 | CHAPTER IX. John Randolph |  |
CHAPTER IX.
"A NUISANCE AND A CURSE."
Randolph's letters to Nicholson carry on
the story: —
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"Bizarre, 25 March, 1807. . . . I fully intended
to have written to you the day before my departure
from Washington, but was prevented by an accident
which had nearly demolished me. Being very unwell
on Monday night, the 2d, and no carriage to be procured,
I accepted the offer of one of his horses from
Dr. Bibb (successor to Spalding), and we set out together
for Georgetown. Not very far beyond our
old establishment (Sally Dashiell's), the only girth
there was to the saddle gave way, and as it fitted the
horse very badly it came with his rider at once to
the ground. Figure to yourself a man almost bruised
to death, on a dark, cold night, in the heart of the
capital of the United States, out of sight or hearing
of a human habitation, and you will have a tolerably
exact idea of my situation, premising that I was previously
knocked up by our legislative orgies, and some
scrapes that our friend Lloyd led me into. With
Bibb's assistance, however, I mounted the other horse,
and we crept along to Crawford's, where I was seized
left me. To end this Canterbury tale, I did not get
out of bed until Wednesday afternoon, when I left it
to begin a painful journey homewards. Anything,
however, was preferable to remaining within the ten-miles-square
one day longer than I was obliged. . . .
Colonel Burr (quantum mutatus ab illo!) passed by
my door the day before yesterday, under a strong
guard. So I am told, for I did not see him, and
nobody hereabouts is acquainted with his person.
The soldiers escorting him, it seems, indulged his
aversion to be publicly known, and to guard against
inquiry as much as possible he was accoutred in a
shabby suit of homespun, with an old white hat
flapped over his face, the dress in which he was apprehended.
From the description, and indeed the
confession of the commanding officer to one of my
neighbors, I have no doubt it was Burr himself.
His very manner of travelling, although under arrest,
was characteristic of the man, enveloped in mystery."
The arrival of Burr at Richmond led to the
summons of a grand jury, on which Randolph
served. Thus he was brought in contact with
a new object of intense aversion, the famous
General Wilkinson, who, for twenty years, had
played fast and loose with treason, and who, at
the last moment, saved Mr. Jefferson's administration
from a very serious danger by turning
against Burr. Randolph could not think of
the man henceforward with ordinary patience,
the fact that Wilkinson's vices had so much
helped to cover what he believed to be Mr.
Jefferson's blunders.
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"Richmond, 25 June, 1807. . . . Yesterday the
grand jury found bills of treason and misdemeanor
against Burr and Blennerhassett, una voce, and this
day presented Jonathan Dayton, ex-senator, John
Smith of Ohio, Comfort Tyler, Israel Smith of New
York, and Davis Floyd of Indiana, for treason. But
the mammoth of iniquity escaped; not that any man
pretended to think him innocent, but upon certain
wire-drawn distinctions that I will not pester you
with. Wilkinson is the only man that I ever saw
who was from the bark to the very core a villain. . . .
Perhaps you never saw human nature in so degraded
a situation as in the person of Wilkinson before the
grand jury, and yet this man stands on the very summit
and pinnacle of executive favor, whilst James Monroe
is denounced. As for such men as the quids you speak
of, I should hardly think his Majesty would stoop to
such humble quarry, when James Monroe was in
view. Tazewell, who is writing on the other side of
the table, and whom you surely remember, says that
he makes the fifth. The other four you have not
mistaken. My friend, I am standing on the soil of
my native country, divested of every right for which
our fathers bled. Politics have usurped the place of
law, and the scenes of 1798 are again revived. Men
Maxims are now advanced and advocated, which
would almost have staggered the effrontery of Bayard
or the cooler impudence of Chauncy Goodrich, when
we were first acquainted. But enough of this! It
will not be long, I presume, before I shall see you
again. The news of the capture of the Chesapeake
arrived this morning, and I suppose the President
will convene Congress, of course. I have been looking
for something of this sort ever since the change
of ministry and rejection of the treaty was announced.
I have tried to avert from my country a war which I
foresaw must succeed the follies of 1805-6, but I
shall not be the less disposed to withdraw her from
it or carry her through with honor."
The President did not immediately convene
Congress. With great wisdom and forbearance,
accepting the British Minister's disavowal of
the Chesapeake outrage, he waited to hear
from England, only issuing a proclamation to
exclude the British ships of war from our harbors.
Congress was called together for October
26, and Randolph then appeared at Washington
in a temper bad even for him. The northern
democrats controlled everything. Macon was
obliged to decline being a candidate for the
speakership; Varnum of Massachusetts was put
in the chair, and his first act was to appoint
George W. Campbell of Tennessee, "that prince
and Means Committee. Randolph showed his
temper on the very first day by bringing a
charge against Nicholas B. Vanzandt, the regular
candidate for clerk of the House, too suddenly
and positively for contradiction, which
caused Vanzandt to be defeated and disgraced.
The man happened to be a protégé of Mrs.
Madison. That Randolph should have been
beside himself with rage and mortification is
natural enough, for he could no longer doubt
the odium in which he had involved himself
and even his friend Macon, who, dazzled by
his wit and overawed by his will, found himself
isolated and shunned, dropped from the
speakership, and at cross-purposes with his
party. The spell was now at an end, and
Macon, although retaining friendly relations
with Randolph, hastened at this session to draw
away from him in politics, and gave an almost
unqualified support to the administration. Mr.
Jefferson, with his usual dexterity, had already
reduced Randolph's influence in the House by
providing his ally, Nicholson, with a seat on the
bench, and Nicholson probably welcomed this
means of escape from a position which Randolph
had made so uncomfortable. Within a
few weeks more Randolph succeeded in making
himself a mere laughing stock for his enemies.
agree that recovery of his influence was scarcely
possible. The story of this last and fatal eccentricity,
hardly mentioned by his biographers,
merits a place here as further evidence of that
irrationality which made his opinions worthless,
and his political course for ten years to come
little more than a series of wayward impulses.
He had been vehement in regard to the Chesapeake
outrage, and considered Mr. Jefferson's
cautious measures very insufficient. Nicholson
had called his attention to Lord Chatham's
Falkland Island speech, and he wrote from Bizarre,
in reply, as follows, July 21, 1807: —
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"I have indulged myself in reading once more the
speech to which you allude. It is the inspiration of
divine wisdom, and as such I have ever adored it.
But, my good friend, I cannot with you carry my
zeal so far as to turn missionary and teach the gospel
of politics to the heathens of Washington. More
easily might a camel pass through a needle's eye
than one particle of the spirit of Chatham be driven
into that `trembling council,' to whom the destinies
of this degraded country are unhappily confided. . . .
But great God! what can you expect from men
who take Wilkinson to their bosoms, and at the same
time are undermining the characters of Monroe and
Macon, and plotting their downfall! There is but
of the late outrage: that, as soon as the fact was
ascertained, Congress should have been convened, a
strict embargo laid, Erskine [the British Minister]
sent home, our Ministers recalled, and then we might
begin to deliberate on the means of enforcing our
rights and extorting reparation. The Proclamation
(or, as I term it, the apology) is received rather
coldly among us. Many persons express themselves
much mortified at it. Every one I see asks what government
means to do, and I might answer, `What
they have always done; nothing!' . . . I should not
be surprised, however, if the Drone or Humble Bee,
(the Wasp has sailed already) should be dispatched
with two millions (this is our standing first bid) to
purchase Nova Scotia, and then we might go to war
in peace and quiet to ascertain its boundaries."
So soon as Congress met, Randolph hastened
to proclaim these sentiments, with additions of
startling import, rivalling Mr. Crowninshield's
projected triumphs. Not only should Congress
have been immediately convened, and our Ministers
in London, Pinkney and Monroe, recalled,
after requiring full measures of redress, which
were to be sent over by a special envoy; not
only should the nation have been put into a
posture of defence; but, "redress being refused,
instant retaliation should have been taken on
the offending party. I would have invaded Canada
and Nova Scotia, and made a descent on
Nova Scotia as pledges to be retained against a
future pacification, until we had obtained ample
redress for our wrongs." This was soaring on
the wings of Chatham, and indeed it would
have been necessary to soar on some wings,
if Randolph meant to attack Nova Scotia and
Jamaica. Redress was refused; for, although
the British government disavowed the attack
on the Chesapeake, the men were not returned,
but either hanged, or kept in jail for the next
four years. Randolph, however, instead of continuing
to demand redress, or seizing upon Canada
and Nova Scotia, declared that he would
not, without great reluctance, vote money for
the maintenance of "our degraded and disgraced
navy."
A few weeks after this tirade, news arrived
of fresh aggressions from England and France;
the Berlin Decree was to be enforced, and the
Orders in Council were to be issued without delay.
The next day the President sent down a
confidential message asking for an embargo,
and the House went at once into secret session.
What passed there is only partially known, but
it was asserted by Mr. Fisk of Vermont, in
a speech made later in the session, that there
had been a scramble between Randolph and
Crowninshield as to who should have the honor
urged expedition, as he had a bill ready prepared.
Certain it is that Randolph got the
better of Crowninshield, and his resolution ordering
an embargo stands on the secret journal
of the House. A bill for the same purpose just
then came down from the Senate, and Randolph,
after supporting it on December 18 as
the only measure which could promote the national
interests, rose on December 19 to oppose
it as partial, unconstitutional, a new invention,
and he alleged as his strongest objection that
it was expressly aimed at Great Britain. He
voted against it.
This last somersault was more than even
Macon and Nicholson could understand. Nicholson
wrote, in astonishment, to ask what it
meant, and Randolph's reply and defence are
worth reading: —
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"December 24, 1807. . . . Come here, I beseech
you. I will then show you how impossible it was
for me to have voted for the embargo. The circumstances
under which it presented itself were peculiar
and compelled me to oppose it, although otherwise a
favorite measure with me, as you well know. It was,
in fact, to crouch to the insolent mandate of Bonaparte
`that there should be no neutrals;' to subscribe
to that act of perfidy and violence, his decree, at the
and resent it. Non-importation and non-exportation,
— what more can he require? Ought we to
have suffered ourselves to be driven by him out of
the course which, whether right or wrong, our government
had thought proper to pursue towards England?
to be dragooned into measures that in all
human calculation must lead to immediate war? Put
no trust in the newspaper statements. They will
mislead you. But come and view the ground, and I
will abide the issue of your judgment."
To Nicholson, then, Randolph did not plead
the unconstitutionality of the embargo or its bad
influence as a stretch of centralized power. To
announce such a discovery to Nicholson would
have been ridiculous, after both of them had for
two years insisted on an embargo as the wisest
of possible measures. Only the immediate circumstances
excused the vote, the wish not to
act partially against England, the very power
which had just declared war on our commerce,
after having committed that outrage, disavowed
but not yet redressed, which had caused Randolph
only a few weeks before, to urge an attack
upon Canada.
Such a combination of contradictions and inconsistencies
was enough to destroy the weight
of Pitt or Peel; no reputation, least of all one
so indifferent as Randolph's, could stagger under
securing the defeat of Mr. Madison, but to do
so he was now obliged to keep himself in
the background, for fear of hurting Monroe's
chances by coupling them with his own unpopularity.
Just at this moment Monroe reached
America, and Randolph was reduced to see him
by stealth. The same day on which he wrote
to Nicholson to excuse his course about the embargo
he wrote also to Monroe, asking an interview:
—
RANDOLPH TO MONROE.
"December 24, 1807. My dear Sir, — In abstaining
so long from a personal interview with you, I
leave you to judge what violence I have committed
upon my private feelings. Before your arrival, however,
I had determined on the course which I ought
to pursue, and had resolved that no personal gratification
should induce me to hazard your future advancement,
and with it the good of my country, by
any attempt to blend the fate of a proscribed individual
with the destiny which, I trust, awaits you. It is,
nevertheless, of the first consequence to us both that
I should have a speedy opportunity of communing
fully with you. This, perhaps, can be best effected
at my own lodgings, where we shall not be exposed
to observation or interruption. I shall, however,
acquiesce with pleasure in any other arrangement
which may appear more eligible to you.
This coquetry between Monroe and Randolph
continued all winter, while Randolph's friends
were making ready to nominate Monroe for
the presidency. To prevent the nomination of
Madison was no longer possible; all that could
be done was to make independent nominations
of Monroe in Virginia, and of George Clinton
in New York, on the chance of defeating Mr.
Madison, and substituting the stronger of his
two rivals in his place. The Secretary, however,
overbore all opposition. Giles and W.
C. Nicholas managed his canvass in Virginia,
and on January 21, 1808, a large caucus of the
Virginia legislature nominated him for the presidency.
Two days later, at a congressional
caucus called by Senator Bradley of Vermont,
eighty-three senators and members confirmed
the action of Virginia. Macon, Randolph, and
all the "old republicans" held themselves aloof
from both caucuses, but all they could do for
Monroe was to give him a weak independent
nomination.
How far Mr. Monroe made himself a party to
this transaction is not quite clear. There is,
however, no doubt that he was in full sympathy
with the old republicans against Mr. Madison,
and Randolph's letters imply that his sympathy
was more than passive.
RANDOLPH TO MONROE.
"Georgetown, March 9, 1808. . . . A consciousness
of the misconstruction (to your prejudice)
which would be put upon any correspondence between
us has hitherto deterred me from writing. You will
have no difficulty in conceiving my motives in putting
this violence upon my feelings, especially after the
explanation which I gave of them whilst you were
here. The prospect before us is daily brightening.
I mean of the future, which until of late has been
extremely gloomy. As to the present state of things,
it is far beyond my powers to give an adequate description
of it. Mr. W. C. N. begins of late to
make open advances to the federalists, fearing, no
doubt, that the bait of hypocrisy has been seen through
by others. I must again refer you to Mr. Leigh for
full information of what is going on here. The indiscretion
of some of the weaker brethren, whose
intentions, I have no doubt, were good, as you will
have perceived, has given the enemy great advantage
over us."
"Georgetown, March 26, 1808. . . . Among
the events of my public life, and especially those
which have grown out of the last two years, no circumstance
has inspired such keen regret as that which
has begotten the necessity of the reserve between us
to which you allude; not that I have been insensible
to the cogent motives to such a demeanor on both
sides; far from it; I must have been blind not to have
perceived them. They suggested themselves at a very
regulated by them. But there are occasions
in life, and this, with me, was one of them, in which
necessity serves but to embitter instead of resigning
our feelings to her rigid dispensations. I leave you
then to judge with what avidity I shall seize the opportunity
of renewing our intercourse when the causes
which have given birth to its suspension shall have
ceased to exist, since amongst the enjoyments which
life has afforded me there are few, very few, which
I value in comparison with the possession of your
friendship. In a little while I shall quit the political
theatre, probably forever, and I shall carry with me
into retirement none of the surprise and not much of
the regret excited by the blasting effects of ministerial
artifice and power upon my public character, should I
find, as I fear I shall, that they have been enabled to
reach even your own."
The worst trait of these insidious attempts
to poison Monroe's mind was not their insinuations,
but their transparent character of revenge.
Monroe was one tool, and Clinton another;
both equally used by Randolph, not to
forward his own views of public good, but to
pull down Mr. Madison. If there was nothing
in Monroe's character or career which could
lead any sensible man to believe him truer than
Madison to the forgotten traditions of his party,
there was everything in George Clinton's history
to prove that he was a blind agent of the
of New York had been notoriously and
scandalously controlled by his nephew DeWitt,
and the selfishness of DeWitt Clinton was such
that to trust in his hands the fortunes of "old
republicanism" would have been one degree
more ridiculous than to trust them, as Randolph
did twenty years afterwards, to the
tender sympathies of Andrew Jackson. Not
patriotism, but revenge, inspired Randolph's
passion; the impulse to strike down those whom
he chose to hate. As he worked on Monroe's
wounded pride to make of it a weapon against
Madison, so he incited and urged the friends of
Monroe in other States to devote themselves to
the interests of Clinton. Thus he wrote to
Nicholson to stir up Maryland.
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"February 20, 1808. . . . Our friend gains ground
very fast at home. Sullivan, the Governor of Massachusetts,
has declared against M[adiso]n. The republicans
of that great State are divided on the question,
and if Clay be not deceived, who says that
Pennsylvania, Duane non obstante, will be decidedly
for the V[ice] P[resident], the S[ecretary] of S[tate]
has no chance of being elected. Impress this, I pray
you, on our friends. If the V. P.'s interest should
be best, our electors (in case we succeed) will not
hazard everything by a division. If the election
the man."
"March 24, 1808. . . . Lloyd says that the opponents
of Madison in Maryland and in Baltimore particularly
are unnerved; that they are timid, and that
unless the V[ice] P[resident]'s friends exert themselves
all is lost in your State; that if yourself were to
go to Queen Anne's and make known your support of
C[linton] it would decide the Eastern Shore. This
I am certain you will do, as well as everything else
in your power to promote the cause. It is necessary
to speak and to speak out; especially those who justly
possess the public confidence, which you do in a most
eminent degree."
At the same time he was consumed by a
feverish impulse to thrust himself forward in
the House. Thus he lost prestige with every
day that passed. As the session drew to its
close, and his obstructive temper became more
and more evident, Macon wrote to Nicholson
bewailing it, but confessing the impossibility
of controlling him:—
"I am really afraid that our friend R. will injure
himself with the nation in this way. An attempt is
now making, and will, I think, be continued, to impress
on the minds of the people that he speaks with a
view to waste time. If this opinion should prevail, it
will, I fear, injure not only him, but the nation also,
because what injures him in public estimation will injure
the people also. His talents and honesty cannot
cannot be ascertained. But you know him as well as
I do."
This was written on April 14, 1808; the session
closed on the 25th, and on June 1 Macon
wrote again:—
"Madison, I still think, will be the next President.
If the New Yorkers mean to run Clinton in good
earnest, as we country people say, it is time they had
begun. The Madisonians will not lose anything by
neglect or indolence. They may overact their part,
and, in their zeal to keep Randolph down, may make
some lukewarm about Madison. If R. had stuck to
the embargo, he would have been up, in spite of
them."
All the efforts of Randolph and his friends to
defeat Mr. Madison vanished in thin smoke.
When November arrived, there was little or no
opposition; Virginia was solid in his support,
and he received 122 out of 175 electoral votes,
the full strength of his party, except six votes
for Clinton in New York. His first act as President
justified in Randolph's eyes the worst that
had ever been said of him. Allowing himself to
be dragooned by Giles and General Smith into
abandoning Mr. Gallatin, his first choice for
Secretary of State, President Madison nominated
for that office Robert Smith, whose administration
of the navy had been a scandal not
outset the new administration was thrown into
the hands of a selfish faction, which proclaimed
their contempt for old republican principles to
every one who would listen. Gallatin alone,
without courage or hope, tried to persevere in
the old path.
To pursue Randolph's course farther through
the meanderings of his opposition would be
waste of time. He at last convinced himself
that his own party was not less extravagant and
dangerous than those federalists whose doctrines
he had begun by so furiously denouncing. To
discover that one has made so vast a blunder
is fatal to elevation of purpose; under the reaction
of such disappointment, no man can keep
a steady course. The iron entered Randolph's
soul. Now for the first time his habits became
bad, and at intervals, until his death, he drank
to excess. After days or weeks of indulgence,
during which the liquor served only to give him
more vivacity, he seemed suddenly to sink under
it, and remained in a state of prostration until
his system reacted from the abuse. Probably
in consequence of this license his mind showed
signs of breaking down. He was at times distinctly
irrational, though never quite incapable
of self-control. His health began to give way;
his lungs became affected; his digestive organs
it, ran through his system. Nevertheless, he
returned every autumn to Washington, and,
although isolated and powerless, he found a
sort of dismal pleasure in watching the evils
he could no longer prevent or cure.
In abandoning Jefferson, Madison, Giles, W.
C. Nicholas, and the whole band of his old coadjutors,
Randolph had still shown some degree
of shrewdness in trying to retain the respect and
support of Monroe. So long as Monroe, Tazewell,
John Taylor of Caroline, and a few more
respectable Virginians, stood apart from the
administration and professed old republican
principles, Randolph was not quite deserted.
There was always a chance that he and his
friends might come back to power, and there is a
certain historical interest in the quarrel which
at last separated him even from Monroe, and
left him hopeless and desperate.
Mr. Madison's cabinet was from the first a
failure. Gallatin, the Secretary of the Treasury,
stood alone as the representative of old republicanism,
although only on its economical
side, and Gallatin's struggle to prevent the
Treasury from being plundered by factions
under the Smiths and Giles was patient and
prolonged. Two years passed, during which it
was easy to see that Mr. Madison grew steadily
old Vice-President Clinton, and a score of other
personal enemies were straining every nerve to
break him down by driving Gallatin from the
Treasury. In the event of Gallatin's defeat,
as in that of his victory, Randolph might expect
to find himself once more acting with a large
party, and with good hopes of reasonable success.
To wait the crisis and to use it was an
easy task, for he had but to hold his tongue
and to support his friends. Unfortunately he
could do neither.
Some extracts from his letters to Nicholson,
to whom, as a connection of Gallatin's by marriage,
he wrote strongly as the crisis approached,
will best show how deep an interest he felt in
the result.
RANDOLPH TO NICHOLSON.
"Georgetown, February 14, 1811. . . . For
some days past I have been attending the debates in
the Senate. Giles made this morning the most unintelligible
speech on the subject of the Bank of the
U. S. that I ever heard. He spoke upwards of two
hours, seemed never to understand himself (except
upon one commonplace topic, of British influence),
and consequently excited in his hearers no other sentiment
but pity or disgust. But I shall not be surprised
to see him puffed in all the newspapers of a
certain faction. The Senate have rejected the nomination
Court, — 24 to 9. The President is said to have felt
great mortification at this result. The truth seems
to be that he is President de jure only. Who exercises
the office de facto I know not, but it seems
agreed on all hands that there is something behind
the throne greater than the throne itself. I cannot
help differing with you respecting [Gallatin]'s resignation.
If his principal will not support him by his
influence against the cabal in the ministry itself as
well as out of it, a sense of self-respect, it would seem
to me, ought to impel him to retire from a situation
where, with a tremendous responsibility, he is utterly
destitute of power. Our cabinet presents a novel
spectacle in the political world; divided against itself,
and the most deadly animosity raging between its
principal members, what can come of it but confusion,
mischief, and ruin! Macon is quite out of heart. I
am almost indifferent to any possible result. Is this
wisdom or apathy? I fear the latter."
"Since I wrote to you to-night, Stanford has shown
me the last `Aurora,' a paper that I never read; but
I could not refrain, at his instance, from casting my
eyes over some paragraphs relating to the Secretary
of the Treasury. Surely under such circumstances
Mr. G[allatin] can no longer hesitate how to act.
It appears to me that only one course is left to him,
— to go immediately to the President, and to demand
either the dismisal of Mr. [Smith] or his own. No
man can doubt by whom this machinery is put in
motion. There is no longer room to feign ignorance,
I am not through you addressing myself to another.
My knowledge of the interest which you take, not
merely in the welfare of Mr. G., but in that of the
State, induces me to express myself to you on this
subject. I wish you would come up here. There
are more things in this world of intrigue than you
wot of, and I would like to commune with you upon
some of them."
"Georgetown, February 17, 1811. . . . I am
not convinced by your representations respecting
[Gallatin], although they are not without weight.
Surely it would not be difficult to point out to the
President the impossibility of conducting the affairs
of the government with such a counteraction in the
very Cabinet itself, without assuming anything like a
disposition to dictate. Things as they are cannot go
on much longer. The administration are now, in fact,
aground, at the pitch of high tide, and a spring tide,
too. Nothing remains but to lighten the ship, which
a dead calm has hitherto kept from going to pieces.
If the cabal succeed in their present projects, and I
see nothing but promptitude and decision that can
prevent it, the nation is undone. The state of affairs
for some time past has been highly favorable to their
views, which at this very moment are more flattering
than ever. I am satisfied that Mr. G. by a timely resistance
to their schemes might have defeated them
and rendered the whole cabal as impotent as nature
would seem to have intended them to be; for in point
of ability (capacity for intrigue excepted) they are utterly
my friend, that I cannot contemplate the present condition
of the country without the gloomiest presages.
The signs of the times are of the most direful omen.
The system cannot continue, if system it may be
called, and we seem rushing into one general dissolution
of law and morals. Some Didius, I fear, is soon
to become the purchaser of our empire; but in whatever
manner it be effected, everything appears to announce
the coming of a master. Thank God, I have
no children; but I have those who are yet dear to me,
and the thoughts of their being hewers of wood and
drawers of water, or, what is worse, sycophants and
time-servers to the venal and corrupt wretches that
are to be the future masters of this once free and
happy land, fill me with the bitterest indignation.
Would it not almost seem that man cannot be kept
free; that his ignorance, his cupidity, and his baseness
will countervail the effects of the wisest institutions
that disinterested patriotism can plan for his
security and happiness?"
"Richmond, March 10, 1811. . . . I could not
learn, as I passed through Washington, how matters
stood respecting G[allatin] and S[mith]. The general
impression there was that S[mith] would go
out, and that the Department of State would be offered
to Monroe. I do, however, doubt whether
Madison will be able to meet the shock of the `Aurora,'
`Whig,' `Enquirer,' `Boston Patriot,' etc., etc.;
and it is highly probable that, beaten in detail by the
superior activity and vigor of the Smiths, he may
will, in that case, receive the law from them. I know
not why I should think so much on this subject, but
it engrosses my waking and sleeping thoughts."
Now came the long-looked-for revolution
which should have restored Randolph's influence.
Whether or not Gallatin was affected by
these appeals, certain it is that early in the
month of March he resigned his office; that
Mr. Madison declined to accept the resignation,
and worked up his courage to the point of dismissing
Robert Smith, and defying the senatorial
cabal of Giles, Leib, Samuel Smith, and
Vice-President Clinton. On March 20, 1811,
the President wrote to Monroe, offering him the
Department of State, and with it, of course, the
prospect of succession to the throne itself. On
the 23d, Monroe accepted the offer. The "old
republicans" once more saw the Executive
wholly in their hands.
This critical moment, when everything depended
upon harmony, was chosen by Randolph
as the time to quarrel with Monroe, as he had
already quarrelled with Madison and Jefferson.
That the fault was altogether his own is not
to be said, for in truth the immediate fault
was Monroe's. Two years had now elapsed
since Monroe's return home in a sort of disgrace;
he was poor; he was, in real truth, no
Madison himself, and at least it was not he
who had drawn up the Virginia resolutions of
1798; he wanted to get back into office; his
connection with Randolph stood in his way,
and it is probable that he allowed himself to
repudiate this influence somewhat too openly.
In the month of January, 1811, Randolph was
at Richmond, and heard stories to this effect.
A little more tact or less pride would have
made him patient while Monroe was climbing
again up the ladder of office; but patience was
not Randolph's best trait. He immediately
wrote the following letter to the man for whose
character he had all through life felt so profound
reverence and such affectionate respect:
RANDOLPH TO MONROE.
Jan. 14, 1811.
The habits of intimacy which have
existed between us make it, as I conceive, my duty to
inform you that reports are industriously circulated in
this city to your disadvantage. They are to this effect:
That in order to promote your election to the Chief
Magistracy of the Commonwealth you have descended
to unbecoming compliances with the members of the
Assembly, not excepting your bitterest personal enemies;
that you have volunteered explanations to them
of the differences heretofore subsisting between yourself
of the ground which you took after your return
from England, and even of your warmest personal
friends. Upon this, although it is unnecessary for
me to pass a comment, yet it would be disingenuous
to conceal that it has created unpleasant sensations
not in me only, but in others whom I know you
justly ranked as among those most strongly attached
to you. I wished for an opportunity of mentioning
this subject to you, but none offered itself, and I
would not seek one, because, when I cannot afford
assistance to my friends, I will never consent to become
an incumbrance on them. I write in haste, and
therefore abruptly. I keep no copy, and have only
to enjoin on you that this communication is in the
strictest sense of the term confidential, solely for your
own eye.
To this characteristic assault Mr. Monroe
responded as best he could. He sent his son-in-law,
George Hay, to Randolph, and Randolph
refused to talk with him. He wrote to John
Taylor of Caroline, and to Randolph himself.
Randolph's final reply was sent from Washington
precisely at the time of the cabinet crisis,
when Monroe's appointment as Secretary of
State was becoming daily more certain.
RANDOLPH TO MONROE.
I have purposely delayed answering
your letters because you seem to have taken up the
idea that I labored under some excitement (of an
angry nature it is to be presumed from the expressions
employed in your communication to Colonel
Taylor, as well as in that to myself), and I was desirous
that my reply should in appearance as well as in
fact proceed from the calmest and most deliberate exercise
of my judgment.
How my letters in Richmond could excite an unpleasant
feeling in your bosom towards me I am
wholly at a loss to comprehend. Let me beg you to
review them, to reflect for a moment on the circumstances
of the case, and then ask yourself whether I
could or ought to have done otherwise than as I did
in apprising you of the reports injurious to your honor
that were in the mouth of every man of every description
in Richmond. I certainly held no intercourse
with those who were hostile to your election,
but it surely required no power of inspiration to divine
that, when such language was held by your own
supporters, those to whom you were peculiarly obnoxious
would hardly omit to make a handle of it to
injure you. You may well feel assured that no man
would venture to approach me with observations directly
derogating from your character.
Those who spoke to me on the subject generally
mentioned it as a source of real regret and sorrow; a
no encouragement, drew off. But it was impossible
for me to shut my ears or eyes to the passing
scene, and in my hearing the most injurious statements
were made, with which, as well as with the
general impression of all with whom I conversed in
relation to them, I deemed it my duty to acquaint
you; mutatis mutandis, I should have expected a
similar act of friendship on your part.
Ask yourself again, my dear sir, whether your cautious
avoidance, and that of every one near you, of
every sort of communication with me, and of every
mark of accustomed respect and friendship, was not
in itself a change in the relation between us, which
nothing on my part could have given the least occasion
for; and whether I was not authorized to infer,
as well as the public, — in short, whether it was not
intended that the public should infer, — not only that
all political connection, but that all communication,
was at an end between us.
Under these circumstances, is it my conduct or your
own that is likely to put a stop to our old intercourse;
and is it you or I that have a right to complain of the
abandonment of the old ground of relation that existed
between us? Let me add that a passage in your
letter to Col. Taylor (I mean that which was in circulation
at Richmond) respecting the motives of the
minority (with whom you had just disavowed all political
connection whatever) has been deemed by many
of the most intelligent among them as a just cause of
complaint, as furnishing to their persecutors a colorable
unpopular and odious of all the charges that have
been brought against them. We cannot doubt the
sincerity of your impression, but know it to be erroneous,
and feel it to be injurious to us.
And now let me declare to you, which I do with
the utmost sincerity of heart, that during the period
to which you refer I never felt one angry emotion
towards you. Concern for your honor and character
was uppermost in my thoughts. A determination to
adhere to the course of conduct which my own sense
of propriety and duty to myself pointed out had almost
dwindled into a secondary consideration.
Accept my earnest wishes for your prosperity and
happiness. I have long since abandoned all thoughts
of politics except so far as is strictly necessary to the
execution of my legislative duty.
Again I offer you my best wishes.
Thus Randolph bade farewell to another
President that was to be. Three weeks after
this letter was written, Monroe was Secretary
of State, and in a short time it appeared that,
had Randolph not abandoned him, he had certainly
been quite earnest in his intention to
abandon Randolph. No more was heard of
"old republican" principles from Monroe until
many years had elapsed; but within a short
time it appeared that he was ready to accept, if
not to welcome, what Randolph most opposed,
and even a military conscription.
During all these troubles and through all
manner of party feuds, personal quarrels, and
hostile intrigues, in spite of the fact that he
now habitually voted with the federalists, Randolph
succeeded in keeping control of his district
and in securing his reëlection both in 1809
and 1811, when John W. Eppes took up his
residence there with the avowed purpose of
breaking Randolph down. In 1813, however,
his opposition to the war with England proved
too heavy a weight to carry, and Mr. Eppes,
after a sharp contest, defeated him, while the
"Richmond Enquirer" denounced him as "a
nuisance and a curse."
| CHAPTER IX. John Randolph | |