Jefferson and Hamilton (63 page)

As the heavy skies of November set in, Adams knew that he would win six more votes in Pennsylvania, Jefferson six fewer, than in 1796. But both knew that Jefferson’s total from New York and Pennsylvania would be six votes more than he had garnered four years earlier. In 1796, Adams had won nine votes in Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia, and he might win that many again in 1800. Still, that would leave him short of a majority. For a Federalist to win this election, Adams or Pinckney had to capture all, or most, of South Carolina’s eight electoral votes. What is more, Jefferson, who had won all eight of South Carolina’s votes in 1796, had to be shut out, or nearly so, in that state.

Thanks to the sun-seared South Carolina backcountry—whose inhabitants hated the Bank of the United States, had never cottoned to a strong national government, and were roiled by the taxes levied by the Federalists in 1798 to pay for the army—the Republicans piled up a majority in that autumn’s assembly elections. It now was certain that Adams could not win. On the face of it, the assembly elections suggested that the next president would be a Republican, but nothing was ever so simple in the election of 1800. As Jefferson put it, “considering local & personal interests & prejudices,” it “is impossible to foresee how the juggle will work” in South Carolina’s assembly.
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He was referring to the fact that many of his followers were also devoted to General Pinckney. If the assembly directed the state’s electors to give their two votes to Jefferson and Pinckney, the latter’s vote total would likely exceed seventy, more than a majority of the electoral votes and possibly more than the seventy-one Adams had received in his winning bid in 1796.

On the eve of Election Day, South Carolina’s legislature acted. About a dozen Republican assemblymen refused to buckle to pressure to support Pinckney. “[B]elieving the fortune of America to depend on our vote,” one of the legislators wrote to Jefferson, the electors were directed to vote for the “republican
candidates only
.” To that, the legislator added: “Our state has done itself immortal honour.” Another South Carolinian reported to Jefferson that the electors had agreed to withhold one vote from Burr; one elector would cast his vote for George Clinton. As late as December 12, Jefferson believed he had won the election, and he told a friend: the “votes will stand probably T.J. 73. Burr about 70. mr. Adams 65. Pinckney probably lower than that.”
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Jefferson’s assessment was informed, but incorrect. While dead-on with regard to Adams and Pinckney, he was startled to learn in mid-December that South Carolina’s electors had given all of their votes to Jefferson and Burr. The result was that the two Republicans had finished in a dead heat with seventy-three electoral votes apiece. The vote had been along sectional lines. Adams had won 86 percent of his votes in the North. Jefferson had garnered nearly 73 percent of his votes in the South.

Despite the fury of the campaign, no one had yet won. The House of Representatives would have to choose the president. The Constitution stipulated that in the event two candidates tied with a majority of electoral votes, the House was to determine the winner with each state casting one vote. The Congress in session had been elected in 1798, and the Federalists had a sixty-four to forty-two majority. That was inconsequential. What mattered was that the Republicans had a majority in eight delegations, and the Federalists in seven, while Vermont’s two congressmen were split along party lines. In keeping with the convoluted nature of this election, a Maryland Federalist announced his intention of voting for Jefferson, a decision that left that state’s delegation, like Vermont’s, equally divided. With sixteen delegations, nine votes would be needed to win. The Republicans lacked a majority, and that, said Jefferson, produced great “exultation in the federalists,” who saw an opportunity for intrigue.
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Early in December, thinking he had won the election, Jefferson sent a carefully written letter to Burr. Saying that he wished “to compose an administration,” Jefferson made clear his belief that he was to become the chief executive. More cryptically, he appeared to make an offer: Should Burr not contest the election in the House, Jefferson would give him greater powers than Washington and Adams had bestowed on their vice presidents. Burr’s response, written when he also believed Jefferson had won the election, was reassuring. He not only spoke of “your administration,” but also expressed a yearning for an “Active station.” In other published letters in December, Burr pledged to “disclaim all competition.”
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The House could not act until the election results were opened and tabulated in the Senate, which was set by law for February 11. That gave the Federalists two months to discuss their options. Some wished to challenge the outcome in several states, hoping to invalidate a sufficient number of electoral votes to award victory to Adams. Others wanted to prevent the House from reaching a decision, which would leave executive authority in the hands of the Federalist pro tempore of the Senate until the newly elected Republican Congress assembled late in 1801. Bolder spirits proposed calling for a second election, grounding their argument on a 1792 presidential succession act stipulating that a special election be held if both the presidency and vice presidency were vacant. A few Federalists were swept up by a January newspaper essay written by “Horatius.” It proposed that in the event of a House deadlock, Adams should appoint, with congressional consent, an “officer of the United States” to serve as president during the next four years. Helpfully, the author suggested that the designated official should be Secretary of State John Marshall—who in all likelihood was the essayist who offered the solution. Some Federalists viewed the House contest as a heaven-sent opportunity to sow fatal divisions within the Republican ranks. Perhaps the majority, seeing this as a choice “among Rotten Apples,” as one put it, advocated stringing things out until either Jefferson or Burr agreed to a brokered deal. Some, whose enmity toward Jefferson had deep roots, wanted to back Burr, who, after all, hailed from a northern mercantile state. A few—very few—thought it only right to concede the victory to Jefferson, the clear-cut popular choice.
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Hamilton immediately jumped in. He backed Jefferson over Burr, portraying the Virginian as the lesser of two evils. Despite acknowledging that with “Burr I have always been personally well,” Hamilton in the next breath said: “As to Burr, there is nothing in his favour.” Hamilton called him a “profligate” and an “unprincipled … voluptuary.” He charged that Burr was consumed with “extreme & irregular ambition” and given to “infinite art [and] cunning.” He would plunder the country, destroy the Constitution, and erect in its stead a “system … sufficient to serve his own ends,” including probably “simple
despotism
.” Jefferson was a hypocrite whose “politics are tinctured with fanaticism,” but he was “
able
and
wise
,” whereas Burr was shifty and “
dexterous
.” Burr, said Hamilton, was the “most dangerous man of the Community.”
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A Federalist here and there might have shared Hamilton’s feelings about Burr, but his overheated views were not typical. Senator Cabot, for instance, thought Burr safer than Jefferson, who would cause “the roots of our Society [to be] pulled up & a new course of cultivation substituted.”
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Hamilton’s vilification of Burr was consistent with the abuse he had frequently directed at his antagonist. For a decade, Hamilton had portrayed
Burr as unscrupulous, devoid of principles, rash and irresponsible in his private affairs, and given to intrigue. Hamilton regarded his assaults as part and parcel of politics, and claimed that notwithstanding the savagery of his allegations, he and Burr had an amicable relationship. If it was as friendly as Hamilton insisted, it may in part have been so because Burr had never responded with even a fraction of his rival’s hostility, and he refrained from questioning Hamilton’s character and temperament.
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Hamilton’s obsession with Burr stemmed from his understanding that if Burr was elected through the connivance of the Federalists, the party—which Hamilton regarded as his own—would never be the same again. Federalists who contemplated a bargain with Burr during the contest in the House might believe they could subsequently control him. Hamilton knew better. “We can never have him fairly in our power,” he said, for Hamilton recognized that Burr was a very modern politician who believed in and practiced democratic politics. He would use the enormous powers of the presidency to build his base. To “My Mind,” Hamilton said, “the elevation of Mr Burr by Federal Means to the Chief Magistracy of the U. States will be the worst kind of political suicide” for the Federalist Party and all that it had stood for.
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Hamilton’s analysis was astute, but his voice no longer carried the weight it once had. Some Federalists reached out to Burr, and he listened. Burr had assured Jefferson of his loyalty, but that was before he knew the election had failed to produce a victor. Thereafter, while not openly seeking the presidency, he was willing to listen to what the Federalists had to offer.
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Though Burr was within a whisker of winning the biggest prize in American politics, he never came to Washington and bargained directly with the Federalists who would cast the deciding votes, and that may have been his undoing if he really intended to betray Jefferson. He wrote numerous letters from New York, but the machinations in Washington were so fast-moving that Burr’s communiqués, and the ones he received, were nearly always outdated.

Much of what was undertaken, including by Jefferson, was swathed in mystery. But not everything could be kept secret. Thanks to his long-standing intelligence network, Jefferson was aware early on that the Federalists were seeking to “debauch” Burr with an offer of some sort, and he knew, too, of Hamilton’s preference for him over Burr. A week into January—about three weeks after the electoral college vote was public knowledge—Jefferson still believed that Burr’s “conduct has been honorable & decisive.” Not long thereafter, however, he discovered that “Burr … ha[d] agents here at work.” That prompted a letter to Burr in Albany, warning that the Federalists were seeking “to sow tares between us.” Later, when Burr would not openly disavow the
presidency, Jefferson seethed with anger. Much later, Jefferson declared that Burr had “inspired me with distrust” from nearly their first meeting.
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Jefferson felt that he was “surrounded by enemies & spies catching & perverting every word which falls from my lips,” and he added that he longed to “fly from [this] circle of cabal, intrigue & hatred.” Given the carnival of conspiracy and deceit playing out in Washington, Jefferson could not be certain that he knew of each and every maneuver, but of one thing he was absolutely sure: he was approached by some Federalists with an offer. If he would agree to a deal, Vermont’s Federalist congressman would switch sides and vote for him on the first ballot. That would give Jefferson nine states and victory. What they wanted in return is not known, but Hamilton had been pushing the Federalists in the House of Representatives to offer a bargain: in return for Federalist votes, Jefferson must assure them that the fiscal system would remain intact; United States neutrality in Europe’s wars would continue; the navy would be preserved and gradually augmented; and with the exception of the cabinet, Federalist officeholders would be kept in place. Hamilton’s plan, or something very close to it, likely comprised the tender offered to Jefferson. He rejected it. He was running an incredible risk, but Jefferson had a deft feel for politics that was reinforced by information from party activists. He was convinced that the eight states with Republican majorities were solidly in his column. That left Burr with the six Federalist-dominated delegations: the four older New England states plus Delaware and South Carolina. Jefferson was one vote short. Burr was three votes short.
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February 11 was the day set for officially counting the electoral votes, after which the House would decide the election of 1800. It was a Wednesday, three weeks prior to Inauguration Day. Residents of Washington awakened that morning to a driving snowstorm. Members of Congress and the vice president left their warm lodgings late in the morning and hazarded icy walks and windblown snowdrifts on their climbs up Capitol Hill. Precisely at noon, the Senate convened and the electoral college ballots were tabulated.
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As soon as Jefferson, who was constitutionally responsible for counting the votes, announced the outcome that all had known for weeks, the House members hurried to their chamber.

The House vote on the first ballot, taken at one P.M., was exactly what had been expected: Jefferson eight, Burr six, two states—Maryland and Vermont—deadlocked. Jefferson was one vote short of victory. As rumors had circulated that a vote or two might change after the initial ballot, the House quickly voted again. It is now known that a scheme had been hatched—which Burr was aware of, and had not quashed—to have congressmen from New York, New Jersey, and Vermont switch from Jefferson to Burr on the second ballot.
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The plan fizzled. The second House vote was identical to the first. The House continued to vote. By six o’clock, fifteen ballots had been taken. The tally never changed. As darkness gathered over the capital, the House adjourned so that its members could have dinner. Returning around nine o’clock, the congressmen began to vote again, thereafter balloting more or less every hour on the hour until eight A.M.—with the same result each time. Many congressmen grabbed some sleep between votes, groggily rising from their cots when summoned to cast their ballot; some even voted while wearing a nightcap. As a gray dawn spilled over the capital at eight A.M., the House leadership called a temporary halt for breakfast. Twenty-seven ballots had been cast in a span of nineteen hours. The congressmen returned around noon and cast a twenty-eighth ballot. It was identical to all the others. At that point, the House called it quits for the day, and the members made their cold, slippery walk home.
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