Jefferson and Hamilton

CHAPTER IX

HAMILTON’S BLACK WINTER

THE winter of 1792-93 was notable in many ways. Not within the memory of the oldest inhabitant of Philadelphia had one so mild been known. As late as February there had been no interruption in the navigation of the Delaware, and the papers, making much of the catching of shad, were predicting that ‘a considerable school may soon be expected.’ In this, however, the sons of Ike Walton were to be disappointed, for a snowstorm and a northwester soon put an end to fishing.[692] Even so, the weather continued, for the most part, mild beyond the usual. Never had society adorned itself with more frills and furbelows, danced more feverishly, or pursued its pleasures with greater zest. The elegant new Chestnut Street Theater threw open its doors for the entertainment the mimic world can give, and the aristocracy, along with the plebeians, flocked to the play, despite the pouting of the uppish Mrs. Bingham who had been refused a box on her own terms. Even the venomous bitterness of the politicians failed to dim the lights of the great houses, albeit the followers of Jefferson were more and more given to understand that they were not wanted among the elect. The events, moving rapidly in France, were making a distinct cleavage here among the aristocrats and democrats. The members of the old French nobility, who had left their country for their country’s good, were giving the tone to the most fashionable dinner tables. Out in the streets the ‘people of no particular importance’ were vulgarly vociferous over the trials and tribulations of the King and Burke’s beautiful Queen—and the Jeffersonians were taking their tone from the howlings of this ‘mob.’

It was evident from the moment Congress convened that a tremendous party struggle was impending. The incidents of the preceding summer had left their scars. The Jeffersonians were embittered against Hamilton because of his anonymous attacks, and nothing could have done more to unsheathe their swords. The truce was over. Washington had permitted Hamilton to continue his attacks by disregarding his request; they would not now permit even Washington to interpose to save Hamilton from their assaults. The elections had given them a confidence they had not had before. The next Congress would not be so subservient to ‘the first lord of the Treasury.’[693] The supercilious assumption of superiority on the part of the Federalist leaders would henceforth be resented. The war would begin in earnest.

The line the attack would take was shown early when Fitzsimons, one of Hamilton’s henchmen in the House, offered a resolution calling for the redemption of so much of the public debt as the Nation had a right to redeem, and asking Hamilton ‘to report a plan for the purpose.’ This was in accordance with the custom which had grown up. From the moment he had taken office, Hamilton had considered the members of the House, constitutionally charged with the duty of framing money bills, as his automatons. He would determine upon the plans himself, prepare the bills, and call upon the House to pass them without too much discussion. He would manage the finances himself and he would not be plagued by foolish questions. For many months the committees to which his measures had been referred had been of his own choosing. They were his followers, and, not a few of them, beneficiaries of his policies.

The Fitzsimons Resolution was instantly challenged by the Jeffersonians as a rather high-handed proposal under a republican form of government, and Madison rose to suggest that the House should know the exact state of the finances before measures were taken for the reduction of the debt. After all, it was with the House, not with the Secretary of the Treasury, that money bills should originate. At any rate, the House could not act intelligently without having the facts in its possession. All too long had it been patient without definite reports.[694]

The feeling of the masses over the by-products of the funding system had by this time become deep-seated. Men who had voted to create the Bank had been made members of the board of directors. The ne’er-do-wells of yesterday were riding in coaches and building pretentious houses. Hamilton was urging bounties or protective duties for manufacturers one day and running over to the Falls of Passaic on the next to assist the directors of a corporation, that was to profit by his recommendations, in selecting the sites for the factories. Not a few honestly believed that he was personally profiting through governmental measures. Almost from the beginning, Senator Maclay had been suspicious of his integrity. This utterly false impression grew out of the positive knowledge that some of Hamilton’s closest political associates were speculating in the securities. ‘Hamilton at the head of the speculators, with all the courtiers, are on one side,’ Maclay wrote in his diary.[695] Only a month before at Mount Vernon, where Washington had begged Jefferson to reconsider his determination to resign, the latter had charged the head of the Treasury with creating ‘a regular system for forming a corps of interested persons who should be steadily at the orders of the Treasury.’[696] In 1790, William Duer retired from Hamilton’s office to become the king of the money-chasers, and, going down to ruin in the financial crash of the preceding summer, was sending out dire threats of startling revelations from the debtors’ prison. Many honest men were quite ready to believe that these threats were aimed at Hamilton.[697] It was under these conditions that a miserable creature by the name of James Reynolds, in prison for a crime against the Treasury, sought to blackmail his way out. He had papers in his possession to prove some financial transactions with Alexander Hamilton. An obscure person of a low order of mentality, he hinted at his use as a dummy in business in which a member of the Cabinet did not care to appear. These facts reached some members of Congress.

II

On December 15th, two sober-faced members of the House and one Senator filed into Hamilton’s office in the Pemberton mansion. The Secretary knew them all and knew two of them as enemies. Frederick Muhlenberg had served as a Speaker in the first House and was to resume that post in the third. A strong character, the recognized leader of the Germans, the foremost American Lutheran minister of his time, he had played a conspicuous part in the Revolution and in the constructive work that followed. Abraham Venable was a Representative from Virginia. The Senator was James Monroe whose fanatical devotion to Jeffersonian ideals and ideas had long since made him the object of Hamilton’s contempt.

As they took seats facing the masterful little man at the desk, they had the manner of judges confronting a victim. None of them were finished in the art of tactful speech. Bluntly they blurted forth their mission—they had evidence of a mysterious connection between the Secretary of the Treasury and James Reynolds. What had Mr. Hamilton to say to that? Even under the least provocative circumstances, Hamilton was quick-tempered, and here was something to arouse the lion in him. For a moment he raged in his resentment. The visitors, a little moved, perhaps, stood their ground. They had papers and the right to an explanation. His fury having consumed itself, Hamilton realized that there was something to explain, and he was ready. Would they meet him at his house that night? They would. The three men rose, bowed, departed.

When they reached the Hamilton home that winter night, they found Oliver Wolcott, the protégé of the host, there before them. In the presence of these enemies it was wise to have one friend as a witness. The visitors were received with the courtly courtesy of which Hamilton was capable, and after they had found chairs about the table, he produced some papers of his own, spreading them out by the candlelight, before him. Then, quite calmly, and with an occasional touch of humor, he made a remarkable confession.

It was the old story of a great man’s weakness. One summer day in 1791 a Mrs. Reynolds had appeared at his home with a pathetic story of her desertion by her husband and a plea for funds to enable her to return to her family in New York. Strangely enough, no description of this adventuress has come down to us, but it is a reasonable presumption that she was comely. The family of Hamilton was in the house. The master was moved. Naturally he would accommodate her, but at the moment he had no money with him. He would take her address and send or bring it in the evening. That night the gods looking down from Olympus might have seen one of their favorite earth-children furtively making his way through the dimly lighted streets, away from the fashionable quarter into the section of cheap boarding-houses. The woman received him in her room. It was the old story of Cæsar and Cleopatra, albeit this was a Cleopatra of the more vulgar sort. ‘After that,’ said Hamilton, ‘I had frequent meetings with her at my own house, Mrs. Hamilton and her children being absent on a visit to her father.’[698] The comedy hurried on. At length he thought to bring it to a termination, and it was then that Mrs. Reynolds proved herself a mistress of her art. She was passionately in love. A separation would break her heart. Here, surely, was a violent attachment—perhaps it would be better to break off gradually. The lover was not lacking in the finer sensibilities, and then, too, his vanity was pleased.[699] With the continuance of the amour, Mrs. Reynolds, simulating a consuming passion, began to flood her innamorato with tender epistles.[700] The climax was on the wing. One day an hysterical note announcing the husband’s discovery of her infidelity, and warning that, if no answer was forthcoming to the letter the Secretary would receive from the irate husband, Mrs. Hamilton would be informed. Would it not be wise to see him? Hamilton thought so and summoned Reynolds to his office. The cunning rascal had his story ready: the wife discovered writing a mysterious letter—a black messenger traced to the Hamilton house—the accused wife on her knees confessing all.[701] After negotiations the heartbroken husband decided that a thousand dollars would salve his wounded honor. ‘And I will leave the town ... and leave her to Yourself to do for her as you think proper,’ he added.[702]

In the midst of these painful revelations, Muhlenberg and Venable declared themselves satisfied, but Hamilton insisted on telling the story to the end. Then followed the most amazing part of the tale. The husband invited his wife’s lover to resume the amour. Hamilton was coy. Mrs. Reynolds added her plea in illiterate, pleading letters. The vanity of Hamilton was likewise persuasive, and the comedy was resumed. When he sought to escape notice by going by the back way, Reynolds was indignant. ‘Am I a person of such a Bad carector [character] that you would not wish to be seen Coming to my house in the front way?’ he wrote.[703] This should have put Hamilton on his guard, but he fell into the trap. A witness had been provided in another blackmailer, Clingman, who had been a clerk in Hamilton’s office, and was an unspeakable scoundrel. Then more money was demanded. Mrs. Reynolds was again alarmed. Her husband was often morose and beat her. At times he threatened to murder Hamilton. Loans were made. This, then, was the nature of the mysterious financial relations with Reynolds.

When the party rose to leave, Muhlenberg and Venable were apologetic—but not so James Monroe. He bowed stiffly, the sternness of his features unrelaxed, as the three passed out into the winter night. Hamilton had vindicated his official honor at a painful sacrifice. It was understood that the confession should be sacredly confidential, but in a sense he had lost. As he sat with Wolcott before the fire after his tormentors had departed, he realized that his enemies were out to wreck his official reputation. He may have had a premonition of the storm that was about to break.

III

Nine days after the scene enacted by candlelight in Hamilton’s library, the bill authorizing the President to negotiate a loan of two million dollars to be applied to the reimbursement of a loan made of the Bank came up for consideration in the House. William B. Giles, who was now dividing the leadership of the Jeffersonians with Madison, was instantly on his feet with a request for postponement. Perhaps some method could be found without recourse to a new loan. It might be better to pay the loan by selling the stock the Nation owned in the Bank. The watchful Sedgwick was shocked at the suggestion. Dumping so much stock upon the market would reduce the price and not enough money would be realized to meet the country’s obligation to the Bank. It was a mild premonitory skirmish.[704]

Christmas Day brought an armistice, but the next day the discussion was resumed, with Madison taking a leading part. Why was so much more to be borrowed than was demanded by the Bank? To his personal knowledge a large sum was lying idle and unappropriated in the Treasury. If this balance was appropriated by the President, he wanted to know it. A delicate subject to discuss, suggested Sedgwick. Not at all, thought Madison. It was time for some ‘candid explanation.’ Was the appropriation lying dormant in the Treasury, borrowed to meet the obligations to France, being demanded by the country to which it was due? The important question concerned the diverting of money appropriated to that specific purpose to the payment of Bank installments. Could gentlemen justify themselves to their constituents for such conduct? The debt to France was one of gratitude and justice, and he wished the money could be sent thither on the wings of the wind. True, the debt in whole was not yet due, but in the critical condition of our benefactor, it would no doubt be particularly acceptable and he was opposed to the diversion of any part of it.[705] Why two millions for the Bank? demanded Giles. True, two hundred thousand dollars would be due the Bank on January 1st, but why two millions? No one had offered an explanation of how the money lying dormant was disposed of, or how it was intended to dispose of it. No member rose to explain, and the bill was lost.

During the next month the lobbies, boarding-houses, taverns, buzzed with discussions of the finances of the country. After all, even the members of the House, presumed to be familiar with the fiscal affairs of the Nation, knew scarcely anything. They had appropriated blindly. There was something uncanny in the silence. Would the raising of the curtain disclose skeletons in the closet of the Treasury? At any rate, the House had a right to the facts and figures. Throughout the month Madison and Giles were frequently at the table or about the blazing fire at Jefferson’s. Here the campaign was planned. The fight should be forced into the open on the floor of the House. Jefferson could not participate, for manifest reasons, but he could direct. Madison could assist in the preparation of the resolutions and in the debate. Giles, who was a masterful debater, fearless and slashing in attack, could sponsor the resolutions and lead in the assault. Because of the part he then played, it has been the fashion to dismiss him flippantly with a shrug and a sneer—but this is absurd. Giles of Virginia was unsurpassed by any American debater of his time.

IV

Giles was a veritable D’Artagnan of debate, a gusty, lusty Gascon transplanted to the tobacco-fields of Virginia, eager always for a fight or a frolic, and lightning-swift with his blade. A blustering fellow, true, quick to assert his rights and repel assault, he carried himself with a swagger that did not endear him to the Federalists, who rather plumed themselves on having a monopoly on that particular vice or virtue. But sneers at his ability are absurd. He who won the admiration of Patrick Henry,[706] commanded the confidence and respect of Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe, received the discriminating praise of Randolph of Roanoke,[707] and the reluctant tribute of Justice Story,[708] cannot be sneered from a respectable place in history by a wretchedly unfair caricature by a partisan English biographer of one of his enemies.[709]

The young Virginian who appeared in Philadelphia in the winter of 1790-91 was not prepossessing in appearance. Of average height, the fullness of his person conveyed the impression of a squat figure. His face, large, round, but colorless, bore none of the indications of genius, albeit there was something of virility in his brown eyes that harmonized with the robustness of his physique. One who knew him has recorded that he was of fair complexion,[710] but another who heard him frequently in debate commented on his dark color, and, since his hair and eyes were those of a brunette, we may accept the latter as more probable than the former.[711] All agree that he was careless in his dress, after the then prevailing Virginia manner,[712] although we have the record of one dramatic appearance in the Virginia Legislature, at the height of his renown, ‘elegantly dressed in blue and buff’ and with the Gascon touch of being ‘booted and spurred, with a riding-whip in his hand.’[713] If there was nothing imposing or picturesque in his appearance, his manners were such as to make him stand out conspicuously among his fellows. These were such as to impress the none too finished Maclay that ‘the frothy manners of Virginia were ever uppermost.’ It is easy enough to reconstruct the scene at Washington’s table where Maclay met our Gascon, with Giles, the good liver, dwelling unctuously on Virginia canvasback ducks, Virginia hams, Virginia chickens, and the old Madeira, which was a little more mellow when drained from a Virginia glass in a joyous Virginia dining-room. Proud of Virginia was this provincial from the tobacco country, and proud as D’Artagnan himself of his physical prowess, for didn’t he take more manual exercise than any man in New England? No place like the Old Dominion where the living was ‘fast and fine,’ where from noon to night the people drank wine or cherry bounce like gentlemen. Thus he thundered along, to the amazement of Maclay, who observed that ‘he practiced on his principle every time the bottle passed.’[714] The picture is no doubt true, for Giles was racy of his native soil. The Amelia County of his early days was of the frontier, with all that that implies of the primitive vices and virtues. The sparsely settled country, with its miserable roads, lived very much to itself, and strangers who ventured among its inhabitants were treated coldly. The living was truly ‘fast and fine’ and rather loose, for the men were careless, indifferent to dress, heavy drinkers, inveterate smokers, their conversations picturesque with profanity; and they were fighters, too. Dumas’s three immortals would have found it to their liking, and had they encountered young Giles at some crossroads tavern they would have taken him to their hearts. The spirit of independence flamed on every hearth, and the religious dissenters found it a happy hunting-ground.[715] It was in this atmosphere that Giles grew up. Like most of the Jeffersonian leaders, he was a frontiersman.

When he went to Princeton to complete his education, we get again the D’Artagnan touch. He set forth like a Virginia gentleman with his negro slave to serve him, no doubt kicking, cursing, and loving him all the way. Then followed a law course at William and Mary—and then a law office was opened in the little tobacco town of Petersburg. We are interested in this period of his career only in that it throws light on his character and capacity. He favored the ratification of the Constitution, and, as a fascinated spectator of the debates in the Virginia Convention, formed a deep admiration for Madison. In the evenings he argued for ratification at the tavern, no doubt in the taproom. Hearing him one night, George Mason, a leader of the opposition, made the comment that ‘he has as much sense as one half of us, though he is on the wrong side.’[716] He was not, then, an anti-Federalist on the Constitution.

Immediately on entering Congress at twenty-eight, he commanded attention, for he had a genius for congressional life. He became at once a giant in debate. When John Randolph, more cynic than flatterer, pronounced Giles the Charles James Fox of the House, he referred to the impression made by the Virginian in action. Fox was a student; Giles was not. Fox was capable of sustained research; Giles was not. Fox was a lover and reader of books, and Giles cared nothing for them. He bore a closer resemblance to Mirabeau or Danton in his methods, absorbing his knowledge from others in conversation. In the tavern, on the highway, at the dinner table, he was a tireless talker, and by provoking his friends into discussion he tested, corrected, and formed his impressions of events and measures. His mind absorbed like a sponge, his memory was retentive. The idea that Jefferson or Madison outlined his speeches for him is ludicrous. He merely assimilated what they said—and then gave it out more forcefully than either could in debate.[717]

It is impossible to reconcile the slurring references of some historians to his manner in debate with the speeches that speak for themselves on the musty pages of the ‘Annals of Congress.’ Here was a man speaking directly to a purpose. No critic need kill off his Roman consuls, for there were none. No craving here for a reputation for erudition. No mere rhetorical flourishes to confuse the sense. No theatrical appeals to the emotions. No verbosity at all—but ‘a clear, nervous expression, a well-digested and powerful condensation of language,’ which could make an impression on the scholarly Story. That great jurist, an unfriendly witness, could not hear him without admiration. ‘He holds his subject always before him,’ he wrote, ‘and surveys it with untiring eyes; he points his objects with calculated force and sustains his positions with penetrating and wary argument. He certainly possesses great strength of mind.’[718]

Having prepared himself to meet all comers, he thus dashed to the combat. Having assimilated all that he had absorbed, his native resourcefulness and ready command of good plain English did the rest. He spoke with the forceful fluency which was the best possible substitute for eloquence. A powerful voice, a virile manner, compelled attention and respect. Did an enemy attack him as he rushed along? He either crushed him with brutal strength, or cleverly ducked the blow—and was on his way again. Instinctively he knew when to strike and when to dodge. When on the floor, he dominated the scene. This was the man, so much belittled, whom Benton wrote down in cold deliberation as ‘the most accomplished debater which his country has ever seen.’ This the man selected in the conferences of Jefferson and Madison to lead the attack on the Secretary of the Treasury.

V

During this period of waiting, with the gossips busy in the taverns and the streets, Freneau was zealously seeking to create the right atmosphere for the attack. With the Hamiltonians ascribing all prosperity to the policies of their chief, Freneau and other editorial enemies were making much of the protest of ‘Patriot,’ who had been ruined through the abuse of these fiscal policies.

Prosperity? Yes, but for whom? demanded the enemies of Hamilton, poking the ‘Patriot’s’ protest under the nose of his defenders. With the Hamiltonians crediting their idol with all the good things that had occurred, Freneau was moved to mirthful verse:

This press crusade against Hamilton was carried on along with much laudation of Jefferson, inspired by the report of his decision to retire from the Cabinet. ‘Mirabeau’ heard with distress that ‘the leader of democracy’ wished to ‘seek the peaceful shades’ to ‘solace himself with his favorite philosophy.’ True, the sea had been made tempestuous for him, but ‘the crew are his friends, and notwithstanding the endeavors of the officers to raise a mutiny to supercede him ... his honest labor and firmness has frustrated their wicked intentions and he rides triumphant.’ But with his retirement ‘monarchy and aristocracy would inundate the country.’[721] Right, agreed ‘Gracchus,’ ‘for though he has been in office near four years he has never assumed the insolence of it. His department has been that of a Republican and in no one action or expression has he manifested a superiority over his fellow citizens.’[722]

Hamilton and his followers had frankly sought to drive Jefferson from the Cabinet and failed; the plan was now complete for driving Hamilton himself into private life.

VI

On January 23d, the result of the deliberations of Jefferson, Madison, and Giles appeared when the latter rose in the House to present a set of resolutions calling upon the President to submit complete reports on the fiscal operations of the Government. To these the House was clearly entitled. Nor was there anything violent or outrageous in Giles’s speech in which he explained them. The House had been legislating for four years ‘without competent official knowledge of the state of the Treasury or revenue.’ They had ‘engaged in the most important fiscal arrangements,’ and had ‘authorized a loan of the Bank ... for more than $500,000 when probably a greater sum of public money was deposited in the Bank.’ They were now on the point of authorizing a further loan of $2,000,000 in the dark—and they were entitled to light. ‘I conceive that it is now time for this information to be laid before the House.’[723] No one rose to object and the resolutions were adopted.

To Hamilton, who looked upon Congress as a meddlesome body, they appeared as something more than a bore. They were an imposition and an insult. He was entrusted with the financial arrangements, and all he asked was to be let alone. But he realized that such a lofty tone could not be publicly assumed. Suppressing his indignation, he set to work with meticulous care to prepare the fullest possible reports before the expiration of the congressional session. His enemies thought to burden him with a task that could not be performed in so short a time. Their strategy was to let the resolutions with their implications seep in on the minds of the people throughout the ensuing summer; his cue was to thwart them in that purpose, to achieve the impossible, to meet the resolutions during the session, and win a triumph.

Not for him, that winter, the gala nights at the new Chestnut Street Theater, nor the dinners at the Binghams’, nor the dances at the Stewarts’, nor the felicities of the hearth with Eliza at his side. His place was at the Pemberton mansion, day and night, until the work was done. Oliver Wolcott and the clerks were doomed to the same drudgery. Far into the night the lights gleamed in the windows of the old house, and dark and deserted were the streets when the workers made their way to their various homes after dreary hours of poring over figures, assembling facts, and writing explanations.

Within twelve days, the first report, with elaborate tables containing the most minute details of transactions, was sent to the House. Two days later, the second report was done and in. A week more and the third was sent. Another six days, and the last was finished. The intense application, the late hours, the nervous strain, told perceptibly on Hamilton, who was never robust. The color left his cheeks when they were not flushed with excitement. His nights were all but sleepless. His waning strength was sustained by the driving force of his powerful mind. When it was over, even Wolcott found that his routine business had fallen behind and that he would ‘be busy for some time to bring it up.’ To his father he apologized for failure to answer letters. There was no time for letters. ‘The winter ... has required every exertion which I could make.’[724]

As these voluminous reports poured in upon the House in rapid succession, the Jeffersonians were amazed and the Hamiltonians beside themselves with joy. A startling intellectual feat, to be sure. ‘I can recall nothing from the British Minister in all the conflicts of party equal to it,’ wrote one admirer. ‘Even Neckar’s boasted account of the finances of France ... is inferior, although that was the result of long study and elaborate preparation, and Hamilton’s the work of a moment. Poor fellow, if he has slept much these last three weeks I congratulate him upon it.’[725] Wonderful reports, agreed the ‘Centinel’ of Boston. ‘The manly unequivocable sentiments—the fair and accurate statements, and the judicious arrangements ... must fix his character as a Patriot, a statesman, and an able and honest financier.’[726] Yes, added another, ‘he will come forth pure gold.’[727]

But his enemies were not so much delighted. They read and studied the reports, complaining that the wizard of the speculators was up to his old tricks. A maze of words, interminable sophistries, columns of confusing figures, arguments instead of facts, and special pleading—no one could understand these reports—such the verdict of the rank and file. To which the Hamiltonians responded with a sneering verse:

But the leaders among the Jeffersonians were studying the reports and finding a few things that they could understand. Evidence of corruption they did not find, but they found technical violations of the law, an indifference on Hamilton’s part to the clear intent of Congress in making appropriations—quite enough, as they thought, on which to continue the attack. Again Giles and Madison sat with Jefferson in his home going over the reports, and framing the second set of resolutions with which it was hoped to drive their enemy from the Cabinet.

VII

Three days before the end of the session, Giles presented his famous resolutions in condemnation of Hamilton’s official conduct, based on the disclosures in his reports. It does not matter who originally wrote them. A scholarly historian[729] has produced proof of the part played by Jefferson. In the very nature of things he must have had a part. Madison unquestionably made suggestions and possibly revamped the copy produced by Jefferson. Giles presented them, and they embodied the conclusions of the three outstanding leaders of the opposition.

These resolutions, intemperately denounced from the day of their appearance, set forth some novel theories, in view of the manner in which the Treasury had been administered, but, read in the light of the present regulations in the matter of appropriations, they are scarcely remarkable and not in the least vicious. They set forth that ‘laws making specific appropriations of money should be strictly observed by the administrator of the finances’; that a violation of this rule was tantamount to a violation of the Constitution; and charged that Hamilton had violated the law passed August 4, 1790, making appropriations of certain moneys authorized to be borrowed in the following particulars, viz.:

First, by applying a certain amount of the principal borrowed to the payment of interest falling due upon that principal, which was not authorized by that or any other law.

Secondly, by drawing part of the same moneys into the United States without the instruction of the President.

They charged him with deviating from the President’s instructions, with neglecting an ‘essential duty’ in failing to give Congress official information of his proceedings in the transactions of the foreign loans. More to the point, politically, was the charge that he ‘did not consult the public interest in negotiating a loan with the Bank of the United States, and drawing therefrom $400,000 at five per cent per annum, when a greater sum of public money was deposited in various banks at the respective periods of making the respective drafts.’ In conclusion, it was provided that a copy of the resolutions should be transmitted to Washington.

The main thing proved by the investigation was something that required no proof—that Hamilton had been managing the finances in the spirit of an autocrat, a little contemptuous of the rights of Congress, a little indifferent to the specific terms of the appropriations. These he had not hesitated to juggle to suit his own purposes. In so doing he had been guilty of technical violations of the law, but he had committed no crime. His hands were clean. Yet money intended for France had not been paid, and money not intended for the Bank had gone into its vaults. This was enough. Suspicion did the rest.

The most censurable feature of the attack was the introduction of the resolutions on the eve of adjournment. Jefferson, Madison, and Giles had no idea that they would or could be disposed of before Congress should automatically expire. Copies had gone to the papers of the four corners to be read by the people, and it is probable that it was the intent that they should have the summer and autumn to make their impression on the public mind. It was manifestly an unfair advantage. But the Hamiltonians had no thought of permitting any such delay. They were in a majority in the House. In the Pemberton house, by candlelight, the Treasury clan was summoned to a council of war, and they went forth to force the fighting to a speedy finish.

The reports had settled nothing with Hamilton’s enemies. ‘When Catullus[730] invited America to look through the windows of his breast and judge of the purity of his political motives, he did not invite in vain,’ exulted ‘Decius’ in the ‘National Gazette.’[731] Willing to meet his accusers? sneered ‘Franklin.’ ‘Pardon me, sir, if I am one of those unbelievers, who, placing no confidence in any of your professions, do verily think that you neither wish, desire nor dare to meet full and fair inquiry. Have you asked it, sir?’[732] These jeers and exultant cries were intolerable. The vindication of the House must come speedily.

On the last day of February there was a preliminary skirmish, and on March 1st, the contending armies were marshaled for a decisive struggle. Sedgwick and the faithful Smith of South Carolina led off for Hamilton, and Giles followed for the Resolutions. Fitzsimons of Philadelphia and Laurance of New York City, both representatives of the commercial interests, attacked, and Mercer of Maryland replied. Boudinot defended Hamilton, and Madison rose to make the premier argument in condemnation of the policies of the Treasury; and Ames, the most brilliant of the Hamiltonian orators, who had been held in reserve for Madison, replied. Thus the day wore on, darkness fell, and the candles had long been lighted before the House adjourned for dinner. Seven o’clock found the galleries packed, Senators upon the floor, favored spectators in the rear of the Chamber packed in close. The leading drawing-rooms were dark that night, for their mistresses looked down upon the drama of the black eyes and bloody noses. The struggle continued far into the night.

Here let us pause to catch the drift of the speeches. The supporters of Hamilton made the most of the failure to find any evidence of criminality. ‘They present nothing that involves self-interest or pecuniary considerations.... Instead of anything being detected that would disgrace Pandemonium, nothing ... which would sully the purest angel in Heaven.’ Thus spoke Smith. No longer ‘the foul stain of peculation,’ but ‘the milder coloring of an illegal exercise of discretion and a want of politeness in the Secretary of the Treasury,’ said Barnwell.[733] What if a critical examination had revealed a deviation from the letter of the law, exclaimed Laurance. Was that an excuse for sounding ‘the alarm from St. Croix to St. Mary’s?’ No corruption! cried Mercer, who had been forced to deny campaign charges he had made. ‘I still entertain the opinion that there is corruption.’ The House was in turmoil, and the Marylander was sharply called to order. On he plunged, recklessly fighting his way against calls to order.

No charge of corruption stained the lips of Madison, who moved on solid ground. There had been a technical violation of the law, and he proved it. There had been a disregard of the instructions of the President, and he showed it. He went thus far, no farther, and he hammered home the facts. ‘I will not deny,’ he said, ‘that there may be emergencies in the course of human affairs of so extraordinary and pressing a nature as to absolve the Executive from an inflexible conformity to the injunctions of the law. It is, nevertheless, as essential to remember ... that in all such cases the necessity should be palpable; that the Executive sanction should flow from the supreme source; and that the first opportunity should be seized for communicating to the Legislature the measures pursued, with the reasons of the necessity for them. This early communication is equally enforced by both prudence and duty. It is the best evidence of the motives for assuming the extraordinary power; it is a respect manifestly due to the Legislative authority.’ On this ground he stood, and there stood Giles.

The charges were dismissed by Ames, ex-cathedra-wise, with a shrug. What if there had been a juggling of the funds? ‘It is impossible,’ he said unblushingly, ‘to keep different funds, differently appropriated, so inviolably separated as that one may not be used for the object of the other.’ Nothing criminal had been proved.[734]

One by one the resolutions were taken up and overwhelmingly voted down—voted down even where Hamilton had admitted the charge and justified his acts. Before the last vote was reached, many of the members, worn by the excitement, the confinement, and fatigue, and confident of the result, deserted their posts and wandered forth into the winter night.[735]

VIII

Hamilton had sought, through his anonymous letters, to drive Jefferson from the Cabinet—and failed. Jefferson had tried, through this investigation, to drive Hamilton from public life—and failed. The struggle must go on. Each had caused the other some distress, each drawn a little blood, but neither had inflicted a serious wound.

With the adjournment of Congress, the skirmishing was taken up all over the country through the press. The Boston Federalists opened fire upon the ‘Boston Argus.’ It had published the resolutions, but not the Hamilton reports. The resolutions had been carried on the same mail that conveyed the vote of vindication, and the defeat of Giles had not been mentioned. Infamous![736] ‘Marat’ proposed satirical resolutions declaring ‘highly reprehensible’ every official ‘who by integrity, talents, and important services ... conciliates the esteem and affections of the people.’[737] Hamilton had come out pure gold, wrote a Philadelphian to a citizen of Rhode Island. ‘The more it is rubbed, the more it will shine.’[738] A writer in the ‘Connecticut Gazette’ was moved to a frenzy of indignation. ‘Dutch Republicans murdered De Witt and ate his heart. Republicans banished Aristides, the first, and condemned Socrates to Hemlock. And yet we have confined the punishment of eminent services and ability to attempts to degrade them from office by innuendoes, electioneering slanders, and newspaper detraction. This however may be the prelude to eating and banishing.’[739] A traveler in the Southern States wrote of the effect of the investigation in Virginia. It had ‘opened the eyes of many who have hitherto been under the explicit direction of a certain would-be umpire of the United States.’[740] He found that prejudice had been created against Hamilton on the ground that he ‘had not done as much as he ought to assist certain needy men to their claims for services,’ but he was pleased to find that ‘the unjust prejudice against the industrious patriot is decreasing daily.’[741]

Everything possible was done to make Hamilton’s vindication a veritable triumph. When the Providence Society of New York met at Haut’s Tavern for a dinner, the toast, ‘The Secretary of the Treasury—may his distinguished talents and integrity command universal respect,’ was received with shouts and the clicking of glasses.

But the Jeffersonians were unimpressed. ‘After all,’ they said, Hamilton ‘acknowledges the freedom taken with appropriations and strives to work out an apology, rather than a justification.’[742] A week later, the ‘National Gazette’ presented an analysis of the vote of which the Jeffersonians were to make much. Vindication, indeed!—and by whom? Three were directors of Hamilton’s National Bank. Fifteen or twenty were reputed to be stockholders in the same institution. ‘Can these men be admitted as judges—men who in fact are parties to the cause?’[743] All over the land the Jeffersonians were making it uncomfortable for many members who had voted to vindicate, and the Kentuckians soon had Christopher Greenup begging for a suspension of judgment until he could explain.[744] ‘Vindicated!’ cried the Hamiltonians. ‘Yes, and by whom?’ answered the Jeffersonians. ‘By Bank directors, by Bank stockholders who profited, by congressional speculators in the funds.’

IX

Thus the Jeffersonians sought to explain their defeat and even turn it to account. The master mind among them expressed no surprise at the result. He drew up a list of the members who had voted the vindication, indicating which owned Bank stock and which speculated in the funds. When Jefferson journeyed back to renew his strength and courage on his beloved hill, others of his party followed. A little later there was a movement of the leaders to the country home of John Taylor of Caroline at Port Royal, Virginia, where the conferences were continued. Thither went Giles, Senator Hawkins of North Carolina, and Nathaniel Macon. The master of Port Royal was a remarkable character, an ardent Republican, an earnest champion of the agricultural interests, a robust, original thinker with something of the political philosopher, an able writer, a dignified though reluctant Senator. His mind ran much in the same groove with Jefferson’s and Madison’s, both of whom were anxious to enlist him more actively in their fight.

Just what occurred at the conferences that summer is not known. A few months later, however, the probable fruit of the discussions appeared in Philadelphia in the publication of a startling pamphlet, ‘An Examination of the Late Proceedings of Congress Respecting the Official Conduct of the Secretary of the Treasury.’ Here in an analysis of the vote the charge that interested parties had furnished the majority was not only made, but names were given. Of the thirty-five supporters of Hamilton, twenty-one were set down as stockholders or dealers in the funds, and three as Bank directors. Referring to the fervent declaration of Smith of Charleston that Hamilton was as free from taint ‘as the purest angel in Heaven,’ the author of the pamphlet commented that ‘it is well known that [Smith] holds between three and four hundred shares in the Bank of the United States, and has obtained discounts, ad libitum.’ As for Hamilton’s reports, they contained vindications of his conduct ‘in certain particulars relative to which no charge had been brought forward.’ His explanation of the shuffling of appropriations was unimpressive. A deficiency in the appropriation? ‘In such event it becomes his duty to state the fact simply and correctly to the Legislature, that they might, in turn, furnish fresh and additional funds.’ Hamilton had done nothing of the sort. He had treated the House with contempt and violated the law.

Here was clearly the answer of the Jeffersonians to the vote of the House. It found its way to every city, town, and hamlet, to the cabin in the Kentucky clearing, to the mansion of the master of many slaves on the river James, to the pioneers about Fort Pitt on the far frontier. John Taylor of Caroline had struck his blow.[745]

Thus the congressional battle merely served to accentuate the differences of the parties. It marked, in great measure, the close of the purely fiscal phase of the struggle. Neither Jefferson nor Madison was qualified to cross swords with Hamilton in the field of finance. Giles was hopelessly inadequate. A little later, a Jeffersonian leader was to join them whose genius as a financier would be as far above all the Federalists, save Hamilton alone, as Hamilton was superior to Giles, but he was still waiting in the wings for Fate to give the cue for his appearance.

Even as Taylor wrote, a new issue had appeared, made to order for the purposes of Jefferson.

CHAPTER X

ÇA IRA

Then the French Revolution entered a more dramatic stage, captivating the imagination of the multitude. As the real significance of the struggle began to take form, with the crowned heads of the Old World marching in serried ranks under the leadership of Brunswick on the French frontier, the excitement was electric; and when they were turned back by the gallant resistance of the Revolutionists the floodgates of enthusiasm broke. One prolonged, triumphant shout went up from the masses. The ‘people of no particular importance’ somehow felt that the victory was theirs. They had been a little indifferent, these men of the shops, taverns, wharves, and the frontier, over the disputed financial and economic policies of their country, but they could understand the meaning of ‘liberty, equality, fraternity.’ It meant democracy. Thus the news of the French victories shook the bells in the New York steeples, Tammany celebrated with song, shout, and speech in her wigwam, and the bung was knocked out of the barrel of illiterate oratory in the beer saloons. These ‘people of no importance’ had been inarticulate, and they were moved to eloquence. They had found a cause they believed their cause—the cause of the people against privilege.[746] The enthusiasm swept over the country, and the scenes of riotous joy at Mr. Grant’s fountain tavern in Baltimore[747] were imitated at Plymouth, Princeton, Fredericksburg, Norfolk, Savannah, Charleston, Boston, Philadelphia.

In Boston there was a salute of cannon at the castle, and a picturesque procession moved, fluttering French and American flags, bearing a roasted ox of a thousand weight for the barbecue and a hogshead of punch to wash it down, while girls and women waved from the windows, boys shouted from the roofs, and the frenzied throng roared approval to the eloquence of Charles Jarvis, the Jeffersonian leader, and to the Revolutionary poem by ‘Citizen’ Joseph Croswell.[748] The cheers of Boston were echoed back from Charleston, where the artillery boomed in the day, mingling its thunder with the bells of Saint Michael’s. Only ‘the pen of a Burke could describe the scene on State Street’ packed with exultant humanity, with men looking down from the chimney-tops, while ‘bevies of amiable and beautiful women’ blessed the marchers with their smiles from the balconies of the houses.[749] On to Saint Philip’s tramped the crowd for religious exercises, for these men were not anarchists or criminals, but decent citizens, moved to the depths by the defeat of the persecutors of France.[750]

And observing the unprecedented enthusiasm from his quiet corner, Thomas Jefferson rejoiced. At length the masses were politically awake, and the enemies of democracy had their answer.

II

The issues precipitated by the French Revolution had everything to do with American politics—inevitably so. There were sentimental reasons for the popular enthusiasm for the nation that had served America with men and money; and there were economic reasons for the opposition in the fact that the great merchants operated on English credit. But the political significance of the divisions soon to appear have been persistently written down, where they should be written up.

With some exceptions the Hamiltonian leaders were hostile to the purposes of the French Revolution from the beginning. Here was a rising of the people with a claim to power, and the keynote of Federalist policies was distrust of the people; here was defiance of ‘authority,’ and they were sticklers for constituted authority; here was a challenging of privilege, and they honestly believed in privilege; here was democracy, and they hated it. They were against it, just as Burke was against it, because it was an iconoclastic movement, a trampling on tradition. The death of the King, the slaughtering by the guillotine, the stupidity and infamy of Genêt, the intemperance of the American ‘Jacobin clubs,’ the defiance of Washington’s proclamation—on these they were to seize to neutralize or destroy the popularity of the Revolution, but it was the proclaimed principles of the Revolution that they hated.

In the Senate, where the Hamiltonians were dominant, this was evident from the beginning. As early as December, 1790, when the resolutions of condolence adopted by the National Assembly on the death of Franklin were submitted to the Senate, Adams, in reading the letter from the President of that body which accompanied them, referred sarcastically to the writer’s titles, apropos of the action of the Assembly in abolishing titles of nobility.[751] A few weeks later Oliver Ellsworth and Rufus King, the ablest Federalists in the Senate, openly denounced the French, and ridiculed their claims upon American gratitude, and when Maclay made indignant protest, Ellsworth, taking snuff, pretended not to hear, Adams talked audibly with Otis the secretary, and other Senators gathered in groups to talk aloud. As early as February, 1791, the Hamiltonians in the Senate were in no mood to listen to a defense of France.[752] Even the concession of a constitution by Louis XVI was resented by the senatorial fathers of the Federalist persuasion. The more democratic House adopted a reply praising ‘the wisdom and magnanimity’ shown in its formation and acceptance, but when it reached the Senate, George Cabot objected to the word ‘magnanimity,’ Ellsworth supported him, the Federalists voted accordingly, and it was stricken out. ‘Too many Frenchmen, like too many Americans, panting for equality of persons and property,’ grumbled Adams as early as April, 1790.[753] ‘We differed in opinion on the French Revolution,’ wrote Adams in retrospect to Jefferson many years later.[754] Adams and Hamilton, King and Ellsworth, Cabot and Ames, Jay and Bingham, looked with mingled cynicism and alarm upon the Revolution from the moment it began to take on a popular character and to aim at the destruction of privilege.

Jefferson was just as ardent in its support. He knew the miserable state to which the feudalistic institutions of the Bourbons had reduced the masses of the people. He had seen justice bought and sold in France on the auction block, the operations of the hideous game laws that threw open the peasants’ fields to the trampling of the horses of the aristocracy, the bestial poverty of the poor, the insulting of their wives and the debauching of their daughters, with justice open-eyed and leering. He knew the wantonness of Versailles, the drunkenness of the King, the profligacy of the Queen, and he had no illusions as to the dignity of the law or the righteousness of the authority in France. He had sat at the table with some of the noblest minds in that country planning the regeneration of a society that was rotten to the core.

But, more important to him, he was persuaded that the fate of the American experiment was bound up with the success of the French Revolution. From this opinion he was never to deviate one hair’s breadth.[755] In January, 1792, he had instructed the American Minister in Paris that, if circumstances forced an expression as to the French Government, it should be ‘in conformity with the sentiments of the great mass of our countrymen, who, having first in modern times taken the ground of government founded on the will of the people, cannot but be delighted at seeing so distinguished ... a nation arrive on the same ground and plant their standard by our side.’[756] A little later he reminded the American Minister in London that ‘we certainly cannot deny to other nations that principle whereon our government is founded, that every nation has a right to govern itself internally under what forms it pleases, and to change these forms at its own will.’[757]

Thus, Jefferson was in sympathy with the purposes of the French Revolution, and the Hamiltonians were hostile. To Jefferson it meant republicanism, democracy, the end of privilege—and he wished it well; to the Hamiltonians it meant democracy—and they wished it ill. When the despots of Europe combined to crush it and force a degenerate king and court on the bowed backs of the people, Jefferson’s heart was with the untrained boys rushing to the defense of the frontiers; the heart of the Hamiltonians was with the combination of the kings. And because the masses of the American people were in sympathy with the French, Jefferson rode on the crest of the wave in the closing days of 1792.

III

With the execution of the King, the political enemies of the Revolution, simulating shock, ventured into the open. Fenno eagerly seized upon the more graphic stories of the execution in the London papers and published them in full, and soon he was printing sympathetic poems on the event.[758] But the friends of the Revolution were not easily moved to compassion, and one of the theaters in Philadelphia revived the play ‘Cato’ to the noisy acclaim of frenzied partisans. The actors appeared before the curtain to sing ‘La Marseillaise,’ and the audience rose to join lustily in the chorus. Night after night this was repeated. The Pittsburgh ‘Gazette’ published a brutal pæan under the caption, ‘Louis Capet has lost his Caput,’ and this was copied throughout the country.[759] But these more savage bursts of glee did not meet with general approval, for when the news of Louis’s fate reached Providence the people ‘fell into an immediate state of dejection, and in the evening all the bells of the churches tolled.’[760] Many put on mourning, and ‘Cordelia’ announced her purpose to wear, in mourning for the martyred King, a black rose near the left breast, and ‘entreated her dearly beloved sisters ... to follow her example.’[761] For a time the reaction was so pronounced as to threaten the popularity of the Revolution, and it seemed that half the Nation had turned monarchists overnight.

The Democrats were infuriated to find that the reaction was not confined to the fashionable houses, but extended to the people in the streets. Even from New Bedford came the protest that ‘the advocates of monarchy’ and ‘crocodile humanity defenders’ were insisting that ‘the succors from France ... proceeded wholly from Louis,’ and that he had really wished Frenchmen to be free.[762] A citizen of Charleston was disgusted to see how ‘the death of one man’ could ‘so affect the generality of the people’ of his city. ‘They burst forth in the most vehement invectives ... against the whole French nation—forgetting the thousands that said king had directly or indirectly been the cause of their death.’[763] An ‘Old Soldier’ in Philadelphia was shocked to find that ‘beer houses, taverns and places of public resort are filled with panegyrics upon the measures of the British administration, and our good allies, the French, are branded with every felonious epithet.’[764] And why all this fuss? Had not letters been received from one who had witnessed the execution with the assurance that ‘everything was conducted with the greatest decency,’ and had not the writer, traveling over France ‘found the people quiet and generally approving of the public measures?’[765] Thus the debate raged in drinking-places, on the streets, in the highways, in the counting—and drawing-rooms—the enemies of the principles of the Revolution perking up and taking heart and seeming in the ascendant for a few days.

Meanwhile what of the leaders?

The Federalists were delighted with the reaction. Jefferson observed that the ladies of Philadelphia ‘of the first circle are open-mouthed against the murder of a sovereign, and generally speak those sentiments which their more cautious husbands smother.’ Tennant, the French Minister, at length ‘openly hoisted the flag of monarchy by going into deep mourning for his prince,’ and discontinued his visits to Jefferson, who interpreted it as ‘a necessary accompaniment to this pious duty.’ More significant to the keen-eyed politician was the observation that ‘a connection between him and Hamilton seems to be springing up.’[766] Without indecent manifestations of pleasure over the King’s death, Jefferson found some satisfaction with the tendency to render ‘monarchs amenable to punishment like any other criminal.’[767] Madison was quite as unresponsive to pity. ‘If he was a traitor he ought to be punished like any other man,’ he wrote Jefferson.[768] If these clever politicians were not impressed with the cries of commiseration, it was due to their appraisement of the noise. It was the first plausible and safe opportunity for the enemies of French democracy to denounce the movement they despised, and they made the most of it. Even so, for a few days the Hamiltonians were riding the crest of the wave.

Then another sea change.