Jefferson and Hamilton (64 page)

The House balloted only once on Friday. The vote had not changed. On Saturday, three ballots were taken. Still no change. When the members departed for their lodgings in the chilly dusk of Saturday evening, they had voted thirty-three times in four days.

Jefferson had once expressed little interest in the presidency, but no longer. He wanted the victory that he knew he had won and believed he deserved. He had not been home from France long before he took up the fight against those who, as he saw it, wished to frustrate the true meaning of the American Revolution. Throughout the 1790s he fought what he believed was a reactionary effort to reestablish what had existed in pre-Revolutionary Anglo-America. At last, in 1800 he had beaten them, yet as day after day passed, and ballot after deadlocked ballot was cast, victory eluded him.

Jefferson was a fighter for what he believed in, and that winter, with his presidency and the triumph of the American Revolution in jeopardy, he fought back, and with no holds barred. Washington buzzed with rumors that Virginia would secede if Jefferson was denied victory. Jefferson never made such a threat explicitly, but he warned that Federalist intrigue threatened “a dissolution” of the Union, and he said simply that he could not restrain his supporters. Nor did he quash talk that Pennsylvania and Virginia would unleash armies of militiamen to prevent his election from being stolen, even after Federalist newspapers countered that New England would field sixty thousand militiamen to meet Pennsylvania’s “factious foreigners” and the “
fighting
bacchanals” from the South. Jefferson also visited Adams, probably on the Saturday of the House balloting. Without success, he urged Adams to veto any Federalist legislation that would foil the Republican victory; Jefferson additionally warned that what he called a Federalist coup d’état might be
resisted with force. Other Republicans took up the cudgel, “openly and firmly” warning their foes that “the middle States would arm” and resist with force Federalist “usurpation.” However, the tipping point may have been Republican talk of calling another constitutional convention to “re-organize the government, & to amend it” so that it reflected the “democratical spirit of America.” The threat of rewriting the Constitution aroused great concern among the Federalists. Jefferson said it “shook” them and gave “them the horrors.”
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The break that Jefferson had hoped for came on Saturday night or Sunday morning. Delaware’s lone congressman, James Bayard, who had voted for Burr on every ballot, told Federalist leaders that on Monday he would vote for Jefferson. Subsequently, Bayard claimed to have changed sides only after Jefferson, through an intermediary, entered into “a deal” such as Hamilton and others had been advocating.

All that is known for certain is that the Federalists caucused twice on Sunday and that Bayard was showered with invective by colleagues who were holding out for Burr. Bayard characterized the verbal assaults as “reproaches vehement.”
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He bowed to the pressure, agreeing to continue voting against Jefferson until word arrived from Burr as to whether or not he would agree to a deal with the Federalists. Word from Burr had not reached the capital by noon on Monday, when the House convened and balloted twice. There was no change in the tally. Following the second ballot—its thirty-fifth—the House adjourned and the congressmen scattered. Later on that cold winter day, Burr’s letter arrived. After reading his communiqué—which was soon destroyed—Speaker Sedgwick declared: “the gigg is up.” Burr had refused the terms demanded by the Federalists. Burr was “determined not to shackle himself with federal principles,” Bayard remarked, and in disgust added: “Burr has acted a miserable paultry part. The election was in his power, but he was determined to come in as a Democrat.”
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Burr had not just lost the election; he had ruined himself politically by refusing from the start to acknowledge Jefferson as the victor. He had alienated his own party by intriguing with the Federalists, and infuriated the Federalists with his last-minute failure to strike a deal. He would hold the office of vice president, but henceforth he was a pariah in the South, which in 1801 was the heartland of the Republican Party, and an enemy of Jefferson, the party’s leader.

The following day, February 17, the House on its thirty-sixth ballot decided the election of 1800. Bayard, together with South Carolina’s all-Federalist delegation, abstained in the final vote, while Maryland and Vermont balloted for Jefferson, who received the votes of ten states.

Jefferson was, at last, the president-elect. He had been the first to take the lead in organizing opposition to Hamiltonianism, and he was the symbol
around which those who hated the Federalist Party rallied, the figure above all others who had articulated the dreams of political and social change that all along had been part of the American Revolution. The Federalist leadership, including Hamilton, had failed to comprehend the new political culture that had been materializing during the past quarter century—and especially in the 1790s—and in time the party came to be seen as representing interests disconnected from much of the citizenry. Once the party was thought to have been taken over by extremists, it was doomed.

No one contributed more to the Federalist Party’s demise than Hamilton. In his quest for glory he had created an army that much of the citizenry feared and hated; in his scorn for Adams, Hamilton had sundered a party in which many members both continued to believe in the president and yearned for the honorable peace that he sought. Adams, in fact, had done better than his party in the election of 1800. The president was defeated in a squeaker, while other Federalists were drubbed in numerous congressional contests, losing control of the House and for the first time the Senate as well.

The Nationalists—the conservatives—had written a Constitution in 1787 that aimed at making change difficult, and the election of 1800 demonstrated just how hard change could be. Jefferson won by a slender margin, and despite his oft-repeated denials, it is likely that he had agreed to a bargain with the Federalists in order to win the election. Burr was told at the time by friends in Washington that Jefferson had struck a deal. Furthermore, a Maryland congressman gave credence to the story, and Bayard’s correspondence—and the subsequent testimony under oath by two participants in the purported negotiations—point toward a bargain having been made.
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In addition, Jefferson’s actions as president lend credence to the allegations. Despite his decade-long fight against Hamiltonianism, President Jefferson never touched the Bank of the United States, continued borrowing by the federal government, and never sought the wholesale removal of Federalist officeholders.
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But if Jefferson had agreed to a secret bargain, he had not acted disgracefully. Indeed, by doing so, he may have prevented civil war and saved the Union.

Chapter 15
“This American world was not made for me”

A Glorious Beginning and a Tragic End

Jefferson spent the fifteen days between the House’s decisive vote and Inauguration Day, March 4, putting together his cabinet, contemplating diplomatic assignments, and working on his forthcoming address.

Sometime before Abigail Adams departed for home—she left on the Friday that the House cast its twenty-ninth ballot—Jefferson called on her to say goodbye. Sadly, the warmth she had once felt for him was a casualty of several years of partisan rancor, and the atmosphere of what would be their final visit must have been cold and formal. Her feelings were shared by her husband, who refused to call on and congratulate his newly elected successor.
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Jefferson was living at Conrad and McMunn’s, where he had taken lodgings in November. The boardinghouse, on the south side of Capitol Hill, was home to thirty residents, all Republicans, including a couple of congressmen who had brought their wives to Washington. The boarders joined Jefferson every day for breakfast and dinner at a common dining table. For the most part, the other lodgers had a small room or shared accommodations “like scholars in a college or monks in a monastery,” as Adams put it. Jefferson lived more commodiously. He had rented a private room, parlor, and reception room. Hardly posh, they were convenient for greeting visitors, of which there was no shortage.
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On the Monday before Wednesday’s inaugural celebration, Jefferson rented a carriage. Where he rode is not known, but if he toured Washington, he saw a work in progress. It was mostly a construction zone littered with piles of building materials, rude shacks for the free and slave work crews, and unpaved roads that long since had been turned to a fetid ooze by winter snows and rains and heavily laden wagons. Five hotels, a few inns, several boardinghouses, and a sprinkling of shops dotted the landscape. The two-story
brick Treasury was the only completed federal building. The Capitol and the President’s House, like the buildings for the State and War Departments, were usable, though unfinished.
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Jefferson spent Tuesday in his apartment, probably making the final changes to the inaugural address which had already undergone at least two drafts.

A creature of habit, Jefferson arose as usual before dawn on March 4. He wrote a single letter, tending to private business in Richmond, and enjoyed breakfast with the usual clan at the congested dining table. Mostly, he waited for the ceremonies to begin. At ten o’clock the Washington artillery company began firing its field pieces, and soon thereafter a company of riflemen from Alexandria paraded in the muck before the president-elect’s boardinghouse.

Around eleven o’clock Jefferson emerged. Like his predecessors, he had chosen to wear a plain suit, but unlike them, he eschewed a ceremonial sword. There was another striking difference. Washington had ridden to his first inaugural in his luxurious coach, and Adams had been conveyed to his in a splendid carriage drawn by six huge horses. Jefferson chose to walk, the simple and commonest means of getting about for most Americans, who found carriages, and in some instances even horses, beyond their means.

The little procession was led by United States marshals and officers of Alexandria’s militia, who marched with swords drawn. Jefferson was joined by all the Republicans in Congress and two members of Adams’s cabinet. Adams himself was not present. Misguidedly construing the festivities as a celebration of his defeat, Adams refused to join in. He had caught the four A.M. stagecoach out of town.
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As the ceremony began in Washington, celebrations were occurring elsewhere. News of Jefferson’s election by the House had already triggered cannonading and spontaneous parades, bonfires, and the pealing of bells in many towns. The
Aurora
, a Republican newspaper in Philadelphia, had declared: “The Revolution of 1776 is now, and for the first time, arrived at its completion.” Until now, it went on, much that Americans had sought in throwing off British domination had been held in check by “the secret enemies of the American Revolution.” But Jefferson’s election meant nothing less than the triumph of “the true … Republican principle.” Now, on Inauguration Day, a second round of celebrating commenced in many cities and hamlets. A float in Philadelphia’s parade featured a young woman dressed as Liberty who was harassed by kings, soldiers, and clergy, but was saved by a man playing Jefferson.
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Jefferson’s mud-splattered walk up gently sloping Capitol Hill took only a few minutes. When he arrived at the Capitol, still under construction, nearby artillery rang out and his militia honor guard saluted smartly. Passing through a scrum of curious onlookers and well-wishers, he entered the building
and was escorted into the Senate chamber. Some Federalist congressmen had stayed away, unable to endure the sight of Jefferson taking office, but seemingly everyone else in Washington was there. A newspaper reported that 1,140 people, including 154 women, were packed into the tiny chamber. Burr, of course, was present, and had taken his oath of office earlier in the morning. He surrendered his chair to Jefferson. Following an introduction by the vice president, Jefferson rose and read his address in a barely audible voice, described by one observer as “almost femininely soft.”
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Of the first four inaugural addresses, only Jefferson’s was memorable. Much of it was a lyrical paean to the new president’s belief that America’s revolutionary heritage had at last been fulfilled. But there was more. Hoping to defuse passions and restore unity in the fractured land, he began by attempting to reassure the losers. He spoke of his hopes for a restoration of “harmony and affection without which liberty, and even life itself, are but dreary things.” He insisted that the vanquished in the recent election “possess their equal rights.” Americans have differed over policies, he added, “but every difference of opinion is not a difference of principle. We have called by different names brethren of the same principle. We are all republicans: we are all federalists.” He did not capitalize the terms, as he was not referring to political parties. He meant that members of both parties embraced republicanism and federalism, in which the national government possessed some powers and the states other powers.

Summarizing his ideology and expectations, Jefferson declared that the sum of good government was restraint in spending and commitment to the liberty and equality of all free persons. He added that the nation’s rulers must focus on this “chosen country,” not any foreign nation. The best government would seek peace through commerce and avoid “entangling alliances.” Such a government would have no reason to impose onerous taxes on its citizenry. It “shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned,” was how he put it. He acknowledged that some worried that such a government would be too weak to secure the interests of the United States, but he declared that America possessed “the strongest government of earth.” It was the world’s only government, he said, “where every man, at the call of the law, would fly to the standard … and meet invasions of the public order as his own personal concern.”