1812: The Navy's War (11 page)
Opposition was more of a party matter than a sectional one. To be sure, Federalist strength was centered in New England, but Federalists existed throughout the country, including in Virginia, South Carolina, and Maryland. Only in New England, however, did the party control state governments, as well as finance, shipping, and manufacturing. Republicans were spread across the country as well—even in New England. No area of the United States was completely under the control of either party. While the West and the South generally favored the war and the Northeast opposed it, the surest guide to one’s position was his political party.
In addition to Federalist opposition, members of the president’s own party, like Congressman John Randolph of Roanoke Virginia, spokesman for the Old Republicans or the so-called Quids faction of the Republican Party, also opposed the war. In May, as war approached, the eccentric Randolph appeared on the House floor in hunting garb, complete with boots and spurs, a whip, and a favorite hound. He shouted in his high-pitched voice, “Go to war without money, without men, without a navy! Go to war when we have not the courage, while your lips utter war, to lay war taxes! When your whole courage is exhibited in passing resolutions.”
Randolph insisted that war would endanger the South’s way of life. Citing old fears slaveholders had of war loosening “habits of subordination,” he predicted uprisings that would destroy the easy life plantation masters and their families enjoyed. Randolph declared that as bad as Britain was, Napoleon was much worse. He said that if the French navy dominated the oceans instead of the British, Napoleon would make life hell for the United States. Why, Randolph asked, would Americans associate themselves with a tyrant who was worse than Attila the Hun?
The declaration of war exacerbated the country’s already deep political divisions. Federalists were outraged that the president and his party were committing the country to a de facto alliance with Napoleonic France. They viewed Britain as America’s natural ally. On June 26, eight days after Madison signed the declaration, Federalist governor Caleb Strong of Massachusetts issued a proclamation famously calling for a public fast on July 23 to protest the war resolution “against the nation from which we are descended and which for many generations has been the bulwark of the religion we profess.” Governor Strong wanted, among other things, to allow the vehemently antiwar Massachusetts clergy to rail against Madison’s war from their pulpits. The lower house of the Massachusetts legislature urged citizens to “let the sound of your disapprobation of this war be loud and deep.” Josiah Quincy told his constituents that the war was “an event awful, unexpected, hostile to your interests, menacing to your liberties, and revolting to your feelings.”
A sickening incident in Baltimore demonstrated the degree to which political differences were tearing the country apart. Four days after the war declaration, on June 22, a Republican mob attacked Alexander C. Hanson’s Federalist newspaper, the
Federal Republican
. Readers could depend on Hanson to bitterly oppose Madison no matter what he did, but when the disgruntled publisher heard war had been declared, he was apoplectic. His June 19 issue was so vehement in its denunciation of the president that the next day a Republican mob broke into his newspaper, smashed the printing presses, and destroyed the building, shutting down the paper—they thought for good.
Federal Republican
. Readers could depend on Hanson to bitterly oppose Madison no matter what he did, but when the disgruntled publisher heard war had been declared, he was apoplectic. His June 19 issue was so vehement in its denunciation of the president that the next day a Republican mob broke into his newspaper, smashed the printing presses, and destroyed the building, shutting down the paper—they thought for good.
The fiery Hanson was not so easily silenced, however. With help from his partner, Jacob Wagner, he removed to Georgetown and in five days put out a paper again, distributing it in Baltimore as well as Georgetown and Washington. That was not good enough, though; Hanson was determined to go back to Baltimore and set up his operation again. He asked Revolutionary War heroes General Henry (Light-Horse Harry) Lee and General James Lingan to find a suitable fortresslike edifice in Baltimore where he could set up a new press. He also elicited help from a number of Federalist friends who wanted to defy the Republican mob. In a remarkably short time, Hanson began publishing out of a well-fortified brick building in Baltimore. His first newspaper hit the streets on July 27, and, predictably, he defied the Republican goons by lambasting the president.
That night, a menacing crowd gathered outside Hanson’s building. Inside, two dozen armed supporters waited nervously, and when the mob pressed forward toward them, they fired into the crowd, killing Dr. Thadeus Gale, one of the mob leaders, and wounding several others. In a fury, the Republicans left the scene and procured an artillery piece, whereupon Baltimore’s authorities intervened and persuaded Hanson and his men, including the venerable Lee and Lingan, to move to the protection of the city’s jail. Not to be deterred, a vicious gang of Republicans broke into the jail after the guards had retired for the evening. The frenzied mob attacked the defenseless prisoners, killing General Lingan, bludgeoning Lee (who remained crippled for life) and Hanson, while maiming nine others.
Federalist newspapers throughout the country, but especially in New England, expressed horror. They denounced the Republican massacre, likening it to deadly Jacobin rampages in France. Federalists accused Madison of condoning the violence and predicted he would soon attempt to suppress opinion throughout the country.
Just the opposite was the case, however. The mob’s violence upset the president and most other Republicans, and it no doubt influenced them to be more tolerant of Federalist dissent. Madison had nothing but contempt for the Baltimore miscreants. He had no intention of suppressing political opinion, as the Federalists tried to do when they passed the sedition law during the Quasi-War with France. Madison was determined to allow all opinions to have free rein—even in wartime. Hanson’s
Federal Republican
remained in circulation throughout the war, viciously criticizing Madison with impunity.
Federal Republican
remained in circulation throughout the war, viciously criticizing Madison with impunity.
IRONICALLY, AFTER MADISON finally decided to go to war, the British government unexpectedly changed. On May 11, a man named Bellingham, for reasons wholly imaginary and personal to him, put a bullet through Perceval’s heart as he entered Parliament, killing him instantly. The prime minister was on his way to attend a meeting of a parliamentary committee to urge continued support for the Orders in Council, which had become increasingly unpopular with a growing number of members.
Confusion followed as the British tried to form a new government. The prince regent, who had assumed the duties of monarch from his father George III, who was mentally ill, had trouble finding a leader who was willing and able to fashion a new government. Time passed. Finally, the veteran Lord Liverpool, secretary of state for war and the colonies, a member of the House of Lords, and a loyal Perceval supporter, took on the assignment and on June 8 announced the formation of a new cabinet.
Liverpool believed his tenure as prime minister would be brief, but he was to serve in that stressful post for the next fifteen years. His longevity can be accounted for by his extensive experience in high office before becoming prime minister and for his consistent pragmatism. His political strength derived from an ability to get along with his colleagues and a willingness to adjust his policies to the changing views of Parliament and the country.
When Liverpool took office, war with the United States was becoming more likely, and he moved to head it off. Avoiding a war with America was the one matter that the cabinet and Parliament were agreed on. Liverpool and his colleagues had a high appreciation of the mortal danger Napoleon presented, and they were hearing loud cries to reopen the huge American market from distressed merchants, manufacturers, and workmen. On June 16 Foreign Minister Castlereagh (Liverpool’s leader in the House of Commons) told members that the ministry intended to suspended the Orders in Council, and on June 23 it did.
At last, a British government appeared willing to do what Madison and Jefferson had long hoped—ease its maritime restrictions on the United States. But it was too late; the news did not reach Washington in time. Had it, Madison’s hand might have been stayed. But by the time he learned of the repeal, he had already made the decision for war, and the British had said nothing about impressment, which Madison considered an even greater affront than the Orders in Council.
The president insisted that he had done everything possible to honorably avoid a rupture with Britain. “Arguments and expostulations had been exhausted,” he wrote, and “a positive declaration had been received [from Perceval] that the wrongs provoking [the declaration of war] would not be discontinued.” For Madison, war “could no longer be delayed without breaking down the spirit of the nation, destroying all confidence in itself and in its political institutions . . . [and losing all hope of regaining] our lost rank and respect among independent powers.” If Americans did not fight for their rights on the high seas now, Madison argued, they were “not independent people, but colonists and vassals.”
On the day Congress declared war, Ambassador Foster was chagrined by an event he had long predicted would never happen. He was so rattled he failed to inform the governor-general of Canada, Sir George Prevost, that war had been declared and Canada was threatened with an invasion. (That vital piece of intelligence would have to come from the alert agent for the British North American Company in New York.) Knowing his government did not want a war, Foster hurried to the White House and asked the president for a suspension of hostilities until he could obtain London’s reaction to the declaration. But Madison turned him down.
Unaware the Orders in Council had already been repealed, the ambassador then asked if repealing them and beginning negotiations on impressment would be enough to change the president’s mind. Again, Madison said no. He did not want to forfeit the advantage of immediate military action before the British were ready, when he had no idea if London would change its policies. What’s more, the president’s Canadian invasion depended on a prompt attack.
The following evening Foster attended Dolley Madison’s weekly levee at the White House—as was his habit—and found her and the president shaking hands with guests, congratulating each another on the declaration of war. Foster later claimed that the president was “white as a sheet,” but the
New York Evening Post
, which opposed the war, reported that he was “all life and spirits.” Actually, Madison was deadly serious, neither elated nor afraid. He felt the enormous burden he had taken on, and he was willing to bear it. Foster was understandably bitter that he had misled his government about the president’s willingness to fight, thus playing a not insignificant part in bring the war about.
New York Evening Post
, which opposed the war, reported that he was “all life and spirits.” Actually, Madison was deadly serious, neither elated nor afraid. He felt the enormous burden he had taken on, and he was willing to bear it. Foster was understandably bitter that he had misled his government about the president’s willingness to fight, thus playing a not insignificant part in bring the war about.
A few days later, on June 23, a more realistic basis for a suspension of hostilities appeared when the
National Intelligencer
reported Perceval’s assassination. Believing this presaged dramatic changes in policy, Foster hurried back to the White House and again asked for an armistice until a new cabinet could make its views known. He thought it likely the next ministry would repair relations with the United States.
National Intelligencer
reported Perceval’s assassination. Believing this presaged dramatic changes in policy, Foster hurried back to the White House and again asked for an armistice until a new cabinet could make its views known. He thought it likely the next ministry would repair relations with the United States.
Madison again rejected the idea, however, and Foster was furious. “As our councils appeared likely to become weaker,” he wrote, “the American cabinet felt stronger, and had a disposition to bully. They now insisted on the impressment question as the main point at issue and declared that a modification, or even a repeal of the Orders in Council would not suffice without a final settlement of the questions of impressment and blockade; and, as the Congress were separating, the Government declared they had no power during recess to do more than listen to our proposals.”
Although Madison would not agree to an immediate armistice, he did arrange for the American chargé d’affaires in London, Jonathan Russell, to remain there, and for British legation secretary Anthony Baker to stay in Washington and keep a channel open for negotiations after Ambassador Foster returned home. Madison also agreed to let British packet boats pass freely under a flag of truce. When he made these decisions, he was confident about the pressure of events moving the new British government. Negotiations with the Liverpool ministry were made more difficult, however, by the fact that the experienced American ambassador to Britain, William Pinkney, had left London back in April 1811, and Madison had not replaced him. Pinkney departed because he felt Perceval would never change his hard-line policies toward the United States.
When Foster sailed back to London, he carried with him a ciphered dispatch for Chargé Russell, containing Madison’s terms for ending hostilities. “To render the justice of the war on our part the more conspicuous,” the president explained later, “the reluctance to commence it was followed by the earliest and strongest manifest disposition to arrest its progress. The sword was scarcely out of the scabbard, before the enemy was apprised of the reasonable terms on which it would have been resheathed.”
The president’s terms were: Repeal the Orders in Council; end illegal, or paper, blockades; provide indemnities for spoliations; cease impressment; and dismiss impressed Americans from the Royal Navy. Russell delivered Madison’s message to Castlereagh on August 24.
Russell did not need to point out to Castlereagh the obvious: If Britain did not act now to conciliate the United States, the president would be forced into ever closer relations with France. Russell had no way to divine Napoleon’s thinking, of course. No one did, not even his closest advisors. He kept his own counsel and could change his mind with disturbing rapidity. It was safe to say, however, that Bonaparte was pleased to have Britain and America at each other’s throats. But at the same time, he was unhappy that American food shipments to Wellington’s army in Spain were continuing under British licenses. Madison refused to end them for fear of political repercussions in Pennsylvania and other states, where farmers and shipowners were reaping handsome profits from the trade. It was an election year, after all, and Pennsylvania was critical to the president’s reelection. At Madison’s urging, Congress had enacted a ninety-day embargo on April 4 prohibiting shipments to Britain of all kinds, but an exception was made for grain going to Wellington.
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