Madison and Jefferson

by Nancy Isenberg;Andrew Burstein

  Initial news from the Detroit frontier was disappointing. Michigan territorial governor William Hull, a Jefferson appointee and a colonel in the American Revolution, was given responsibility for the Northwest campaign. At the first sign of trouble, he froze, exposing his men to British-led Indian attacks. Monroe reported to Jefferson that he regarded Hull as “weak, indecisive, and pusilanimous,” but concluded: “This most disgraceful event may produce good. It will rouse the nation. We must efface the stain before we make peace, & that may give us Canada.”

  Jefferson, so long mocked by the Federalists for his alleged cowardice as a Revolutionary War governor, saw events much as Monroe did. In the case of Hull, Jefferson displayed a cruel streak. “The seeing whether our untried Generals will stand proof is a very dear operation,” he observed to Madison in November. “We can tell by his plumage whether a cock is dunghill or game. But with us cowardice and courage wear the same plume.” Though he looked the part, Hull had proved to be “dunghill.” He would subsequently be tried and convicted, and his life spared only after his service in the Revolution was recalled. Whereas Jefferson preferred to have him shot “for cowardice and treachery,” Madison was willing to pardon him.88

  The fiasco in the Northwest sent Madison’s administration into a tailspin. Monroe insisted that the government should not accept blame for what had happened, and he presented Madison with a better solution: send him out west. Seeing an opportunity to shine, Monroe proposed to leave Washington, take charge of the army Hull had mismanaged, and undertake decisive action to, in Monroe’s words, “support the cause of free government.” Monroe was worried that his own reputation would suffer if the war did not go well. In his mind, military heroics would win him the presidency.

  Richard Rush, son of Dr. Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia, was another of Madison’s confidants at this time, and his future attorney general. He endorsed Monroe’s plan and proposed bringing Jefferson out of retirement to fill the empty slot in the cabinet if Monroe were to go west. Extolling the “illustrious” and “venerable” Jefferson, Rush assured Madison that if he were to fill the position of secretary of state, “millions” would rejoice, and the administration would regain the confidence of the country. Rush informed Madison that the prominent Pennsylvania Republican Alexander James Dallas agreed with him that “the return of Mr. Jefferson to the Cabinet” was a perfect answer to the current malaise; while reluctant to see Monroe leave the president’s immediate circle, Dallas was confident that everything would work out. To Madison’s chief supporters, once Jefferson’s celebrity power was added to the administration, the public relations nightmare of Hull’s defeat would be erased from the national memory.

  At first Madison backed the Monroe-Rush-Dallas plan, but then he had second thoughts: recalling Jefferson could easily be seen as a sign of desperation and weakness. At this crucial juncture in his presidency, he was unwilling to hand over the spotlight to either Monroe or Jefferson. He would press on for as long as possible without making any major personnel changes.89

  Bad news continued to roll in. Hull’s defeat was followed by two more failed campaigns into Canada. The first was a crossing of troops from New York, over the Niagara River. The commander in this instance was Major General Stephen Rensselaer, a prominent Federalist with no prior military experience. Nearly 950 Americans were captured. Then Henry Dearborn, Jefferson’s secretary of war over his two terms, led a feeble attempt to take Montreal. Over sixty and rather portly, the lackluster general did not inspire confidence.

  Many Americans had come to believe that simply by marching across the border, Canada would be won. These early defeats proved otherwise. The War Hawks, it had turned out, were all talk. U.S. forces had poor leadership at every level. Dearborn’s successor as secretary of war, William Eustis of Massachusetts, had witnessed battle up close; he was on the scene at the dramatic and bloody Battle of Bunker Hill in 1775. But he was a marked man now, soon to become the sacrificial lamb for the botched invasion of Canada. Rumors circulated that either James Monroe or John Armstrong should replace him.

  The administration’s only reprieve came from the navy. Impressive victories at sea breathed life back into the deflated American public. The USS Constitution, under the command of Isaac Hull, nephew of the man who had disgraced his country in Michigan, defeated a British warship at close range 750 miles east of Boston. President Madison was rowed out to a ship anchored on the Potomac, where a celebration of the event was held before a merry crowd. Dolley Madison did her part during a second Washington gala that fall, commemorating Stephen Decatur’s victory over a British frigate east of the Canary Islands. He brought the enemy vessel home as a prize, and a navy lieutenant laid its flag at the feet of the first lady.90

  Amid his heavy concerns, the president found time to read and enjoy a farce on the coming of the war, which he recommended to Jefferson. Though Madison mistook The Diverting History of John Bull and Brother Jonathan as the work of Washington Irving, its actual author, James Kirke Paulding, was Irving’s lifelong friend, a fellow New Yorker, and himself a man of many talents. In time Paulding would come to work for President Madison, be charmed by him, visit Montpelier, and contemplate writing his biography.

  The Diverting History was aptly titled. It found its mark by reducing global rivalry to family bickering. John Bull was the personification of England, and Brother Jonathan the predecessor of Uncle Sam. Paulding’s parable converted the Atlantic Ocean into a millpond and explained the American Revolution in comic miniature: “Squire Bull sent Jonathan to settle new lands,” only to be “handsomely rib-roasted [while] attempting to pick Jonathan’s pocket.” France was transcribed as “Frogmore,” and when John Bull tried to pick Jonathan’s pocket again, Jonathan penned him a professedly “respectful” letter: “Honoured Father, ’Sblood, wha d’ye mean, you bacon faced son of a horned cow, by telling me I shant visit Beau Napperty [Napoleon] when I please!”

  As Madison gave Jefferson his copy of Paulding’s satire, he told him what to expect. “It sinks occasionally into low and local phrases, and some time forgets Allegorical character; But is in general good painting on substantial canvas.” While Madison critiqued Paulding’s “low and local” provincialism, we need to underscore that firsthand reports also attribute a taste for low humor and ribaldry to the fourth president—a style not associated with the third at any time.91

  Having defended Jefferson’s political reputation on the floor of the House, Speaker Henry Clay now gave his full support to the Madison administration. Over the months leading up to the declaration of war, and in the months after, Clay and Madison became comfortable in each other’s company. Madison opened his mouth more after he had wine at dinner, which may also have helped to bring the two closer. Privately, Clay expressed admiration for Madison’s mind; but in December 1812 he confided to Caesar Rodney, who had resigned as attorney general a year before: “Mr. Madison is wholly unfit for the storms of war.” Others had the same impression of him, no matter how aggressive a posture he took toward Great Britain.92

  The president had not been blamed for Hull’s failure in the Northwest. But unless he could find able generals, James Madison would be unable to escape condemnation as new charges of incompetence surfaced.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Road Out of War

  1813–1816

  We have hardly enough money to last till the end of the month.

  —ALBERT GALLATIN TO MADISON, MARCH 5, 1813

  I sincerely congratulate you on the peace, and more especially on the éclat with which the war was closed.

  —JEFFERSON TO MADISON, MARCH 23, 1815

  THE FEDERALISTS HUNKERED DOWN AND PREPARED THEMSELVES for a second term. Playing off the royal Stuarts of seventeenth-century England, they found a way to make a mockery out of America’s “King James,” the democratic monarch. A Hartford, Connecticut, paper provided the verse, which was reprinted across two columns of the Federal Republican—published, ever since its editor was run
out of Baltimore, just down the road from the President’s House, in Georgetown.

  The Federal Republican was the opposition’s answer to the fawning paper of the Madison court, the National Intelligencer. With the president’s reelection, its Federalist poet noted that Madison’s natural constituency was thriving:

  Ye vagabonds of every land,

  Cut-throats and knaves—a patriot band—

  Ye demagogues lift up your voice—

  Mobs and banditti—all rejoice!

  Associated with the riff-raff of society, Madison was now being subjected to the same treatment as his predecessor had been, the difference being that Madison was seen not as the originator of bad policy so much as a stand-in for others. Forced into an unenviable position by events, he was a willing dupe of the ambitious and the unrestrained. As the Federalists saw things, the war was not going as planned, and the president could not figure out what to do next:

  Now deep despair, and dire disgrace,

  Commingle in King James’s face.

  The war was solely undertaken,

  In hopes to save his royal bacon.1

  The Madison administration needed a more forward posture. One of the central players in national politics at this time was the Pennsylvania-born New Yorker John Armstrong. A Princetonian before the Revolution and a staff officer to General Horatio Gates at the Battle of Saratoga, he became connected to one of the most powerful families of New York State when he married the sister of Edward and Robert Livingston. He succeeded the latter of his brothers-in-law as U.S. minister to France, serving from 1804 to 1810.

  Historians have called Armstrong moody, self-protective, and ambitious—adjectives that probably describe most of the political characters of the Revolutionary generation. His letters to Madison, and especially to Jefferson, are finely crafted and more than just courteous. He could use strong words at times and had a habit of fault-finding, which eventually caught up with him. The Virginians would never quite trust his motives.

  Like Speaker of the House Henry Clay, Armstrong seems to have had doubts about Madison’s fitness as a wartime president. One of his more caustic comments, though it was not aimed at Madison directly, came in a private letter of 1811. “We are a nation of quakers,” he noted, “without either their morals or their motives.” Friendly with the Smith brothers of Maryland, Armstrong was thought a potential troublemaker during the lead-up to war, opposing, as he did, a continuation of the Virginia Dynasty. For this reason, Madison’s choice of Monroe as secretary of state did not please him. Yet in a meaningful turnabout, Armstrong pointedly criticized the divisive strategy of DeWitt Clinton in 1812, seeing the importance of a unity government in time of war. His reward was an appointment as brigadier general and commander of forces in New York City.

  As 1813 began, practical solutions took precedence over partisan plans. Although Treasury Secretary Gallatin had nothing close to a warm relationship with Armstrong, his strong recommendation helped convince the president that the high-handed general could help the war effort. The administration’s strategy involved taking the war to Montreal through New York State. This required a secretary of war with a strong political base there—at the moment there were only 20,000 men in the entire American army, a mere 2,400 of whom were stationed in this theater. So in January 1813, and despite the fact that he was reckoned a likely presidential contender in 1816, General John Armstrong was named secretary of war.2

  Secretary Eustis had resigned without complaint several weeks earlier. Even so, the transition was not smooth. At Madison’s request, Monroe had stepped in to fill the vacuum; but Monroe, too, presented problems because he had been giving Madison conflicting signals as to his own path to the presidency. Did he want the War Department? A battlefield appointment? Or to remain at State? So the choice of Armstrong may have reflected Madison’s annoyance with Monroe. For in spite of Armstrong’s flaws, Madison convinced himself that he could regulate the man’s “objectionable peculiarities,” as he later put it, with a deft combination of conciliation and control. He was conscious that Armstrong was capable of reining in Monroe and unlikely to tolerate his interference. And that is precisely what happened.

  In February 1813, when Armstrong took up his post, he quashed Monroe’s plan to head the army in the Northwest by persuading the president that in making Monroe a lieutenant general and outranking all others, he would stir resentment in the officer corps. To keep the peace, Armstrong recommended that Monroe settle for the rank of brigadier general. Had he agreed, he would have been subordinate to the less-than-competent Dearborn.

  Predictably, Monroe was outraged. To add insult to insult, he next discovered that Armstrong intended to head the new Canada campaign himself, prompting an emotion-charged letter to Madison in which Monroe accused Armstrong of fusing the roles of commander of the army and secretary of war and usurping the duties of the commander in chief. Madison was unmoved; he would uphold the principle of checks and balances within his cabinet, much as George Washington had done when the Hamilton-Jefferson feud first reached his desk.3

  Accusations against Monroe came from several places. Federalist congressman Josiah Quincy of Massachusetts alleged that Monroe was at the center of the cabinet’s machinations to prolong the war. Seeking popularity as a war leader, he claimed, the secretary of state was laying the groundwork for something potentially more dangerous than a Monroe presidency—a military dictatorship. Quincy was right about one thing: Monroe had put forward an audacious proposal to Congress, to raise an army of an unheard-of size, 55,000 troops, which he apparently expected to command. Gallatin and Congress trimmed down the proposal, and Monroe reluctantly went along. Ridiculed by Quincy as “James the Second” and chastised for his vanity, Monroe retreated from the spotlight, at least momentarily. Still, the “deadly feud,” as John Randolph described the Armstrong-Monroe competition, came to consume both men. Overlapping ambitions bred contempt, as both thought they could step over the unmartial Madison on the way to the presidency.4

  Quincy’s scornful speech in Congress ignited a second scandal. Calling those New Englanders who sought patronage from the president “reptiles,” he suggested that they had left “slime” in the drawing room of the executive mansion. Several congressmen were appalled by the remark; one of these exploded, calling Quincy “filthy.” It was obvious to them (though not to a modern audience) that their colleague’s insinuation was aimed at Dolley Madison. At her weekly Wednesday drawing room gathering, young and old alike attended, all looking for favors as well as a good time. What Quincy was doing was joining a biblical metaphor to libertine fiction. Snakes oozing slime called up the history of European palace intrigues, where sexual liaisons were common. “Queen” Dolley was the Eve-like seductress, turning the President’s House into a harem.5

  Such innuendo did not stop there. Alexander Contee Hanson, the Federalist editor whose establishment had come under attack in the Baltimore riots, was now a member of Congress. He showed little fear and no shame as he took up Quincy’s outrageous theme in his Georgetown-based newspaper. Hanson ran what purported to be an advertisement for a forthcoming book written by Madison’s new attorney general (and Monroe’s former diplomatic partner) William Pinkney. It was a work said to have been funded by his “illustrious patroness,” the first lady. One of the imaginary chapters publicized the concept, “L’Amour et la fume ne peuvent se cacher” (Love and smoke cannot be concealed), constituting a defense of polygamy and infidelity.

  Was Hanson’s Federal Republican accusing Mrs. Madison of having an affair with Pinkney? It seems quite likely. The elegant Marylander was a favorite among the ladies, who filled the courtroom to hear his colorful orations. Dolley was one of his admirers and attended court sessions with her retinue of family and friends. Hanson dropped a strong hint in his column, one that his classically trained readers would have easily recognized: he identified Dolley as “Corinna,” the Roman poet Ovid’s famous married mistress.6

  Pinkney lasted only on
e more year in Madison’s cabinet. He was forced to resign after the House passed a law requiring cabinet members to live in Washington. It was a law written for him. With a flourishing law practice in Baltimore and Annapolis, he had no desire to move. Though considered one of the most talented lawyers in the nation, the House had little trouble passing this dubious piece of legislation, suggesting that Pinkney’s scandalous reputation—Hanson charged him with introducing the ways of “Modern Sodom” into a “chaste republic”—may have caught up with him. Pinkney would be succeeded, in 1814, by the reliable Richard Rush.7

  Madison made one more change in his cabinet. Secretary of the Navy Paul Hamilton, like Pinkney, had become the focus of damning rumors. Washington was as yet a small town with few secrets, and all could see that Hamilton was an alcoholic who fell asleep at his desk and made a spectacle of himself at social events. The navy had been the only branch of the U.S. armed forces to perform admirably, but Hamilton had little to do with it. He begged Madison to keep him, desperately needing the income; but Madison forced him out, assuming that Congress would withhold funds to a department headed by an embarrassing drunk.

  Madison offered the Navy Department to William Jones, whom Jefferson, in 1801, had tried unsuccessfully to recruit for the same office. A Pennsylvania merchant and former sea captain, Jones had been involved in the opium trade in southern China as recently as 1805. A man of pronounced wit and strong connections to the Pennsylvania Republicans, he promised to end the chaos in his department. Jones understood that the navy had to play a bigger role in the war, and he resolved to enlarge it by encouraging more privateers to harass British ships. After Hull’s devastating defeat, Madison had concluded that “ascendancy over those waters” was essential to any future Canadian campaign. Under Jones’s watch, a major program got under way to build warships on both Lake Ontario and Lake Erie.8