HAMILTON’S BLACK WINTER
I
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.
The tale is true [it ran]. I loved my country. In 1775, my only son
fought on Bunker Hill.... His mother sent the chair down to carry
him home. She wiped the blood from his face and dressed the wound
in his breast. He died. My neighbor, Smallacre ... said it was the
proper reward for rebellion, but that a halter would have been more
proper. I persevered in the cause of freedom. Congress wanted
money--I called in my debts and sold all my land excepting forty
acres. In ... 1778 I had 12,000 in paper. I loaned the whole, and
when they were consolidated at forty for one I had a loan office
certificate for $300. In 1784 the General Court issued a large tax.
As I could obtain neither the interest or principal of my loan
office note I was obliged to sell it. My neighbor, Smallacre,
saved his property from the waste of a cause to which he was
heartily opposed, and he appeared to buy my note at Three Shillings
for Twenty. By this means I paid my State tax of Nine pounds, ten
shillings and had four pounds left for town and parish taxes. As my
son was dead I was content to be poor.... My old chair and horse
remained.... My neighbor, Smallacre, has now become rich by
purchase of public securities from people distressed as I was. He
tells me that our Hancocks and our Sam Adams and those kind of men
know how to pull down a government, but do not know how to build
one.[719]
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:
‘Whales on our shores have run aground,
Sturgeons are in our rivers found--
Nay--ships have on the Delaware sailed,
A sight most new.
Wheat has been sown--
Harvests have grown--
On coaches now, gay coats of arms are borne
By some who hardly had a cent before--
Silk gowns, instead of homespun, now are seen,
Instead of native straw, the Leghorn hat,
And, Sir, ’tis true
(Twixt me and you)
That some have grown prodigious fat,
And some prodigious lean.’[720]
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:
‘The Secretary makes reports
When’er the House commands him;
But for their lives, some members say,
They cannot understand him.
In such a puzzling case as this
What can a mortal do?
‘Tis hard for ONE to find REPORTS
And understanding too.’[728]
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.