The Forgotten Founding Father- Noah Webster (26 page)

Despite his abhorrence of slavery, Webster feared “total sudden abolition.” To make his case, Webster went back to the demographic data that he had first gathered during his trans-American odyssey. He looked at how the nation’s seven hundred thousand slaves—out of a population of four million—were sprinkled across the country. While the ratio of slaves to free inhabitants in New England was 1 to 190, in the six southern states it was 1 to 2.5. “An attempt to eradicate it [slavery],” Webster concluded, “at a single blow would expose the political body to dissolution.” Decades later, a more conservative Webster would express nothing but contempt for New England’s Abolitionists. In 1837, he wrote to one of his children, “They are absolutely deranged. . . . slavery is a great sin and a great calamity, but it is not our sin.”

As Webster was polishing up his antislavery treatise, his legal career was falling apart. As he later recalled, “In 1793, N. W. found that his professional business, with small emoluments of his office of Notary Public was not adequate to the support of his family. . . . He then began to contemplate a change of business.” Now the thirty-four-year-old father of two—his second daughter, Frances Juliana, was born in February 1793—Webster became frantic; he was willing to consider anything. He thought about running a farm. He was also open to the suggestion, raised by his brother-in-law Dr. Nathaniel Appleton, of taking over the Boston Book Store. On June 24, 1793, he wrote James Greenleaf, who had recently returned from Amsterdam, of his internal deliberations: “All I ask (or ever wished) is business, and whether on a large or small scale I will be satisfied with it. To renounce all my literary pursuits, which are now very congenial with my habits, would not be altogether agreeable; but it would not make me unhappy.” Four years into his marriage, Webster was still willing to give up his beloved words for his wife.

Webster kept Greenleaf abreast of his possible career moves because he figured he could count on his brother-in-law for further financial help. And with good reason. Like a contemporary hedge-fund manager, Greenleaf had vast sums of money under his control. Though Webster wasn’t privy to the details, between 1789 and 1792, the speculator (along with his business partner Watson, then also a director at the new Bank of the United States) had secured from Dutch investors a series of twelve loans totaling $1.3 million—equivalent to roughly $400 million today. And that March, Greenleaf had also been appointed U.S. Consul to Amsterdam. Approaching thirty, Rebecca’s older brother, who would soon abandon his Dutch wife and children, was emerging as an internationally renowned business leader. The five-foot-seven, hundred-forty-pounder with the ruddy complexion cut a dashing figure with his gray eyes and powdered wig. In 1795, the same year that Gilbert Stuart painted Greenleaf’s portrait, Abigail Adams observed, “The girls here, I believe, wish his wife dead. He is sufficiently a favorite wherever he goes.”

As with previous benefactors, Webster was open about the dire nature of his financial situation. In a letter to his brother-in-law dated July 8, 1793, Webster noted that his debts came to a total of $1,815 (roughly $545,000 in today’s dollars). As Webster explained, about half that amount “grew out of the expenses of my education (which contributed to involve my father & finally to ruin him) out of the expenses of my Southern Tour in 1785—& out of the expenses incurred by publishing my Dissertations in 1789.” Another five hundred dollars (which was then a typical annual salary for a lawyer) was owed to other Greenleafs—Rebecca’s father and her older brother Daniel. But the actual amount of Webster’s indebtedness was far greater, since he no longer included in his calculations James Greenleaf’s many loans, which he had initially promised to repay at a hefty interest rate. As an embarrassed Webster concluded, “This is a short statement of my affairs, & nearly correct as I can make it. . . . It is bad enough in all conscience; it is a situation that has made me very unhappy.” While Webster was owed $680 and held a valuable asset—the New York copyright of his speller—he was despondent about getting out of debt anytime soon.

The twelfth child of William and Mary Greenleaf, James Greenleaf (1765-1843) was a year older than Webster’s wife, Rebecca. Without the financial assistance of the well-heeled “brother James,” Webster could not have married and started a family.

Throughout what he called “the hottest summer ever known,” Webster kept thinking about how he could make more money. On July 24, he noted in his diary, “We have squashes from our garden and watermelons in market.”

But a national crisis would again knock Webster out of his doldrums. Edmond Genet, the French ambassador to the United States, was stepping up his efforts to drag America into another war with England. To keep America at peace, George Washington would once again turn to his trusted protégé. And Webster would soon be able to earn a good living by writing a torrent of words on behalf of his country. Nothing could have pleased him more.

E
dmond Genet was very much on Webster’s mind even before the Washington administration came calling.

Since his arrival in April, “Citizen Genet,” as he called himself, had waged a vigorous public relations campaign on behalf of France’s bellicose revolutionary government. Through his fiery speeches, which were widely covered in the press, the ambassador was gaining considerable support among Democratic-Republicans, the party led by Secretary of State Thomas Jefferson. Fearing that another war could cripple America economically, Washington had issued a Proclamation of Neutrality. But Genet remained undeterred. He began outfitting French privateers in American ports. France’s ambitions were vast: It hoped to receive American assistance in wresting Canada from Britain and both Louisiana and Florida from Spain.

In late July 1793, Webster enlisted his colleagues in Hartford’s Common Council to draft a resolution in support of Washington’s stance of neutrality. The letter, which was published in the
Courant
and sent to the president himself, concluded with a personal touch, “we still retain . . . that just gratitude for your services and respectful attachment to your person.” Washington, whom the Republican press had vilified for standing up to Genet—Philip Freneau of Philadelphia’s
National Gazette
kept denouncing him as a “king”—was deeply moved. The president replied immediately, “The address . . . affords a new proof of that characteristic love of order and peace, of that virtuous and enlightened zeal for the publick good, which distinguishes the inhabitants of Connecticut.”

On August 8, a few days after finishing this missive to the president, Webster headed to New York City on a business trip. Though no longer the capital—Philadelphia had housed the federal government since 1790—New York, with a population of some thirty-five thousand, was now America’s biggest city. Having saturated the New England market for his textbooks, Webster was hoping to boost his sales in western states such as New York. But he would soon stumble upon an entirely new publishing venture.

 

 

SINCE HE WAS LEAVING his family behind, Webster chose to travel by land rather than water. While fares were inexpensive, stagecoaches, which typically transported about a dozen passengers sprinkled across three seats, were still no place for women and children; on the rocky and muddy roads, the ride was rarely smooth. To prevent them from toppling over, the cigar-smoking drivers had to yell every now and then, “Now, gentleman, to the right!” and “Now, gentleman, to the left!”

After stopping off at Durham, New Haven and Norwalk, Webster reached Kingsbridge—located in the northern tip of what is today the Bronx—on Sunday the eleventh. The following morning, his coach arrived in New York’s South Street terminal. As Webster walked up toward his lodgings on Maiden Lane—a few houses from where he had stayed shortly after the war—he became rattled by a deafening din. The steamy streets were packed, and rows upon rows of pedestrians were clamoring.

“
Vive La France
,” some intoned. “Down with King Washington,” shouted others. Others were singing the French national anthem, “La Marseillaise,” “
Allons enfants de la patrie. . . .”
And a chorus continued to cry, “
Vive
Ge-net,
Vive
Ge-net,
Vive
Ge-net.”

As Webster couldn’t help but notice, Genet was now also in Manhattan.

Genet had recently sent Washington an angry letter insisting that the president call for a special session of Congress to consider whether to side with the French. In early August, Washington responded by urging the French government to recall Genet.

On August 7, the ambassador sailed from Philadelphia to New York where he hoped to whip up some fervor for the French cause. To combat Washington’s rebuff, he vowed to “appeal directly to the [American] people.” As Webster would later recall, he was then beginning to wonder whether it was Genet—not Washington—who ruled America.

Upon his arrival in the Battery on the eighth, Genet received a warm welcome. An editorial in a leading Republican newspaper observed, “Americans are ready to mingle their most precious blood with yours.” On Genet’s first day in town, some thousand New Yorkers—including Governor George Clinton—joined him as he strode up Broadway toward Wall Street.

Day after day, the crowds came out for Genet.

As Webster reached his Maiden Lane destination—Mr. Bradley’s Inn—on the afternoon of the twelfth, he breathed a sign of relief. He couldn’t stand shouting mobs—and shouting mobs of pro-French Republicans he liked even less.

After he unpacked his bags, Webster heard more animated voices coming from the direction of the inn’s barroom. As he opened the door, he heard several people yelling, “Americans love you.” Webster then did a double-take. Right in front of him was none other than Edmond Genet himself, surrounded by a circle of admirers. As Webster soon realized, his temporary way station was also Genet’s home for the night.

The thirty-year-old Genet was a handsome man with an oval face and a long, thin nose. Curious about the identity of the new guest, Genet asked Webster the reason for his visit to New York. Webster explained that he was an author who was supervising the printing of New York editions of his textbooks. Genet then invited Webster to join him for dinner that evening.

Sitting around Genet’s reserved table a few hours later were a couple of American businessmen, Timothy Phelps from New Haven and a Mr. Haxhall of Petersburgh, as well as Genet’s extensive retinue, including his personal secretary, Monsieur Pascal, and the military leader Captain Jean-Baptiste Bompard. A week earlier, Bompard’s 44-gun
Embuscade
had defeated the British frigate
Boston
in a bloody and closely watched battle off the coast of New Jersey. Though diminutive and elderly, Bompard was a key figure in France’s military offensive in America, which called for taking over British ships in neutral territory.

After dinner, Webster told Genet, “I just heard a report from Boston that the Governor of Massachusetts has taken measures to secure a prize or two which had been sent into that port by a proscribed French privateer.”

Immediately, Monsieur Pascal mumbled,
“Monsieur Washington fait guerre à la nation française”
[Mr. Washington makes war with France]. Pascal thought that he was just talking to Genet and Bompard, who both nodded their assent, and he was surprised that Webster’s French was good enough to pick up what he was saying.

Webster then asked Genet what he was thinking.

“The Executive of the United States,” Genet responded, “is under the influence of British gold.”

An outraged Webster stated, “It would be impossible to subject the independent freemen of the United States to any foreign power. The Executive Officers, President Washington, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Hamilton are no fools.”

Genet, too, became irate, retorting, “Mr. Jefferson is no fool.”
⁴

The two men then began shouting at each other. Losing his cool, Webster called his adversary “a madman” as well as a host of other epithets. As he later confided to his Yale classmate Oliver Wolcott, then an official in the department of treasury, “I cannot with propriety state all I said myself on that occasion.”

The dinner was over, and the men retired to their rooms for the night. Though that would be Webster’s last personal encounter with Genet, verbal sparring with the French ambassador would soon become his day job.

Over the next two weeks, Webster would meet with several key Federalists, including Chief Justice John Jay, New York senator Rufus King and James Watson, then James Greenleaf’s business partner and later also a New York senator. As Webster learned, Washington hoped to loosen Genet’s grip on the American public by starting a Federalist newspaper in New York City. At a dinner at Watson’s home on August 21—the James Watson House still stands at 7 State Street—Webster was offered the job of editor. He told Watson that he was eager to take this position, but that he lacked start-up capital. Watson soon arranged for a group of a dozen influential Federalists, including Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton, to each furnish a hundred and fifty dollars. This five-year loan of eighteen hundred dollars would be interest-free.