Jefferson and Hamilton (28 page)

The delegation was headed by General Alexander McDougall, who had taken the nineteen-year-old Hamilton under his wing during the prewar protests in New York and who may have been responsible for securing his appointment as Washington’s aide in 1777. McDougall spoke with Congress about the hardships the officers had endured and enumerated their complaints.
He also revealed that the officers were willing to settle for “commutation.” They wanted their back pay, but were willing to accept having their lifetime half-pay pensions commuted to a five-year full-pay pension. McDougall, who had cut his teeth as a Sons of Liberty intriguer and agitator in Manhattan prior to the outbreak of the war, remained in Philadelphia for several days, all the while making sure the congressmen understood the dangers of what might occur if the officers were left empty-handed. Soon dark rumors were rampant: An officers’ mutiny was pending; Washington might be overthrown and replaced with a “less scrupulous guardian of [the nation’s] interests”; the army might stage a coup and establish “a military dictatorship”; mass resignations might force the breakup of the army before peace with Great Britain was concluded.
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Fear was palpable in the halls of Congress. Arthur Lee, a Virginia congressman, wrote to Samuel Adams that “Every Engine is at work here” to increase the power of the national government. The “terror of a mutinying Army” was being held over Congress like a sword of Damocles, he said, and he added that many were apprehensive that the officers were not beyond “subverting the Revolution” to gain their ends.
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Hamilton likely had been aware of the discussions that had ensued among the officers during the weeks preceding McDougall’s visit. But the coincidence of McDougall’s arrival in Philadelphia at almost the same instant that the impost failed, and the evident apprehension that gripped Congress in the wake of the menacing warnings spread by the officers, made Hamilton and others aware that this was a heaven-sent opportunity for trying once again to strengthen the national government. Probably led by Superintendent Morris, Gouverneur Morris (who was unrelated but served as the superintendent’s assistant), and James Wilson, a Pennsylvania congressman who, like Superintendent Morris, had supported American independence with considerable reluctance, a small cabal formed in January. They glimpsed the chance not only to resurrect the impost amendment but also to frighten Congress into seeking an entirely new revenue system that would permit servicing the debts of the United States and assuming the debts the states had accrued during the war. Gouverneur Morris, in a ciphered letter, revealed the conspirators’ thinking: “The army have swords in their hands. I am glad to see Things in their present Train…. Convulsion will ensue, yet it must terminate in giving the Government that Power without which Government is but a Name.”
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Whether Hamilton was part of the plotting from the outset, or was brought into it subsequently, is unclear. If the latter, the cabal must have seen Hamilton as especially useful. He was not only a congressman who shared their nationalistic agenda, but he also had ties with the army’s officers that stretched all the way to the commander himself.

The colluders rapidly secured a portion of what they wanted. Congress agreed to resume paying the officers and to see somehow that they received their back pay. However, on February 4, the commutation scheme was rejected by Congress. The plotters now knew that commutation, and the establishment of the means of assuring adequate permanent revenue for the national government, could only be achieved if the army continued to threaten mutinous action.
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The pot simmered among the officers at the army’s principal cantonment in Newburgh, New York. As their frustration was building toward a crescendo, Hamilton in early February wrote to Washington, his first missive to the commander in a year. His letter was a warning to Washington. While Hamilton was willing to use the army to strike fear in the hearts of congressmen, he never wanted the projected mutiny to come to fruition. A military coup would almost certainly fail, and the bitterness it aroused would be ruinous for those who hoped to strengthen the national government. Nevertheless, Hamilton was unwilling to divulge to Washington the full scope of the conspiracy, or to unmask the identity of the plotters. He couched his notice to Washington in cryptic terms, though fearing that the commander would not fully understand what he had written, Hamilton instructed him to seek clarification from Knox, an indication that the artillery chief was up to his neck in these machinations.

Hamilton spoke of the pressing need to “restore public credit and supply the future wants of government.” But the heart of his letter dealt with the conspiracy among the army’s officers. Hamilton alluded to the “temper … of the army” and how difficult it might be to confine it “within the bounds of moderation.” Washington must “
take the direction
” of the army and “bring order perhaps even good out of confusion.” If he did that, Hamilton added, Washington would win the hearts of his countrymen, emerging from the war as both a triumphant general and an American icon.
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If Washington did not at first understand all that Hamilton said, the scales fell from his eyes three weeks later when an unsigned manifesto was posted in the Newburgh cantonment. It proposed that Congress be confronted with an ultimatum: If commutation was not guaranteed, the army would disband if the peace talks failed and the war continued, but if peace broke out, the army would refuse to dissolve.
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Treason and mutiny were intermingled in what became known as the Newburgh Address. The officers were asked to attend a meeting on March 15 to decide on a course of action.

The meeting was set for the Temple, a twenty-one-hundred-square-foot building so newly constructed by the soldiery that the smell of green wood permeated the hall. The officers gathered in an atmosphere of breathless anticipation.
They were just preparing to take up the inflammatory statement to Congress when Washington, suddenly and unexpectedly, strode into the room and took the podium. Given several days to consider his response to what he knew was coming—thanks to Hamilton’s advance warning—Washington read his own prepared address. He appealed to the officers to respect civilian authority and the “sovereign authority of the United States.” Legislative bodies “composed of a variety of different Interests” acted slowly, he reminded his audience, and he urged patience. He also pleaded with the officers not to sully the reputation of the army, which they would surely do should they embrace the “blackest designs” advocated in the Newburgh Address.
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Though one of Washington’s best speeches, his remarks did not sway the militants in his audience. Sensing that his appeal to reason had failed, Washington, a devotee of the theater who admired actors—and a polished thespian himself—turned to theatrics to win over his audience. Saying that he wanted to read a letter from a Virginia congressman, Washington, with suspenseful deliberation, extracted the missive from his buff-and-blue coat, meticulously unfolded it, and began reading. He stumbled over a sentence or two. With great drama, he paused and reached into his pocket once again, this time removing a pair of glasses, which with great care he put on. The men had never seen their commander wearing glasses. Without hurrying, he adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles, paused again, then in a voice muted by despair and fatigue, told the officers: “Gentlemen, you must pardon me. I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind.” It was the perfect touch. In an instant, the mood in the room was transformed. As tough combat-hardened men wept openly, the mutinous defiance that had taken hold in some circles dissolved immediately. The Newburgh Address was swept aside, and its proponents were silenced.
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The campaign to increase the power of Congress continued, however. Washington warned Congress that the officers’ forbearance had limits. The near mutiny had been quelled, he seemed to say, but next time, things might turn out differently. A few weeks later, Washington also sent to the states an address warning that the survival of the Union hinged on giving “a tone to our Federal Government.” While his exhortations may have persuaded Congress to embrace commutation, the push for a general revenue system went nowhere. An impost amendment was sent to the states yet again, but it was watered down. It was to last for only twenty-five years and was to be collected by the states. A backlash against the treachery of the army’s officers was partly to blame, but more important, the sense of urgency evaporated once definitive word arrived in March that a preliminary peace treaty had been signed in Paris. The long war really was coming to an end. By mid-summer 1783 the
army had been reduced from some eleven thousand men to barely two thousand. It could no longer use scare tactics to stampede Congress or the states. In the new environment, those like Hamilton who favored what would be called “consolidation”—strengthening the powers of the national government and making it sovereign over the states—were voices in the wilderness. In 1785 the impost amendment, the first step toward consolidation, failed when it was spurned by New York.
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Hamilton had failed to achieve his goal. In some respects, however, what may have been most important for Hamilton in the long run was that the Newburgh episode had a transformative effect on his connection with Washington. Their relationship had been strained since the dustup at headquarters two years earlier, but even though Washington understood that Hamilton had sought to further the army’s cause by using its officers “as mere Puppits” in order “to establish Continental funds,” the commander in chief drew closer to the young congressman.
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As Washington said nothing about Hamilton at the time, his feelings about his former aide are hard to discern from this distance in history. Washington must have realized, if he had not previously, that Hamilton’s star was ascending. Hamilton was exceptionally intelligent, a gifted writer, a man of maniacal energy, and he was well connected to those who wielded considerable influence and power in mercantile and financial circles. Hamilton seemed to possess the qualities necessary for leadership, and indeed in no time he had become a key figure in Congress. What is more, Hamilton was extraordinarily ambitious, perhaps dangerously so, for his having intrigued to use the army as leverage with civil authorities had been astonishingly risky. Washington must have been grateful to have had Hamilton on his side during the Newburgh episode. After all, it was Hamilton who had played the seminal role in making Washington appear to be the essence of moderation in contrast to the hotheads among the officers who had supported insurgency. What is more, Washington knew better than anyone the essential role that Hamilton had played in the destruction of the commander’s foes, Lee and Gates. If nothing else, Washington saw with clarity that Hamilton was a force to be reckoned with.

Washington did not look for friends. He judged others in terms of whether they were enemies or could be of help to him. Hamilton had been indispensable as an aide-de-camp, and it was likely he could be crucially important to Washington in the postwar world. In fact, the commander soon opened a correspondence with Hamilton in which he carefully probed for information about what was occurring in Congress.
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But Washington was not without feelings, and on more than one occasion he evinced a warmth toward Hamilton
that was extremely rare in his other relationships. On some level, Washington may have sensed similarities between Hamilton and his own beloved older stepbrother Lawrence, who had been his role model. It may have been that Washington saw in Hamilton the man he might have become had he, too, been blessed with a formal education. Possibly, Washington was struck by the parallels between himself and his former aide. Both men burned for glory and were savvy political players, even manipulators. Washington excelled at controlling his passions, though his exceptional self-control had come only with age and experience. Hamilton, while equally canny, could be swept up by his own emotions. Possibly, Washington believed that in time Hamilton would also learn greater self-discipline, and ultimately become more like Washington himself. Perhaps Washington was simply captivated by Hamilton, as were so many others. Conceivably, too, Washington saw menacing qualities in Hamilton that nudged him to assure that his former aide remained a loyal follower, not an enemy.

Hamilton judged others more or less as did Washington. He could have left Washington to the wolves during the Newburgh episode, but instead he had alerted him to the danger. Hamilton had adroitly understood that the officers’ plot would in the long run be ruinous to his ends, but he understood that Washington could be useful to him and to his cause. For his part, Washington believed that he could put his trust in Hamilton, and the general wanted this rising young star on his side.

Hamilton once let slip that he regarded the eight months he served in Congress as an “apprenticeship.”
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Despite his repeated pledges to retire from public life, Hamilton saw this first political office as a foundation for other things. Though he could not know what the future held, better than most he knew of life’s vicissitudes from firsthand experience. Congressional experience, he evidently assumed, would be useful in countless ways.

Characteristically, Congressman Hamilton worked hard. Congress repeatedly turned to him for important assignments, and he served on numerous committees. None rivaled in importance the committee constituted in April to prepare for the coming peace. The new American nation would share borders with potentially hostile neighbors, for under the preliminary peace, Great Britain was to retain Canada while Florida was to be returned to Spain. There were also Indian affairs to be considered, as the vast expanse of trans-Appalachia to the Mississippi River, which was to be part of the United States, was occupied by Native Americans. The committee began its work by asking Washington for his thoughts.