Next came a carefully planned preliminary shock. The Spanish intendant (ruler) in New Orleans abruptly closed the port to American commerce. A huge uproar exploded in the western states and was swiftly echoed in the East. Alexander Hamilton called for war. Historians are now inclined to believe the closure was orchestrated in Paris. King Carlos IV had issued the order the day after he finally signed the documents surrendering Louisiana to France. When the general in command of the army of occupation reached New Orleans, he had orders from Talleyrand to stall endlessly about reopening the port and tell the complaining westerners that he had written to Paris and was expecting an early reply.
No doubt to Talleyrand’s amusement, in the same month—September 1802—James Thomson Callender issued his revelation about President Jefferson’s affair with Sally Hemings. Would Americans fight under the leadership of a morally degraded president? Worse, the Jefferson administration was totally unprepared for war. What was left of General Hamilton’s army—about three thousand men—was scattered in garrisons in the West and South. Much of the tiny American Navy had been dispatched to the Mediterranean to fight the pirates of North Africa.
The military fantasy land in which Jefferson was operating was illustrated by a letter from William C.C. Claiborne, the governor of the Mississippi Territory. Claiborne said he had two thousand militiamen “pretty well organized,” and he thought six hundred of them could capture New Orleans “provided there should be only Spanish troops to defend the place.” The governor was obviously leaving room to maneuver if Napoleon’s army of twenty thousand veteran troops appeared. If that happened, he would almost certainly tell his militiamen to go home.6
In the midst of this international tension, Tom Paine arrived in Washington, D.C. He had waited until the Peace of Amiens made ocean travel relatively safe and sailed on a merchant ship. His appearance nonetheless triggered another explosion of abuse from Federalist editors. He was described as such a smelly drunkard, one paper suggested Jefferson might use him for manure at Monticello.
If the agitator had hoped to stay at the President’s mansion in Washington, D.C., he was disappointed. Jefferson’s two daughters were visiting; both these religious young ladies made it clear that they did not wish to associate with a self-proclaimed heretic and blasphemer. Jefferson persuaded them to tolerate Paine as a dinner companion for a single night.7
Matters did not improve when Paine began issuing a series of open letters “To the Citizens of the United States.” He lashed out at his Federalist critics in the first one. In the second, he called ex-President Adams every insult in the dictionary. He summed him up by saying he was a man “of a bewildered mind.” Adams brooded over this seemingly unprovoked assault, and could only assume his ex-friend Jefferson was somehow responsible.
Paine’s third letter was a totally mindless assault on George Washington. He compared the Reign of Terror in France, with its rampant guillotines, to “the Reign of Terror at the latter end of the Washington administration and the whole of that of Adams.” He asserted that the leaders of both reigns—Robespierre and Washington—were the same sort of men. The first president was of “such an icy and death-like constitution that he neither loved his friends nor hated his enemies.”
Jefferson brushed aside calls to somehow muzzle Paine. He let the editor of the Aurora tell people that the President would never dream of interfering with the agitator’s right to abuse and smear Washington and Adams because Paine had devoted “so much of his time, health, and talents to freedom.”8
In Congress, Federalist orators excoriated the Jefferson administration for its cowardly tolerance of the closure of New Orleans. One of the Senate’s best speakers, John Ross of Pennsylvania, accused the President of trying to “put to sleep” the spirit of resistance in the western states. Ross was from Pittsburgh, which added weight to his words. The Senator called on Jefferson to summon fifty thousand militia to seize New Orleans before the French arrived. The speech caused a sensation and threw the Democratic-Republicans on the defensive.
Early in 1803, an increasingly desperate President Jefferson decided to send James Monroe to France as an envoy extraordinary. He had orders to buy the port of New Orleans, the lands abutting it, including West and East Florida, which Napoleon had reportedly also acquired from Spain. The envoy was authorized to pay as much as $9 million. The purchase would reassure the western states and keep them loyal to the Democratic-Republican Party. After talking to the President and his secretary of state, a shocked Monroe realized he was being asked to rescue the nation from a ruinous war with France, the country Jefferson had taught him to embrace with such passionate enthusiasm.9
In Europe, an uncommonly cold winter had frozen Napoleon’s New Orleans army of occupation in its Netherlands port of embarkation. Suddenly, a British naval squadron started patrolling the waters off the Dutch coast—a strange gesture on the part of a nation supposedly at peace with France. The British were worried that the army might head for restless Scotland or Ireland. The peace/truce treaty with Napoleon was beginning to unravel.
In the treaty, London had agreed to withdraw its army from Malta. France was supposed to do likewise from the Netherlands. Neither had done so. Then there was the general whom Bonaparte had recently sent to Egypt and the rest of the Middle East, where he showered mullahs and caliphs with presents and predicted the entire region could be captured by six thousand troops. Another French general had sailed for India with a large staff. Was he hoping to recruit British-hating allies there?10
In Paris, the news from Santo Domingo continued to be bad. That tiny ally of the United States, aedes egypti, continued to destroy whole regiments. A request for another thirty-five thousand men had just arrived on Bonaparte’s desk. Every regiment in the French army shuddered at the mere mention of the island; it had become synonymous with death. Guerilla resistance continued to flare in the interior. Most of the island was now a burned-over worthless wreck—a graphic reminder of Minister Robert Livingston’s prophetic memorial.
In France, the secret police told the First Consul for Life that many soldiers in the French Army and a worrisome percentage of the civilians were still republicans, unhappy about the Bonaparte dictatorship. There was only one way to keep these malcontents happy. He had to produce another smashing military victory. Against whom, the First Consul asked himself? The answer leaped in his soldier’s soul. There was only one enemy he truly hated: that nation of shopkeepers called Great Britain. But raising and equipping an army and navy large enough to invade their island would take millions of francs—which were currently absent from the French treasury.
On April 10, Easter Sunday, Napoleon summoned Admiral Denis Decres, Minister of the Navy, and Francois Barbe-Marbois, Minister of Finance, to the palace of St. Cloud, outside of Paris. Both men stared in openmouthed amazement when he told them he was thinking of selling all of Louisiana to the United States. The Admiral protested. He had spent much of the previous year shipping men to Santo Domingo. “It does not become you to fear the Kings of England,” he said.
Barbe-Marbois disagreed. “We should not hesitate to make a sacrifice of that which is slipping from us,” he said. “War with England is inevitable.”
The First Consul for Life said he would ponder both opinions. The next day he summoned Barbe-Marbois back to St. Cloud. “Irresolution and deliberation are no longer in season,” Napoleon said. “I renounce Louisiana—the whole colony, without reserve.”11
Thus did the suspicious ministers of George III, Napoleon Bonaparte’s imperial fantasies, and the tireless efforts of aedes egypti combine to transform the presidency of Thomas Jefferson from an imminent disaster to a triumph that would echo down the centuries.
CHAPTER 28
An Empire vs. A Constitution
ON APRIL 11, 1803, the same day that Napoleon confided to his advisors his readiness to sell Louisiana, Foreign Minister Talleyrand invited Minister Robert Livingston to his Paris mansion. Livingston went expecting nothing but
more double-talk. For over a year, he had been urging Talleyrand to persuade Bonaparte to sell East and West Florida and New Orleans to the United States. He was astonished when Talleyrand asked him if he was interested in buying all of Louisiana.
As if he were talking to a four-year-old, the Foreign Minister explained that without New Orleans, Louisiana was more or less worthless to France. How much would the American government be willing to pay for the whole territory? The dazed Livingston suggested 20 million francs. That was much too low, Talleyrand said. Perhaps he should think it over and contact him tomorrow. Livingston slowly realized the Foreign Minister was serious.
The day before Livingston heard this astounding offer, he had received a letter from Envoy Extraordinary James Monroe, telling him he had landed at Le Havre. Livingston’s reply was anything but a warm welcome. He had been infuriated by Monroe’s appointment, which he considered a reflection on his abilities. He told Monroe the situation looked hopeless. Only if President Jefferson had already seized New Orleans by force was there any hope of progress toward a negotiated settlement. Otherwise, war seemed inevitable.
Thanks to Talleyrand, Livingston saw a chance to make Monroe even more superfluous. When the new envoy arrived in Paris on April 13, Livingston greeted him with just enough politeness to allay any suspicion of what he had in mind. During dinner, Finance Minister Barbe-Marbois made an unexpected appearance and told Livingston he was eager to talk with him. When Monroe said he wanted to join the conversation, Livingston claimed it would be inappropriate. The Envoy Extraordinary had not yet been presented to Foreign Minister Talleyrand. Monroe was infuriated. He had heard about the Louisiana offer from his friend Fulwar Skipwith, and suspected Livingston was trying to close the deal without his help.
It was a first glimpse of the huge political importance of the Louisiana Territory. Both men sensed that whoever got the credit for buying it would have a very good chance of becoming a future president of the United States. The next day, Livingston bargained privately with Marbois and settled on a price of 60 million francs—about $16 million. There were many details to settle, and Monroe, once introduced to Tallyrand, joined the discussions. Simultaneously, he wrote a letter to Secretary of State Madison, accusing Livingston of trying to elbow him out of the negotiations.
Monroe wrote an even more whining letter to President Jefferson, telling him his health was bad but he was soldiering on—and thanking him for a warning to be “on my guard.” Against whom, it was not clear—perhaps Talleyrand—or Livingston. Monroe assured the President he was “exerting my best energies in the cause in which I came…If I contribute in any degree to aid your administration in the confirmation of the just principles on which it rests, and promotion of the liberty and happiness of my country, it will prove…a delightful mission to me.”1
Hoping to improve his standing with Madison and Jefferson, Monroe tried to badger the French into lowering their price. Livingston reluctantly went along. The Americans first claimed 40 million francs was their top figure, then 50 million. Marbois became more than a little frantic. He warned them Napoleon could change his mind at any moment. He knew Admiral Decres and Bonaparte’s two brothers were telling the First Consul the sale was a huge mistake.
Finally, Marbois lost patience and told them if they did not accept the 60 million francs to which Livingston had agreed in the opening round, the deal was off. The envoys took deep breaths—they were not authorized to spend this huge sum—$250,000,000 in modern money—and said yes. On May 2, 1803, they signed a treaty that added 828,000 square miles to the American nation.
Finance Minister Marbois swiftly arranged with Baring Brothers, one of London’s premier banks, and an Amsterdam bank, Hope and Company, to loan the money to the United States. Thanks to Hamilton’s financial system, America’s international credit was still the best in the world. The British government went along, telling themselves American possession of Louisiana was better than having a Napoleonic presence so close to their restless French subjects in Canada.
Within two weeks, France and Britain were again at war. Napoleon went to considerable trouble to announce the ratification of the Louisiana treaty by his puppet legislature on the same day that the guns began to boom. Without a fleet to defend Louisiana, the Man of Destiny did not want to leave any ground for considering the colony as “still French.”2
In their negotiations with the French, Monroe and Livingston left unspoken another large worry. What would President Jefferson think of acquiring this huge territory? There was not a word in the Constitution that so much as mentioned the possibility of such an event. Would he—could he—turn his back on his belief in strict construction of the national charter? Would the President have to admit that President Washington and Secretary of the Treasury Hamilton were right when they insisted on the Constitution’s implied powers?
Unaware that Louisiana was now American property, in Washington, D.C., President Jefferson was in the midst of another reversal of his political principles. The man who invented the term “Anglomany” for anyone even suspected of having favorable thoughts toward Great Britain asked his cabinet to tell him whether he should seek an alliance with the nation he had hated and denounced for three decades. The cabinet voted 3-2 in favor of seeking the alliance. Secretary of State James Madison commissioned James Monroe to go to London and begin negotiations.3
Almost three months had passed since Monroe had embarked for France. The Mississippi remained closed to American commerce. The Federalist press, led by Alexander Hamilton’s Evening Post, published story after story, mocking and denouncing President Jefferson’s timid inaction. Then came news that sent Jefferson into a paroxysm of joy. The Spanish ambassador informed him that Spain was restoring America’s privileges in New Orleans.
The President saw a chance to teach the American people a lesson in the power of diplomacy. “To have seized New Orleans as our Federal maniacs wished” would have cost $100 million dollars and “countless lives,” he triumphantly declared.
Jefferson seemed to have forgotten that the governor of the Mississippi Territory had told him he could overwhelm the token force of Spanish troops in New Orleans with two thousand militiamen. Also not mentioned was Secretary of State Madison’s discovery that the restoration of New Orleans was described only as an “act of benevolence” of the Spanish king. There was no reference to the 1795 treaty, which had given American rights as well as privileges in the port. The Spanish, still assuming French ownership would soon be a fact, were simply arranging things so the blame for another closure—if Napoleon were so inclined—would rest on France.
For the next two months, the western states remained calm and Federalists were reduced to grumbling. Late in June, Secretary of State Madison received the letter Minister Robert Livingston had written on April 13, telling him that France was offering all of Louisiana. Madison immediately gave his wholehearted approval to making the purchase.
The Secretary of State swiftly informed the President, who began leaking the news to Democratic-Republican newspapers. The first announcement came in that Federalist stronghold, Boston, where, on June 30, the Independent Chronicle trumpeted “LOUISIANA CEDED TO THE UNITED STATES!” On July 3, confirmation reached Secretary of State Madison in a letter from the retiring Minister to Britain, former New York Senator Rufus King, enclosing a letter from Monroe and Livingston, announcing the success of their negotiations.
Madison rushed the news to President Jefferson, who, in turn, sent it by messenger to the editor of the National Intelligencer, which had become a semi-official administration organ. On July 4, the paper published the electrifying news and citizens from the District of Columbia and from Virginia and Maryland rushed to the President’s mansion to join a marvelously timed celebration. On the steps of his residence, a beaming Jefferson, flanked by his cabinet, announced the news.
The National Intelligencer gave President Jefferson all the credit for the stupendous acquisition, striking a note that would be repe
ated again and again in the next few months by Democratic-Republican orators and newspapers. “We have secured our rights by pacific action. Truth and reason have been more powerful than the sword,” the editor declared. Other papers expanded this approach. The Boston Independent Chronicle declared: “The wise, seasonable and politic negotiation of the President, approved and confirmed by Congress, has gloriously terminated to the immortal honor of the friends of peace and good government and to the utter disappointment of the factious and turbulent throughout the union.”
The flabbergasted Federalists now proceeded to cooperate with the President’s demolition of their party. They pooh-poohed Louisiana, without bothering to find out what the average voter thought of the purchase. Orator Fisher Ames complained that “we are to give money of which we have too little for land of which we already have too much.” Another called Louisiana “a great waste,” a wilderness peopled only by wolves and wandering Indians. When the details of the treaty became public, other Federalist leaders were even more exercised. The Boston Columbian Centinel cried: “THE ADDITION OF LOUISIANA IS ONLY A PRETENCE FOR DRAWING AN IMMENSE SUM OF MONEY FROM US.”
One of the few federalists who kept his head was Alexander Hamilton. In the New York Evening Post, he praised the acquisition. It coincided with his vision of America’s destiny as the world’s most powerful nation. But Hamilton shrewdly concluded that President Jefferson deserved no credit for this vast expansion. “Every man possessed of the least candour and reflection” would see that “unforeseen and unexpected circumstances” were responsible, rather than any “wise or vigorous measures” by the President.
The Great Divide Page 38