, between the frog ponds, to the President’s house to notify John Adams that his successor had been chosen. No record of their reception remains, but the imagination can supply the want. Nor is there any record that Adams sent a note of congratulation to the victor. Those were the days when ‘The Duke of Braintree’s’ morbid vanity was suffering keenly the flings of outrageous fortune.

Two days later, the same committee formally notified Jefferson of his election and was asked to convey a gracious response to the House.[1932] Meanwhile, unflurried and unhurried, he went his way, appearing in the Senate, as usual to preside, and continuing to occupy the foot of the table at Conrad’s boarding-house. He had long since determined upon Madison for the head of the Cabinet and Gallatin for the Treasury, gigantic figures compared with those who had occupied these posts after Jefferson and Hamilton had left them in the days of Washington. The other positions were filled during the two weeks intervening between the election and the inauguration.

On Saturday before his inauguration on Wednesday, Jefferson appeared for the last time in the Senate to withdraw from his post there in a farewell address. There before him sat men who hated him venomously, but the suave, serene victor took leave as though departing with sorrow from a cherished circle of congenial souls. Mistakes he had probably made, but he had sought to ‘observe impartial justice,’ and his measurable success had been due to the generosity and uniform courtesy of the members. Could he but carry to his new station such support as he had received from the Senate, he would ‘consider it as commencing under the happiest auspices.’ In tendering his ‘cordial and respectful adieux,’ he wished for all both health and happiness. With a courtly bow he descended from the rostrum, and passed out of the chamber.

On Monday, Gouverneur Morris, chairman of the committee named to make response, reported an answer matching the courtliness of Jefferson’s farewell. It lamented ‘the loss of that intelligence, attention, and impartiality’ with which Jefferson had presided, and expressed appreciation of the kindly expressions on the Senate. Then, as Morris proceeded, there was a savage wagging of heads among the die-hards, as he read: ‘In the confidence that your official conduct will be directed to those great objects [the honor and interests of the country]—a confidence derived from past events, we repeat to you, sir, the assurance of our Constitutional support in your future administration.’ Instantly an irreconcilable was on his feet with a motion to strike out the words, ‘derived from past events.’ The roll was called. The motion was lost by a vote of 9 to 19. The intolerant Tracy and Ross voted with the nine, but Morris carried some of his party with him.[1933] The next day Morris reported Jefferson’s reply—a gesture of appreciation.

As the day of the inauguration approached, great crowds began to pour into the drab little capital from the surrounding country. In the President’s house and in the Senate there was feverish activity. Early in the session, the Federalists, realizing that their power was over in the executive and legislative branches, sought to maintain themselves and provide for their favorites through the creation of many Federal judgeships. The purpose was transparent. The Democrats had fought the measure without avail. All that now remained was for Adams to pack the courts with partisans as narrow and intolerant as those who had for ten years been delivering common party harangues from the Bench. With the joyous visitors wading the muddy streets in holiday mood, with Jefferson closeted with his friends at Conrad’s, the Senate was busy confirming these partisan Judges, and in the Executive Department they were busy signing the commissions. Night came—and John Marshall remained in his office making them out.

To this drama of hate, Adams gave a touch of irony in selecting the beneficiaries of his generosity. Wolcott had left him but a little while before. Through four years he had played the game of Adams’s enemies, presenting all the while a smiling countenance to his chief. We have seen him lingering on in the citadel after Pickering and McHenry had been thrown from the battlements, to wig-wag secret messages to the enemy in New York. But Adams had suspected nothing. Moved by an impulse of gratitude, he offered Wolcott a life position on the Bench, and that consummate actor, smiling still, sent the assurance that ‘gratitude to benefactors is among the most amiable ... of social obligations,’[1934] and accepted. There is something of pathos to the Adams of the sunset. Something of pathos and inspiration, too—for, to the disgust of the inner circle of his party, he made John Marshall Chief Justice of the United States, and thus, unwittingly, saved the better part of Federalism from the wreckage of the temple, to fight on through many years to come.

VII

The morning of inauguration day found the entire nation marching in the streets, exultant Democrats following the fife and drum, singing and shouting hosannas. Merchants locked their doors, mechanics left their work-benches, clerks laid down their pens, farmers deserted their homes for the towns, and from Boston to Savannah men and women celebrated with an enthusiasm not approached since the celebration of the peace in 1783.

In Washington, the thunder of artillery ushered in the day. As it shook the heavens, an embittered old man with a sour countenance sat far back in his coach as it bumped and splashed its way through the mire and over the stumps of the Baltimore road, for at four o’clock in the morning John Adams had slipped out of the house of the Presidents and hurried away, rather than remain to extend the ordinary courtesies to his successor. ‘You have no idea,’ wrote Gallatin to his wife, ‘of the meanness, indecency, almost insanity of his conduct, especially of late. But he is fallen and not dangerous. Let him be forgotten.’[1935] Somewhere in hiding, or in flight, was Theodore Sedgwick, Speaker of the House, who could not bear to witness the triumph of a foe.

That morning Jefferson remained quietly at Conrad’s, receiving friends. As he entered the dining-room for breakfast, the wife of Senator Brown rose impulsively and offered him her seat. With an appreciative smile he declined and sat down as usual at the end of the table near the door.[1936]

At ten o’clock there was a flurry among the men, women, and children standing reverently in front of Jefferson’s lodgings, when, with a swinging stride, companies of riflemen and artillery from Alexandria paraded before the boarding-house. At noon, dressed plainly, with nothing to indicate the dignity of his position, Jefferson stepped out of Conrad’s, accompanied by citizens and members of Congress, and walked to the Capitol. As he passed the threshold, there was a thunder of artillery. When he entered the little Senate Chamber, the Senators and Representatives rose, and Aaron Burr, now Vice-President, left his seat—all standing until Jefferson sat down in the chair he had occupied until a week before. On his right hand, Burr; on his left, Marshall. Only a little while, and Burr, arrested for treason at the instigation of Jefferson, would be tried by Marshall at Richmond.

After a moment, Jefferson rose and read a conciliatory address, in a tone scarcely audible in the tiny room.[1937] ‘We are all Republicans; we are all Federalists. If there be any among us who would wish to dissolve this Union, or to change its Republican form, let them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left free to combat it.’ As he concluded, he turned to Marshall, his Hamilton of the future. The Chief Justice administered the oath. It was over. The festivities of ‘83 had celebrated the achievement of the right of the American people to form their own government and make their own laws. The roar of artillery as the new President emerged from the Capitol meant that the real American Revolution had triumphed, and definitely determined that this should be a democratic republic.

In the streets and public-houses that afternoon there was rejoicing, shouting, singing, laughing, drinking. Even the more tolerant of the vanquished fraternized with the victors, and the wife of the editor of the Jeffersonian organ[1938] poured tea for Gouverneur Morris, Jonathan Dayton, and James A. Bayard. For the moment ‘all were Republicans, all were Federalists.’ That night Washington saw its first illumination.

Lumbering along the wretched mud roads in his coach rode Adams, the reverberations of the artillery peal of the morning still hammering on his nerves, meditating bitterly on the treachery of men.... Somewhere in hiding, Sedgwick—cursing the fates.... And somewhere in New York, Alexander Hamilton was tasting the bitter fruits of the victory he had fought to win for his greatest opponent. From his window he could see the marching men and he could hear the pæans of triumph. The brilliant party he had moulded was in ruins—his leadership scorned by the crawling creatures who had shone only in the reflected light of his brilliance. He was alone—isolated.... A little while and he would write Morris, ‘What can I do better than withdraw from the scene? Every day proves to me more and more that this American world was not made for me.’[1939] ... A few months, and he would be describing himself as a ‘disappointed politician’ in a letter to Pinckney requesting melon seeds for his garden and parroquets for his daughter.[1940] ... Four years—and before Burr’s pistol he would fall on the banks of the Hudson one tragic summer morning.... Some years more, and a visitor to the home of the retired sage of Monticello would see in the hall a marble bust of Hamilton—the tribute of one great man to another.

The eighteenth century witnessed their Plutarchian battles; the twentieth century uncovers at the graves at Monticello and in Trinity Churchyard—but the spirits of Jefferson and Hamilton still stalk the ways of men—still fighting.

THE END

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