There was, however, one woman whom he particularly desired to have nearby. He wrote his old love, Sally Fairfax, that none of the “many important events” that had occurred since he had seen her “nor all of them together have been able to eradicate from my mind the recollection of those happy moments, the happiest in my life, which I have enjoyed in your company. Worn out in a manner by the toils of my past labor, I am again seated under my vine and fig tree.… It is a matter of sore regret, when I cast my eyes toward Belvoir [the deserted Fairfax estate] which I often do, to reflect that the former inhabitants of it, with whom we lived in such harmony and friendship, no longer reside there; and that the ruins can only be viewed as the memento of former pleasures.” He often wondered why Sally, being now a widow, did not return, rebuild the house, and “spend the evening of your life” down the road from Mount Vernon.
But Sally Fairfax did not come to help relieve the old hero’s loneliness.
* This description of Washington’s relationship with Martha may, of course, have been influenced by his attitude towards his correspondent: no man sends to a lady he admires expressions of passionate affection for his wife. However, what Washington wrote Eliza is our best information on the tenor of his correspondence with Martha. After his death, his wife, probably as a possessive reaction to having been forced to share her husband so extensively with the public, burned their letters to each other.
FORTY-NINE
Mental Confusion
(1797–1798)
When Washington had retired at the end of the Revolution, victory had rung down a curtain. If he had then remained on the national stage, it would have been in a different play. But now there was no such break. The drama in which he had starred was going on, although with a different actor in the presidential role.
Adams had inherited the French depredations against American shipping and the question of how Pinckney, whom Washington had appointed Minister to Paris, would be received. On both scores, the news was bad. The attacks augmented and the Directory refused to receive Pinckney. Adams denounced the French to Congress more belligerently than Washington had ever done. He then did what Washington had contemplated: appointed two more delegates to form with Pinckney a special commission that could, if the French would talk to them, negotiate on an emergency basis.
Washington was trying to disentangle his emotions. He sometimes allowed several days to pass before he sent to Alexandria for the mails, and he did his best not to comment on public affairs. But the world would not leave him alone. After he had been at Mount Vernon for only two months, a letter from Jefferson surfaced in the press. Written to Philip Mazzei, an Italian radical, it summarized the American political scene towards the close of Washington’s presidency as a struggle between “the main body of our citizens” and “an Anglican, monarchical, and aristocratic party” which controlled the executive along with most of the government. In a passage generally interpreted as referring to Washington, Jefferson had written, “It would give you a fever were I to name to you the apostates.… men who were Samsons in the field and Solomons in council, but who have had their heads shorn by the harlot of Britain.”
Two pamphlets appeared. In one, the former French Minister to the United States, Fauchet, tried to demonstrate that Washington had as President always been anti-French. Washington was particularly angered by a false accusation that he had plotted secretly with an emissary of the French royal pretender. In the other pamphlet, the former American Minister to France, Monroe, insisted (among many other charges) that Washington had cynically appointed him for the purpose of hoodwinking the French, and that the Jay Treaty had been a calculated surrender to Great Britain.
These public attacks were followed by one of the strangest events of Washington’s entire career. He received a letter from Albemarle, Jefferson’s home county, signed John Langhorne, which offered comfort to Washington for being subjected to “unmerited calumny.” Although Washington diagnosed Langhorne as “a pedant who was desirous of displaying the flowers of his pen,” he sent a courteous answer, as he did to all communications. He was soon informed by John Nicholas, one of the few Federalists resident in Albemarle, that the letter had been claimed by Jefferson’s favorite nephew, Peter Carr. Nicholas insisted that Jefferson slandered Washington in conversation, and implied that he was responsible for the fraudulently signed Langhorne communication. Washington should beware of the “vile hypocrisy of that man’s professions of friendship towards you.”
Washington was deeply upset. He expressed reluctance to doubt “the sincerity of a friendship” which he had believed Jefferson had for him. However, “the attempts to explain away the Constitution and weaken the government are now become too open; and the desire of placing the affairs of this country under the influence and control of a foreign nation [France] is so apparent and strong, it is hardly to be expected that a resort to covert means to effect these objects will be longer regarded.”
After the ex-President’s able nephew, Bushrod Washington, had joined with Nicholas in inciting the old man, Washington wrote that if Jefferson could be demonstrated to have been “the real author or abettor, it would be a pity not to expose him to public execration for attempting in so dishonorable a way to obtain a disclosure of sentiments of which some advantage could be taken.” And again, “If a trick so dirty and shabby as this is supposed to be [can be] clearly proved,” publication “would, in my opinion, be attended with a happy effect.” But, “if it should be attempted and fail, the reverse would be the consequence.” Bushrod was to use his own judgment.
Bushrod eventually and reluctantly decided not to make the matter public since Jefferson’s active involvement could not be proved.
Comparisons of handwriting have in more recent times demonstrated that the Langhorne letter was indeed written by Peter Carr. However, it seems extremely improbable that the astute Jefferson would have countenanced, whatever might have been his moral feelings, a maneuver so transparently indiscreet, so little promising of major results, and potentially so damaging. It seems most probable, since Carr was somewhat of a scapegrace, that the letter was a bilious prank intended to elicit a pompous, self-righteous reply that would raise renewed mirth among drinking companions. At the blackest, it can only be interpreted as a demonstration of the lack of respect for the old hero that was rife at Monticello.
To modern hindsight, Washington overreacted. That his able and much younger nephew Bushrod overreacted to an even greater extent reveals the hysteria of the times, but does not altogether explain away the frenetic behavior of a man who had been during so many years so notable (despite lapses) for withstanding hysteria, for striking the calm, the reasonable, the healing note.
Old men are naturally suspicious, see plots. And it would require almost more than the fortitude of a saint not to be affected by the type of attacks which were made on Washington and his administration. Not only had his behavior been condemned because of entirely unfounded distrust of his motives, but what he did had been distorted; and not only had his acts been distorted, but he had been assailed by lies which the perpetrators often knew were total lies. And the vilification appeared in newspapers of national circulation that were semi-official organs of the Republican party.
As long as he had been in office he had tried, although towards the end with sometimes stumbling feet, to walk the path he had charted for himself, the path of complete neutrality between factions at home and belligerents abroad. Once he was out of office and intended to remain so for the rest of his earthly career, moderation ceased to be a matter of state. He permitted himself to espouse extremes. He became at last what he had for so long been accused of being: devotedly pro-Federalist. Since he doubted the intentions of all others, he communicated exclusively with Federalists. He could no longer palliate the efforts of the French government to interfere in American politics; he had become angrily anti-French. In his denunciations of French attacks on American commerce, he no longer pointed out that Britain was also guilty
. He came to believe that the leaders of the opposition, patriots who had been his coadjutors and friends, were eager to make the United States a vassal of France: might indeed cooperate with a French invasion.
A French invasion! In 1798, that seemed possible.
During March and April, word came in that the French Directory, announcing themselves as “greatly exasperated” with President Adams, would not receive the American commissioners until Adams announced a complete change in policy. Then three mysterious agents, designated as X, Y, and Z (which led to the entire matter being called the XYZ affair), appeared to state that if the commissioners would personally repudiate the policy of their government, give foreign minister Talleyrand a large bribe, and promise France a huge loan, the Directory might condescend to receive the mission.
When this was published in the United States, national anger flared. Congress authorized that the army be augmented by ten thousand men and that a further force of fifty thousand be organized on paper so that it could turn out instantly.
Many Federalists hoped for a declaration of war that would put the Republicans in the position of traitors. But Washington believed that America’s injured pride should not drive her into initiating hostilities. He hoped that outrage, loudly and almost unanimously expressed by the American people, would persuade the French that an expeditionary force sent by them would not be welcomed by a horde of “democrats.” Even if still riding high with the triumphs of Napoleon, the French would then draw back from mounting the “formidable invasion” which would force the United States into war.
Adams, whose government was made up of and supported by Federalists, found himself under extreme pressure to appoint Alexander Hamilton as commander in chief of the augmented army. Seeing a nefarious plot to exalt a schemer who might well use the army as an instrument of self-aggrandizement and tyranny, Adams made a convulsive move. Without consulting Washington, he appointed the ex-President lieutenant general and commander in chief, thus catapulting the old man back onto the public stage.
On hearing the news, Washington was surprised that he was not more upset. He had, he wrote, considered himself eager to “pass the remnant of a life (worn down with cares) in ruminating on past scenes and contemplating the future grandeur of this rising empire. But we little know ourselves much less the decisions of Providence.”
Washington’s main worry was that, in thus appointing him without notice, Adams had prevented him from making it a prior condition that he would not serve unless he were allowed to determine his top subordinates. This was in part a reflection of his typical wish to be master in his own house. But the issue seems to have been given desperate poignancy by his fear that, being in fact too old, he would need the strongest possible shoulders to lean on.
The three major generals, Washington decided, should be Knox, Hamilton, and Charles Cotesworth Pinckney, who was on his way home from the abortive mission to France. On the issue of their relative rank Washington became more confused than he had ever before been concerning any public matter.
Washington’s most intimate emotions pled that Knox should be his second-in-command. He had no older and closer friend. Having been a major general during the Revolution, Knox far outranked Hamilton and Pinckney in that seniority which conventionally determined military rank. He would be deeply hurt if passed over. Since Knox was from Boston, his elevation would follow the time-honored convention of having in any national endeavor the two top figures come from the two main regions, preferably from Virgina and Massachusetts. But Knox, always overweight, was now fat and dull. He could be of little use as second-in-command.
Washington’s judgment plunked for Pinckney, who he felt would be particularly valuable in the second post because he was a South Carolinian. Surely, if the French were “so insane” as to invade, they would strike the Deep South: because that was the weakest part of the nation; because they would expect to find the most friends in that region; because “there can be no doubt of their arming our own Negroes against us”; and because they could move on from South Carolina to capturing nearby Louisiana from Spain. Pinckney was not only a spirited, active, and judicious officer on whom Washington could rely, but Washington considered his connections more influential than any other group in the three southernmost states. If Pinckney led, his connections would follow. But were Hamilton put over him, Pinckney might well not serve since he had outranked Hamilton in the Revolutionary army. This might cause “disgust” among the very leading families Washington would have to rely on to oppose the democrats and repel the French.
But Hamilton was pressing his claims hard. He had not been bothered by Adams’s appointment of Washington, since he foresaw that the reins would slip from the old soldier’s fingers to the man who held the posts he intended to occupy: both inspector general and second-in-command. He indicated to Washington and the Federalist leadership that he would not serve if denied this double role. Washington’s correspondents, who were all Federalists, insisted that the loyal population of the United States, even in Knox’s Massachusetts, wanted the reassurance of Hamilton in high rank. For his part, Washington admired Hamilton. He was used to working with him, and believed that, although Hamilton had never risen above colonel in the Revolution, he had had “as the principal and most confidential aide of the Commander-in-Chief,” more opportunity to survey the whole military scene than either Knox or Pinckney. Washington was frightened by the thought that Hamilton might stay home.
Adams, who had kept on all of Washington’s cabinet, sent Secretary of War McHenry to Mount Vernon to persuade Washington officially to accept the command. Washington wished to make it a condition that he select his own general officers, but, realizing that this would be an unsuitable invasion of presidential prerogative, he accepted (this he was to forget) a half measure. In writing Adams, McHenry put it forward as his own belief that Washington would not be inclined to serve without general officers of his own choosing.
The conferees decided to request Adams to send to the Senate for confirmation as major generals the names of Hamilton, Pinckney, and Knox. They were listed in that order, but it was agreed (this Washington also forgot) that the sequence should not be taken to determine seniority, Adams would, in due course, solidify rank. Assuming that the President would do what Washington asked, the new Lieutenant General welcomed the postponement as it would give him time to try to persuade Hamilton to serve under Pinckney, and Knox to serve under both.
Washington’s letter to Hamilton gave his prudential reasons for preferring Pinckney. He added, “My wish to put you first and my fear of losing him are not a little embarrassing.” Then he passed the buck. “After all, it rests with the President to use his pleasure.”
An interior view in Mount Vernon, as the house is graciously and accurately maintained by the Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association (Courtesy of the photographer, Robert Riger)
The letter to Knox was even more difficult. For whatever reasons, perhaps because Knox was such a disciple of Hamilton’s, in this epistle Washington wrote that since “the public estimation” demanded Hamilton as second-in-command, he had agreed “with some fears, I confess, of the consequences.” He then pointed out that Pinckney’s services in the South would be very important. Knox would thus agree that, despite his seniority, he would have to be third.
Washington could not write Pinckney who was on the ocean.
Replies came in from both Knox and Hamilton on the same day. Knox stated that he was “much wounded” to discover that his faith of “more than twenty years” in Washington’s friendship and admiration had been “a perfect delusion.” Under such an insult, he could not serve.
Hamilton wrote that he believed he was the preference of “a real majority of the federal men,” but if an “impartial decision” went against him, he would not allow his ambition and interest to stand in the way of the public good.
Washington’s reply to Hamilton was a shocking demonstration of utter confusion. He said nothing of Hamilton’s all-imp
ortant offer to step down. He gave no hint as to how he wished to rank the eager New Yorker. He mourned Knox’s hurt letter and wondered whether, after all, Pinckney would object to serving under Knox, who was so extremely his military senior.
Washington was thereupon “seized with a fever.” Rapidly he lost twenty pounds to the great concern of Dr. Craik, who labored to build up his system to a point where he could be treated for malaria. Finally, Craik administered “Jesuit’s bark.” Although Washington then improved, he remained for weeks “too much debilitated to be permitted to attend to much business.”
President Adams was suffering and fuming. Suffering because his beloved wife seemed on the point of death; fuming because his Federalist advisers insisted that the order in which the general’s names had been sent to and approved by the Senate—Hamilton, Pinckney, Knox—had determined beyond alteration their seniority. Adams was determined to accord Hamilton the lowest possible rank among combat generals. Adams had no intention of insulting his own state by ignoring the seniority that gave Massachusetts’ Knox the claim to be second-in-command.
McHenry informed Washington that Hamilton would refuse to serve on these terms. McHenry quoted Adams as writing that if he consulted Washington, the only result would be that the problem would “come back to me at last after much altercation and exasperation of passions”—at which point he would decide as he did now: Knox first and Hamilton last. “There has been,” Adams had continued, “much too much intrigue in this business with General Washington and me. If I shall ultimately be the dupe of it, I am much mistaken in myself.”
Washington- The Indispensable Man Page 41