The Federalists were delighted with the reaction. Jefferson observed that the ladies of Philadelphia ‘of the first circle are open-mouthed against the murder of a sovereign, and generally speak those sentiments which their more cautious husbands smother.’ Tennant, the French Minister, at length ‘openly hoisted the flag of monarchy by going into deep mourning for his prince,’ and discontinued his visits to Jefferson, who interpreted it as ‘a necessary accompaniment to this pious duty.’ More significant to the keen-eyed politician was the observation that ‘a connection between him and Hamilton seems to be springing up.’[766] Without indecent manifestations of pleasure over the King’s death, Jefferson found some satisfaction with the tendency to render ‘monarchs amenable to punishment like any other criminal.’[767] Madison was quite as unresponsive to pity. ‘If he was a traitor he ought to be punished like any other man,’ he wrote Jefferson.[768] If these clever politicians were not impressed with the cries of commiseration, it was due to their appraisement of the noise. It was the first plausible and safe opportunity for the enemies of French democracy to denounce the movement they despised, and they made the most of it. Even so, for a few days the Hamiltonians were riding the crest of the wave.
Then another sea change.
IV
George III had joined the Coalition of the Kings, and the familiar redcoats were marching with the rest to crush the Revolution, and democracy. Here was something the masses could understand—monarchy against republicanism, autocracy and aristocracy against democracy, kings against people. The plain man of ‘no particular importance’ looked about to see the effect. Yes, the old Tories who had hobnobbed with the British officers while the ragged Continentals walked barefoot through the snows of Valley Forge were partisans of England—against France. The duty of the patriot was clear—France against England. The cry was spontaneous with the masses, and rent the heavens. Even then we owed a debt to Lafayette. Poor imbecile Louis was forgotten, the guillotine faded from the view. ‘Ça Ira!’ Even the children of Philadelphia had learned enough French to sing ‘La Marseillaise,’ and they sang it right lustily even before the windows of the Binghams. Did we not have a treaty with France that we had been glad to sign? Was not our own existence involved in the European struggle now? The Republic of France crushed by the allied monarchs to-day—our turn to-morrow.
And the partisans of England—who were they? The old American Tories, the rich merchants operating on English capital, the crooked speculators fawning on the money-lenders of Europe, the aristocrats kow-towing to the roués of a degenerate nobility in the homes of the moneyed aristocracy, the politicians who excluded the poor man from the polls.
The effect of the English declaration of war was magical. Again the old ‘rabble’ that precipitated the American Revolution poured into the streets, swarmed into the saloons, formed into processions and marched. And why not? England was still our enemy, impressing our seamen, retaining our western posts in defiance of the treaty, playing havoc with our commerce. Were the pioneers on the fringe of the western forests in daily danger of the tomahawk? England was responsible—so most of the argument ran. Now was the time to stand up and be counted—for the two republics or the Coalition of the Kings. Thus the reasoning, and it caught on and flashed and flamed like a conflagration sweeping the sun-parched grass of the plains.
To Hamilton this new burst of frenzied friendship for the French was alarming. Washington was at Mount Vernon. His immediate presence in Philadelphia was imperatively needed. He and he alone could stem the rising tide. It was setting in heavily against the English. On April 8th, Hamilton sat at his desk writing his chief a confirmation of the war between England and France with the sly comment that ‘the whole current of commercial intelligence ... indicates thus far an unexceptionable conduct on the part of the English Government toward the vessels of the United States.’ This, he added, ‘is received here with very great satisfaction as favorable to the continuance of peace ... which may be said to be both universal and ardent.’
As his pen traveled over the paper the ‘rabble’ was shouting for war in the streets, and Jefferson was expressing the hope that the English interference with our vessels would ‘not force us into war.’ If he could only have looked over his rival’s shoulder as he wrote!
Washington hastened back to Philadelphia.