Quite as problematical as his religious feeling was his attitude toward Washington. It was the policy of the Federalists to capitalize politically the popularity of the man of Mount Vernon, and they succeeded, as we shall find, to a marked degree. Even so, some of Hamilton’s most partial biographers[195] have commented on the absence of any deep affection between the two, and Dr. Hamilton is not convincing with his observation that his ancestor signed his letters to Washington, ‘Very affectionately.’[196] As a matter of fact none of his letters to Washington denote real affection. This would be more impressive, however, but for the singular absence of the note of affection in all his political correspondence. But in one of his letters we find the very opposite of either affection or admiration. This was his letter to General Schuyler on the occasion of Hamilton’s withdrawal from Washington’s military family, and it does not speak well for the reliability of his son’s biography that he deliberately mutilated the letter. It was in this that he wrote that he had found his chief ‘neither remarkable for delicacy or good temper’ and complained of his ‘self love.’ Here we have the confession that ‘for three years past I have felt no friendship for him and have professed none.’[197]
In his letter to Lear, the secretary, when Washington died he probably came perilously near to summing up his attitude in a sentence: ‘I have been much indebted to the kindness of the General, and he was an Aegis very essential to me.’ And then, the significant postscript: ‘In whose hands are his papers gone? Our very confidential situation will not permit this to be a point of indifference to me.’[198]
Such a man was Hamilton, a Colossus, brilliant, fascinating, daring, and audacious—a constructive statesman of the highest order, a genius of the first rank, with all the strength and the weaknesses of genius. Such the man who sat down at the mahogany desk to write the documents that were to give credit to a nation and a programme to a party.
CHAPTER III
HAMILTON IN THE SADDLE
I
THERE was quite enough in the picture of the handsome, penniless Hamilton, at the age of thirty-two, striding upon the national scene with the air of a conqueror to undertake the solution of the problem on which the existence of the young Republic depended, to appeal to the popular imagination. The mystery and romance of his history, the dash in his manner, the shimmer of his genius, interested all and fascinated many of his contemporaries. The audacious gayety with which he faced his task imparted a feeling of confidence to those who did not know, as many did, just what was in his mind. He set to work with an enthusiasm that smacked of inspiration, for it was a task to his taste.
With the startling effect of a magician at his tricks he created the machinery of his complicated department, selected his assistants with discrimination, trained them with meticulous care in their duties, outlined his plans for revenue immediately required, and sat down with joy to the preparation of his ‘Report on the Public Credit,’ which was to proclaim the public faith and establish the Nation’s credit.
The mere presence of this youthful figure at the mahogany desk commanded confidence. Here was a man who was primarily interested in the rights of property, who believed in the sanctity of contracts and had the courage of his convictions. Even as he was writing his ‘Report,’ he loomed large as the man of the hour. His close associates foresaw the nature of his recommendations. The mercantile and financial interests plumed themselves upon a triumph. Within a month after his appointment a contemporary rhymester put in verse the counting-room conception of the man:
’...young Hamilton’s unshaken soul
The wayward hosts of anarchy control—
And while the Senate with his accents rung
A full conviction followed from his tongue.’[199]
His plans, given in confidence to some, were soon whispered among the politicians and the merchants of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, and the market price of public securities in the cities rose fifty per cent two months before Congress convened.