It was evident from the moment Congress convened that a tremendous party struggle was impending. The incidents of the preceding summer had left their scars. The Jeffersonians were embittered against Hamilton because of his anonymous attacks, and nothing could have done more to unsheathe their swords. The truce was over. Washington had permitted Hamilton to continue his attacks by disregarding his request; they would not now permit even Washington to interpose to save Hamilton from their assaults. The elections had given them a confidence they had not had before. The next Congress would not be so subservient to ‘the first lord of the Treasury.’[693] The supercilious assumption of superiority on the part of the Federalist leaders would henceforth be resented. The war would begin in earnest.
The line the attack would take was shown early when Fitzsimons, one of Hamilton’s henchmen in the House, offered a resolution calling for the redemption of so much of the public debt as the Nation had a right to redeem, and asking Hamilton ‘to report a plan for the purpose.’ This was in accordance with the custom which had grown up. From the moment he had taken office, Hamilton had considered the members of the House, constitutionally charged with the duty of framing money bills, as his automatons. He would determine upon the plans himself, prepare the bills, and call upon the House to pass them without too much discussion. He would manage the finances himself and he would not be plagued by foolish questions. For many months the committees to which his measures had been referred had been of his own choosing. They were his followers, and, not a few of them, beneficiaries of his policies.
The Fitzsimons Resolution was instantly challenged by the Jeffersonians as a rather high-handed proposal under a republican form of government, and Madison rose to suggest that the House should know the exact state of the finances before measures were taken for the reduction of the debt. After all, it was with the House, not with the Secretary of the Treasury, that money bills should originate. At any rate, the House could not act intelligently without having the facts in its possession. All too long had it been patient without definite reports.[694]
The feeling of the masses over the by-products of the funding system had by this time become deep-seated. Men who had voted to create the Bank had been made members of the board of directors. The ne’er-do-wells of yesterday were riding in coaches and building pretentious houses. Hamilton was urging bounties or protective duties for manufacturers one day and running over to the Falls of Passaic on the next to assist the directors of a corporation, that was to profit by his recommendations, in selecting the sites for the factories. Not a few honestly believed that he was personally profiting through governmental measures. Almost from the beginning, Senator Maclay had been suspicious of his integrity. This utterly false impression grew out of the positive knowledge that some of Hamilton’s closest political associates were speculating in the securities. ‘Hamilton at the head of the speculators, with all the courtiers, are on one side,’ Maclay wrote in his diary.[695] Only a month before at Mount Vernon, where Washington had begged Jefferson to reconsider his determination to resign, the latter had charged the head of the Treasury with creating ‘a regular system for forming a corps of interested persons who should be steadily at the orders of the Treasury.’[696] In 1790, William Duer retired from Hamilton’s office to become the king of the money-chasers, and, going down to ruin in the financial crash of the preceding summer, was sending out dire threats of startling revelations from the debtors’ prison. Many honest men were quite ready to believe that these threats were aimed at Hamilton.[697] It was under these conditions that a miserable creature by the name of James Reynolds, in prison for a crime against the Treasury, sought to blackmail his way out. He had papers in his possession to prove some financial transactions with Alexander Hamilton. An obscure person of a low order of mentality, he hinted at his use as a dummy in business in which a member of the Cabinet did not care to appear. These facts reached some members of Congress.
II
On December 15th, two sober-faced members of the House and one Senator filed into Hamilton’s office in the Pemberton mansion. The Secretary knew them all and knew two of them as enemies. Frederick Muhlenberg had served as a Speaker in the first House and was to resume that post in the third. A strong character, the recognized leader of the Germans, the foremost American Lutheran minister of his time, he had played a conspicuous part in the Revolution and in the constructive work that followed. Abraham Venable was a Representative from Virginia. The Senator was James Monroe whose fanatical devotion to Jeffersonian ideals and ideas had long since made him the object of Hamilton’s contempt.
As they took seats facing the masterful little man at the desk, they had the manner of judges confronting a victim. None of them were finished in the art of tactful speech. Bluntly they blurted forth their mission—they had evidence of a mysterious connection between the Secretary of the Treasury and James Reynolds. What had Mr. Hamilton to say to that? Even under the least provocative circumstances, Hamilton was quick-tempered, and here was something to arouse the lion in him. For a moment he raged in his resentment. The visitors, a little moved, perhaps, stood their ground. They had papers and the right to an explanation. His fury having consumed itself, Hamilton realized that there was something to explain, and he was ready. Would they meet him at his house that night? They would. The three men rose, bowed, departed.
When they reached the Hamilton home that winter night, they found Oliver Wolcott, the protégé of the host, there before them. In the presence of these enemies it was wise to have one friend as a witness. The visitors were received with the courtly courtesy of which Hamilton was capable, and after they had found chairs about the table, he produced some papers of his own, spreading them out by the candlelight, before him. Then, quite calmly, and with an occasional touch of humor, he made a remarkable confession.
It was the old story of a great man’s weakness. One summer day in 1791 a Mrs. Reynolds had appeared at his home with a pathetic story of her desertion by her husband and a plea for funds to enable her to return to her family in New York. Strangely enough, no description of this adventuress has come down to us, but it is a reasonable presumption that she was comely. The family of Hamilton was in the house. The master was moved. Naturally he would accommodate her, but at the moment he had no money with him. He would take her address and send or bring it in the evening. That night the gods looking down from Olympus might have seen one of their favorite earth-children furtively making his way through the dimly lighted streets, away from the fashionable quarter into the section of cheap boarding-houses. The woman received him in her room. It was the old story of Cæsar and Cleopatra, albeit this was a Cleopatra of the more vulgar sort. ‘After that,’ said Hamilton, ‘I had frequent meetings with her at my own house, Mrs. Hamilton and her children being absent on a visit to her father.’[698] The comedy hurried on. At length he thought to bring it to a termination, and it was then that Mrs. Reynolds proved herself a mistress of her art. She was passionately in love. A separation would break her heart. Here, surely, was a violent attachment—perhaps it would be better to break off gradually. The lover was not lacking in the finer sensibilities, and then, too, his vanity was pleased.[699] With the continuance of the amour, Mrs. Reynolds, simulating a consuming passion, began to flood her innamorato with tender epistles.[700] The climax was on the wing. One day an hysterical note announcing the husband’s discovery of her infidelity, and warning that, if no answer was forthcoming to the letter the Secretary would receive from the irate husband, Mrs. Hamilton would be informed. Would it not be wise to see him? Hamilton thought so and summoned Reynolds to his office. The cunning rascal had his story ready: the wife discovered writing a mysterious letter—a black messenger traced to the Hamilton house—the accused wife on her knees confessing all.[701] After negotiations the heartbroken husband decided that a thousand dollars would salve his wounded honor. ‘And I will leave the town ... and leave her to Yourself to do for her as you think proper,’ he added.[702]
In the midst of these painful revelations, Muhlenberg and Venable declared themselves satisfied, but Hamilton insisted on telling the story to the end. Then followed the most amazing part of the tale. The husband invited his wife’s lover to resume the amour. Hamilton was coy. Mrs. Reynolds added her plea in illiterate, pleading letters. The vanity of Hamilton was likewise persuasive, and the comedy was resumed. When he sought to escape notice by going by the back way, Reynolds was indignant. ‘Am I a person of such a Bad carector [character] that you would not wish to be seen Coming to my house in the front way?’ he wrote.[703] This should have put Hamilton on his guard, but he fell into the trap. A witness had been provided in another blackmailer, Clingman, who had been a clerk in Hamilton’s office, and was an unspeakable scoundrel. Then more money was demanded. Mrs. Reynolds was again alarmed. Her husband was often morose and beat her. At times he threatened to murder Hamilton. Loans were made. This, then, was the nature of the mysterious financial relations with Reynolds.