Jefferson and Hamilton (58 page)

In rapid-fire succession that spring and summer the Federalists abrogated the treaties with France, authorized American vessels to attack French predators, spent more on the navy than the nation had spent in the past ten years combined, and against Adams’s wishes expanded the army from 4,173 to 14,421 officers and men, quadrupling the number of infantry regiments and increasing the cavalry sixfold. (Many, including Hamilton, referred to the original army as the “Old Army” and considered it a “frontier constabulary,” while they labeled the newly created force the “New Army.”) In addition, Congress authorized the president to incorporate into the army those companies of volunteers that organized as units. Finally, Congress sanctioned the creation of both a “Provisional Army” and an “Eventual Army”—the two would have totaled some forty thousand men—which the president could activate in the event of “imminent danger.” (Adams never perceived such a danger, and those portions of the army never truly came into being.) Finally, Congress levied land and stamp taxes to pay for the steps it had taken.
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The congressional Federalists did not stop there. During that scorching summer, they enacted the punitive Alien and Sedition Acts, claiming them a wartime necessity. In fact, the legislation was enacted almost entirely for the purpose of making political gains. Not for the last time in American political history did conservative extremists who feared change exploit a perceived foreign threat to, in the words of historian James Roger Sharp, “consolidate their strength and destroy their political opposition.”
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The High Federalists went after what one called the “democrats, mobocrats & all other kinds of rats.”
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Partisanship was never far from their thoughts. They wished, historian Ron Chernow has written, “to muzzle dissent and browbeat the Republicans into submission.”
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The repressive Federalist legislation tripled the period that immigrants had to wait in order to become citizens. This was an unmistakable attempt to weaken the Republican Party, home to the “hordes of wild Irishmen” and other putative Jacobins who were, as a Federalist charged, the “grand cause of all our present difficulties.” To deal with what a High Federalist claimed was the “army of spies and incendiaries scattered through the continent,” two acts authorized the deportation of aliens who were already in the country.
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Jefferson called those laws “detestable” and “worthy of the 8th or 9th century,” but he saw them coming. He thought the Sedition Act was the essence
of the Federalist program, and long before it was introduced, he prophesied that sooner or later the opposition would seek “the suppression of the whig presses.”
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Actually, the Sedition Act aimed at all free speech, for it was made a crime to “write, print, utter or publish” anything “scandalous, and malicious” about the United States government, or to bring into “contempt or disrepute” the Congress or the president. Now and then, a High Federalist was candid enough to acknowledge what his party was up to. South Carolina’s Robert Goodloe Harper virtually admitted on the floor of Congress that Federalists sought to keep from the public the ideas of their political opponents. The Sedition Act, he said, was designed to prevent the “filthy streams” of the opposition party’s principles from “gain[ing] a credit with the community.”
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Once these harsh laws were enacted, an outraged Jefferson proclaimed that in less than ten years the federal government “has[d] swallowed more of the public liberty” than had England before 1776.
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Claiming that he did not wish to be “cruel,” Hamilton nevertheless advocated the deportation of aliens. Though once an alien himself, he now declared that the great majority of them “ought to be obliged to leave the Country.” He also endorsed the Sedition Act. He not only spoke out against immoderate criticism of presidential policies but also said that “approbation of … France” was “portentous” and required “every human effort” to prevent it. Whereas Jefferson attested that the Alien and Sedition Acts flew “so palpably in the teeth of the constitution as to shew they [the Federalists] mean to pay no respect to it,” Hamilton’s only concern was that the laws might be politically counterproductive.
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By June, Hamilton had gotten nearly everything he wished from the Quasi-War crisis, though one great plum had eluded him. He had done much for his country; now, he wanted his country to do something for him. In his earliest surviving letter, the adolescent Hamilton had dreamed of rising from the depths through military service. He still equated soldiering with ascension, and he continued to yearn for eminence, perhaps more than ever in the wake of Callender’s revelations and his own ill-judged response. Despite his talk three years earlier of facing a lengthy period of practicing law in order to cope with indebtedness, Hamilton hungered for a leading position in the New Army. Holding high command could facilitate his enduring dream of glory. It could also be useful for partisan political reasons.

Adams first appealed to Washington to assume command. Adams expected him to ascent readily to the nation’s call, but Washington equivocated. He appeared to say that his acceptance hinged on his ability to select the leading general officers. The only thing he said with clarity was that those officers
should be younger, energetic men.
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Perplexed, Adams sent McHenry to Mount Vernon to discover what was on Washington’s mind. During three of the hottest days of the summer, the secretary of war conferred with Washington. When their discussions were completed, Washington wrote Adams that he would serve on the condition that he would not have to leave home unless a French invasion was probable. As he would seldom, if ever, be with the army, the inspector general, the second in command, would in reality hold the reins of power. Washington recommended the appointment of Hamilton to this post.
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Adams was dumbfounded, and angry. He had wished to respect the seniority among the veteran officers of the Revolutionary War. Under this formula, he could appoint Massachusetts’s Henry Knox to the post of inspector general. He informed Washington of his desire. Washington responded that he would not serve unless Hamilton was appointed immediately beneath him. Not daring to defy Washington, Adams buckled. In an instant, Colonel Hamilton became Major General Hamilton.
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Washington’s behavior, as was often the case in his relationship with Hamilton, was extraordinary. In this instance, though a private citizen, Washington had dictated policy to the president of the United States, an act he would never have tolerated while he held the office. A year earlier, not long after he had broken with Jefferson, Washington learned of Hamilton’s scandalous behavior with James and Maria Reynolds. He immediately sent his former treasury secretary a gift and a note expressing his sincere regard and friendship. Later, Washington told Hamilton of the “very high esteem” in which he held him.
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For Washington, among the least compassionate of men, such behavior was nearly without precedent. Hamilton had not even responded to Washington’s second note. But in May 1798, as the Quasi-War heated up, Hamilton thought the former president could be of use. He fancifully told Washington that the Republicans were plotting to change the Constitution at the behest of France. He additionally urged Washington to undertake a tour of Virginia and North Carolina—“under some pretense of health,” he artfully suggested—to speak out in favor of defensive preparations. Washington swallowed the yarn about the Republicans, but declined to go on the road. That prompted a second letter from Hamilton breaking the news that the New Army would be created and revealing his hope to be its inspector general. Indeed, he implied that it was the only rank he would accept.
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Washington knew Hamilton well. He knew his strong points. He was also mindful of his weaknesses, including his hot-tempered impulsiveness, penchant for intrigue, and obsession with winning glory. In addition, Washington was fully aware that Hamilton was devoid of command experience. It is
unthinkable that Washington would have backed any other unseasoned man with such a long list of reproachful attributes. He may have dared to support Hamilton from a belief that he could control his former aide, or doubtful that a French invasion would occur, Washington may also have felt that Hamilton could do little harm to himself or his country. There was also a gambler’s streak in Washington, and in 1798 he may have been willing to run the risk that Hamilton’s strengths would override his darker traits.

More important, Washington was Federalist in all but name, as Jefferson had slowly come to realize. Washington knew that no one had done more than Hamilton to advance the core principles of the Nationalists, later called Federalists. Hamilton had labored tirelessly to strengthen the national government, overthrow the Articles of Confederation, and win ratification of the Constitution. It was Hamilton above all others who had forged the contours of the new American nation. Washington had shared Hamilton’s hopes of achieving these ends. He believed in Hamilton and wanted him to have a political future, and putting him in a position to win glory—as Washington himself had achieved an exalted status through warfare—might be essential for the furtherance of Hamilton’s political future. Washington saw in Hamilton the greatest likelihood of maintaining Federalist domination, of keeping the Jeffersonians from gaining control of the national government. Washington understood that by backing Hamilton in 1798, he was helping not just his former aide but also the fortunes of the Federalist Party.

Having commanded the Continental army, Washington also knew full well that Inspector General Hamilton would be able to name hundreds of junior officers. Armed with such power, Hamilton could establish a potent Federalist base in every state, as well as create a solid phalanx of provincial leaders who would be personally indebted and loyal to him. (Indeed, six months after his appointment, Hamilton acknowledged that he had been “very attentive to the importance of appointing friends of the Governt. to Military stations.”)
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Like Jefferson, Washington knew that Hamilton was the colossus who drove the Federalist Party and accounted for its greatest successes. He was intent on Hamilton’s ascent to the loftiest heights in American politics, and by forcing the president of the United States to accept his choice for inspector general, Washington had done what he could to afford Hamilton the opportunity to become America’s predominant political figure early in the nineteenth century, much as he himself had been in the late eighteenth century.

Nothing since the enactment of Hamilton’s economic program had so troubled Jefferson as events in the summer of 1798. Eighteen months earlier, he had believed the tide was running against the Federalists. Their successes,
he believed, had been due to the citizenry’s overweening wish for the Union to survive, Washington’s “irresistible influence,” and “the cunning of Hamilton.” Even after fifteen months in the vice presidency, Jefferson remained confident that the Federalists’ anti-republicanism would be the death knell of the party. In a brief time, he predicted, “we shall see the reign of witches pass over.”
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He was wrong. Despite the supposed departure of both Washington and Hamilton from the national stage, Federalist achievements in 1798 were startling. They had brought the nation to the cusp of war, enacted draconian legislation threatening civil liberties and political dissent, drastically expanded the army, and secured Hamilton’s appointment as its day-to-day commander. Furthermore, the Federalists were doing well in the scattered off-year congressional elections. (In fact, the party was en route to retaining control of the Senate and sweeping to a twenty-vote majority in the House.)
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As the vice president gathered gossip and intelligence from his customary network of capital insiders—he knew the details of the Federalist military plans six weeks prior to the XYZ revelations, for instance, and was told that Hamilton had privately described the presidency as a monarchy, “for a monarchy it is”—Jefferson trembled for the future.
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The “delusion of the people” had been necessary for every Federalist achievement, Jefferson believed, and he felt they had achieved their ends through dominance of the press and presidency. Now that what he called “the Hamilton party” was firmly “in possession of the revenues & the legal authorities of the U.S.,” Jefferson predicted that there “is no event … however atrocious, which may not be expected.” If the citizenry acquiesced in the Alien and Sedition Acts, Jefferson feared the Federalists would next push for hereditary monarchy and “the establishment of the Senate for life.” If the Federalists succeeded in taking the country to war, they would argue the necessity of endowing the federal government with “a power under whose auspices every thing fatal to republicanism is to be apprehended.”
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During the ratification struggle, foes of the Constitution had warned that the document was “made like a Fiddle, with but few Strings,” so that those in power could “play any tune upon it that they pleased.”
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Jefferson was certain that the Federalists had done just that, and would do it again, utilizing the implied powers clause and other elastic provisions to stretch the Constitution and claim legal sanction for their actions. Aware that Hamilton had told the Constitutional Convention that he desired a government modeled on that of Great Britain, Jefferson believed that at every step since 1789 the “Tory party”—as he sometimes called his adversaries—had emulated British policy.
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