Jefferson and Hamilton

X

It was under these conditions that an event of tremendous import occurred. On Sunday a stage-coach lumbered up to the tavern on Broadway, and a tall, travel-worn man emerged and entered the hostelry. Momentous as was the meaning of his arrival, it claimed but scant notice in the papers of the city.

There is nothing in the press or the correspondence of the time to indicate the slightest appreciation of the significance of this accession to governmental circles. No doubt Madison was among the first to greet him, but of this we have no evidence. For two weeks Jefferson had been upon the road from Richmond, resting a day at Alexandria where an eighteen-inch snow caused him to send his carriage on by water and take the public stage. The roads were wretched and there was little opportunity for restful sleep. Occasionally the long-legged traveler left the stage to mount his horse for exercise. Thus he rode to the field of battle.

XI

As Hamilton surveyed the wreckage of the field, he saw an opportunity. There was another bitter battle pending over the selection of the site of the permanent capital. Might he not bargain a bit and trade enough votes for Assumption? The site of the capital was a matter of indifference to him. No sentimental ties bound him to any State or community. No dust sacred to him rested anywhere in American soil. He was ready to go with any group that could contribute enough votes to make Assumption sure. Philadelphia—New York—the Susquehanna—Baltimore—the Potomac—a mere bagatelle to him. In the fact that it was more than that to others he saw his chance. Could the Virginians or the Marylanders who had opposed Assumption pay him in votes for a capital at Georgetown, or even Baltimore? Could Robert Morris whip the stubborn Pennsylvanians into line for a capital in Philadelphia or on the Susquehanna? True, Washington favored Georgetown, but that meant nothing to Hamilton if Georgetown could not bring Assumption. It is a myth of history that he was tenderly considerate of the wishes of his chief: the facts to sustain it do not appear. Far more important to him was the fact that Madison and Carroll favored Georgetown. They had votes.

The intense bitterness over the struggle called for infinite diplomacy and sagacity in negotiation. The papers of the country were filled with ill-natured letters on the fight which was no more in evidence in Congress than in the bar-rooms of the competing cities. Ames, like Hamilton, cared little about the site if he could but get Assumption, and was disgusted with the ‘despicable grogshop contest, whether the taverns in New York or Philadelphia shall get the custom of Congress.’ Sedgwick had become a ‘perfect slave to the business,’ and ‘Goodhue frowned all day long and swears as much as a good Christian can....’[273]

By early June the bargaining stage had been reached. One day Tench Coxe, of the Treasury, and Jackson, one of Washington’s secretaries, called at the lodgings of Fitzsimons and Clymer with the bald proposition to trade the permanent residence to Philadelphia for enough Pennsylvania votes to pass Assumption. Taking this as a hint from Hamilton, Robert Morris wrote him that early the next morning he should be taking a walk on the Battery, and if any propositions were open he would be very glad to have the Secretary of the Treasury join him in his constitutional. Thus, long before many of the statesmen had enjoyed their coffee, Hamilton and Morris paced up and down at the deserted Battery. With Walpolean directness, Hamilton went to the point. He needed one vote in the Senate and five in the House. If Morris could assure him these, he could give assurance, in return, that the permanent residence would be given to Germantown or the Falls of the Delaware. Morris promised to consult his colleagues—but how about the temporary residence for Philadelphia? After thinking it over, Hamilton sent word that he would not think of bargaining on the temporary residence.[274] For several days these negotiations continued. The Pennsylvanians moved with a deliberation that tried Hamilton’s patience. A few days later he threatened his Philadelphia friends with the possibility of the New-Englanders going to Baltimore or the Potomac.[275]

Meanwhile, Hamilton had been thinking seriously of Jefferson. They met as strangers, knowing one another well by reputation. Their feelings were friendly. There were innumerable reasons why they should ultimately fly at each other’s throats, but that was in the future. One June day they met at the presidential mansion on Broadway, and, leaving at the same time, Hamilton saw his opportunity.

There was a picture for an artist to paint—Hamilton and Jefferson, arm in arm, walking along Broadway discussing the possibilities of a bargain. With all the persuasiveness of his eloquence, Hamilton dwelt on the very real danger of disunion if Assumption failed. With subtle diplomacy he seemed to throw himself trustfully on Jefferson’s mercy. A great struggle for independence—a promising young nation—and was all to be lost? The South wanted the capital, the North wanted Assumption—could there not be a common meeting-ground? Jefferson would see.

A dinner at Jefferson’s table in the house on Broadway. Men from the South about the board. The topic—the pending bargain. A little later, Hamilton was informed that an agreement could be reached. The word was passed along the line. Even Madison satisfied himself that, since Assumption could not be prevented, the bargain might as well be made—but if there had been no bargain there would have been no Assumption. A few nights later the Pennsylvania delegation entertained both Hamilton and Jefferson at dinner. The latter impressed one guest with his ‘dignity of presence and gravity,’ Hamilton with his ‘boyish giddy manner.’ Whatever may have been the cause of the gravity of Jefferson, there was reason for the giddiness of Hamilton—he had won![276]

XII

The attempt of Jefferson in later life to explain his part in the bargain over Assumption, with the assertion that he had been deceived by Hamilton, is in the nature of an alibi created after the crime. He was not a simple-minded rustic, and his correspondence previous to the bargain shows that he had given serious consideration to Assumption. He had been in daily contact with Madison who had led the fight against it. A meticulously careful student of the press, he unquestionably was familiar with every objection to Assumption and funding which he afterward offered. He had undoubtedly read Madison’s argument which had been published a month after he reached New York. As late as June 20th, he was writing Monroe that, unless the quarrel over Assumption and the residence was settled, ‘there will be no funding bill agreed to, our credit will burst and vanish, and the States separate, to take care, every one of itself.’ Much as he would prefer that the States pay their own debts, he could see ‘the necessity of yielding to the cries of the creditors ... for the sake of the Union, and to save it from the greatest of all calamities, the total extinction of our credit in Europe.’[277] Here was justification enough for his action without resorting to the fanciful story of his deception by Hamilton. ‘The question of assuming the State debts has created greater animosities than I ever yet saw,’ he wrote Dr. Gilmer a week after his letter to Monroe.[278] Thus he knew precisely how the lines were drawn. Perhaps he did not appreciate at the moment the political advantage of appearing on the side of the opposition,—but he was not deceived. Nor was Madison imposed upon. He accepted the bargain because ‘the crisis demands the spirit of accommodation,’ albeit he wished it ‘considered as an unavoidable evil and possibly not the worse side of the dilemma.’[279]

With many, however, the triumph of Assumption meant placing Hamilton and his followers in an impregnable position; this, too, was the idea of the Hamiltonians and great was their rejoicing. When the measure passed the Senate, members of the lower House were packed behind the iron railing, the smiling faces of Ames and Sedgwick conspicuous among them. To the extremists in the opposition it seemed the end. ‘I do not see that I can do any good here and I think I had better go home,’ wrote Maclay. ‘Everything, even to the naming of a committee is prearranged by Hamilton and his group of speculators.’[280] And the Hamiltonians, who had raged over the satirical article on the birth of Assumption, made merry over a verse in Fenno’s journal:

When Congress adjourned, Hamilton, rejoicing in his triumphs, turned gayly to the next step in his programme, with more powerful influences behind him than he had ever had before.

CHAPTER IV

PREMONITIONS OF BATTLE

HAMILTON was at the high tide of his popularity and power when Congress next convened in Philadelphia. His funding system had established the Nation’s credit, and the genius and daring of the brilliant young man of thirty-three were on every tongue. The ‘Maryland Journal’ claimed ‘respectable authority’ for the assertion that in Quebec he was ‘supposed equal to the celebrated Mr. Pitt, and superior to the Prime Minister of any other court in Europe.’[282] Among the merchants and people of wealth and property he was acclaimed the savior of the State. Everywhere he was the idol of the aristocracy.

And, in the saddle, he was riding hard. Although his was the second position in the Cabinet, he thought of himself as the Prime Minister. Washington was a constitutional monarch. The other members of the President’s official family were his subordinates. His policies were the policies of the Government, and to question them was hostility to the State. In the Cabinet meetings his manner was masterful to a degree. Considering himself Prime Minister, he felt no delicacy about interfering in the departments of his colleagues. Even Knox, who adored him, resented his determination to make all the purchases for the Department of War. When the War Secretary resisted, Hamilton had a compliant Congress pass a law giving him that privilege—an absurdity that continued as long as he was in the Cabinet.[283] The soft-spoken, mild, and courteous Jefferson, who preferred the ways of conciliation and persuasion, observed the dictatorial airs of his masterful young associate with a surprise that hardened to distaste.

But the feeling awakened among the masses by the failure to discriminate in the matter of the securities, and by Assumption, was increasing in intensity. The common soldier had not profited by these policies. The farmer and the mechanic could see no benefit to themselves, but among speculators, some of them members of Congress, they observed evidence of new-found wealth. These were building finer houses, riding in coaches where they had previously walked, and there was an ominous rumbling and grumbling beneath the surface, to which the Hamiltonians were oblivious or indifferent. After all, this was merely the whining of the ne’er-do-wells of the taverns and the illiterates of the farms.

The work was only begun, and there could be no turning back now. The assumption of the State debts called for the tapping of new sources of revenue. This would increase the burdens of the people, but what would they have? They could not eat their cake and have it too—could not have a strong government without paying the price. Utterly unmindful of the complaining of the people of no importance, Hamilton turned resolutely to his task and prepared his excise tax for the consideration of Congress.

II

In raising money to meet the obligations of Assumption, it was the purpose of Hamilton to resort to direct taxation as little as possible, and to make luxuries bear the burden. This directed his attention to the domestic manufacture of spirits—luxury to some, but a very real necessity to others. This was particularly true in the States where distilleries were plentiful. That it would call forth a protest from some quarters, he had no doubt, and he rejoiced in the certainty of combat. Strong man that he was, he went forth in shining armor to establish the right of the Government to an internal revenue. He knew that excise taxes were obnoxious, albeit necessary, and he sought the chance to vindicate the right of the Government to do the necessary, unpopular thing.

Instantly the challenge was accepted in Pennsylvania where whiskey stills abounded in the Alleghanies. Some of the State’s representatives in Congress were instantly on their toes, denouncing the plan as arbitrary and despotic. In the Legislature, Albert Gallatin, a remarkable young man, soon to prove himself the only member of the opposition capable of coping with Hamilton in the field of finance, framed a reply, denouncing the plan as ‘subversive of the rights, liberty and peace of the people.’ In the midst of excitement—for the Legislature sat in Philadelphia—the reply was debated and adopted by an overwhelming majority.

But the opposition was comparatively weak. Jefferson and Madison were hostile to the principle, but there had been a bargain on Assumption to which they were parties. They could not deceive themselves as to the necessity. If Jefferson raised a finger to prevent the passage of the bill, he covered his tracks. Even Giles, soon to become the most vehement leader of the Jeffersonian party, at first looked upon it with some favor. Madison could see no escape.

Among the masses throughout the country, however, the obscure orators were busy in the bar-rooms, on the streets, and at the crossroads. The character of the discussion among the people is indicated in imaginary conversations by a writer in a Baltimore paper. A friend of the excise fares forth into the streets and meets its enemies. ‘An outrage!’ cried one. ‘Had we not gone to war with England on a tax?’ ‘Ah,’ but, says the defender, ‘then we were taxed by another country and without representation, while here we tax ourselves through our chosen representatives.’ ‘Yes,’ but, says Rumor, ‘under the excise act men can break into the people’s houses.’ ‘Wrong,’ says the defender; ‘the law provides no such arbitrary power.’ ‘But,’ persists the enemy, ‘we shall be eaten up by excise officers.’ ‘Silly,’ says the defender; ‘numerically these officials will be unimportant.’ Then the defender encounters one candid enemy of the measure. ‘I hate the excise,’ he cries, ‘because it strengthens the Government by providing effectually for its necessities; and the Government which lays it because it is a Government of vigor.’ Whereupon the defender praises him as an honest man.[284]

The moment the Excise Bill was presented in the House, the ever alert Jackson was ready with a motion to strike out the essential part of the first clause. ‘The mode of taxation was odious, unequal, unpopular, and oppressive, more particularly in the Southern States,’ where under the hot Southern skies spirituous liquors were more than salutary—they were necessary. Why deprive the masses of ‘the only luxury they enjoy’? Why impose upon the American people an excise that had been odious in England from the days of Cromwell, and which had been reprobated by Blackstone?

Yes, added an indignant Virginian,[285] ‘it will convulse the Government; it will let loose a swarm of harpies, who, under the domination of revenue officers, will range through the country, prying into every man’s house and affairs, and like a Macedonian phalanx bear down all before them.’ The mercantile interests were paying their duties with promptitude? He was tired of these encomiums. ‘The increase in the revenue has served to enhance the value of the public securities, of which it is well known they hold a very considerable portion.’[286]

On the second day, Madison went on record as opposed to the principle and in favor of the measure. The only question to be considered was the necessity for the revenue—and that was indisputable. He personally would prefer direct taxes, but the majority of the people were against them. Of all forms of the excise, that on ardent spirits impressed him as the least objectionable.

But, demanded Jackson, disappointed at Madison’s failure to join in the assault, why not other taxes—taxes on salaries, pensions, lawyers? Because, answered Laurance, the Assumption calls for revenue, and this is the best way to raise it. True, added another,[287] and he had ‘not found a single person against it’—and this in Philadelphia where the Legislature was sitting! What! exclaimed Timothy Blood worth of North Carolina, why ‘people to the southward universally condemn the tax.’ Yes, indeed, contributed another, especially in North Carolina, ‘where the consumption of ardent spirits is ten times greater than in Connecticut.’

Up rose Sedgwick in conciliatory mood. He was not impressed with ‘the considerations of morality,’ and could not think that the tax ‘would be attended with any sensible inconvenience.’ There certainly was no thought of using military force in its collection. And then it was that Giles, who, next to Madison, was the most fervent and able of the Jeffersonians, astonished many by giving his hearty approval to the tax as necessary ‘to the honor, peace and security’ of the country.[288]

Thus for days the debate continued with its reiterations, until a new note was struck with a proposed amendment, aimed at Hamilton whose audacious methods and successive successes were causing grave concern in some quarters, to prohibit revenue agents from interfering in elections. These officers in their work, said Samuel Livermore, ‘will acquire such a knowledge of persons and characters as will give them great advantage and enable them to influence elections to a great degree.’ ‘Impolitic in respect to law, repugnant to the Constitution, and degrading to human nature,’ protested Ames. It would prevent self-respecting men from taking the places, added Sedgwick. When the vote was taken, the amendment was defeated with both Madison and Giles voting against it.

It was not until the House took up the duration of the tax that the great battle began, and under the leadership of Giles, who had hitherto given it his support.[289] But Madison was not impressed, and in the vote on placing a limitation on the operation of the bill he was found with the Hamiltonians—and there he stood on the final vote.

Even in the Senate the attempt to defeat the measure was continued, and while Hamilton was strongest in that body, the energetic young Secretary took nothing for granted. It was not enough that the committee considering the bill had been packed with his supporters; he took personal charge. For several days he walked briskly into the room and took his place at the table, after which the doors were closed and locked. The worried Maclay, who was preparing the case against the measure on behalf of the distillers, sensed a conspiracy. When Adams hastened an adjournment of the Senate while the committee was sitting, the victim of the gout put him down as ‘deep in the cabals of the Secretary.’[290] Preparing a list of distillers who would be affected, on which to base an argument, Maclay knocked at the committee room. The door opened and the eager eye of the Senator caught a glimpse of Hamilton at the table before Robert Morris closed it, as he stepped outside. With his suspicions confirmed, the gruff old Democrat left his papers with his colleague and turned away. ‘I suppose no further use was made of it,’ he commented.[291] When the bill passed four days later, he thought ‘war and bloodshed ... the most likely consequence’; and concluded that ‘Congress may go home’ since ‘Mr. Hamilton is all-powerful and fails in nothing he attempts.’[292]

The same conclusion had been reached by Jefferson before. Just after the passage of the bill, he was writing a friend of his fears of the effect of the policies of the Treasury upon the people. Even though they were right, ‘more attention should be paid to the general opinion.’ The excise had passed—the Bank Bill would pass. Perhaps the only corrective for ‘what is corrupt in our present form of government’ would be an increase in the membership of the House ‘so as to grant a more agricultural representation which may put that interest above that of the stock jobbers.’[293]

Jefferson had reached the end of his patience, and was preparing to challenge the pretensions, policies, and power of his ardent and dictatorial young colleague.

III

It was inevitable that a national bank should be a feature of Hamilton’s financial system. Long before a national government loomed large as a probability, he had conceived the plan, and with the temerity of youthful audacity had solemnly outlined it in letters to Robert Morris.[294] With the opportunity before him, he moved with confident strides to his purpose, and the day after his recommendation of an excise reached Congress, his ‘Report on the Bank’ was read. His rare familiarity with the principles of finance, the history of banking, and the banking experiences of nations made his ‘Report’ a persuasive document.[295] Its adoption was as inevitable as its submission. He was on the very peak of his power. Commerce and wealth in all the cities were saluting him, for his policies were in their interest, and the professional and intellectual class had been won by the dazzling success of his daring undertakings. In House and Senate he numbered among the registers of his will the greater part of the strong and the brilliant. Somehow, too, the impression was prevalent that he was the favorite instrument through which Washington wrought his plans. If the small farmers and the mechanics seemed acquiescent, it only meant that they were inarticulate—but inarticulate they were as this dashing figure moved on from triumph to triumph with a shouting multitude of merchants, lawyers, politicians, and speculators in his wake.

Thus, when the Bank Bill reached the Senate, Maclay expressed the general feeling in the comment that ‘it is totally in vain to oppose this bill.’[296] Ten days later, he was all the more convinced at a dinner where he met Morris and sat between two ‘merchants of considerable note,’ and observed, on mentioning the Bank, that they were ‘magnetically drawn to the contemplation of the moneyed interest.’[297]

If the bill passed the Senate without a conflict, it was not to get through the House without a skirmish which was to mark, as some historians think, the definite commencement of party warfare.

The House debate was brief but sharp, though pitched upon a higher plane than some preceding discussions. There was some questioning of the necessity of a bank; some criticism of the monopolistic features of the bank proposed; but Madison, who spoke at the beginning, furnished the dominant theme in his challenge to the constitutionality of such an institution. There was certainly no specific authorization of congressional power in the Constitution. This was conceded by Hamilton, who boldly evoked the doctrine of implied powers. It required no abnormal perspicacity to foresee the unlimited possibilities of these. Here was something read into the Constitution that would, rightly or wrongly, have made its ratification impossible had it provided a specific grant of such power. Hamilton and many of his lieutenants had been frankly dissatisfied with the powers that had been conceded by the people; and here was an opening for the acquisition of power that the people would have refused. This to-day—what to-morrow?

When Madison rose to oppose the Bank, we may be sure that it was after many intimate conversations with Jefferson. He spoke in low tones and with his customary dignity and precision and without abuse, and his argument was not susceptible to an easy assault. After all, ‘the Father of the Constitution’ knew something about his child.

‘The doctrine of implication is always a tender one,’ he said. ‘The danger of it has been felt by other governments. The delicacy was felt in the adoption of our own; the danger may also be felt if we do not keep close to our chartered authorities.... If implications thus remote and thus multiplied may be linked together, a chain may be formed that will reach every object of legislation, every object within the whole compass of political economy.’ More than that—‘It takes from our constituents the opportunity of deliberating on the untried measure, although their hands are also to be tied by the same terms.’ More still—‘it involves a monopoly which affects the equal rights of every citizen.’[298]

On the next day Fisher Ames made his defense of the doctrine of implied powers. The argument of Madison had impressed him as ‘a great speech,’ but steeped in ‘casuistry and sophistry.’ He thought Madison had wasted his time, however, in reading the debates on constitutional powers in the various State ratifying conventions—not at all to the purpose. ‘No man would pretend to give Congress the power,’ he wrote, ‘against a fair construction of the Constitution.’[299]

But the clever Ames had no intention of making such a frank admission on the floor. He was a practical man and he defended the Hamiltonian doctrine with eloquence and vigor.[300] With these two speeches, the debate might as well have closed, but it continued long enough to permit the Hamiltonian Old Guard to say their pieces. Giles argued and Jackson raved in opposition, and the measure passed with a margin of nineteen votes.

It is significant that nineteen of the twenty votes in opposition were those of Southern members, the only Northerner in the list being Jonathan Grout of Massachusetts, a Democrat, who did not return to the next Congress. Like preceding Hamiltonian measures, this meant the concentration of the financial resources of the country in the commercial North to the disadvantage of the agricultural South. But this was not the only reason. With the Southerners, among whom banks were a rarity, and the Westerners, to whom they were as meaningless as the canals on Mars, the advantage of such an institution was not felt. In both sections anything that hinted of monopoly was abhorrent. Thus, in addition to the constitutional difference, there was an economic conflict that was sectional in its nature.

IV

But the battle was not yet won. The conflict was transferred to the Cabinet, for Washington was not at all convinced that there was no constitutional prohibition. Not only did he withhold his signature till the last minute, but there are reasons to believe that he had a veto in mind almost to the end. For Madison, with whose part in the framing of the Constitution he was familiar, he had a profound respect. Having discussed the bill with Jefferson informally, Washington requested written opinions from both Jefferson and Randolph, the Attorney-General. Both were in complete accord with the conclusions of Madison. The opinion of Jefferson, expressed with all his force of reasoning, was a powerful challenge to the doctrine of implied powers.[301]

It was at about this time that Washington summoned Madison to the Morris house, which served as the Executive Mansion in Philadelphia, to invite a fuller expression of his views. The great man listened in silence, and Madison thought with sympathy, while the little giant of the Constitutional Convention, out of the wealth of his learning and experience, poured forth his reasons for opposition. Not once, but several times, the little figure of Madison must have been seen entering the Morris house in those days of suppressed excitement, for there were numerous conferences. As the ten-day period followed for the affixing of the presidential signature was drawing to an end, and Washington requested his friend to reduce his objections to writing, Madison assumed that it was a veto message he was asked to frame. Nor was it a far-fetched assumption, for on more than one occasion the President had made use of Madison’s pen.[302]

Meanwhile the Hamiltonians, at first puzzled, became alarmed. From the temper of their talk in Philadelphia, Madison was convinced that in the event of a veto they were ready for open opposition to Washington, backed by the wealth and influence of the powerful.[303] Ugly, silly stories, reflecting upon the great personage on whom the Hamiltonians found it profitable to claim a monopoly, were set afloat. Fisher Ames gave currency in Boston to the theory that Washington was influenced by the fear that the establishment of a financial capital in Philadelphia would prevent the removal of the political capital to the banks of the stream that washed the boundary of Mount Vernon.[304] If some discretion was used in Philadelphia, where the grumbling was confined to the fashionable drawing-rooms, no such circumspection was observed in New York, where the meanest motives were ascribed to the President, and among the speculators and Tory sympathizers open threats were made. Madison heard, while there a little later, that ‘the licentiousness of [these] tongues exceeded anything that was conceived.’[305] This struggle marked a definitive break in the relations of Hamilton and Jefferson. The dictatorial disposition of the former would brook no opposition, and he was temperamentally incapable of a differentiation between political opposition and personal hostility. The fact that Jefferson, in response to a command from Washington, had written an opinion against the Bank could bear only one interpretation—‘asperity and ill humor toward me.’[306] The fact that Washington accepted Hamilton’s view, did not, however, shake Jefferson’s faith in the President, and in defeat nothing so ill-tempered escaped him as flowed in a stream from the Federalists when threatened with defeat. Within a month after Hamilton had won his fight, Jefferson, in commenting to a friend on what he conceived to be a dangerous trend, wrote that ‘it is fortunate that our first executive magistrate is purely and zealously republican’—the highest praise he could bestow.[307]

The press was not verbose in its comments on the bill, albeit Freneau fought it in the ‘Federal Gazette.’[308] The ‘Pennsylvania Gazette’ was ungraceful in defeat. Denouncing the Bank as ‘a proposition made to the moneyed interest,’ it commented on its ‘preparations to subscribe,’ and found ‘the terms ... so advantageous that no equal object of speculation is perhaps presented in any quarter of the globe.’[309] Fenno offered his best in a verse:

Thus the First Congress closed its labors with no little rhapsodizing in the press over the results. A New York paper offered an epitaph of glorification,[311] which a Boston paper condensed into the simple comment that it had ‘established public confidence and credit, reconciled the jarring interests of discontented States, and cemented the people in the bonds of harmony, peace and love.’[312]

One man, at least, had cause for jubilation. In two years Hamilton had risen to a position of commanding power, proved his genius in constructive statesmanship, accomplished everything he had set out to do, made himself the idol of the wealthy and the powerful, the recognized leader of the influential commercial class, the acknowledged head of a brilliant and militant party. His friends were comparing him to Pitt, then in the heyday of his power—and he was only on the threshold. So great was the enthusiasm in commercial circles that he made a special trip to New York to accept the homage of the Chamber of Commerce at a reception, to linger a week among his worshipers, and to return to Philadelphia reinvigorated by the wine of idolatry pressed to his lips.[313] At that moment he was on the top of the world.

V

Meanwhile, Jefferson and Madison drove out of Philadelphia together on one of those journeys of recreation during which politicians so often plan the strategy of war. Historians have found more in this journey than is to be discovered in the record. The trip through New England probably had no other object than that of pleasure and enlightenment. The relations of these two men were beautiful and went far beyond a mere congeniality in political opinions. There was a marked similarity in their characters. Both scholarly in their tastes, the books that interested one were certain to appeal to the other. Here were two men whose spirits were in accord. It is easy to think of them as sitting the candle out in converse about the winter fire, or as sitting far into the night in silence, each finding pleasure in the mere presence of the other. Such a relationship had grown up through the years. They thought alike, found similar enjoyment in agricultural pursuits, and in the many little things of common life.

‘What say you,’ wrote Jefferson just before the beginning of the much-discussed journey, ‘to taking a wade into the country at noon? It will be pleasant above head at least, and the party will finish by dining here. Information that Colonel Beckwith[314] is coming to be an intimate with you, and I presume not a desirable one, encourages me to make a proposition which I did not venture as long as you had your agreeable congressional society about you; that is to come and take a bed and plate with me.... To me it will be a relief from the solitude of which I have too much; and it will lessen your repugnance to be assured that it will not increase my expenses an atom.... The approaching season will render this situation more agreeable than Fifth Street, and even in the winter you will not find it disagreeable.’[315] It required no assiduous and cunning cultivation by Jefferson to wean Madison away from Hamilton. The relations of the first two far antedated those of the last. Madison had agreed with Hamilton on the necessity for a more permanent and substantial union. They had fought together for the ratification of the Constitution, but such were their temperamental differences that the breach which quickly appeared was inevitable when it came to the determination of the policies of that union. While Jefferson was still in Paris, Madison, without consulting his friend, was foreshadowing the policy of the future Jeffersonian party in his fight for discrimination against England in the revenue measure of the first congressional session. He proposed discrimination between the original creditors and the speculators before he had the opportunity to discuss the subject with Jefferson. If there was an accord with the latter, it was due less to the influence of one upon the other than to the similarity of their thinking. The little man with the mild, almost shy expression, who rode out of Philadelphia with Jefferson that spring of 1791, was much too big to have been led around by the nose by any of his contemporaries.

As early as the spring of 1791, the names of the two were associated in the minds of many as the prospective leaders of a party that would challenge the purposes of the Federalists. Answering a series of articles in the ‘Maryland Journal,’ some one advised the author of how to make his opinions worth while. ‘Keep always before your eyes the steps by which Jefferson and Madison have gradually ascended to their present preëminence of fame. Like them you must devote your whole leisure to the most useful reading. Like them you must dive into the depths of philosophy and government.’[316] Thus they were already associated in the public mind, and there was some whispering among the Federalist leaders when they set forth in their carriage.

Bumping and splashing over the rough tree-lined roads those spring days, they unquestionably discussed the political situation, but these discussions were only the continuation of others that had been proceeding throughout the previous fall and winter. If politics was the object of the journey, they were both remarkably successful in covering their tracks. There is nothing in the letter Jefferson wrote his daughter Mary to indicate anything more than a pleasure jaunt.[317] In a letter to his other daughter, Martha, we hear much of fishing for speckled trout, salmon, and bass, of the strawberries in bloom, of vegetation and agricultural conditions—but nothing of politics.[318] To his son-in-law he wrote descriptions of historic places, of botanical objects and scenery, and of running foul of the blue law in Vermont prohibiting traveling on Sunday.[319] The one reference to the journey in the correspondence of Madison merely says that ‘it was a very agreeable one, and carried us through an interesting country, new to us both.’[320] In none of these letters do we find a single reference to politics or politicians.

Something is made of the call of the travelers on Burr and Livingston when in New York, and on Governor Clinton at Albany; but their conduct would have been suspicious only if they had failed to observe the ordinary amenities of social life in calling upon the leading public characters in the towns through which they passed. Still we may safely surmise that they found time while waiting for the fish to bite to exchange views on the necessity of organizing an opposition to the Federalists. It is even possible that out of these conversations on country roads actually sprang the Democratic Party, but there is no evidence.

VI

On his return to Philadelphia, Jefferson found himself the center of a remarkable newspaper controversy. Fascinated by the beauty of Marie Antoinette, Edmund Burke of England had written his bitter attack, not only on the excesses of the French Revolution, but upon its democratic principles as well. It was the fashion in those days to conceal a hate of democracy under the cloak of a simulated horror over the crimes of the Terrorists. Thomas Paine had replied to Burke with his brilliant and eloquent defense of democracy, ‘The Rights of Man.’ In American circles where democracy was anathema, and even republicanism was discussed with cynicism, the Burke pamphlet was received with enthusiasm. It was not until some time later that ‘The Rights of Man’ reached New York, albeit its nature was known and there had been a keen curiosity to see it. Early in May, Madison had promised Jefferson to secure a copy as soon as possible. He understood that the pamphlet had been suppressed in England, and that Paine had found it convenient to retire to Paris. ‘This,’ he wrote, ‘may account for his not sending copies to friends in this country.’[321] At length a single copy arrived and was loaned by its owner to Madison, who passed it on to Jefferson. He read it with enthusiasm. Here was a spirited defense of democracy, and of the fight the French were waging for their liberties; here an excoriation of the prattle in high social and governmental circles of the advantage, if not necessity, for titles of nobility. Here was not only an answer to Burke, but to John Adams, whose ‘Discourses of Davilla’ had been running for weeks in Fenno’s paper, and had been copied extensively in other journals with a similar slant. Jefferson was immensely pleased.

Before he had finished with it, the owner had called upon Madison for its return, as arrangements had been made for its publication by a Philadelphia printer. It was agreed that Jefferson should send it directly to the print shop, and in the transmission he wrote a brief explanation of the delay, and added: ‘I am extremely pleased to find it will be reprinted here, and that something is at length to be publicly said against the political heresies which have sprung up among us. I have no doubt our citizens will rally a second time round the standard of “Common Sense.”’

To this note he attached so little importance that he kept no copy. With astonishment he found that the printer had used his note as the preface, with his name and official title as Secretary of State. The general conviction that the word ‘heresies’ was meant to apply to the Adams papers sufficiently indicates the popular interpretation of their trend. The storm broke.

Major Beckwith, the British Agent, hastened to express his pained surprise to Washington’s Secretary at the recommendation by the Secretary of State of a pamphlet which had been suppressed in England. The secretary was sufficiently impressed by the scandalized tone of the aristocratic society of Philadelphia, which was usually lionizing some degenerate members of the European nobility, to write his chief in detail. When Randolph dined with Mrs. Washington, Lear retailed it to him, and the suggestion was made that Jefferson should know. Thus there was something more than a tempest in a teapot. Everywhere men were partisans of the pamphlets of Burke or Paine, the aristocrats on one side, the democrats on the other, the stoutest of the republicans everywhere delighted with ‘The Rights of Man.’ This was true in even the small towns and the villages of far places. One traveler passing through Reading was surprised to find the two pamphlets the ‘general topic of conversation,’ and he was assured of the delight that awaited him in the reading of Paine’s.[322] All too long had the Americans been drugged with Fenno’s deification of the upper classes—with John Adams’s ‘Discourses’ on the necessity of ‘distinctions’—and here was old ‘Common Sense’ back again in the old form slashing the aristocrats fore and aft. The press responded to the popular demand, and everywhere ‘The Rights of Man’ was being published serially to be eagerly read by the thousands who had not seen the pamphlet. But it was not all one-sided. If the ‘Painites’ wrote furiously in some papers, the ‘Burkites’ were prolific in Fenno’s and a few others. In the fashionable drawing-rooms a poll would have shown a decided preference for the defender of aristocracy who had wept so eloquently over the woes of a frivolous Queen. Nowhere was Burke so popular and Paine so loathed as in the home of Adams, the Vice-President. ‘What do you think of Paine’s pamphlet?’ asked Dr. Rush, to whom society was cooling because of his democratic tendencies. The second official of the Republic hesitated as if for dramatic effect, and then, solemnly laying his hand upon his heart, he answered, ‘I detest that book and its tendency from the bottom of my heart.’ Indeed, most of the Federalists were frankly with Burke. ‘Although Mr. Burke may have carried his veneration for old establishments too far, and may not have made sufficient allowance for the imperfections of human nature in the conflict of the French Revolution,’ wrote Davie to Judge Iredell, ‘yet I think his letter contains a sufficient amount of intelligence to have rescued him from the undistinguishing abuse of Paine.’[323]

With most of the Federalist leaders in sympathy with Burke, few ventured to attack Paine in the open. Not so with Adams who was spluttering mad over the Jefferson ‘preface.’ He was positive that the publication of Paine’s pamphlet in this country had been instigated by his former colleague at Paris.[324] To him the pamphlet of Paine, the ‘preface’ of Jefferson, the acclaim for both on the part of the people was but a devilish conspiracy of Jefferson’s to pull him down. ‘More of Jefferson’s subterranean tricks.’ And with this conviction, John Quincy Adams, the son, then in Boston, took up a trenchant pen to write the articles of ‘Publicola’ for the ‘Centinel,’ sneering at the Jeffersonian note to the printer, assailing Paine and democracy, and stoutly defending the governmental forms of England. So well did he discharge his filial duty that his articles were published in pamphlet form in England by the friends of Burke, and many of the Federalist papers reproduced them as they appeared.

Then the newspaper battle began in earnest. Many indignant democrats rushed to the attack of ‘Publicola’ with all the greater zest because of the belief that ‘Publicola’ was none other than ‘Davilla’ himself. ‘America will not attend to this antiquated sophistry,’ wrote one, ‘whether decorated by the gaudy ornaments of a Burke, the curious patch-work of a Parr to which all antiquity must have contributed its prettiest rags and tatters, or the homely ungraceful garb which has been furnished her by Mr. John Adams.’[325] Another suggested that ‘Publicola’ would soon cease to write since ‘the time for the new election is approaching,’ although the ‘Discourses’ might be continued without danger since ‘dullness, like the essence of opium, sets every reader to sleep before he has passed the third sentence.’[326] As for ‘Publicola,’ his letters were ‘being brought forward to persuade the people that an hereditary nobility, and, of consequence, high salaries, pomp and parade are essential to the prosperity of the country.’[327] In Boston, where the letters were appearing, ‘Agricola’ and ‘Brutus’ began spirited replies in the rival paper.[328] Other writers, with less grace and force, joined in the fray. Who are to constitute our nobility, demanded ‘Republican,’ our moneyed men—the speculators? If so ‘Dukes, Lords and Earls will swarm like insects gendered by the sun,’ and the worn-out soldier who had been tricked out of his paper would have the satisfaction of ‘bowing most submissively to their lordships while seated in their carriages.’[329]

But Adams was not without his defenders. ‘An American’ declared that all the abuse was ‘designed as a political ladder by which to climb.’ Miserable creatures! ‘Ages after the tide of time has swept their names into oblivion, the immortal deeds of Adams will shine on the brightest pages of history.’[330] ‘The Ploughman’ indignantly resented the insinuation that Adams had written the ‘Publicola’ letters. In truth, ‘his friends consider Dr. Adams as being calumniated’ by having such sentiments ascribed to him.[331] To all the ‘hornets’ that were buzzing about Adams, Fenno felt he could be indifferent, for they had no stings. They were merely nonentities trying to give consequence to their scribblings by appearing to be answering the Vice-President.

Meanwhile, Jefferson was keenly enjoying the turmoil. We wish it were possible to trace it all to his contrivance, for nothing could have served his purpose better. To have foreseen that the writing of a few simple lines would have awakened the militant republicanism of the country and have aroused the democratic impulses of the inert mass would have been complimentary to his political genius. But this is not the only instance where a clever politician with the reputation of a magician has stumbled forward. There is no doubt that Jefferson was astonished and embarrassed on learning that the printer had made an unauthorized use of his personal note. He admitted to Washington that he had Adams’s writings in mind, but that nothing was more remote from his thoughts than of becoming ‘a contributor before the public.’ However, he was not impressed with the reflections on his taste. ‘Their real fear,’ he added, ‘is that this popular and republican pamphlet ... is likely ... to wipe out all the unconstitutional doctrines which their bellwether, Davilla, has been preaching for a twelve-month.’[332] This explanation was enough for Knox, who wrote accordingly to Adams,[333] but not enough for Jefferson who sent a frank explanation to Adams with an expression of regret. In generous mood, the latter accepted the explanation with the protestation that their old friendship was ‘still dear to my heart,’ and that ‘there is no office I would not resign rather than give a just occasion for one friend to desert me.’[334]

Madison, to whom Jefferson had sent a similar explanation, had assumed that there had been a mistake or an imposition, but he could see no reason for indignation on the part of Adams or his friends. ‘Surely,’ he wrote, ‘if it be innocent and decent for one servant of the public to write against its government, it cannot be very criminal or indecent in another to patronize a written defence of the principles on which that Government is founded.’[335]

However much Jefferson may have regretted the unauthorized use of his letter, he rejoiced in its effect. He wrote Paine that the controversy had awakened the people, shown the ‘monocrats’ that the silence of the masses concerning the teachings of ‘Davilla’ did not mean that they had been converted ‘to the doctrine of king, lords and commons,’ and that they were ‘confirmed in their good old faith.’[336] The incident had established Jefferson in the public mind as the outstanding leader of democracy, had set the public tongue to wagging on politics again. More was involved in the pamphlets of Burke and Paine than differences over the French Revolution. The keynote of Burke’s was aristocracy and privilege; that of Paine’s was democracy and equal rights. The former was the gospel of the American Federalists; the latter the covenant of the American Democracy. Studying the reactions with his characteristic keenness, Jefferson was convinced that the time was ripe to mobilize for the inevitable struggle.

VII

‘What do you think of this scrippomony?’ Jefferson wrote to Edward Rutledge in the late summer. ‘Ships are lying idle at the wharfs, buildings are stopped, capital withdrawn from commerce, manufactures, arts and agriculture to be employed in gambling, and the tide of public prosperity ... is arrested in its course.... I imagine that we shall hear that all the cash has quitted the extremities of the nation and accumulated here.’[337] As he wrote, Jefferson had before him the report of the craze which had just reached him in a letter from Madison in New York. ‘Stock and scrip the sole domestic subjects of conversation ... speculations ... carried on with money borrowed at from two and a half per cent a month to one per cent a week.’[338]

Men grown reckless with the frenzy of the intoxication were resorting to fraud to rob the Government, many taking out administration papers for deceased soldiers who had left no heirs. ‘By this knavery,’ wrote Madison at an earlier period, ‘a prodigious sum will be unsaved by the public, and reward the worst of its citizens.’ And suppose one of the clerks of the account offices is not proof against the temptation?[339]

By the middle of the summer (July 10th) Bank stock had risen as much in the market in New York as in Philadelphia with the feeling that there was a certainty of gain. A scramble had set in ‘for so much public plunder.’ The meticulously scrupulous Madison, with his lofty notions of official propriety, was shocked to find ‘the members of the Legislature who were most active in pushing this job openly grasping the emoluments.’ Schuyler, the father-in-law of Hamilton, was to be the head of the directors of the Bank ‘if the weight of the New York subscribers can effect it.’ Stock-jobbing monopolized all conversation. The coffee-houses buzzed with the gamblers.[340]

Meanwhile, from the high-placed to the ordinary scamp, men maddened, by the money-itch, were resorting to ordinary crime to get possession of public paper. In some places clever counterfeiters were driving through the country under the pretext of examining securities with the idea of purchase and cleverly exchanging the worthless for the real.[341] In the South and in the remote parts of Maine, swindlers were scouring the woods for State notes, lying to the uninformed and ignorant about their value, and getting them for a song. ‘What must be the feelings of the widow and orphan,’ wrote a correspondent of a Philadelphia paper, ‘when they find themselves thus defrauded of a great part of their little all, and that, not unlikely, the earnings of their late husbands and fathers, who died in the service of their country, by these pests of society who ought to be despised?’[342] But greed knew no shame. An appalling picture: members of Congress feathering their nest through their legislative acts, counterfeiters robbing the unwary, common crooks stealing from the Government by posing as the administrators of the dead, and distinguished members of the Boston Bar, like Otis and Gore, speculating with their clients’ money without their knowledge or consent.

So sinister was the situation that notes of warning began to appear in the newspapers. The ‘Pennsylvania Gazette’ found that speculators had ‘turned raving mad, and others so agitated that they appear on the borders of insanity.’[343] Fenno tried vainly to restore sobriety to the drunk—for Hamilton himself was shocked and not a little concerned.[344] Better be careful about parting with Bank scrip, warned the ‘New York Daily Advertiser.’ Efforts were being made to buy up all the scrip in the city ‘and for this purpose a powerful combination was formed ... on Saturday night to reduce the price.’[345] Beware of another South Sea Bubble, warned ‘Centinel’ in the same paper. ‘The National Bank stock has risen so high, so enormously above its real value, that no two transactions in the annals of history can be found to equal it....’[346]

From Boston came similar stories of the madness. All the while the New York papers were publishing day-by-day quotations on the scrip.[347] By August 15th the mania was at its height. ‘It has risen like a rocket,’ wrote an amused scribbler. ‘Like a rocket it will burst with a crack and down drops the rocket stick. What goes up must come down—so take care of your pate, brother Jonathan.’[348] The craze was becoming ridiculous. The sane and the honest looked upon it as a spectacle. Above the angry cries in the market-place rang the laughter of the observers who kept their heads. Some put their scoffing into verse: