by Ron Carter
There was a pause before Matthew answered. “He’s in a battle. Political battle. He’s finding out both the French and British have almost no regard for the United States. They see us as a newly arrived nuisance, not a newly arrived nation. They both stop American ships on the high seas for any reason they can think of, and they confiscate American cargoes in most of our ships they find in European ports. President Madison is getting advice from his own people that is contradictory. Some say negotiate, some say go to war and get it over with. No one knows where this will all finally come out.”
For a moment John stared at the ledgers in thought. “I can tell you one thing. I can’t see a way that negotiations will stop what those ledgers tell us.”
Matthew laid his hand on the two books. “Enough of this for now. We’ll lock these in the vault and talk later. You better go on home to Laura. She’s concerned.”
“I will. Let mother know I’m fine. I’ll be over to see her tomorrow.”
John retied his seaman’s bag, swung it over his shoulder, and looked at his father. “Good to see you all again. I’ll be back tomorrow to start a written report. When does President Madison want you there?”
Matthew smiled. “I’ll find out. He wants you with me.”
John Dunson shouldered his seaman’s bag, grinned and nodded at his father, then at Billy and Pettigrew, turned, and hurried out the door.
Notes
As a result of the flood of embargoes and other orders that affected international shipping on the high seas, issued by the Americans, British, French, and Russians, the seaport village of Eastport, Maine, and the British-Canadian seaports in Passamaquoddy Bay, Nova Scotia, became notorious for trafficking in black market commodities from all nations, including but not limited to Britain and the United States. In a statement to Congress in 1811, President James Madison referred to the amount of smuggling as “odious.” Fraudulent bills of lading, or manifests, became commonplace, showing American plaster of paris (gypsum) going north to Canadian-British markets, while Spanish produce was coming south into New England. In fact, the plaster of paris was sulphur, saltpeter, lumber, barrel staves, flour, wheat, and a long list of other products, and the Spanish produce was largely rum, shipped from the West Indies north to Passamaquoddy, then back down to the markets in New England. Between 1805 and 1810, the traffic into and out of these ports had increased five hundred percent, most of it illegal smuggling and black market. Because land was cheap on the Canadian side of the international border and smuggling was reaping astronomical profits, towns and villages had sprung up all along the northern international border where none had been before. In 1807, when America stopped supplying lumber to England, Napoleon induced Russia to close its trade from the Baltic states to England, which cut off that source of wood to maintain the English navy. As a consequence, the lumber trade from Canada to England leaped dramatically. When legal action was taken to prosecute the smugglers and black marketers, nothing could be done because of the “sudden absence of any experts to testify” against the criminal offenders. They were paid by smugglers to refuse to testify, or they disappeared under mysterious conditions. See Stagg, Mister Madison’s War, pp. 22–31, 39–41.
The Macon Bill, as proposed by Congressman Nathaniel Macon, attempted to stop all trade with ships of the foreign powers until they recognized America’s neutral rights, whereupon the United States would resume trade with that power. The bill was drafted and argued but defeated in Congress on March 16, 1810. See Wills, James Madison, pp. 87–88.
For the geographic locations of Eastport, Passamaquoddy Bay, and Machias Bay, see National Geographic Map of Our Fifty States, National Geographic Society, Washington, D.C., 1978, map of Maine, p. 37.
John Matthew Dunson is a fictional character.
Washington, D.C.
December 1809
CHAPTER VI
* * *
Matthew reached to grasp the thin, small hand of President James Madison while his mind recoiled from the shock of the appearance of the little man.
Haggard—white—eyes haunted—something’s gone wrong—he’s in trouble—England?—France?—war?
Madison shook Matthew’s hand warmly, but his smile was wooden and his voice lacked vitality. “Welcome, Mister Dunson, welcome to my new home. Such as it is.”
The Executive Mansion was less than half finished. Of the more than thirty rooms, less than half had been plastered, and of those, only a few were painted. Piles of stones for fireplaces were heaped about at random, and discarded bits and pieces of boards mingled with chunks of dried plaster and sawdust were swept into corners. The hardwood floors showed a thin spread of dust. Outside, in the clearing surrounding the huge, square structure, great piles of accumulated construction trash were scattered wherever the workmen had found it convenient.
“Won’t you please come in,” Madison continued, and stepped back to allow Matthew and John to enter. The room was large, square, plastered, and painted, and the fireplace that dominated one wall was finished nearly to the ceiling. There was nothing—no paintings, no murals, no draperies—to break the stark, white plainness of the room. Temporary bookshelves lined one wall, with books carefully arranged. A large leather upholstered chair stood behind a massive oak desk, with four matching upholstered chairs facing it. On the desk were papers and files, neatly stacked. Directly in the center were two huge ledgers with a bound document three inches thick. Both John and Matthew recognized them instantly as the ledgers John had brought back from Eastport and the report he had written.
Madison gestured. “I take it this is your son John?”
There was a light in Matthew’s eyes. “It is. John, it is my honor to present you to President James Madison.”
John bowed slightly and thrust out his hand. “I am honored, sir. You are a legend in our household.”
There was genuine pleasure in Madison’s face as he seized the hand and shook it warmly. “Being a legend is wonderful, but it begs the question, a legend for what? I have lately worried that my so-called legend is for bumbling and mismanagement. I can only hope you see it otherwise.”
“I do, sir.”
“I take it you have a son named James?”
“I do, sir.”
“Is it possible I have the honor of his being named after myself?”
“You do.”
“When I get to Boston next, I trust you will allow me the blessed privilege of meeting the little fellow.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
Madison gestured. “Let us be seated.”
Facing Matthew and John across the desk, Madison gave no time for pleasantries or inquiries about his wife, Dolley, or conditions in the chaotic sprawl that was called Washington, D.C., or his election to the presidency of the United States, or the events of his inauguration. He tapped the file resting on the two great, battered, worn ledgers and spoke to John.
“I doubt you know what you did for me—and your country—by bringing these ledgers and making this report. I knew generally what was happening in the north, but I had no concept of the . . . massive . . . extent of it, or who was involved. I was appalled—frankly, stunned—with what those ledgers contain. Extending my thanks is far too little to make you understand what you have done. The United States stands in your debt, sir.”
John nodded but remained silent, and Madison went on.
“I requested you be here with your father because you are the one who must answer a critical question. Should it become necessary, would you be willing to appear before the United States Congress to testify as to where you obtained these documents?”
John stiffened, caught by surprise, mind frozen for a moment. “Yes, sir. I would be willing to do that.”
Madison raised a finger in warning. “Appearing before Congress is a very unique experience. Some senators on the committee will attempt to discredit you, and the rules of such inquiries do not provide much protection for the witness. It is not like a courtroom where objection
s can be made and a judge can maintain some semblance of order and fair play. Are you ready for that?”
“I’ll answer their questions. Their conduct is up to them.”
“Well said.” Madison turned to Matthew.
“I need help, and I need it from other than these . . . politicians . . . who have difficulty rising above their paralyzing compulsion for power and position. I do not wish to get into the endless clash between the Republicans and the Federalists on just about everything. Most of it is rhetoric for public consumption, not a plan to resolve the problems of this country. Am I clear on why I invited you here?”
Matthew shifted in his chair, eyes locked with Madison’s. “You are.”
Madison drew and exhaled a great breath and paused for a moment to arrange his thoughts with the simple logic of the genius that had elevated him to the Executive Mansion.
“Let’s start at the beginning. The Rule of ’56.”
Matthew’s eyes narrowed for a moment, recalling the British policy regarding commercial shipping on the high seas. The British had declared it in 1756, the year after they entered the Seven Years’ War with France for possession of the thirteen American colonies. With it they meant to cripple French shipping and wreak havoc with the French treasury.
Madison spoke rapidly. “The rule declared that trade closed to a neutral sovereign during times of peace could not be reopened in a time of war. The British meant it to stop American ships from carrying cargoes from France to her colonies in the West Indies at times when French ships could not do it.”
Madison paused for a moment. “The policy was pretty much a failure because shipping companies found too many ways to avoid it, and for a time the British weren’t diligent in enforcing it.”
Matthew nodded understanding, and Madison went on.
“Then Napoleon Bonaparte rose to threaten the entire political and economic structure of Europe. That man intended becoming Emperor of the world! He established what is now called his Continental System, which was his plan to bring England to her knees by destroying her economically. The first step was Napoleon’s Berlin Decree of 1806. It was a blockade of the British Isles altogether! Simply close down all shipping to and from the British Isles! It banished all ships that had touched a British harbor from entering a French harbor, and anything made in the British Isles was subject to seizure, no matter where it was found, even in ships of neutral nations. That included the United States!”
Madison’s face was showing color as he continued.
“As you no doubt know, in 1807, the British retaliated with several of their infamous ‘Orders in Council.’ Collectively, those Orders declared a blockade of all ports that were closed to British trade, and required any neutral country that wished to trade in such ports to first stop in England and pay transit duties. Transit duties? Tribute! If American ships wanted to trade with France, they had to pay tribute to England for the privilege! Outrageous!”
For a moment Madison paused to collect his thoughts.
“Bonaparte retaliated. His ‘Milan Decree.’ Any neutral vessel submitting to the British Orders in Council was subject to seizure by any French vessel, wherever found. If American ships complied with the British Orders, they could be seized by the French. It left no choice for American ships. To obey the policy of either country laid them open to seizure by the other.”
Madison stopped. For a moment he stared at his hands on the desk before him, and then leaned forward, eyes alive.
“Both of them—England and France—confessed that their decrees and orders were illegal—violated established maritime law—but each insisted they were only protecting their own interests from the ravages of the other. Both of them have attempted to minimize the devastation they’re bringing down on the rest of the world with small concessions, but it isn’t working.”
He settled back in his chair. “We tried to strike back. Congress passed the Non-Importation Act of 1806, which wasn’t enforced until 1807, and it was followed by the Non-Exportation Embargo that prevented all American cargoes bound for foreign trade from leaving American ports. It was a desperate measure, but President Jefferson signed it. We soon learned that it was being ignored. We passed the Enforcement Act of 1809 to enforce it, and gave unheard-of powers to our customs officials, including the use of the army and navy to enforce it, if necessary.”
He paused to shake his head. “Imagine. Using our own military to enforce our own embargo against our own commercial trade.”
He stopped to open a file and point to the top paper.
“Do you know what all these orders and embargoes have done to the United States? In 1807, two years ago, our exports were valued at one-hundred-eight million dollars. Last year, 1808, our exports were valued at twenty-two million dollars. It has cost us eighty-six million dollars in exports in one year! One year!”
He paused for only a moment and then went on. “In the midst of all this, do you know how many American ships have been seized by the two of them? Over seven hundred, as of now, with no end of it in sight!”
John sat bolt upright in his chair, shocked, wide-eyed. Matthew turned to look at him but remained silent. Madison peered at him, nodded his head slowly, then went on.
“This year we repealed both the Non-Importation Act and the embargo, and passed a non-trade act against both Britain and France. American ships can deal with all foreign ports except the ones belonging to those two countries. It has been of some small help but has fallen woefully short of being any real solution.”
He cleared his throat, reflected for a moment, then continued.
“Rumors and wild stories began coming in that vessels of all flags were operating in the north, with smuggling and black-market trade reaching astronomical proportions. I asked for and received reports from various governmental sources. The reports came in, some from Republicans, some from Federalists, and badly inconsistent. Useless. I had to know first-hand from someone involved in maritime shipping—someone without a political agenda—what the truth is.”
He reached to place a hand on John’s report. “That’s when I turned to you, and you turned to your son.” He faced John. “Perhaps now you can begin to understand the value of these ledgers and your report. From them we know that all the embargoes and the orders issued to keep the seas open for free trade have done little more than make thousands of criminals.”
He turned back to Matthew. “You know that during Jefferson’s presidency, the war hawks in Congress raised a great hue and cry for war against England or France or both, as the means to restore our foreign trade. Jefferson refused, and we suffered. We are still suffering. When I assumed the presidency earlier this year, I likewise determined to find a resolution to this . . . disaster . . . on the seas, without war. I abhor the thought. Surely there has to be a way to restore common sense and civility to international trade without the evils of shedding blood in an all-out war.”
Again Madison paused to clear his throat and wipe at his mouth with a handkerchief. “You have an advantage over me, Matthew. You have experienced war—seen what it does to men—the shedding of blood, the scarring of their lives. I have not. I have never borne arms against an enemy, never taken life, never seen men destroyed by musket or cannon.”
Madison paused again, and Matthew shifted his weight in his chair with his mind moving ahead. We’re there—here it comes.
Madison interlaced his fingers and leaned forward, forearms on his desk, eyes boring in. His words came spaced, quiet.
“Tell me. Were Jefferson and I wrong? Have we reached such a pass that war is necessary to preserve the Republic? Is it worth declaring war to restore sanity to our international trade?”
For a time the only sound in the room was the ticking of a carved clock on the mantel of the half-finished fireplace. Matthew’s voice sounded oddly loud as it broke the silence.
“I think you’re asking the wrong question.”
Madison’s eyebrows arched. “Explain.”
“I think the right question is, can the Republic be saved and free trade be restored without war.”
Madison’s eyes half closed for a few seconds while he pondered the thought. “You think it is that simple? We live with what we have, or we go to war to change it?”
Matthew did not hesitate. “Yes. That simple.”
“And what is your answer to that question?”
“No. I do not think free trade can be restored without war.”
“You propose the United States declare war on England? Or France? Or both?”
“No, not yet. I think the United States has an obligation to two duties before it considers war.”
Madison sat silent, waiting, and Matthew went on.
“First, do everything possible to settle our differences with the foreign powers. Exhaust every possibility. Pass whatever laws Congress thinks will restore free trade without bloodshed, and make it known to the world that you have done it. I think we’re deep into a test of our morality. Our first test. The survival of the Constitution rests on the issue of whether we are a decent, moral people. We have a duty.”
Madison’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “Go on.”
“Second, prepare. If it must be war, we’ve got to prepare to protect our people in all circumstances. We have the duty to spare as many as we can, and that is best done by being prepared.”
John sat mesmerized, speechless at what he was hearing between his president and his father.
Madison asked, “Do you think we can succeed by negotiating?”
Matthew shook his head. “I doubt it.” He paused and for a time stared at the floor, then raised his head. “I know the evils of war. Men killed, maimed, crippled, blinded, lives shattered. Memories in their hearts and their minds that sicken them for the rest of their lives. Mothers, wives, children left alone. I detest it. It is an evil thing.” He paused for a few moments to select his words. “But, finally, if evil is to be defeated, war will be necessary. I think we must be certain it is the last resort, and we must prepare.”