Jefferson and Hamilton

by John Ferling

  Jefferson took his responsibilities seriously and worked hard—very hard—and there were stretches when he toiled in the depths of despair. At times during 1781 he was on the run, separated from Martha and their three daughters—eight-year-old Patsy, two-year-old Mary, and one-year-old Lucy Elizabeth—who shuffled between Richmond and Tuckahoe. Furthermore, as the spring unfolded, little Lucy Elizabeth’s health declined, and on April 15, three days after the British threatened Mount Vernon, she died. Though beset with ineffable sadness, Jefferson never ceased to be a fighter. When in 1779 the British had closed in on Charleston—with an army merely two-thirds the size of the force under Phillips—South Carolina governor John Rutledge had proposed that his state drop out of the war in return for the city being spared. Such a thought never occurred to Jefferson.26

  By spring 1781, as his second term ebbed away, Jefferson remarked without exaggeration that Great Britain’s war on America “falls at present on Virginia only.”27 Greene had made a fateful choice. A week after Guilford Courthouse, he opted to take his army into South Carolina to liberate the state from the redcoats still garrisoned there. He expected Cornwallis to follow him. He was wrong. Cornwallis turned instead toward Virginia.28 By mid-May, Jefferson was aware that Cornwallis was in the state, and he knew that when Philips and Cornwallis united, a huge British army would be on Virginia soil. If that was not bad enough, intelligence indicated that Clinton was sending reinforcements from New York. Jefferson believed that, by the summer, there would be some seven thousand redcoats in Virginia. There were perhaps two thousand Continentals, and whatever “Ill armed and untried Militia” that could be raised, to defend Virginia against them.29

  When Governor Rutledge in South Carolina had proposed dropping out of the war, he did so in part because he and his lieutenant governor had lost confidence in General Washington. Rutledge thought the commander’s indifference to the war in the South was “scarcely credible”; his lieutenant governor, Thomas Bee, imagined that “the Southern states are meant to be sacrificed.”30 Jefferson shared Rutledge’s view about Washington’s strategic myopia, and on May 28, with only about a week remaining of his tenure in office, Jefferson sent Washington one final letter as governor. He pleaded yet again for Washington to come to Virginia with his army and take command of the defense of the state. “[L]end us Your personal aid…. [Y]our appearance … would restore full confidence of salvation,” he wrote. Should Washington come and bring his army, Jefferson said in closing, the only “difficulty would then be how to keep men out of the field.”31

  As April was about to turn to May, Lafayette advised Jefferson that his hands were tied unless Washington sent substantial numbers of Continentals to Virginia. Helpless to take the offensive, Lafayette said he could only pursue a Fabian strategy.32 Not long after Jefferson read the young Frenchman’s letter, General Washington, with Hamilton possibly in tow, set off from his headquarters in New Windsor, New York, for Weathersfield, Connecticut, where he was scheduled to meet with Rochambeau during the third week in May. The allies were to plan their summer campaign. What Washington would seek was hardly a mystery. For years, he had fastened on retaking New York, and he had already broached the idea to an unconvinced Rochambeau at a previous meeting in September. Rochambeau had patiently explained to Washington that the allies lacked the necessary numerical superiority and naval supremacy for either an attack or a protracted siege, but a final decision had been postponed until the expected French reinforcements arrived in the spring.

  Dark, cold weather had settled over Connecticut when the allied commanders at last sat down together on May 21. Rochambeau began by saying that it was possible that the French fleet in the Caribbean might come to North America to assist the armies. He then asked Washington what he envisaged for the summer of 1781. Predictably, Washington urged a joint campaign to retake New York. Rochambeau countered with a proposal that they move their armies to Virginia. At the time, Rochambeau knew that Phillips had arrived in Virginia and that his army totaled more than three thousand men. He did not know that Cornwallis, who had set off from Wilmington, was bringing his army to Virginia as well. Washington listened, and demurred. Rochambeau subsequently recalled that his counterpart “did not conceive the affairs of the south to be [of] such urgency.” The two generals argued, but Washington held his ground. Rochambeau, who had been ordered by his government at Versailles to defer to the Americans, reluctantly agreed to a joint campaign to retake New York. The moment the conference ended and Washington began the long ride back to the Hudson River, Rochambeau wrote to Commodore François de Grasse, the commander of the French fleet, and beseeched him to sail for Virginia, not New York. Unbeknownst to Washington, the wheels had been set in motion for a Virginia campaign.33

  Hamilton could not have been happy with the agreement that Washington had secured at Weathersfield. Given his apparent feelings about the commander’s limitations as a strategist, and likely aware of Rochambeau’s cogent reservations about a New York campaign, Hamilton must have doubted the wisdom of what appeared to lie ahead. In fact, he suspected that operations would never commence. As late as July 10 he remarked that “there seems to be little prospect of activity,” as only the most optimistic were persuaded that the French fleet would arrive. But Washington still controlled Hamilton’s destiny. On the eve of the Weathersfield conference, Hamilton apologized to Washington for having “embarrassed” him by requesting an independent command. Not only did he understand why Washington had turned him down, he said humbly but he also assured the commander that his only thought was for “the good of the service.”34 Hamilton groveled. He wanted to stay in Washington’s good graces, perhaps hoping against hope that some suitable position for him might turn up with Lafayette’s force in Virginia, which seemed the most likely place for action in 1781.

  While Hamilton brooded over the likelihood of another summer of inactivity, Jefferson faced more action than he ever wanted. By late May, with barely a week left in his term, Jefferson was at home at Monticello. Virginia’s legislature had been scheduled to meet in Richmond at the beginning of May, but it had been nearly impossible to persuade the skittish assemblymen to come to the capital. Finally, several days late, a quorum was attained, but only after the governor sent assurances that Richmond was now “perfectly secure.” The dubious legislators came, but were not inclined to linger in the capital. They met only long enough to agree to adjourn until May 24, when they would meet again in Charlottesville, where they could be “in full Assurance of being unmolested by the Enemy.”35

  Jefferson remained in Richmond for another week, but just as Rochambeau and Washington were sitting down together in Weathersfield, the governor arrived at Monticello. At almost the same instant, Cornwallis marched into Petersburg, Virginia, where he had ordered Phillips to bring his army. The British commander was eager for action, and victories. At about the same time that Virginia’s legislature convened in Charlottesville, Cornwallis crossed the James River and set off to destroy Lafayette: “The Boy cannot escape me,” he allegedly remarked. But Lafayette—as he had indicated to Jefferson—had no intention of standing and fighting. “Was I to fight a Battle I’ll be Cut to pieces,” he said. Retreating deep into the interior of the state, Lafayette escaped Cornwallis, much as Greene had in North Carolina. After a week of fruitless chasing about, Cornwallis changed course. He divided his force. He would continue to look for Lafayette, but he detached the Queen’s Rangers to go after Steuben’s small force while Colonel Tarleton, with 250 of his Green Dragoons—a troop of Tory cavalrymen—was ordered to Charlottesville to find and capture Virginia’s governor and legislature.36

  Though Jefferson and the assemblymen were aware by May 29 or 30 that a sizable body of redcoats was only thirty miles away, they continued to believe they were safe. There were some Continentals and militia between Charlottesville and Cornwallis, and besides, if a threat materialized, some imagined that Lafayette would arrive to offer protection.

  The legislature met d
aily in the Albemarle County Courthouse and the Swan Tavern. Nearby at Monticello, Jefferson tended to his heavy official correspondence—he wrote thirty-one letters in his final ten days in office—met daily with legislators (among other things he proposed the drafting of slaves to serve as laborers in the construction of fortifications), and conducted diplomacy with John Baptiste Ducoigne, a Kaskaskia sachem from the Illinois country, who called on him at Monticello. At some point after the legislature assembled—possibly when the assemblymen were still in Richmond—Jefferson formally announced that he would not accept a third term. It hardly came as a surprise. Jefferson had long since told others of his plan to leave office, confiding even in the French chargé d’affaires in Philadelphia.37

  Since early in the month, some assemblymen had talked of granting the governor dictatorial powers. Some thought that Patrick Henry was conspiring not only to be reelected but also to have the assembly vest him with emergency, perhaps autocratic, powers. It was a view that Jefferson came to share. In mid-May, Jefferson tacitly recommended an increase in the chief executive’s authority. Nothing mattered now but managing the defense of the state, he told the assembly, adding that this was a job for which he was “unprepared by his line of life and education.” As the state needed someone skilled in “the command of armies,” Jefferson urged the election of General Thomas Nelson, the commander of the state’s militia, as his successor. Furthermore, Jefferson proposed that Nelson be permitted to continue to command the militia while serving as governor, as “this … would greatly facilitate military measures.” Inexplicably, the legislators did not immediately select a new governor after reconvening in Charlottesville. They scheduled the election for Monday, June 4, forty-eight hours after Jefferson’s term ended.38

  Jefferson was subsequently criticized for not having remained in office until his successor was sworn in. But he was a stickler when it came to observing the letter of the constitution, and his term was over. Besides, the legislature never asked him to stay on. His term ended on a Saturday. Had Monday been a normal day, it is conceivable that the assembly might have asked him to remain in office for a few more days until his successor arrived and took the oath of office. It is possible, too, that Jefferson would have consented. However, Monday was anything but normal.

  On Sunday, Jefferson penned a few final official letters, closing the books on his tenure as chief executive.39 He did not know that while he was at his desk, Tarleton and his green-clad horsemen had set off for Charlottesville.

  The horse soldiers moved rapidly. They covered seventy miles in twenty-four hours, and might have captured Jefferson and all the assemblymen had their arrival in Charlottesville been a total surprise. But Tarleton’s force was spotted sometime around midnight, when it was still about forty miles from its destination. John Jouett, a twenty-six-year-old native of Charlottesville, was enjoying the libation at the Cuckoo Tavern in Louisa when Tarleton and his men thundered past. Jouett, the son of the proprietor of the Swan Tavern, where the legislature had sometimes met, knew instantly that Jefferson and the assembly were in great peril. He leaped on his horse and rode with abandon, taking shortcuts unknown to Tarleton. Jouett won the race to Charlottesville by some ninety minutes. His first stop was at Monticello. He may have chosen to warn Jefferson first, as he thought the governor would be Tarleton’s most likely target. Or Jouett may have begun at Jefferson’s residence because he knew that the presiding officers of both houses of the legislature, and a few assemblymen, were lodging there.40

  Much that happened after Jouett pounded on Monticello’s front door at about four thirty A.M. remains a mystery. Over the years, Jefferson’s enemies spread the story that he had fled precipitously. Friends claimed he had carelessly lingered, eating breakfast and even having his horse shod before departing.

  The truth is somewhere in between. It appears that Jefferson must have remained at Monticello for around ninety minutes after he was awakened. He dressed, ordered that a carriage be readied for his wife and daughters, and probably loaded some valuables in it. He saw to the departure of his guests, either hid some precious possessions or directed trusted slaves to do so, and burned some papers while stuffing other documents in his satchel bags. Jefferson knew that the British would first have to come through Charlottesville, which he could look down on with his well-worn spyglass, and he took the precaution of posting reliable servants as lookouts along the steep road that led to his hilltop home. He knew that he did not have much time, but he had to know that he had some time. Though taken by surprise on that June 4 morning, Jefferson had known that such an emergency could happen, and he must have previously planned his escape in the event of a worst-case scenario. Martha and the girls were to go to Enniscorthy, an acquaintance’s estate fourteen miles to the south, where he would later join them. They left well before he did.

  As Jefferson expected, Tarleton entered Charlottesville first (where he captured seven assemblymen, who had lingered to burn papers, and Daniel Boone, who happened to be in town). Only moments after Tarleton entered the village, he ordered Captain Kenneth McLeod, with a party of twenty or more, to hurry to Monticello and seize Jefferson. McLeod and his troopers spurred their mounts, galloping toward Jefferson’s mansion, never slowing as they charged up the winding and muddy road leading to it. Swinging from their sweaty horses, the troopers burst into the residence. It was empty save for Martin Hemings, a slave who was hiding his owner’s silver. He likely told McLeod that Jefferson had long since departed, and the British officer must have believed him. What sort of fool would have delayed his flight until the enemy soldiers were nearly at his front door? Even if Hemings was lying, McLeod must have suspected that Jefferson was intimately familiar with myriad paths through the virgin forest. With even the slightest head start, he would be impossible to find. McLeod did ask where Jefferson was going. Hemings insisted that he had no knowledge of Jefferson’s plans. Apparently finding it plausible that a master would not confide in his chattel, McLeod dropped the matter. He pursued his prey no further.41

  Jefferson had made his getaway. Unconfirmed reports said that he departed on Caractacus, reputed to be one of the fastest horses in the state, only five minutes before McLeod arrived.42 He probably had not cut it that closely, but Jefferson had not been gone long when the enemy reached his door.

  In subsequent years, Jefferson’s flight was depicted by his political enemies as a cowardly act. But if Jefferson behaved cravenly, he had plenty of company: The members of the Continental Congress had twice fled the approaching British army; Samuel Adams and John Hancock had scurried to safety from Lexington, Massachusetts, on the day in 1775 when the British army arrived and started the Revolutionary War; General Washington had retreated on numerous occasions in the face of the enemy; and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton had taken flight after coming under fire while on his mission to destroy flour mills outside Philadelphia. In fact, none of these men had acted in a cowardly fashion. All had acted prudently. Capture meant a lengthy, possibly lethal, confinement in a British prison. Jefferson had to know that if the war was lost—and victory was far from certain in June 1781—he might never be freed. Moreover, he could only imagine what his captors might do with him if they discovered that he was the author of the Declaration of Independence.

  In the pale light of early morning, Jefferson rode down the hilltop and into the cool, dark forest, heavy with the dank scent of decay brought on by spring rains. A good horseman, he rode swiftly, up steep wooded slopes, down into foggy hollows, and now and again along flush green ridges. He was hurrying toward Enniscorthy, though he had no plans to linger there; it was too close to the British army. Jefferson was reunited with Martha and the children in mid-morning, but he paused only briefly before resuming his journey. His destination now was the home of Robert Rose, an old family friend who lived some fifty miles southwest of Monticello. Jefferson remained on horseback. Martha, who had neither physically nor emotionally recovered from her last pregnancy and the recent loss of Lucy Eli
zabeth, rode in the carriage with the two girls. The roads were primitive, and streams had to be forded. It was not an easy trip, and to the travelers’ general discomfort was added the omnipresent possibility of running upon a British patrol. But no enemy soldiers troubled them. The family stayed that Monday night at the residence of Thomas Jopling, probably a stranger, whom Jefferson paid a whopping £45 to cover their expenses. (According to Jefferson lore, another family had earlier refused them lodging, fearing reprisal by the British army.) Before finally reaching Rose’s estate on Tuesday, Jefferson purchased supplies for £123 at a general store.43

  Satisfied that his wife and children were safe with the Roses, Jefferson started back to Monticello on Thursday, anxious to learn whether the house he had lovingly constructed over the past fourteen years was still standing. On Saturday, five days after fleeing, Jefferson completed his one-hundred-mile round-trip on horseback. To his utter amazement, he found that Monticello was undamaged and his slave labor force intact. Enemy soldiers had been on his property for eighteen hours and, aside from consuming a good bit of his wine, “Captn. Mc.leod preserved every thing with sacred care,” as Jefferson subsequently remarked. But not all of his properties were so fortunate. He soon learned that his Elkhill plantation on the James River, which he had gained through marriage, had been Cornwallis’s headquarters for ten days. The seven thousand redcoats and hundreds of camp followers—wives, mistresses, and freedmen—had reduced the estate to “an absolute waste” and “carried off also about 30 slaves.”44