Marshall and Pinckney saw only frustration in the attempt to cope with Talleyrand’s preposterous proposals; they discerned also efforts to divide the envoys and evidences of Gerry’s growing susceptibility to French flattery. They wished to end the useless bickering, but at Gerry’s insistence the absurd arguments with one or another of the agents were continued day after day. Anything suggested met only the refrain—”it is money; it is expected that you will offer money.” Finally, the thoroughly exasperated Pinckney shouted: “It is no, no; not a sixpence!”
The determined French finally brought feminine influence to bear. A lady, “well acquainted with Talleyrand,” explained to Pinckney that the Directory had not demanded the loan but left it to the more delicate device of an offer from the envoys. She did not fail to reiterate the menacing strength of the French party in America and the disastrous results the uncompliant commissioners might bring upon their country. Yet another means of effecting the bribe—this one at no actual cost to the United States—was devised by Talleyrand, only to be deprecated by Marshall to whom the subject was presented. Pinckney and Marshall were consistently in accord, but Talleyrand’s artfulness was not lost on Gerry. Flattered by attentions turned to him, Gerry fancied that much might be accomplished in the climate of the dinner table, and he did not confide all that passed privately between himself and Talleyrand or with Monsieur Y. On December 17 Talleyrand consented to dine as guest of the New Englander ten days later. However sanguine Gerry’s expectations, Marshall and Pinckney did not share them, and on Christmas Eve the envoys prepared a realistic report to the Secretary of State. Their covering note on January 8, 1798, concluded: “Nothing new has occurred since our last, in date of the 24th ultimo. We can only repeat that there exists no hope of our being officially received by this Government, or that the objects of our mission will be in any way accomplished.” This was the final word in the dispatches that had reached Pickering March 4.
As Washington had hoped, publication of the dispatches brought patriotic outbursts from many quarters. Growing dismay beset Republicans and increasing delight stirred Federalists. Whatever might eventuate in Paris between the envoys and the French Foreign Minister, failure of the mission soon was acknowledged throughout the United States. Accusations of the “peace party” against the “war party” were shouted in vain. Popular protests against the administration in many instances gave way to praise for Adams. Hamilton noted that a good spirit was gaining ground in Congress, though “measures march slowly.” Washington continued to express regret at the lack of national unity, but said resignedly: “To expect that all men should think alike upon political, more than on religious or other subjects, would be to look for a change in the order of nature.”
In a letter to the Secretary of War the first week in May, Washington urged that steps be taken to complete and utilize the arsenal and foundry at the mouth of the Shenandoah—in his opinion one of the most important and strategic of measures. Between this and the end of the month there was but a single reference to national affairs from his pen. On May 16 he addressed a long letter to Sally Cary Fairfax in Bath, England—the first since she and her late husband, Col. George William Fairfax, had left twenty-five years ago to make their home abroad. Washington mentioned briefly the threatening behavior of the French, stated his wish “to spend the remainder of my days (which cannot be many) in rural amusements,” and remarked on the additions and alterations at Mount Vernon. Then, almost wistfully: “. . . it is a matter of sore regret, when I cast my eyes towards Belvoir, 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 a memento of former pleasures.” There followed a description of the progress of the two enterprises most dear to his heart: the Federal City and the opening of inland navigation. “In a word,” he declared, “if this Country can steer clear of European politics . . . and be wise and temperate in its government, it bids fair to be one of the greatest and happiest nations in the world.”
Eight days’ absence in visits with relatives and friends did not altogether relieve Mount Vernon’s proprietor of plantation problems. One that followed him to the Federal City was of the utmost importance—farm manager Anderson’s resignation. Washington had no wish to part with this competent man, yet he had no wish to retain a discontented person, or one who might better himself elsewhere. At the end of a year of service Washington had written his observations on Anderson’s work, in praise of those things that had pleased him and in criticism of those that had not. The manager had been offended by candid comments. In reply to Anderson’s resignation, Washington spoke plainly:
If I cannot remark upon my own business, passing every day under my eyes, without hurting your feelings, I must discontinue my rides, or become a cypher on my own Estate. You will, I am persuaded, do me the justice to say that I have never undertaken any new thing, or made any material change, or indeed any change at all in the old without consulting with you thereupon; and you must further acknowledge, that I have never been tenacious of any matters I have suggested, when you have offered reasons against the adoption of them. If your feelings have been hurt by my remarks on the bad clover seed that was purchased, I cannot help that; my view and plan have been much more hurt by it.
Washington then proposed an arrangement whereby Anderson’s efforts would be confined to the mill, distillery and fishery. Washington hoped these three industries would pay him better if managed better. On the twenty-ninth he learned from Lear that Anderson had tendered his services to William Fitzhugh. He wrote Fitzhugh a frank appraisal of Anderson, in which the Scotsman’s faults were far outweighed by his abilities, and stated that it had been his hope to retain Anderson. The matter was settled happily; Anderson elected to stay on at Mount Vernon after certain adjustments were made: Overseer William Stuart was assigned full management of River Farm; Albin Rawlins in future would do all necessary writing for Anderson and some of the inspection of the plantation.
A sobering letter from Hamilton awaited Washington on his return home. Hamilton was aware of a continuing opposition and feared it could not easily be overcome. Mindful of its power and alarmed that French sympathizers still were numerous in Virginia and North Carolina, Hamilton sought the best means of combating them. No influence with the people could equal that of Washington. Would it not be expedient for the General to make a tour of those States, he wrote, ostensibly for reasons of health, and in response to inevitable addresses, public dinners and toasts, impart to the people the truths they should know and the sentiments they should accept? He could win approval for present administrative policies because they were also his own. Although “deeply impressed with the present situation of public affairs, and not a little agitated by the outrageous conduct of France,” Washington declined the idea. The object of the tour could not be attributed to his health which, he explained, “never was better.”
So far as Washington personally was concerned, the last paragraph of Hamilton’s letter augured something far beyond his expectation:
You ought to be aware, my dear, sir, that in the event of an open rupture with France, the public voice will again call you to command the armies of your country; and, though all who are attached to you will, from attachment, as well as from public considerations, deplore an occasion which should once more tear you from that repose to which you have so good a right, yet it is the opinion of all those with whom I converse, that you will be compelled to make the sacrifice.
Washington still believed invasion of American soil was unlikely and so assured Hamilton. There was encouragement in recent evidences of stronger adherence to government in the States south of Virginia, he observed. Then Washington made a simple declaration: In event of open war, he was not convinced that he could serve more ably than many other men; but should he be called, it must not be out of respect to him but from an unequivocal preference for him; before he should accept, he would wish to know who w
ould be his general officers and, lastly, whether Hamilton himself would take an active part. Precisely what Washington’s innermost thoughts were at the moment he did not disclose, but one thing was certain: he might protest, but full-time planter would give over to full-time patriot if he must. Whatever was required of him in a national crisis he would do.
Among the invited visitors at Mount Vernon in early June was Julian Ursin Niemcewicz, a Polish officer who had recently come to America with Kosciuszko. During the twelve days of his visit, Washington talked with Niemcewicz on many subjects, but only once did the conversation turn to the topic which probably occupied the General’s thoughts more than any other—the crisis between the United States and France. The subject was prompted by receipt of a letter from Paris June 13. Discussion turned immediately to the threatened war with France, and Washington’s indignation was aroused. “I never heard him before speak with so much fire and candor,” Niemcewicz recalled, and quoted the General’s words as he remembered them:
Whether we consider the wrongs and the plunder which our trade is suffering . . . or the outrage to the independence [and] to the dignity of the nation in ejecting our ministers, or whether we think at last of the oppression, ruin, and destruction of free nations produced by this military government, we always see the necessity of arming ourselves with a power and cunningness equaling the danger which threatens us. Patience and submission will not avail us any more than it did Venice. Submission is cowardice. Rather than that, America will arouse; everyone of us, myself in spite of my age, will give all the blood that remains in my veins. Mr. Adams is censured for too much passion in deeds and too much boldness in speech. From the moment I left the administration, I have not written a single word to Mr. Adams; neither have I received from him anything except the dispatches which we have seen in public papers. I do not know where his other sources of information are from. But I am persuaded that, as a reasonable and honest man and as a good American, he cannot act otherwise. I myself should be perhaps not less emphatic in his place in words, but certainly I would prepare not any less steadily and energetically.
Nothing in later dispatches from Paris improved the gloomy picture. Washington observed to James Lloyd late in June: “When the whole correspondence between our Envoys and the French Minister . . . is brought into one view and laid before the public, it will be extremely interesting; and must, I conceive, carry conviction to every mind that is open to it, of what the French now are, and have been aiming at, from the beginning of their Revolution; or from an early period of it, at least.” With Marshall’s arrival in Philadelphia on June 18, had come latest intelligence of the ill-fated mission. The General rejoiced at Marshall’s safe return, and regretted only that his colleagues had not accompanied him. He understood the necessity of Pinckney’s lingering in the south of France because of his daughter’s illness, but of Gerry he wrote: “The stay of one of them has a mysterious appearance.” The French Minister’s “invidious distinction” should have filled Gerry “with resentment instead of complaisance,” he thought. Talleyrand had waited six weeks after he received the American memorial of January 17 before he deigned to reply. Then the audacity of his answer was matched only by Gerry’s servile willingness to be the bearer of it. Talleyrand named Gerry the single member with whom the Directory could and would negotiate. Pinckney described the memorial as “weak in argument, but irritating and insulting in style.” Marshall prepared the refutation which, after much quibbling and many self-righteous remarks, Gerry agreed to sign. To the abusive behavior of the French Minister now was added the humiliation of Gerry’s performance. Flattered into conviction that by remaining to negotiate singly he could prevent a French declaration of war, Gerry could not be moved from his decision. His companions consequently took leave of him and Paris as soon as their passports were issued. Among the papers submitted to Congress on June 21 was a copy of Pickering’s renewed instructions of March 23—that the envoys consent to no loans in any circumstances. Adams announced the negotiation at an end and concluded with the statement: “I will never send another minister to France without assurances that he will be received, respected, and honored as the representative of a great, free, powerful and independent nation.”
Marshall, Washington learned, was escorted into Philadelphia with parade and song. At a dinner given in his honor June 18 toasts were many and registered the happy temper of the Federalist party. First, to the United States, the people, the President. The 120 glasses then were raised to General Washington—”His name a rampart and the knowledge that he lives a bulwark against mean and secret enemies of his Country’s Peace.” But the toast that expressed the real spirit of the occasion was the inspired phrase of Robert Goodloe Harper: “Millions for Defence, but not a cent for Tribute.” The voice of the banqueters resounded in the Philadelphia streets and echoed throughout the country as the voice of all patriotic Americans.
Hamilton’s intimation that Washington would be called again to public service now seemed prophetic. Two letters that claimed his attention the Fourth of July brought evidence of coming events. The Secretary of War had asked plainly on June 26: “May we flatter ourselves, that, in a crisis so awful and important, you will accept the command of all our armies?” Adams’ letter of June 22 had implied the wish that Washington become military chief; in the organization of an Army, Washington’s counsel would be imperative. In the very name of Washington, Adams concluded, “there will be more efficacy . . . than in many an army.” Washington’s answer to McHenry admitted, “I see, as you do, that clouds are gathering and that a storm may ensue.” However painful it would be “to quit the tranquil walks of retirement and enter the boundless field of responsibility and trouble,” he would find it difficult “to remain an idle spectator under the plea of age or retirement.” Personal desires would be no obstacle, but the General laid down unequivocal conditions that must be met before he would assume command. In his mind these provisions were not personal, yet they indicated a continuing concern for his place with posterity. “That reputation the partiality of the world has been pleased to confer for past services,” cherished as it was, must be protected by every possible means.
The burden of his reply to the President was the same as that to McHenry. In the matter of choosing general officers and the general staff, Washington spoke plainly. Adams had given the cue when he confessed the perplexity he might face in the selection of officers—”whether to call out all the old generals, or to appoint a young set.” In event of French invasion men must march with quick step, the President said. On this Washington wrote: “. . . it will not be an easy matter, I conceive, to find among the old set of Generals, men of sufficient activity, energy and health, and of sound politics, to train troops to the quick step, long marches, and severe conflicts they may have to encounter . . . recourse must be had (for the greater part at least) to the well known, most experienced, best proved, and intelligent officers of the late Army, without respect to grade.” Then came his sine qua non: “As it is of the utmost importance to the public, to the Army, and to the officer commanding it, be he whom he will, I will take the liberty of suggesting it now: It is, that the greatest circumspection be used in appointing the General Staff.” As he saw it, these officers were as “so many limbs or parts of the Commander-in-Chief.” Whatever Adams’ ideas, he should have no doubt of Washington’s sentiments in the present situation or of his expectations if called to command the Army.
The first authentic report of his appointment came to Washington in a newspaper account accompanied by a note from McHenry, both dated July 4. Pickering’s letter of the sixth reached Mount Vernon July 10, but the official notification was not a surprise, except in the manner of it. On July 11 Washington’s carriage set out for Alexandria to meet the Philadelphia mail stage and bring back an official guest in the person of McHenry. It was evening when the Secretary of War alighted at Mount Vernon and handed Washington a communication from the President: “Mr. McHenry, the Secretary of War, wi
ll have the honor to wait on you in my behalf, to impart to you a step I have ventured to take, and which I should have been happy to have communicated in person if such a journey had been, at this time, in my power . . . if it had been in my power to nominate you to be President of the United States, I should have done it with less hesitation and more pleasure.” Next, the enclosure “. . . I have nominated and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, do appoint him Lieutenant General and Commander in Chief of all the Armies raised or to be raised for the service of the United States. . . .” The Commission was dated July 4, 1798.
Should he acquiesce in the appointment, Washington observed to McHenry, it would be with the clear reservation that he would not be called to active duty until the Army required his presence in the field. He would expect to take part in the arrangement and organization of the Army, of course, with the understanding that “principal officers in the line and of the staff shall be such as I can place confidence in.” Washington took pains to establish his stand as he and the Secretary conversed.
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