Thomas Jefferson saw his election in 1800 as a dramatic new chapter in American politics. The party that he and Madison had created nearly a decade ago had been quite successful in both elections and public policy. They had ousted the Federalists after twelve years of dominance, and now they were a new party in a new capital. The Republicans quickly dismissed campaign charges by Federalists that Jefferson's election would bring on “Civil War…[where] murder, robbery, rape, adultery and incest will all be openly taught and practiced, the air will be rent with the cries of distress, the soil will be soaked with blood and the nation black with crimes.”4
It was a significant step in the political world. The changeover from Federalist to Republican government not only showed that new ideas were acceptable to the people but also that shifts in government could be achieved without the bloodshed that usually accompanied them in other countries.
Late on the morning of his inauguration, March 4, 1801, Thomas Jefferson dressed and then left the boardinghouse where he had been staying for two weeks to go to the Senate chamber to be inaugurated as the third president of the United States. This time, under the Republicans, there was little pomp and ceremony. Both George Washington and John Adams had arrived at their inaugurations in expensive carriages following long processions through large crowds. Jefferson was different. The new president walked from the boardinghouse several blocks from the capital, accompanied by an escort of Alexandria militia, a group of congressmen, and two of John Adams's outgoing cabinet officers. As he approached the Capitol building, a squad of local militia fired off a series of cannon to honor him. He arrived, the National Intelligencer said, “plain, dignified and unostentatious.”5
The speech itself was delivered in the Senate chamber, jammed with onlookers for the occasion. Those there estimated that nearly one thousand government officials, senators, congressmen, judges, and members of the general public were in the semicircular hall, with its vaulted roof, to hear the address. Many had to stand along the rear walls, pushed tightly against each other. Men wore their finest suits and ladies their most expensive dresses. Those there felt they were not only a part of politics but a part of history. Mrs. Margaret Smith wrote that she had “this morning witnessed one of the most interesting scenes a free people can ever witness. The changes of administration, which in every government and in every age have most generally been epochs of confusion, villainy and bloodshed, in this our happy country take place without any species of distraction or disorder.”6
Jefferson was pleased with his speech and the reception of it by the loudly cheering crowd of people in the Senate. Cannon had boomed again when he walked out of the Capitol. “We can no longer say there is nothing new under the sun,” he wrote Joseph Priestley.7 “For this whole chapter in the history of man is new. The great extent of our Republic is new. Its sparse habitation is new. The mighty wave of public opinion which has rolled over it is new. But the most pleasing novelty is, it is so quickly subsiding over such an extent of surface to its true level again. The order and good sense displayed in this recovery from delusion, and in the momentous crisis which lately arose, really bespeak a strength of character in our nation which augurs well for the duration of our Republic; and I am much better satisfied now of its stability than I was before it was tried.”
When Jefferson took office, he told the nation, in a lofty inaugural address, that the government he headed would work for everybody. “We are all Republicans; we are all Federalists,” he said.8 “If there be any among us who would wish to dissolve this union, or to change its republican form, let them stand undisturbed as monuments of the safety with which error of opinion may be tolerated where reason is left free to combat it.” He added, too, that the change was radical: “The revolution of 1800 was as real a revolution in the principles of our government as that of 1776 was in its form; not effected, indeed by the crowd, as that, but by the national and peaceable instruments of reform, the suffrage of the people,” he said.
Jefferson had started his administration on a high political road, forgiving his enemies and optimistically hoping for universal support in his programs. It was a dream, but a dream worth having, he wrote friends. “The mass of our countrymen who call themselves federalists, are republicans…to restore the harmony which our predecessors so wickedly made it their object to break up, to render us again one people acting as one nation—should be the object of every man really a patriot. I am convinced that it can be done.”9
No one was prouder of the address than his best friend, Madison. He was “the chosen one,” the hand-picked successor to Jefferson. The two men had started a new, Republican government that would last for sixteen years and, with their friend James Monroe, for eight more years following Madison, a total of twenty-four years.
Jefferson was proud of Madison. He wrote Madison of his selection, and of his entire cabinet, that “my association in those whom I am so happy as to have associate with me is unlimited, unqualified, and unabated. I am well satisfied that everything goes on with a wisdom and rectitude which I could not improve [on]. If I had the universe to choose from, I could not change one of my associates to my better satisfaction.”10
His soaring inaugural address pleased many, especially since Jefferson heralded a new moment in American history—the transition of the federal government from one political party to another. He received hundreds of notes of congratulations, but perhaps none pleased him more than one from a man writing on behalf of friends in Providence, Rhode Island. “It is with no common joy that we behold at the head of the American administration a man whose uniform political integrity—whose correct and extensive information and affectionate concern for the happiness of the human race will add to the splendor and secure the stability of [government],” it said.11
Maybe Jefferson was both a Republican and a Federalist, but others were not. The country was split into two political groups, attached to one party or the other. That brought about the first problem Madison faced with Jefferson, and that was job patronage. Jefferson was bombarded with requests for federal government jobs from relatives, neighbors, and friends. Without shame, people with no skills at all even sought out judgeships and cabinet posts. All took the view that when the Federalists were in power, the Federalists were awarded all of the government jobs, so now Republicans, in power for the first time, should have all the jobs. This is exactly the mind-set that Madison and Jefferson wanted to change, but they quickly found that they could not.
Shortly after his inaugural address, Jefferson wrote James Monroe that he would get rid of Federalist leaders “whom I abandon as incurables and will never turn an inch out of my way to reconcile.” His chest beating was encouraged and applauded by the editors of Republican newspapers, who howled for the heads of Federalist officeholders. The editors wanted them all fired.12 Yet the president saw no need to fire men who did their job well. “Good men, to whom there is no objection but a difference of political principle, are not proper subjects of removal,” he said.13
Jefferson told Madison that he wanted to boot out of office anyone President Adams had named after he learned he would not be reelected, especially judges he had appointed in his last days, the “midnight” appointees. Following that, men found to be grossly incompetent had to be removed. Jefferson also wanted to remove hundreds of federal marshals from lower-ranking jobs in states and cities. Jefferson removed all Federalist district attorneys. He felt good about his work on the federal level and was surprised to see that Republicans at lower levels were far more bitter about Federalist officeholders there. Jefferson was deluged with letters from Republicans in cities and even tiny villages in which party members complained that their work was curtailed by the enemy—Federalists still in office. Those men, the Republicans insisted, had to be replaced with people from their own party and right away. These complaints came from both individuals and the media. The New York American Citizen called the remaining Federalists in state and county jobs “culprits” and urged the pre
sident to fire them. “If this should not be the case, for what, in the name of God, have we been contending?” the editor asked.14
This was Jefferson's dilemma. Just as he was opposed to the Federalists running the government without any Republican help, he was opposed to that same practice by his own party, now in power. In theory, a government with all Republicans was politically ideal. In practice, it was not. In the first few months, Jefferson, and Madison at the State Department, fired about 10 percent of the Federalists and replaced others who retired over the next eight years. At the end of two years, about half of the Federalists had been let go. In 1803, 158 of the 316 jobs in Jefferson's control were held by Republicans. The Federalists held onto 132, and 26 independents were awarded the rest. It was nearly an even split in patronage and, when it was done, Jefferson was pleased. Madison, in charge of a much smaller State Department, fired one Federalist, kept seven, and hired Republicans when jobs opened up over the next few years.
Madison had personal problems, though, that took up much of his time. He was the stepfather to a temperamental, impulsive, wasteful, and unambitious son, Payne, whom Dolley loved with her whole heart and soul. The reckless and irresponsible Payne caused endless problems for his parents. Dolley did nothing about them, leaving discipline and guidance to her husband. Payne was a handful. The Madisons sent him off to boarding school, hoping that a strict academic and living environment would help him. It did not, and Madison always fretted about him. Right after his first term as secretary of state ended, he wrote his wife, back at Montpelier for a visit, a veiled letter in which he told her that “Payne is well, and I am endeavoring to keep him in some sort of attention to his books.”15
Payne would be a problem for the Madisons all of their lives. His tempestuous behavior knew no bounds, and he never had any regrets about what he did or whom he hurt. Boarding schools did not help. Life in the White House did not help. Nothing helped. Payne's problems would grow in frequency and seriousness as he aged. He could not maintain relationships with women, had few friends, and fell prey to alcoholism and gambling. He felt no sense of responsibility and never worried about trouble because his mother would always come to the rescue. The Madisons’ problems with their son lasted a lifetime and grew worse.
The secretary of state had become an important cabinet office right away in the first Washington administration. The new American government had to design its foreign-policy goals, pick sides in disputes between countries, fund an army and navy that had to be expanded, and, on many levels, assure the people that the United States could not only defend itself in another war but also prevail if one broke out.
America was seen as a huge and powerful international political player because of its size, its trade, and its trading potential, and because of the universal respect it had earned for its conduct during the revolution. It was not just an extra country on the globe; it was big and it was special. It was unprecedented, too, because of its unique new system of democratic government and officials elected by the people. The United States was, right away, a colossus in world affairs.
Thomas Jefferson had served as an effective first secretary of state during Washington's administration. Washington had taken a bold step in 1793, turning down a plea by France to join it in its war with England, which was rapidly becoming one of the greatest conflicts in European history. Washington issued the “neutrality proclamation,” that stated that while he would like to help out France, in this particular instance he chose not to do so. As a former general, he knew that European wars lasted decades, and he did not want the brand-new United States tied up in a long conflict. Wars were costly and the United States was just getting on its financial feet after the imposition of a new tax system. Great Britain, not France, was America's major trading partner, and to declare war against the British Empire would be harmful to the American economy; it might be crippled for years. He also understood that when you choose one side in a war, you gain the other as your enemy. He did not want that. The president especially did not want England as his enemy. He did not want ten thousand or more young American men pulled into a war far from home, for goals that did not involve the United States.
Washington's refusal to go to war caused great controversy at home, where many Americans favored the French and still hated the British from the revolution. Washington was castigated by many. He held his ground, though, and the uproar subsided and the United States remained free of any foreign involvement.
In his farewell address, Washington again warned Americans against all “foreign entanglements.” Yet, just several years later, the United States was nearly plunged into the French-British war by President John Adams. France had been harassing US merchant ships, so Adams asked the French to cease. They did not. Adams, unwilling to commit the nation to a large war, then sent a small flotilla of frigates to protect American shipping. They became involved in a shooting war with French ships that attacked the merchant ships on the Atlantic Ocean, in the Mediterranean Sea, and in the Caribbean Sea. One battle on the high seas followed another; ships were sunk and men were captured or killed.
Adams, pushed hard by the British to do something against the French, then called up nearly ten thousand troops to form a new army that he might need to send to France to fight the French on their soil. He asked George Washington to come out of retirement to lead the new army; he did. Washington, then sixty-five years old, insisted that his Revolutionary War chief of staff, Alexander Hamilton, be named his top aide to help him run the army. Adams agreed. All of this was quickly termed the Quasi War, a war without a real war. This started a firestorm because Hamilton, the former secretary of the treasury, was a key player in national politics. The controversy amounted to nothing, though, when the Quasi War ended. Adams did not really want to send an army to France, and Napoleon saw no real purpose in fighting skirmishes on the seas with little reward. A peace treaty was signed that pleased most Americans and the French.
The Quasi War had lingering effects, though. It pulled the United States into a small war in defense of foreign-policy goals. It showed the nation, and the world, that the American government had no hesitation to call up a large army and go to war. It showed, too, that the next administration would have its hands full in trying to forge an alliance with its former enemies of Britain and France. America was now suspicious of France. Would the French retaliate for the Quasi War? Would they send ships and troops to their Caribbean holdings, such as the island of Santo Domingo, as a jumping-off point for a war with America? What would England's stand versus the United States be now? How would America view this new, and very large, step into world affairs?
This was the mood of the State Department that Madison inherited. With the president, he had to work with French ministers, British ministers, and others to maintain commerce with both nations and all the other European countries. They had to keep up tenuous relations with both countries and guard themselves against intrusions by each in the Americas. England and France had possessions in the Caribbean; both coveted the port of New Orleans, now in Spain's hands, and the Mississippi River valley. If either gained control of New Orleans, it could bottle up American transportation on the Mississippi and in the Gulf of Mexico, which was not an endearing prospect.
Madison's job was to steer the country through what could be perilous waters in foreign policy that kept changing. Every country's policy changed as new monarchs took over, dictators seized power, and governments fell. Napoleon, especially, had huge goals in Europe and did not hesitate to start wars against other countries to gain them. (Jefferson never trusted Napoleon and as late as 1809 told then president Madison that the French emperor was not a reasonable man. “His policy is so crooked that it eludes conjecture,” he said.16) England had to protect its far-flung world interests within its wide empire. Countries in northern Africa had strengthened themselves to participate in trade with European countries and America. Nations in Central and South America were getting stronger and testing their own
policies with the United States to the north and Europe to the far east. The international political world that Madison stepped into was full of hot rivalries, old feuds, and new troubles. The new secretary of state, who had to lead the country into this very large world in his tiny new offices a block from the White House with just a handful of aides, would have his hands full.
In his first year in office, Madison found himself thrust into the middle of a testy political dispute in the Caribbean. Black political leader Toussaint L'Ouverture had led a successful revolt that ended the institution of slavery there and forced the French forces in Santo Domingo to abandon the island (over twenty thousand troops died from diseases in the conflict). It was a brutal rebellion. A resident there said that there was “murder everywhere” and that victims had “eyes pulled out…others had their eyes and ears cut out,” and that the French fought “tigers and not men.”17
The war sent the Caribbean into panic. The governor of the nearby island of Trinidad, Thomas Picton, declared a national emergency. He said that his island had “imported numbers of slaves from other islands, that operates to increase an evil which already gives cause to serious alarm” and asked US ships to bring food and supplies to his island.18
The United States favored the end of French power on the island but did not favor further slave revolts, fearful that they would set an example for slaves in America. So Madison decided to steer a neutral course concerning Santo Domingo. He established American neutrality there, defended American shipping in the area, and worked to keep the French happy but nervously happy. The real fear Madison had was that France, under the leadership of the aggressive Napoleon, would now move on to a treaty with Spain and somehow wind up with the city of New Orleans. Since the late 1790s, it had been rumored that Spain had ceded New Orleans back to France, but the deal had been kept secret.19 French ownership of land in the American south also raised the specter of Napoleon attacking America from that position and drawing the country into another war. Madison could not know that through an incredible turn of events soon to transpire, the secret deal between Spain and France would lead to the Louisiana Purchase and the doubling of the size of the United States.
James and Dolley Madison Page 14
