THE SECOND ADMINISTRATION
OF
THOMAS JEFFERSON

1805-1809

HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES.

BY
HENRY ADAMS.

Vols. I. and II.—The First Administration of Jefferson. 1801-1805.

Vols. III. and IV.—The Second Administration of Jefferson. 1805-1809.

Vols. V. and VI.—The First Administration of Madison. 1809-1813.

Vols. VII., VIII., and IX.—The Second Administration of Madison. 1813-1817. With an Index to the Entire Work. (In Press.)

HISTORY
OF THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
DURING THE SECOND ADMINISTRATION OF
THOMAS JEFFERSON

By HENRY ADAMS

Vol. II.

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1890

Copyright, 1890
By Charles Scribner’s Sons.

University Press:
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge.

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.

HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES.

CHAPTER I.

June 22, 1807, while Jefferson at Washington was fuming over Chief-Justice Marshall’s subpœna, and while the grand jury at Richmond were on the point of finding their indictment against Burr, an event occurred at sea, off the entrance to Chesapeake Bay, which threw the country into violent excitement, distracting attention from Burr, and putting to a supreme test the theories of Jefferson’s statesmanship.

That the accident which then happened should not have happened long before was matter for wonder, considering the arbitrary character of British naval officers and their small regard for neutral rights. For many years the open encouragement offered to the desertion of British seamen in American ports had caused extreme annoyance to the royal navy; and nowhere had this trouble been more serious than at Norfolk. Early in 1807 a British squadron happened to be lying within the Capes watching for some French frigates which had taken refuge at Annapolis. One or more of these British ships lay occasionally in Hampton Roads, or came to the navy-yard at Gosport for necessary repairs. Desertions were of course numerous; even the American ships-of-war had much difficulty from loss of men,—and March 7 a whole boat’s crew of the British sixteen-gun sloop “Halifax” made off with the jolly-boat and escaped to Norfolk. The commander of the “Halifax” was informed that these men had enlisted in the American frigate “Chesapeake,” then under orders for the Mediterranean. He complained to the British consul and to Captain Decatur, but could get no redress. He met two of the deserters in the streets of Norfolk, and asked them why they did not return. One of them, Jenkin Ratford by name, replied, with abuse and oaths, that he was in the land of liberty and would do as he liked. The British minister at Washington also made complaint that three deserters from the “Melampus” frigate had enlisted on the “Chesapeake.” The Secretary of the Navy ordered an inquiry, which proved that the three men in question, one of whom was a negro, were in fact on board the “Chesapeake,” but that they were native Americans who had been improperly impressed by the “Melampus,” and therefore were not subjects for reclamation by the British government. The nationality was admitted, and so far as these men were concerned the answer was final; but the presence of Jenkin Ratford, an Englishman, on board the “Chesapeake” under the name of Wilson escaped notice.

The admiral in command of the British ships on the North American station was George Cranfield Berkeley, a brother of the Earl of Berkeley. To him, at Halifax, the British officers in Chesapeake Bay reported their grievances; and Admiral Berkeley, without waiting for authority from England, issued the following orders, addressed to all the ships under his command:—

“Whereas many seamen, subjects of his Britannic Majesty, and serving in his ships and vessels as per margin [“Bellona,” “Belleisle,” “Triumph,” “Chichester,” “Halifax,” “Zenobia”], while at anchor in the Chesapeake, deserted and entered on board the United States frigate called the ‘Chesapeake,’ and openly paraded the streets of Norfolk, in sight of their officers, under the American flag, protected by the magistrates of the town and the recruiting officer belonging to the above-mentioned American frigate, which magistrates and naval officer refused giving them up, although demanded by his Britannic Majesty’s consul, as well as the captains of the ships from which the said men had deserted:

“The captains and commanders of his Majesty’s ships and vessels under my command are therefore hereby required and directed, in case of meeting with the American frigate ‘Chesapeake’ at sea, and without the limits of the United States, to show to the captain of her this order, and to require to search his ship for the deserters from the before-mentioned ships, and to proceed and search for the same; and if a similar demand should be made by the American, he is to be permitted to search for any deserters from their service, according to the customs and usage of civilized nations on terms of peace and amity with each other.”

The admiral’s conception of the “customs and usage of civilized nations” did not expressly require the use of force; and any captain or commander who received this circular must at once have asked whether, in case the American captain should refuse to allow a search,—as was certain,—force should be employed. The order, dated June 1, 1807, was sent to Chesapeake Bay by the frigate “Leopard,” commanded by Captain S. P. Humphreys; and since the “Leopard” was the admiral’s flagship, Captain Humphreys was probably acquainted with the meaning of his instructions. The “Leopard” arrived at Lynnhaven on the morning of June 21; and Captain Humphreys reported his arrival and orders to Captain John Erskine Douglas of the “Bellona,” a line-of-battle ship, then lying with the “Melampus” frigate in Lynnhaven Bay, enjoying the hospitality of the American government. Apparently Captain Douglas carried verbal explanations of the order from Captain Humphreys, for he made no attempt to qualify its extremest meaning. The “Leopard” remained twenty-four hours with the “Bellona,” while the two commanders were in consultation. The next morning, June 22, at 4 A.M., the “Leopard” made sail,[1] and two hours later re-anchored a few miles to the eastward, and about three miles north of Cape Henry Lighthouse.

The “Chesapeake,” during the difficulties at Norfolk and afterward, lay in the Eastern Branch at Washington. The inefficiency of the Government in doing those duties which governments had hitherto been created to perform, was shown even more strikingly in the story of the “Chesapeake” than in the conspiracy of Burr. The frigate “Constitution” had sailed for the Mediterranean in August, 1803. The Government knew that her crew were entitled to their discharge, and that the President had no right to withhold it. The country was at peace; no emergency of any kind existed. A single ship of about one thousand tons burden needed to be fitted for sea at a date fixed three years beforehand; yet when the time came and the “Constitution” ought to have reached home, the “Chesapeake” had not so much as begun preparation. Captain James Barron was selected to command her as commodore of the Mediterranean squadron; Captain Charles Gordon—a native of the eastern shore of Maryland, the youngest master-commandant on the list—was appointed as her captain. Both were good officers and seamen; but Gordon received his orders only February 22, and could not take command until May 1,—long after he should have reached Gibraltar. Such was the inefficiency of the navy-yard at Washington that although the Secretary of the Navy had the “Chesapeake” under his eye and was most anxious to fit her out, and although Gordon fretted incessantly, making bitter complaints of delay, the frigate still remained in the mechanics’ hands until the month of May. According to Commodore Barron the Washington navy-yard was more than incompetent.[2] “I have long known,” he claimed to have written, “the perverse disposition of the rulers of that establishment.” Yet he urged Gordon to complete his outfit at Washington, because the Norfolk yard was worse.[3] “I would by no means advise your leaving the navy-yard with any unfinished work and depend on Norfolk. You will experience more difficulty and trouble than you can imagine.” As Burr’s trial showed that the army was honeycombed by incompetence and conspiracy, so Barron’s court-martial proved that nothing in naval administration could be depended upon.

For much of this, Congress and the people were responsible, and they accepted their own feebleness as the necessary consequence of a system which acted through other agencies than force; but much was also due to the Administration and to the President’s instincts, which held him aloof from direct contact with both services. Jefferson did not love the deck of a man-of-war or enjoy the sound of a boatswain’s whistle. The ocean was not his element; and his appetite for knowledge never led him to criticise the management of his frigates or his regiments so long as he could shut his eyes to their shortcomings. Thus while Wilkinson was left at his own pleasure to create or to stifle a rebellion at New Orleans, the crew of the “Constitution” were in a state of mutiny in the Mediterranean, and the officers of the “Chesapeake” were helpless under the control of the navy-yard at Washington.

At length, in the earliest days of June, Gordon dropped down the Potomac. The “Chesapeake” was to carry on this cruise an armament of forty guns,—twenty-eight 18-pounders and twelve 32-pound carronades; but owing to the shoals in the river she took but twelve guns on board at Washington, the rest waiting her arrival at Norfolk. With these twelve guns Gordon tried to fire the customary salute in passing Mount Vernon; and he wrote to the secretary in exasperation at the result of this first experience:[4]—

“Had we been engaged in an active war I should suspect the officers of the yard with having a design on my character; but fortunately Mount Vernon drew our attention to the guns before we could apprehend any danger from an enemy. In the act of saluting that place I was struck with astonishment when the first lieutenant reported to me that neither the sponges nor cartridges would go in the guns. I immediately arrested my gunner; but on his satisfying me that he had received them from the gunner of the yard I released him, and hold Mr. Stevenson responsible.”

The mistakes were easily corrected, and the ship arrived in Hampton Roads without further incident. Commodore Barron, who first came aboard June 6, wrote[5] at once to the secretary, “that from the extreme cleanliness and order in which I found her I am convinced that Captain Gordon and his officers must have used great exertions. Captain Gordon speaks in high terms of his lieutenants. The state of the ship proves the justice of his encomiums.”

Nevertheless much remained to be done, and in spite of the secretary’s urgency the ship was still delayed in Hampton Roads. From June 6 to June 19, notwithstanding bad weather, the whole ship’s company were hard worked. The guns were taken on board and fitted; water was got in; spars and rigging had to be overhauled, and stores for four hundred men on a three-years cruise were shipped. June 19 the guns were all fitted, and the crew could for the first time be assigned to their stations at quarters. According to the custom of the service, the guns were charged with powder and shot. They had no locks, and were fired by the old-fashioned slow-match, or by loggerheads kept in the magazine and heated red-hot in the galley fire whenever need for them arose.

June 19 Captain Gordon considered the ship ready for sea, and wrote to the commodore on shore,[6] “We are unmoored and ready for weighing the first fair wind.” Both Captain Gordon and Commodore Barron were aware that the decks were more or less encumbered, and that the crew had not been exercised at the guns; but they were not warranted in detaining her on that account, especially since the guns could be better exercised at sea, and the ship was already four months behind time. Accordingly, June 21, Commodore Barron came on board, and at four o’clock in the afternoon the “Chesapeake” weighed anchor and stood down the Roads; at six o’clock she came to, dropped anchor, called all hands to quarters, and prepared to start for sea the next morning. From Lynnhaven Bay the “Leopard,” which had arrived from Halifax only a few hours before, could watch every movement of the American frigate.

At a quarter-past seven o’clock on the morning of June 22 the “Chesapeake” got under way with a fair breeze. Her ship’s company numbered three hundred and seventy-five men and boys, all told, but, as was not uncommon in leaving port, much sickness prevailed among the crew, and by the doctor’s order the sick seamen were allowed to lie in the sun and air on the upper deck. The gun-deck between the guns was encumbered with lumber of one sort or another; the cables were not yet stowed away; four of the guns did not fit quite perfectly to their carriages, and needed a few blows with a maul to drive the trunnions home, but this defect escaped the eye; in the magazine the gunner had reported the powder-horns, used in priming the guns, as filled, whereas only five were in fact filled. Otherwise the ship, except for the freshness of her crew, was in fair condition.

At nine o’clock, passing Lynnhaven Bay, the officers on deck noticed the “Bellona” and “Melampus” at anchor. The “Leopard” lay farther out, and the “Bellona” was observed to be signalling. A story had been circulated at Norfolk that the captain of the “Melampus” threatened to take his deserters out of the “Chesapeake;” but rumors of this sort roused so little attention that no one on board the American frigate gave special notice to the British squadron. The “Melampus” lay quietly at anchor. Had Barron been able to read the “Bellona’s” signals he would have suspected nothing, for they contained merely an order to the “Leopard” to weigh and reconnoitre in the southeast by east.[7] The British squadron was in the habit of keeping a cruiser outside to overhaul merchant-vessels; and when the “Leopard” stood out to sea, the officers of the “Chesapeake” naturally supposed that this was her errand.

At noon Cape Henry bore southwest by south, distant one or two miles. The day was fine; but the breeze then shifted to the south-southeast, and began to blow fresh. The change of wind brought the “Leopard” to windward. At about a quarter-past two the “Chesapeake” tacked in shore to wait for the pilot-boat which was to take off the pilot. The “Leopard” tacked also, about a mile distant. At the same time dinner was served at the commodore’s table, and Barron, Gordon, Captain Hall of the marines, Dr. Bullus and his wife sat down to it. Captain Gordon afterward testified that as they were dining Commodore Barron noticed the British frigate through the larboard forward port of the cabin, and made the remark “that her movements appeared suspicious, but she could have nothing to do with us.”[8] Barron positively denied ever having made the remark; but whether he said it or not, nothing more than a passing doubt occurred to him or to any other person on board. Gordon returned to his work; the crew began to stow away the cable; and at a quarter before three o’clock, the pilot-boat nearing, the “Chesapeake” again stood out to sea, the “Leopard” immediately following her tack.

At about half-past three o’clock, both ships being eight or ten miles southeast by east of Cape Henry, the “Leopard” came down before the wind, and rounding to, about half a cable’s length to windward, hailed, and said she had despatches for the commodore. Barron returned the hail and replied, “We will heave to and you can send your boat on board of us.” British ships-of-war on distant stations not infrequently sent despatches by the courtesy of American officers, and such a request implied no hostile purpose. British ships also arrogated a sort of right to the windward; and the “Leopard’s” manœuvre, although one which no commander except an Englishman would naturally have made, roused no peculiar attention. The “Leopard’s” ports were seen to be triced up; but the season was midsummer, the weather was fine and warm, and the frigate was in sight of her anchorage. Doubtless Barron ought not to have allowed a foreign ship-of-war to come alongside without calling his crew to quarters,—such was the general rule of the service; but the condition of the ship made it inconvenient to clear the guns, and the idea of an attack was so extravagant that, as Barron afterward said, he might as well have expected one when at anchor in Hampton Roads. After the event several officers, including Captain Gordon, affirmed that they felt suspicions; but they showed none at the time, and neither Gordon nor any one else suggested, either to the commodore or to each other, that it would be well to order the crew to quarters.

Barron went to his cabin to receive the British officer, whose boat came alongside. At a quarter before four o’clock Lieutenant Meade from the “Leopard” arrived on board, and was shown by Captain Gordon to the commodore’s cabin. He delivered the following note:—

“The captain of his Britannic Majesty’s ship ‘Leopard’ has the honor to enclose the captain of the United States ship ‘Chesapeake’ an order from the Honorable Vice-Admiral Berkeley, commander-in-chief of his Majesty’s ships on the North American station, respecting some deserters from the ships (therein mentioned) under his command, and supposed to be now serving as part of the crew of the ‘Chesapeake.’

“The captain of the ‘Leopard’ will not presume to say anything in addition to what the commander-in-chief has stated, more than to express a hope that every circumstance respecting them may be adjusted in a manner that the harmony subsisting between the two countries may remain undisturbed.”

Having read Captain Humphrey’s note, Commodore Barron took up the enclosed order signed by Admiral Berkeley. This order, as the note mentioned, designated deserters from certain ships. Barron knew that he had on board three deserters from the “Melampus,” and that these three men had been the only deserters officially and regularly demanded by the British minister. His first thought was to look for the “Melampus” in the admiral’s list; and on seeing that Berkeley had omitted it, Barron inferred that his own assurance would satisfy Captain Humphreys, and that the demand of search, being meant as a mere formality, would not be pressed. He explained to the British lieutenant the circumstances relating to the three men from the “Melampus,” and after some consultation with Dr. Bullus, who was going out as consul to the Mediterranean, he wrote to Captain Humphreys the following reply:—

“I know of no such men as you describe. The officers that were on the recruiting service for this ship were particularly instructed by the Government, through me, not to enter any deserters from his Britannic Majesty’s ships, nor do I know of any being here. I am also instructed never to permit the crew of any ship that I command to be mustered by any other but their own officers. It is my disposition to preserve harmony, and I hope this answer to your despatch will prove satisfactory.”

Such an answer to such a demand was little suited to check the energy of a British officer in carrying out his positive orders. If Barron had wished to invite an attack, he could have done nothing more to the purpose than by receiving Berkeley’s orders without a movement of self-defence.

Meanwhile, at a quarter-past four the officer of the deck sent down word that the British frigate had a signal flying. The lieutenant understood it for a signal of recall, as he had been half an hour away, and as soon as the letter could be written he hurried with it to his boat. No sooner had he left the cabin than Barron sent for Gordon and showed him the letters which had passed. Although the commodore hoped that the matter was disposed of, and assumed that Captain Humphreys would give some notice in case of further action, he could not but feel a show of energy to be proper, and he directed Gordon to order the gun-deck to be cleared. Instantly the officers began to prepare the ship for action.

Had the British admiral sent the “Bellona” or some other seventy-four on this ugly errand, Barron’s error would have been less serious; for the captain of a seventy-four would have felt himself strong enough to allow delay. Sending the “Leopard” was arrogance of a kind that the British navy at that time frequently displayed. In 1804, when the Spanish treasure-ships were seized, the bitterest complaint of Spain was not that she had been made the unsuspecting victim of piracy, but that her squadron had been waylaid by one of only equal force, and could not in honor yield without a massacre which cost four ships and three hundred lives, besides the disgrace of submission to an enemy of not superior strength. The “Leopard” did indeed carry fifty-two guns, while the “Chesapeake” on this cruise carried only forty; but the “Chesapeake’s” twelve carronades threw heavier shot than the “Leopard’s” heaviest, and her broadside weighed 444 pounds, while that of the “Leopard” weighed 447. In tonnage the “Chesapeake” was a stronger ship and carried a larger crew than the “Leopard;” and a battle on fair terms would have been no certain victory. That Captain Humphreys felt it necessary to gain and retain every possible advantage was evident from his conduct. He could not afford to run the risk of defeat in such an undertaking; and knowing that the “Chesapeake” needed time to prepare for battle, he felt not strong enough to disregard her power of resistance, as he might have done had he commanded a ship of the line. To carry out his orders with as little loss as possible was his duty; for the consequences, not he but his admiral was to blame. Without a moment of delay, edging nearer, he hailed and cried: “Commodore Barron, you must be aware of the necessity I am under of complying with the orders of my commander-in-chief.”

Hardly more than five minutes passed between the moment when the British officer left Commodore Barron’s cabin and the time when Barron was hailed. To get the ship ready for action required fully half an hour. Barron, after giving the order to clear the guns, had come on deck and was standing in the gangway watching the “Leopard” with rapidly increasing anxiety, as he saw that the tompions were out of her guns and that her crew were evidently at quarters. He instantly repeated the order to prepare for battle, and told Gordon to hurry the men to their stations quietly without drum-beat. Gordon hastened down to the gun-deck with the keys of the magazine; the crew sprang to their quarters as soon as they understood the order. Barron, aware that his only chance was to gain time, remained at the gangway and replied through his trumpet: “I do not hear what you say.” Captain Humphreys repeated his hail, and Barron again replied that he did not understand. The “Leopard” immediately fired a shot across the “Chesapeake’s” bow;[9] a minute later another shot followed; and in two minutes more, at half-past four o’clock, the “Leopard” poured her whole broadside of solid shot and canister, at the distance of one hundred and fifty or two hundred feet, point-blank into the helpless American frigate. Before the gunner of the “Chesapeake” got to his magazine he heard the first gun from the “Leopard;” just as he opened and entered the magazine the “Leopard’s” broadside was fired.

No situation could be more trying to officers and crew than to be thus stationed at their guns without a chance to return a fire. The guns of the “Chesapeake” were loaded, but could not be discharged for want of lighted matches or heated loggerheads; and even if discharged, they could not be reloaded until ammunition should be handed from the magazine. Time was required both to clear the guns and to fire them; but the “Leopard’s” first broadside was thrown just as the crew were beginning to clear the deck. The crew were fresh and untrained; but no complaint was made on this account,—all were willing enough to fight. The confusion was little greater than might have occurred under the same circumstances in the best-drilled crew afloat; and the harshest subsequent scrutiny discovered no want of discipline, except that toward the end a few men left their guns, declaring that they were ready to fight but, not to be shot down like sheep. About the magazine the confusion was greatest, for a crowd of men and boys were clamoring for matches, powder-flasks, and loggerheads, while the gunner and his mates were doing their utmost to pass up what was needed; but in reasonable time all wants could have been supplied. On the upper deck both officers and men behaved well. Barron, though naturally much excited, showed both sense and courage. Standing in the open gangway fully exposed to the “Leopard’s” guns, he was wounded by the first broadside, but remained either there or on the quarter-deck without noticing his wound, while he repeatedly hailed the “Leopard” in the hope of gaining a moment’s time, and sent officer after officer below to hurry the men at the guns. Neither among the officers nor among the crew was courage the resource that failed them. Many of the men on the upper deck exposed themselves unnecessarily to the flying grapeshot by standing on the guns and looking over the hammocks, till Barron ordered them down. Careful subsequent inquiry could detect no lack of gallantry except in the pilot, who when questioned as to the commodore’s behavior had the manliness to confess his alarm,—“I was too bad scared myself to observe him very particularly.”

The British account, which was very exact, said that the “Leopard’s” fire lasted fifteen minutes,—from 4.30 to 4.45 P.M.,—during which time three full broadsides were discharged without return. No one could demand that Commodore Barron should subject his crew and ship to a longer trial when he had no hope of success. The time in which the “Leopard” could have sunk the “Chesapeake” might be a matter of doubt; but in the next battle between similar ships, five years afterward, the “Constitution,” with about the “Leopard’s” armament, totally disabled the “Guerriere” in less than thirty minutes, so that she sank within twenty-four hours,—though at the time of the action a heavy sea was running, and the “Guerriere” fought desperately with her whole broadside of twenty-five guns. June 22, 1807, the sea was calm; the “Leopard” lay quietly within pistol-shot; the “Chesapeake” could not injure her; and if the “Leopard” was as well fought as the “Constitution” she should have done at least equal damage. If she did not succeed, it was not for want of trying. The official survey, taken the next day, showed twenty-two round-shot in the “Chesapeake’s” hull, ten shot-holes in the sails, all three masts badly injured, the rigging much cut by grape, three men killed, eight severely and ten slightly wounded, including Commodore Barron,—which proved that of the seventy or eighty discharges from the “Leopard’s” guns a large proportion took effect.

After enduring this massacre for fifteen minutes, while trying to fire back at least one gun for the honor of the ship, Commodore Barron ordered the flag to be struck. It was hauled down; and as it touched the taffrail one gun was discharged from the gun-deck sending a shot into the “Leopard.” This single gun was fired by the third lieutenant, Allen, by means of a live coal which he brought in his fingers from the galley.

The boats of the “Leopard” then came on board, bringing several British officers, who mustered the ship’s company. They selected the three Americans who had deserted from the “Melampus,” and were therefore not included in Berkeley’s order. Twelve or fifteen others were pointed out as English deserters, but these men were not taken. After a search of the ship, Jenkin Ratford was dragged out of the coal-hole; and this discovery alone saved Captain Humphreys from the blame of committing an outrage not only lawless but purposeless. At about seven o’clock the British officers left the ship, taking with them the three Americans and Jenkin Ratford. Immediately afterward Commodore Barron sent Lieutenant Allen on board the “Leopard” with a brief letter to Captain Humphreys:—

“I consider the frigate ‘Chesapeake’ your prize, and am ready to deliver her to any officer authorized to receive her. By the return of the boat I shall expect your answer.”

The British captain immediately replied as follows:

“Having to the utmost of my power fulfilled the instructions of my commander-in-chief, I have nothing more to desire, and must in consequence proceed to join the remainder of the squadron,—repeating that I am ready to give you every assistance in my power, and do most sincerely deplore that any lives should have been lost in the execution of a service which might have been adjusted more amicably, not only with respect to ourselves but the nations to which we respectively belong.”

At eight o’clock Barron called a council of officers to consider what was best to be done with the ship, and it was unanimously decided to return to the Roads and wait orders. Disgraced, degraded, with officers and crew smarting under a humiliation that was never forgotten or forgiven, the unlucky “Chesapeake” dragged her way back to Norfolk.

There she lay for many months. Barron’s wrong was in the nature of a crime. His brother officers made severe comments on his conduct; and Captain Gordon and some of his fellow-sufferers joined in the cry. One of his harshest critics was Stephen Decatur. Public sentiment required a victim. A court of inquiry which sat at Norfolk in October reported strongly against the commodore. He was charged with neglect of duty, with having failed to prepare his ship for action, with having surrendered prematurely, with having discouraged his men; but beneath all these charges lay an unjust belief in his want of courage. After six months delay, Barron was brought before a court-martial Jan. 4, 1808, and allowed to make his defence.

The court-martial took place at Norfolk, on board the “Chesapeake,”—his own ship, which recalled at every moment his disgrace. The judges were his juniors, with the single exception of Captain John Rodgers, who was president of the court. Among them sat Stephen Decatur,—a brilliant officer, but one who had still to undergo the experience of striking his flag and of hearing the world suspect his surrender to be premature. Decatur held strong opinions against Barron, and not only expressed them strongly, but also notified Barron of them in order that he might, if he pleased, exercise the privilege of challenging. Barron made no objection, and Decatur unwillingly kept his place. In other respects Barron was still more hardly treated by fortune; the first lieutenant of the “Chesapeake” had died in the interval; Dr. Bullus, whose evidence was of the utmost importance, could not appear; Captain Gordon turned against him, and expressed the free opinion that Barron had never meant to resist; Captains Murray, Hull, and Chauncey, on the court of inquiry, had already made a hostile report; and the government prosecutor pressed every charge with a persistency that, as coming from the Department, seemed almost vindictive.

From January 4 to February 8 the court-martial tried charges against Barron, after which it continued until February 22 trying Captain Gordon, Captain Hall of the marines, and William Hook the gunner. The result of this long, searching, and severe investigation was remarkable, for it ended in a very elaborate decision[10] that Barron was blameless in every particular except one. He had not been negligent of his duty; he was not to blame for omitting to call the crew to quarters before he received Captain Humphreys’ letter; he did well in getting the men to quarters secretly without drum-beat; he did not discourage his men; he had shown coolness, reflection, and personal courage under the most trying circumstances; he was right in striking his flag when he did,—but he was wrong in failing to prepare for action instantly on reading Admiral Berkeley’s order; and for this mistake he was condemned to suspension for five years from the service, without pay or emoluments.

Barron had argued that although his judgment on this point proved to be mistaken, it was reasonable, and in accord with his instructions. He produced the orders of the Secretary of the Navy, dated May 15, 1807, written with full knowledge that the deserters from the “Melampus” had been claimed by the British minister, and that a British squadron was lying in Chesapeake Bay. “Our interest as well as good faith requires,” said the secretary, “... that we should cautiously avoid whatever may have a tendency to bring us into collision with any other Power.” Barron urged that if he had given the order to prepare for battle as required by the court-martial, he must have detained by force the British lieutenant and his boat’s crew, which would have had a direct “tendency to bring us into collision,” or he must have let them go, which would have hurried the collision. He said that he had tried to gain time by keeping the appearances of confidence and good-will. He admitted that he had failed, but claimed that the failure was due to no fault which could have been corrected at that moment by those means.

The defence was open to criticism, especially because Barron himself could claim to have made no use of the time he gained. Yet perhaps, on the whole, the court-martial might have done better to punish Barron for his want of caution in permitting the British frigate to approach. This was his first error, which could not be retrieved; and Barron could hardly have complained of his punishment, even though every officer in the service knew that the rule of going to quarters in such cases was seldom strictly observed. The President and the Secretary of the Navy could alone say whether Barron had understood their orders correctly, and whether his plea, founded on the secretary’s instructions, was sound. In the light of Jefferson’s diplomacy, Barron’s course accorded with his instructions; and perhaps, had the President claimed his own share in the “Chesapeake’s” disaster, he would have refused to degrade a faithful, able, and gallant seaman for obeying the spirit and letter of his orders. Unfortunately such an interference would have ruined the navy; and so it happened that what Jefferson had so long foreseen took place. He had maintained that the frigates were a mere invitation to attack; that they created the dangers they were built to resist, and tempted the aggressions of Great Britain, which would, but for these ships, find no object to covet; and when the prediction turned true, he was still obliged to maintain the character of the service. He approved the sentence of the court-martial.

So far as the service was concerned, Barron’s punishment was not likely to stimulate its caution, for no American captain, unless he wished to be hung by his own crew at his own yard-arm, was likely ever again to let a British frigate come within gunshot without taking such precautions as he would have taken against a pirate; but though the degradation could do little for the service, it cost Barron his honor, and ended by costing Decatur his life.

Meanwhile, Captain Humphreys reported to Captain Douglas on the “Bellona,” and Captain Douglas reported the whole affair to Admiral Berkeley at Halifax, who received at the same time accounts from American sources. The admiral immediately wrote to approve the manner in which his orders had been carried out. “As far as I am enabled to judge,” he said[11] in a letter to Captain Humphreys, dated July 4, “you have conducted yourself most properly.” The inevitable touch of unconscious comedy was not wanting in the British admiral, whose character recalled Smollett’s novels and memories of Commodore Hawser Trunnion. “I hope you mind the public accounts which have been published of this affair as little as I do,” he continued; “we must make allowances for the heated state of the populace in a country where law and every tie, both civil and religious, is treated so lightly.” No broader humor could be found in “Peregrine Pickle” than in one breath to approve an act so lawless that no man of common-sense even in England ventured to defend it as lawful, and in the next to read the Americans a moral lecture on their want of law and religion; yet grotesque as this old-fashioned naval morality might be, no man in England noticed either its humor or its absurdity.

As though to show that he meant no humor by it, the admiral, August 25, called a court-martial, which the next day sentenced Jenkin Ratford to be hanged, and the three American deserters from the “Melampus” to receive five hundred lashes each. The last part of the sentence was not carried out, and the three Americans remained quietly in prison; but August 31, Jenkin Ratford was duly hanged from the foreyard-arm of his own ship, the “Halifax.”

FOOTNOTES:

[1] James’s Naval History, iv. 329.

[2] Barron’s Court-martial, p. 241.

[3] Barron to Gordon, May 1, 1807; Court-martial, p. 239.

[4] Captain Gordon to the Secretary of the Navy, June 22, 1807; Court-martial, p. 259.

[5] Barron to the Secretary of the Navy, June 6, 1807; Court-martial, p. 371.

[6] Gordon to Barron, June 19, 1807, p. 367.

[7] James’s Naval History, iv. 329.

[8] Court-martial, p. 101.

[9] James’s Naval History, iv. 330.

[10] Court-martial, pp. 337-350.

[11] Marshall’s Naval Biography, iv. 895.

CHAPTER II.

For the first time in their history the people of the United States learned, in June, 1807, the feeling of a true national emotion. Hitherto every public passion had been more or less partial and one-sided; even the death of Washington had been ostentatiously mourned in the interests and to the profit of party: but the outrage committed on the “Chesapeake” stung through hide-bound prejudices, and made democrat and aristocrat writhe alike. The brand seethed and hissed like the glowing olive-stake of Ulysses in the Cyclops’ eye, until the whole American people, like Cyclops, roared with pain and stood frantic on the shore, hurling abuse at their enemy, who taunted them from his safe ships. The mob at Norfolk, furious at the sight of their dead and wounded comrades from the “Chesapeake,” ran riot, and in the want of a better object of attack destroyed the water-casks of the British squadron. July 29 the town forbade communication with the ships in Lynnhaven Bay, which caused Captain Douglas to write to the Mayor of Norfolk a letter much in the tone of Admiral Berkeley.

“You must be perfectly aware,” said he, “that the British flag never has been, nor will be, insulted with impunity. You must also be aware that it has been, and still is, in my power to obstruct the whole trade of the Chesapeake since the late circumstance; which I desisted from, trusting that general unanimity would be restored.... Agreeably to my intentions, I have proceeded to Hampton Roads, with the squadron under my command, to await your answer, which I trust you will favor me with without delay.”

He demanded that the prohibition of intercourse should be “immediately annulled.” The Mayor sent Littleton Tazewell to carry an answer to this warlike demand from the “Bellona,” and Tazewell was somewhat surprised to find Captain Douglas highly conciliatory, and unable to see what the people of Norfolk could have found in his letter which could be regarded as “menacing;” but meanwhile all Virginia was aroused, an attack on Norfolk was generally expected, the coast was patrolled by an armed force, and the British men-of-war were threatened by mounted militia.

In the Northern States the feeling was little less violent. Public meetings were everywhere held. At New York, July 2, the citizens, at a meeting over which De Witt Clinton presided, denounced “the dastardly and unprovoked attack” on the “Chesapeake,” and pledged themselves to support the government “in whatever measures it may deem necessary to adopt in the present crisis of affairs.” At Boston, where the town government was wholly Federalist, a moment of hesitation occurred.[12] The principal Federalists consulted with each other, and decided not to call a town-meeting. July 10 an informal meeting was called by the Republicans, over which Elbridge Gerry presided, and which Senator J. Q. Adams alone among the prominent Federalists attended. There also a resolution was adopted, pledging cheerful co-operation “in any measures, however serious,” which the Administration might deem necessary for the safety and honor of the country. In a few days public opinion compelled the Federalists to change their tone. A town-meeting was held at Faneuil Hall July 16, and Senator Adams again reported resolutions, which were unanimously adopted, pledging effectual support to the government. Yet the Essex Junto held aloof; neither George Cabot, Theophilus Parsons, nor Timothy Pickering would take part in such proceedings, and the Federalist newspaper which was supposed to represent their opinions went so far as to assert that Admiral Berkeley’s doctrine was correct, and that British men-of-war had a right to take deserters from the national vessels of the United States. In private, this opinion was hotly maintained; in public, its expression was generally thought unwise in face of popular excitement.

President Jefferson was at Washington June 25, the day when news of the outrage arrived; but his Cabinet was widely scattered, and some time passed before its members could be reassembled. Gallatin was last to arrive; but July 2, at a full meeting, the President read the draft of a proclamation, which was approved, and the proclamation issued on the same day. It rehearsed the story of American injuries and forbearance, and of British aggressions upon neutral rights; and so moderate was its tone as to convey rather the idea of deprecation than of anger:—

“Hospitality under such circumstances ceases to be a duty; and a continuance of it, with such uncontrolled abuses, would tend only, by multiplying injuries and irritations, to bring on a rupture between the two nations. This extreme resort is equally opposed to the interests of both, as it is to assurances of the most friendly dispositions on the part of the British government, in the midst of which this outrage has been committed. In this light the subject cannot but present itself to that government, and strengthen the motives to an honorable reparation of the wrong which has been done, and to that effectual control of its naval commanders which alone can justify the government of the United States in the exercise of those hospitalities it is now constrained to discontinue.”

With this preamble the proclamation required all armed vessels of Great Britain to depart from American waters; and in case of their failing to do so, the President forbade intercourse with them, and prohibited supplies to be furnished them.

At the same Cabinet meeting, according to Jefferson’s memoranda,[13] other measures were taken. The gunboats were ordered to points where attack might be feared. The President was to “recall all our vessels from the Mediterranean, by a vessel to be sent express, and send the ‘Revenge’ to England with despatches to our minister demanding satisfaction for the attack on the ‘Chesapeake;’ in which must be included—(1) a disavowal of the act and of the principle of searching a public armed vessel; (2) a restoration of the men taken; (3) a recall of Admiral Berkeley. Communicate the incident which has happened to Russia.” Two days afterward, at another Cabinet meeting, it was “agreed that a call of Congress shall issue the fourth Monday of August (24), to meet the fourth Monday in October (26), unless new occurrences should render an earlier call necessary. Robert Smith wished an earlier call.” He was not alone in this wish. Gallatin wrote privately to his wife that he wanted an immediate call, and that the chief objection to it, which would not be openly avowed, was the unhealthiness of Washington city.[14]

The news of Captain Douglas’s threatening conduct and language at Norfolk produced further measures. July 5 “it was agreed to call on the governors of the States to have their quotas of one hundred thousand militia in readiness. The object is to have the portions on the sea-coast ready for any emergency; and for those in the North we may look to a winter expedition against Canada.” July 7 it was “agreed to desire the Governor of Virginia to order such portion of militia into actual service as may be necessary for defence of Norfolk and of the gunboats at Hampton and in Matthews County.” Little by little Jefferson was drawn into preparations for actual war.

Even among earnest Republicans the tone of Jefferson’s proclamation and the character of his measures were at first denounced as tame. John Randolph called the proclamation an “apology;” Joseph Nicholson wrote to Gallatin a remonstrance.

“But one feeling pervades the nation,” said he;[15] “all distinctions of Federalism and Democracy are vanished. The people are ready to submit to any deprivation; and if we withdraw ourselves within our own shell, and turn loose some thousands of privateers, we shall obtain in a little time an absolute renunciation of the right of search for the purposes of impressment. A parley will prove fatal; for the merchants will begin to calculate. They rule us, and we should take them before their resentment is superseded by considerations of profit and loss. I trust in God the ‘Revenge’ is going out to bring Monroe and Pinkney home.”

Gallatin, who had hitherto thrown all his influence on the side of peace, was then devoting all his energies to provision for war. He answered Nicholson that the tone of Government, though he thought it correct, was of little consequence, for in any case the result would be the same; he was confident that England would give neither satisfaction nor security.[16]

“I will, however, acknowledge that on that particular point I have not bestowed much thought; for having considered from the first moment war was a necessary result, and the preliminaries appearing to me but matters of form, my faculties have been exclusively applied to the preparations necessary to meet the times. And although I am not very sanguine as to the brilliancy of our exploits, the field where we can act without a navy being very limited, and perfectly aware that a war, in a great degree passive, and consisting of privations, will become very irksome to the people, I feel no apprehension of the immediate result. We will be poorer both as a nation and as a government, our debt and taxes will increase, and our progress in every respect be interrupted; but all those evils are not only not to be put in competition with the independence and honor of the nation, they are moreover temporary, and a very few years of peace will obliterate their effects. Nor do I know whether the awakening of nobler feelings and habits than avarice and luxury might not be necessary to prevent our degenerating, like the Hollanders, into a nation of mere calculators.”

Jefferson followed without protest the impulse toward war; but his leading thought was to avoid it. Peace was still his passion, and his scheme of peaceful coercion had not yet been tried. Even while the nation was aflame with warlike enthusiasm, his own mind always reverted to another thought. The tone of the proclamation showed it; his unwillingness to call Congress proved it; his letters dwelt upon it.

“We have acted on these principles,” he wrote in regard to England,[17]—“(1) to give that Government an opportunity to disavow and make reparation; (2) to give ourselves time to get in the vessels, property, and seamen now spread over the ocean; (3) to do no act which might compromit Congress in their choice between war, non-intercourse, or any other measure.”

To Vice-President Clinton he wrote,[18] that since the power of declaring war was with the Legislature, the Executive should do nothing necessarily committing them to decide for war in preference to non-intercourse, “which will be preferred by a great many.” Every letter[19] written by the President during the crisis contained some allusion to non-intercourse, which he still called the “peaceable means of repressing injustice, by making it the interest of the aggressor to do what is just, and abstain from future wrong.” As the war fever grew stronger he talked more boldly about hostilities, and became silent about non-intercourse;[20] but the delay in calling Congress was certain to work as he wished, and to prevent a committal to the policy of war.

To no one was this working of Jefferson’s mind more evident than to General Turreau, whose keen eyes made the President uneasy under the sense of being watched and criticised. Turreau, who had left Washington for the summer, hurried back on hearing of the “Chesapeake” disaster. On arriving, he went the same evening to the White House, “where there had been a dinner of twenty covers, composed, they say, of new friends of the Government, to whom Mr. Madison had given a first representation two days before. Indeed, I knew none of the guests except the Ambassador of England and his secretary of legation. The President received me even better than usual, but left me, presently, to follow with the British minister a conversation that my entrance had interrupted.”[21]

Then came a touch of nature which Turreau thought strikingly characteristic. No strong power of imagination is needed to see the White House parlor, on the warm summer night, with Jefferson, as Senator Maclay described him, sitting in a lounging manner on one hip, with his loose, long figure, and his clothes that seemed too small for him, talking, without a break, in his rambling, disjointed way, showing deep excitement under an affectation of coolness, and at every word and look betraying himself to the prying eyes of Talleyrand’s suspicious agent. What Jefferson said, and how he said it, can be told only in Turreau’s version; but perhaps the few words used by the prejudiced Frenchman gave a clearer idea of American politics than could be got from all other sources together:—

“This conversation with the British minister having been brought to an end, Mr. Jefferson came and sat down by my side; and after all the American guests had successively retired, Mr. Erskine, who had held out longest,—in the hope, perhaps, that I should quit the ground,—went away also. The President spoke to me about the ‘Chesapeake’ affair, and said: ‘If the English do not give us the satisfaction we demand, we will take Canada, which wants to enter the Union; and when, together with Canada, we shall have the Floridas, we shall no longer have any difficulties with our neighbors; and it is the only way of preventing them. I expected that the Emperor would return sooner to Paris,—and then this affair of the Floridas would be ended.’ Then, changing the subject, he asked me what were the means to employ in order to be able to defend the American harbors and coasts. I answered that the choice of means depended on local conditions, and that his officers, after an exact reconnoissance, ought to pronounce on the application of suitable means of defence.—‘We have no officers!’—He treated twenty-seven different subjects in a conversation of half an hour; and as he showed, as usual, no sort of distrust, this conversation of fits and starts (à bâtons rompus) makes me infer that the event would embarrass him much,—and Mr. Madison seemed to me to share this embarrassment.... Once for all, whatever may be the disposition of mind here, though every one is lashing himself (se batte les flancs) to take a warlike attitude, I can assure your Highness that the President does not want war, and that Mr. Madison dreads it still more. I am convinced that these two personages will do everything that is possible to avoid it, and that if Congress, which will be called together only when an answer shall have arrived from England, should think itself bound, as organ of public opinion, to determine on war, its intention will be crossed by powerful intrigues, because the actual Administration has nothing to gain and everything to lose by war.”

Turreau was not the only observer who saw beneath the surface of American politics. The young British minister, Erskine, who enlivened his despatches by no such lightness of touch as was usual with his French colleague, wrote to the new Foreign Secretary of England, George Canning, only brief and dry accounts of the situation at Washington, but showed almost a flash of genius in the far-reaching policy he struck out.

“The ferment in the public mind,” he wrote July 21,[22] “has not yet subsided, and I am confirmed in the opinion ... that this country will engage in war rather than submit to their national armed ships being forcibly searched on the high seas.... Should his Majesty think fit to cause an apology to be offered to these States on account of the attack of his Majesty’s ship ‘Leopard’ on the United States frigate ‘Chesapeake,’ it would have the most powerful effect not only on the minds of the people of this country, but would render it impossible for the Congress to bring on a war upon the other points of difference between his Majesty and the United States at present under discussion.”

A single blow, however violent, could not weld a nation. Every one saw that the very violence of temper which made the month of July, 1807, a moment without a parallel in American history since the battle of Lexington, would be followed by a long reaction of doubt and discord. If the President, the Secretary of State, and great numbers of their stanchest friends hesitated to fight when a foreign nation, after robbing their commerce, fired into their ships of war, and slaughtered or carried off their fellow-citizens,—if they preferred “peaceable means of repressing injustice” at the moment when every nerve would naturally have been strung to recklessness with the impulse to strike back,—it was in the highest degree unlikely that they would be more earnest for war when time had deadened the sense of wrong. Neither England, France, nor Spain could fail to see that the moment when aggression ceased to be safe had not yet arrived.

The people were deeply excited, commerce for the moment was paralyzed, no merchant dared send out a ship, and the country resounded with cries of war when the “Revenge” sailed, bearing instructions to Monroe to demand reparation from the British government. These instructions, dated July 6, 1807, were framed in the spirit which seemed to characterize Madison’s diplomatic acts. Specific redress for a specific wrong appeared an easy demand. That the attack on the “Chesapeake” should be disavowed; that the men who had been seized should be restored; that punctilious exactness of form should mark the apology and retribution,—was matter of course; but that this special outrage, which stood on special ground, should be kept apart, and that its atonement should precede the consideration of every other disputed point, was the natural method of dealing with it if either party was serious in wishing for peace. Such a wound, left open to fester and smart, was certain to make war in the end inevitable. Both the President and Madison wanted peace; yet their instructions to Monroe made a settlement of the “Chesapeake” outrage impracticable by binding it to a settlement of the wider dispute as to impressments from merchant vessels.

“As a security for the future,” wrote Madison,[23] “an entire abolition of impressments from vessels under the flag of the United States, if not already arranged, is also to make an indispensable part of the satisfaction.”

Among the many impossibilities which had been required of Monroe during the last four years, this was one of the plainest. The demand was preliminary, in ordinary diplomatic usage, to a declaration of war; and nothing in Jefferson’s Presidency was more surprising than that he should have thought such a policy of accumulating unsettled causes for war consistent with his policy of peace.

While the “Revenge” was slowly working across the Atlantic, Monroe in London was exposed to the full rigor of the fresh storm. News of the “Chesapeake” affair reached London July 25; and before it could become public Canning wrote to Monroe a private note,[24] cautiously worded, announcing that a “transaction” had taken place “off the coast of America,” the particulars of which he was not at present enabled to communicate, and was anxious to receive from Monroe:—

“But whatever the real merits and character of the transaction may turn out to be, Mr. Canning could not forbear expressing without delay the sincere concern and sorrow which he feels at its unfortunate result, and assuring the American minister, both from himself and on the behalf of his Majesty’s government, that if the British officers should prove to have been culpable, the most prompt and effectual reparation shall be afforded to the government of the United States.”

When on Monday morning, July 27, Monroe read in the newspapers the account of what had taken place, and realized that Canning, while giving out that he knew not the particulars, must have had Admiral Berkeley’s official report within his reach if not on his table, the American minister could not but feel that the British secretary might have spoken with more frankness. In truth ministers were waiting to consult the law, and to learn whether Berkeley could be sustained. The extreme Tories, who wanted a quarrel with the United States; the reckless, who were delighted with every act of violence, which they called energy; the mountebanks, represented by Cobbett, who talked at random according to personal prejudices,—all approved Berkeley’s conduct. The Ministry, not yet accustomed to office, and disposed to assert the power they held, could not easily reconcile themselves to disavowing a British admiral whose popular support came from the ranks of their own party. Seeing this, Monroe became more and more alarmed.

The tone of the press was extravagant enough to warrant despair. July 27 the “Morning Post,” which was apt to draw its inspiration from the Foreign Office, contained a diatribe on the “Chesapeake” affair.

“America,” it said, “is not contented with striking at the very vitals of our commercial existence; she must also, by humbling our naval greatness and disputing our supremacy, not only lessen us in our own estimation, but degrade us in the eyes of Europe and of the world.... It will never be permitted to be said that the ‘Royal Sovereign’ has struck her flag to a Yankee cockboat.”

In the whole press of England, the “Morning Chronicle” alone deprecated an American war or blamed Berkeley’s act; and the “Morning Chronicle” was the organ of opposition.

Monroe waited two days, and heard no more from Canning. July 29, by a previous appointment, he went to the Foreign Office on other business.[25] He found the Foreign Secretary still reticent, admitting or yielding nothing, but willing to satisfy the American government that Berkeley’s order had not been the result of instructions from the Tory ministry. Monroe said he would send a note on the subject, and Canning acquiesced. Monroe on the same day sent his letter, which called attention to the outrage that had been committed and to its unjustifiable nature, expressing at the same time full confidence that the British government would at once disavow and punish the offending officer. The tone of the note, though strong, was excellent, but on one point did not quite accord with the instructions on their way from Washington.

“I might state,” said Monroe, “other examples of great indignity and outrage, many of which are of recent date; ... but it is improper to mingle them with the present more serious cause of complaint.”

Monday, August 3, Canning sent a brief reply. Since Monroe’s complaint was not founded on official knowledge, said Canning, the King’s government was not bound to do more than to express readiness to make reparation if such reparation should prove to be due:[26]—

“Of the existence of such a disposition on the part of the British government you, sir, cannot be ignorant. I have already assured you of it, though in an unofficial form, by the letter which I addressed to you on the first receipt of the intelligence of this unfortunate transaction; and I may perhaps be permitted to express my surprise, after such an assurance, at the tone of that representation which I have just had the honor to receive from you. But the earnest desire of his Majesty to evince in the most satisfactory manner the principles of justice and moderation by which he is uniformly actuated, has not permitted him to hesitate in commanding me to assure you that his Majesty neither does nor has at any time maintained the pretension of a right to search ships of war in the national service of any State for deserters.”

If it should prove that Berkeley’s order rested on no other ground than the simple and unqualified pretension to such a right, the King had no difficulty in disavowing it, and would have none in showing his displeasure at it.

Although Monroe thought this reply to be “addressed in rather a harsh tone,” as was certainly the case, he considered it intended to concede the essential point, and he decided to say no more without instructions. He might well be satisfied, for Canning’s “surprise” was a mild expression of public feeling. Hitherto the British press had shown no marked signs of the insanity which sometimes seized a people under the strain of great excitement, but the “Chesapeake” affair revealed the whole madness of the time. August 6, three days after Canning had disavowed pretension to search national vessels, the “Morning Post” published an article strongly in favor of Berkeley and war. “Three weeks blockade of the Delaware, the Chesapeake, and Boston Harbor would make our presumptuous rivals repent of their puerile conduct.” August 5 the “Times” declared itself for Berkeley, and approved not only his order, but also its mode of execution. The “Courier” from the first defended Berkeley. Cobbett’s peculiar powers of mischief were never more skilfully exerted:—

“I do not pretend to say that we may not in this instance have been in the wrong, because there is nothing authentic upon the subject; nor am I prepared to say that our right of search, in all cases, extends to ships of war. But of this I am certain, that if the laws of nations do not allow you to search for deserters in a friend’s territory, neither do they allow that friend to inveigle away your troops or your seamen, to do which is an act of hostility; and I ask for no better proof of inveigling than the enlisting and refusing to give up such troops or seamen.”

Owing to his long residence in the United States, Cobbett was considered a high authority on American affairs; and he boldly averred that America could not go to war without destroying herself as a political body. More than half the people of America, he said, were already disgusted with the French bias of their government.

In the face of a popular frenzy so general, Monroe might feel happy to have already secured from Canning an express disavowal of the pretension to search ships of war. He was satisfied to let the newspapers say what they would while he waited his instructions. A month passed before these arrived. September 3 Monroe had his next interview, and explained the President’s expectations,—that the men taken from the “Chesapeake” should be restored, the offenders punished, a special mission sent to America to announce the reparation, and the practice of impressment from merchant-vessels suppressed.[27] Canning listened with civility, for he took pride in tempering the sternness of his policy by the courtesy of his manner. He made no serious objection to the President’s demands so far as they concerned the “Chesapeake;” but when Monroe came to the abandonment of impressment from merchant-vessels, he civilly declined to admit it into the discussion.

Monroe wrote the next day a note,[28] founded on his instructions, in which he insisted on the proposition which he had expressly discarded in his note of July 29, that the outrages rising from impressment in general ought to be considered as a part of the “Chesapeake” affair; and he concluded his argument by saying that his Government looked on this complete adjustment as indispensably necessary to heal the deep wound which had been inflicted on the national honor of the United States. After the severity with which Monroe had been rebuked for disregarding his instructions on this point barely a few months before, he had no choice but to obey his orders without the change of a letter; but he doubtless knew in advance that this course left Canning master of the situation. The British government was too well acquainted with the affairs of America to be deceived by words. That the United States would fight to protect their national vessels was possible; but every one knew that no party in Congress could be induced to make war for the protection of merchant seamen. In rejecting such a demand, not only was Canning safe, but he was also sure of placing the President at odds with his own followers and friends.

A fortnight was allowed to pass before the British government replied. Then, September 23, Canning sent to the American legation an answer.[29] He began by requesting to know whether the President’s proclamation was authentic, and whether it would be withdrawn on a disavowal of the act which led to it; because, as an act of retaliation, it must be taken into account in adjusting the reparation due. He insisted that the nationality of the men seized must also be taken into account, not as warranting their unauthorized seizure, but as a question of redress between government and government. In respect to the general question of impressment in connection with the specific grievance of the “Chesapeake,” he explained at some length the different ground on which the two disputes rested; and while professing his willingness to discuss the regulation of the practice, he affirmed the rights of England, which, he said,—

“existed in their fullest force for ages previous to the establishment of the United States of America as an independent government; and it would be difficult to contend that the recognition of that independence can have operated any change in this respect, unless it can be shown that in acknowledging the government of the United States, Great Britain virtually abdicated her own rights as a naval Power, or unless there were any express stipulations by which the ancient and prescriptive usages of Great Britain, founded in the soundest principles of natural law, though still enforced against other independent nations of the world, were to be suspended whenever they might come in contact with the interests or the feelings of the American people.”

After disposing of the matter with this sneer, Canning closed by earnestly recommending Monroe to consider whether his instructions might not leave him at liberty to adjust the case of the “Chesapeake” by itself:—

“If your instructions leave you no discretion, I cannot press you to act in contradiction to them. In that case there can be no advantage in pursuing a discussion which you are not authorized to conclude; and I shall have only to regret that the disposition of his Majesty to terminate that difference amicably and satisfactorily is for the present rendered unavailing.

“In that case his Majesty, in pursuance of the disposition of which he has given such signal proofs, will lose no time in sending a minister to America, furnished with the necessary instructions and powers for bringing this unfortunate dispute to a conclusion consistent with the harmony subsisting between Great Britain and the United States; but in order to avoid the inconvenience which has arisen from the mixed nature of your instructions, that minister will not be empowered to entertain, as connected with this subject, any proposition respecting the search of merchant-vessels.”

Monroe replied,[30] September 29, that his instructions were explicit, and that he could not separate the two questions. He closed by saying that Canning’s disposition and sentiments had been such as inspired him with great confidence that they should soon have been able to bring the dispute to an honorable and satisfactory conclusion. With this letter so far as concerned Monroe, the “Chesapeake” incident came to its end in failure of redress.

One more subject remained for Monroe to finish. His unfortunate treaty returned by Madison with a long list of changes and omissions, had been made by Monroe and Pinkney the subject of a letter to Canning as early as July 24;[31] but the affair of the “Chesapeake” intervened, and Canning declined to touch any other subject until this was adjusted. No sooner did he succeed in referring the “Chesapeake” negotiation to Washington than he turned to the treaty. That a measure which had been the most unpopular act of an unpopular Whig ministry could expect no mercy at Canning’s hands, was to be expected; but some interest attached to the manner of rejection which he might prefer. In a formal note, dated October 22, Canning addressed the American government in a tone which no one but himself could so happily use,—a tone of mingled condescension and derision.[32] He began by saying that his Majesty could not profess to be satisfied that the American government had taken effectual steps in regard to the Berlin Decree; but the King had nevertheless decided, in case the President should ratify Monroe’s treaty, to ratify it in his turn, “reserving to himself the right of taking, in consequence of that decree, and of the omission of any effectual interposition on the part of neutral nations to obtain its revocation, such measures of retaliation as his Majesty might judge expedient.” Without stopping to explain what value a ratification under such conditions would have, Canning continued that the President had thought proper to propose alterations in the body of the treaty:—

“The undersigned is commanded distinctly to protest against a practice altogether unusual in the political transactions of States, by which the American government assumes to itself the privilege of revising and altering agreements concluded and signed on its behalf by its agents duly authorized for that purpose, of retaining so much of those agreements as may be favorable to its own views, and of rejecting such stipulations, or such parts of stipulations, as are conceived to be not sufficiently beneficial to America.”

Without discussing the correctness of Canning’s assertion that the practice was “altogether unusual in the political transactions of States,” Monroe and Pinkney might have replied that every European treaty was negotiated, step by step, under the eye of the respective governments, and that probably no extant treaty had been signed by a British agent in Europe without first receiving at every stage the approval of the King. No American agent could consult his government. Canning was officially aware that Monroe and Pinkney, in signing their treaty, had done so at their own risk, in violation of the President’s orders. The requirement that the President of the United States should follow European rules was unreasonable; but in the actual instance Canning’s tone was something more than unreasonable. His own note assumed for the British government “the privilege of revising and altering” whatever provisions of the treaty it pleased; and after a condition so absolute, he violated reciprocity in rejecting conditions made by the President because they were “unusual in the political transactions of States:”—

“The undersigned is therefore commanded to apprise the American commissioners that, although his Majesty will be at all times ready to listen to any suggestions for arranging, in an amicable and advantageous manner, the respective interests of the two countries, the proposal of the President of the United States for proceeding to negotiate anew upon the basis of a treaty already solemnly concluded and signed, is a proposal wholly inadmissible.”

With this denial of the right of others to exercise arbitrary methods, Canning declared the field open for the British government to give full range to its arbitrary will. A week afterward Monroe left London forever. He had taken his audience of leave October 7, and resigned the legation to Pinkney. October 29 he started for Portsmouth to take ship for Virginia. His diplomatic career in Europe was at an end; but these last failures left him in a state of mind easy to imagine, in which his irritation with Jefferson and Madison, the authors of his incessant misfortunes, outran his suspicions of Canning, whose pretence of friendship had been dignified and smooth.

For reasons to be given hereafter, the Ministry decided to disavow Admiral Berkeley’s attack on the “Chesapeake;” but in order to provide against the reproach of surrendering British rights, a proclamation[33] almost as offensive to the United States as Admiral Berkeley’s order was issued, October 16. Beginning with the assertion that great numbers of British seamen “have been enticed to enter the service of foreign States, and are now actually serving as well on board the ships of war belonging to the said foreign States as on board the merchant-vessels belonging to their subjects,” the proclamation ordered such seamen to return home, and commanded all naval officers to seize them, without unnecessary violence, in any foreign merchant-vessels where they might be found, and to demand them from the captains of foreign ships of war, in order to furnish government with the necessary evidence for claiming redress from the government which had detained the British seamen. Further, the proclamation gave warning that naturalization would not be regarded as relieving British subjects of their duties, but that, while such naturalized persons would be pardoned if they returned immediately to their allegiance, all such as should serve on ships-of-war belonging to any State at enmity with England would be guilty of high treason, and would be punished with the utmost severity of the law.

That the British public, even after the battle of Trafalgar and the firing upon the “Chesapeake,” might have felt its pride sufficiently flattered by such a proclamation seemed only reasonable; for in truth this proclamation forced war upon a government which wished only to escape it, and which cowered for years in submission rather than fight for what it claimed as its due; but although to American ears the proclamation sounded like a sentence of slavery, the British public denounced it as a surrender of British rights. The “Morning Post,” October 20 and 22, gave way to a paroxysm of wrath against ministers for disavowing and recalling Berkeley. “With feelings most poignantly afflicting,” it broke into a rhapsody of unrestrained self-will. The next day, October 23, the same newspaper—then the most influential in the kingdom—pursued the subject more mildly:—

“Though the British government, from perhaps too rigid an adherence to the law of nations, outraged as they are by the common enemy, may, however irritated by her conduct, display a magnanimous forbearance toward so insignificant a Power as America, they will not, we are persuaded, suffer our proud sovereignty of the ocean to be mutilated by any invasion of its just rights and prerogatives. Though the right, tacitly abandoned for the last century, may be suffered to continue dormant, the Americans must not flatter themselves that the principle will be permitted to have any further extent. In the mildness of our sway we must not suffer our sovereignty to be rebelled against or insulted with impunity.... The sovereignty of the seas in the hands of Great Britain is an established, legitimate sovereignty,—a sovereignty which has been exercised on principles so equitable, and swayed with a spirit so mild, that the most humble of the maritime Powers have been treated as if they were on a perfect equality with us.”

The same lofty note ran through all the “Morning Post’s” allusions to American affairs:—

“A few short months of war,” said a leading article, October 24, “would convince these desperate politicians of the folly of measuring the strength of a rising, but still infant and puny, nation with the colossal power of the British empire.”

The “Times” declared that the Americans could not even send an ambassador to France,—could hardly pass to Staten Island,—without British permission.[34] “Right is power sanctioned by custom,” said the “Times;” and October 20 and 22 it joined the “Morning Post” in denouncing the disavowal of Berkeley. The “Morning Chronicle” alone resisted the torrent which was sweeping away the traditions of English honor.

“Our Government,” it said,[35] in support of its enemy, Canning, “in acting with prudence and wisdom, have to resist the pressure of a spirit not popular, like that in America, but as violent and as ignorant, with the addition of being in the highest degree selfish and sordid.”

In the case of the “Chesapeake” the Ministry resisted that “selfish and sordid” interest; but Americans soon learned that the favor, such as it was, had been purchased at a price beyond its value. Canning’s most brilliant stroke was for the moment only half revealed.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] New England Federalism, p. 182.

[13] Cabinet Memoranda, Jefferson MSS.

[14] Adams’s Gallatin, p. 358.

[15] Nicholson to Gallatin, July 14, 1807; Adams’s Gallatin, p. 360.

[16] Gallatin, to Nicholson, July 17, 1807; Adams’s Gallatin, p. 361.

[17] Jefferson to Bidwell, July 11, 1807; Works, v. 125.

[18] Jefferson to the Vice-President, July 6, 1807; Works, v. 115.

[19] Jefferson to Governor Cabell, June 29, 1807, Works, v. 114; to Mr. Bowdoin, July 10, 1807, Works, v. 123; to M. Dupont, July 14, 1807, Works, v. 127; to Lafayette, July 14, 1807, Works, v. 129.

[20] Jefferson to Colonel Taylor, Aug. 1, 1807; Works, v. 148.

[21] Turreau to Talleyrand, July 18, 1808; Archives des Aff. Étr. MSS.

[22] Erskine to Canning, July 21, 1807; MSS. British Archives.

[23] Madison to Monroe, July 6, 1807; State Papers, iii. 183.

[24] Canning to Monroe, July 25, 1807; State Papers, iii. 187.

[25] Monroe to Madison, Aug. 4, 1807; State Papers, iii. 186.

[26] Canning to Monroe, Aug. 3, 1807; American State Papers, iii. 188.

[27] Monroe to Madison, Oct. 10, 1807; State Papers, iii. 191.

[28] Monroe to Canning, Sept. 7, 1807; State Papers, iii. 189.

[29] Canning to Monroe, Sept. 23, 1807; State Papers, iii. 199.

[30] Monroe to Canning, Sept. 29, 1807; State Papers, iii. 201.

[31] Monroe and Pinkney to Canning, July 24, 1807; State Papers, iii. 194.

[32] Canning to Monroe and Pinkney, Oct. 22, 1807; State Papers, iii. 198.

[33] American State Papers, iii. 25.

[34] The Times, Aug. 26, 1807.

[35] The Morning Chronicle, Aug. 6, 1807.

CHAPTER III.

The new Ministry which succeeded “All the Talents” and took seat in Parliament April 8, 1807, represented everything in English society that was most impervious to reason. In its origin a creature of royal bigotry trembling on the verge of insanity, before it had been a few short weeks in office every liberal or tolerant Englishman was shocked to find that this band of Tories, whose prejudices were such as modern society could scarcely understand, and who had been forced into office by the personal will of an almost imbecile King, did in reality represent a great reaction of the English people against tolerant principles, and reflected the true sense of the nation as it had never been reflected by Grenville or Fox. Parliament was dissolved April 27, though only four months old; and June 22, when the “Leopard” was firing into the “Chesapeake,” the new Parliament met at Westminster Hall, with a ministerial majority of more than two hundred country squires, elected on the cry that the Church was in danger.

From its nominal head, this Ministry was called the Portland administration; but its leader was Spencer Perceval, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and its mouthpiece was George Canning, the Foreign Secretary. These two commoners—men of no special family connection, of no estates, and little so-called “stake in the country”—guided the aristocratic and conservative society of England, and exaggerated its tendencies. In modern days little is remembered of Spencer Perceval except that he became at last one of the long list of victims to lunatic assassins; but for a whole generation no English Liberal mentioned the name of the murdered prime minister without recalling the portrait drawn by Sydney Smith in the wittiest and keenest of his writings,[36] in which Perceval was figured as living at Hampstead upon stewed meats and claret, and walking to church every Sunday before eleven young gentlemen of his own begetting, with their faces washed and their hair pleasingly combed.

In Sydney Smith’s caricature there was little exaggeration. Spencer Perceval was forty-five years old, a lawyer of the best character, devoted to his family, his church, and sovereign; a man after Lord Eldon’s heart, who brought to the Treasury Bench the legal knowledge and mental habits of a leader at the Chancery Bar and the political morality of a lawyer’s brief. The criticism was not less revolting than remarkable, that many of the men whose want of political morality was most conspicuous in this story were, both in England and in America, models of private respectability and fanatical haters of vice. That Timothy Pickering and Roger Griswold should join hands with Aaron Burr was less wonderful than that Spencer Perceval and his friend James Stephen, the author of “War in Disguise,” should adopt the violence of Napoleon as the measure of their own morals, and avow that they meant to respect no other standard. With the same voice Spencer Perceval expressed fear lest calling Parliament on a Monday should lead members into Sunday travel, and justified the bombardment of Copenhagen and the robbery of American commerce.

The Whigs thought little of his abilities. Sydney Smith, who delighted to ridicule him, said that he had the head of a country parson and the tongue of an Old Bailey lawyer.[37] The Tories admired and followed him as readily as they had once followed Pitt; but to an American, necessarily prejudiced, Sydney Smith’s estimate seemed just. Every American critic placed Perceval in an order of intelligence not only below the Whigs, but below Lord Sidmouth. When confronted with the dulness of Spencer Perceval, Americans could even feel relief in the sarcasm of George Canning, which, unlike Perceval’s speeches, had at least the merit of rhetoric.

Of George Canning, who passed so rapidly across the scene, and yet left so sharp an impression on the memory of America, something must be said, if only to explain how a man so gifted, and in later life so different in influence, should have thought it worth his while to challenge the hatred of a people whose future he, unlike his colleague Perceval, had imagination enough to foresee. George Canning was thirty-seven years old when he took charge of the Foreign office. His father, who came from a very respectable but in no way eminent family, died in 1771; his mother having no means of support became a provincial actress, and the boy was adopted by an uncle, who sent him to Eton and Oxford. He left Oxford at the time when the French Revolution promised a new birth to Europe, and Canning was then a warm Republican from sympathy and conviction. The political reaction which followed swept the young man to the opposite extreme; and his vehemence for monarchy and the Tories gave point to a Whig sarcasm,—that men had often been known to turn their coats, but this was the first time that a boy had turned his jacket. In consequence of his conversion Pitt brought him into Parliament in 1793, and placed him in office in 1796. In the hotbed of Pitt’s personal favor[38] Canning’s natural faults were stimulated, until the irritation caused by his sarcastic wit and by what the stolid gentry thought his flippancy roused a sort of insurrection against him. Few men were more admired, and none was more feared or hated; for it was impossible to say what time-honored monument he might overthrow in defending.

No man in England flung himself more violently into the reaction against Republican ideas than this young Republican of 1789. Canning’s contempt was unbounded for everything that savored of liberal principles; and in following the impulses of his passion he lost whatever political morality he had possessed. If one act in Bonaparte’s career concentrated more than another the treason and violence of a lifetime, it was the coup d’état of the 18th Brumaire, in 1799, when he drove the Legislature at the point of the bayonet from the hall at St. Cloud, and annihilated French liberty, as he hoped, forever; yet this act, which might have been applauded by some English statesmen whose heads paid on Tower Hill the penalty for such treason to the liberties of their own country, threw Canning into paroxysms of delight.

“Huzza! huzza! huzza!” he wrote[39] on hearing the news; “for no language but that of violent and tumultuous and triumphant exclamation can sufficiently describe the joy and satisfaction which I feel at this complete overthrow and extinction of all the hopes of the proselytes to new principles.... It is the lasting ridicule thrown upon all systems of democratic equality,—it is the galling conviction carried home to the minds of all the brawlers for freedom in this and every other country,—that there never was, nor will be, nor can be, a leader of a mob faction who does not mean to be the lord and not the servant of the people. It is this that makes the name of Bonaparte dear to me.... Henceforth, with regard to France and the principles of France, or to any country similarly circumstanced as to extent, population, manners, etc., Republican and fool are synonymous terms.”

Canning had several qualities in common with Bonaparte, and one of them was the habit of classifying under the head of fools persons whose opinions he did not fancy,—from the man who believed in a republic to the man who liked dry champagne. In his mouth such persons were either fools or liars; and Americans, with few exceptions, came under one or the other of these heads. After the 18th Brumaire the world contained but one leader of a mob faction, brawling for liberty; but he was President of the United States. No miraculous sagacity was needed to foretell what treatment he was likely to receive at the hands of two men like Canning and Bonaparte, should the empire of the world ever be divided between them. To throw lasting ridicule upon all systems of democratic equality was Canning’s most passionate wish, and his success was marvellous. Even his squibs exploded like rockets. In literature, his “Needy Knife-grinder” was a harmless piece of clever satire, but in the “Anti-Jacobin” it was a political event.

In Parliament Canning’s influence was not yet very great. He relied too much on wit, and what was then called quizzing, or he imitated Pitt’s oratory too closely; but even in the House of Commons he steadily won ground, and while Burke, Pitt, Fox, Windham, and Sheridan, one after another, disappeared or were thrown into the shade, Canning’s figure became more prominent on the Treasury Bench between two such foils as Spencer Perceval and Lord Castlereagh. Although his mind ripened slowly, and was still far from maturity, he was already a master in choice of language; he always excelled in clearness of statement and skill of illustration; and if his taste had been as pure as his English, he would have taken rank with the greatest English orators. Some of his metaphors survived, with those of Burke and Sheridan. When Napoleon was forced back to the Elbe, “the mighty deluge, by which the Continent had been overwhelmed, began to subside; the limits of nations were again visible; and the spires and turrets of ancient establishments began to reappear above the subsiding wave.” In addressing the people at Plymouth, he likened England to a line-of-battle ship; “one of those stupendous masses now reposing on their shadows in perfect stillness,” but ready at a sign to ruffle, as it were, its swelling plumage, to awaken its dormant thunder. Such eloquence recalled Burke at his less philosophical moments. It contained more rhetoric than thought; but Canning was there at his best. At his worst, as Americans commonly saw him, his natural tones seemed artificial, and only his imitations seemed natural. To Americans Canning never showed himself except as an actor. As an instance of his taste, Americans could best appreciate the climax with which he once electrified the House of Commons in speaking of the Spanish American Republics: “I called the new world into existence to redress the balance of the old.” The House cheered to the echo, while America stood open-mouthed in astonishment at the success of such extravagant egoism.

In the new Ministry of 1807, the lead was to the strongest; and Canning, who treated with almost open contempt his rival Lord Castlereagh, a man intellectually his inferior, could count upon a great destiny. Less scrupulous or less broad than Pitt, he held that Napoleon’s course had absolved England from ordinary rules of morals. To fight Bonaparte with his own weapons had become the duty of Englishmen; and the first act of the new Administration showed what meaning was to be put on this favorite phrase.

February 8, Napoleon fought the desperate battle of Eylau, which closely resembled a defeat. His position was critical; but before Canning could fairly get control of events, Napoleon, June 14, again attacked the Russians at Friedland and won a decisive victory. June 25 Napoleon and Alexander held an interview on an island in the Niemen. The chief point in question was whether Alexander would abandon England; and this he was almost glad to do, for England had abandoned him. Alexander yielded to the force and flattery of Napoleon, and signed July 7 the treaty of Tilsit. By a private understanding the remaining neutrals were left to Napoleon to be dealt with as he pleased. Denmark was the only neutral power the control of which was necessary for the success of Napoleon’s system, and August 2 he sent orders to Bernadotte, who was to command at Hamburg: “If England does not accept the mediation of Russia, Denmark must declare war upon her, or I will declare war on Denmark.”[40] Finding that the Prince Royal hesitated, Napoleon, August 17, sent orders[41] to Bernadotte to hold himself ready with all his troops to march into Denmark either as ally or enemy, according to the issue of the pending negotiation. Threatened by this overwhelming danger, the Prince Royal of Denmark alternately promised and evaded the declaration of war; when suddenly his doubts were brought to an end by the diplomacy of Canning.

The British ministry had been secretly informed of what took place at Tilsit, and even without secret information could not have doubted the fate of Denmark. Vigor was necessary; and as early as July 19, before news had arrived of the formal signature of the Tilsit treaty, the Cabinet decided on sending to Copenhagen a large naval expedition which had been collected for a different purpose. July 26 the expedition, commanded by Lord Gambier, sailed from the Downs. It consisted of some twenty ships of the line, forty frigates, and transports containing twenty-seven thousand troops commanded by Lord Cathcart; and it carried a diplomatic agent with instructions to require from the Prince Royal of Denmark the delivery of the Danish fleet, as a temporary security for the safety of England.

The man whom Canning charged with this unpleasant duty was the same Jackson whose appointment as Minister to the United States had been opposed by Rufus King, and who had subsequently gone as British minister to Berlin. Jackson’s dogmatic temper and overbearing manners made him obnoxious even to the clerks of the Foreign Office;[42] but he was a favorite with Lord Malmesbury, who since Pitt’s death had become Canning’s political mentor, and Lord Malmesbury’s influence was freely used in Jackson’s behalf. Obeying his instructions, the British envoy went to Kiel and had an interview with the Prince Royal early in August, at about the time when Napoleon issued his first orders to Bernadotte. The Prince could only refuse with indignation Jackson’s demand, and sent orders to Copenhagen to prepare for attack. He was in the situation of Barron on the “Chesapeake.” Copenhagen had hardly a gun in position, and no troops to use in defence.

The British demand was in itself insulting enough, but Jackson’s way of presenting it was said to have been peculiarly offensive, and London soon rang with stories of his behavior to the unfortunate Prince Royal.[43] Even the King of England seemed to think that his agent needed rebuke. Lord Eldon, who was one of the advisers and most strenuous supporters of the attack on Copenhagen,—although he said in private that the story made his heart ache and his blood run cold,—used to relate,[44] on the authority of old King George himself, that when Jackson was presented at Court on his return from Copenhagen the King abruptly asked him, “Was the Prince Royal upstairs or down, when he received you?” “He was on the ground floor,” replied Jackson. “I am glad of it! I am glad of it!” rejoined the old King; “for if he had half the spirit of his uncle George III., he would infallibly have kicked you downstairs.” The Prince did not kick Mr. Jackson, though the world believed he had reason to do so, but he declined to accept the British envoy’s remark that in war the weak must submit to the strong; and Lord Gambier landed twenty thousand men, established batteries, and for three days and nights, from September 1 to September 5, bombarded Copenhagen. The city was neither invested nor assaulted nor intended to be occupied; it was merely destroyed, little by little,—as a bandit would cut off first an ear, then the nose, then a finger of his victim, to hasten payment of a ransom. At the end of the third day’s bombardment, when at last the Danish ships were delivered, the bodies of near two thousand non-combatants lay buried in the smoking ruins of about one half the city. At the same time all the Danish merchant-vessels in English waters, with their cargoes, to the value of ten million dollars, were seized and confiscated; while the Danish factory in Bengal was, without warning, swept into England’s pouch.

At the news of the awful tragedy at Copenhagen, Europe, gorged as for fifteen years she had been with varied horrors, shuddered from St. Petersburg to Cadiz. A long wail of pity and despair rose on the Continent, was echoed back from America, and found noble expression in the British Parliament. The attack upon the “Chesapeake” was a caress of affection compared with this bloody and brutal deed. As in 1804 Bonaparte—then only First Consul, but about to make himself a bastard Emperor—flung before the feet of Europe the bloody corpse of the Duc d’Enghien, so George Canning in 1807, about to meet Bonaparte on his own field with his own weapons, called the world to gaze at his handiwork in Copenhagen; and the world then contained but a single nation to which the fate of Copenhagen spoke in accents of direct and instant menace. The annihilation of Denmark left America almost the only neutral, as she had long been the only Republican State. In both characters her offences against Canning and Perceval, Castlereagh and Eldon, had been more serious than those of Denmark, and had roused to exasperation the temper of England. A single ship of the line, supported by one or two frigates, could without a moment’s notice repeat at New York the tragedy which had required a vast armament at Copenhagen; and the assault on the “Chesapeake” had given warning of what the British navy stood ready to do. Other emphatic omens were not wanting.

About July 27—the day after Lord Gambier’s fleet sailed from the Downs, and the day when Monroe first saw in the newspapers an account of the “Leopard’s” attack on the “Chesapeake”—the American minister might have read a report made by a committee of the House of Commons on the commercial state of the West Indian Islands. The main evil, said the committee,[45] was the very unfavorable state of the foreign market, in which the British merchant formerly enjoyed nearly a monopoly. “The result of all their inquiries on this most important part of the subject has brought before their eyes one grand and primary evil from which all the others are easily to be deduced; namely, the facility of intercourse between the hostile colonies and Europe under the American neutral flag, by means of which not only the whole of their produce is carried to a market, but at charges little exceeding those of peace, while the British planter is burdened with all the inconvenience, risk, and expense resulting from a state of war.” To correct this evil, a blockade of the enemies’ colonies had been suggested; “and such a measure, if it could be strictly enforced, would undoubtedly afford relief to our export trade. But a measure of more permanent and certain advantage would be the enforcement of those restrictions on the trade between neutrals and the enemies’ colonies which were formerly maintained by Great Britain, and from the relaxation of which the enemies’ colonies obtain indirectly, during war, all the advantages of peace.”

In its way this West Indian Report was stamped with the same Napoleonic character as the bombardment of Copenhagen or the assault on the “Chesapeake;” in a parliamentary manner it admitted that England, with all her navy, could not enforce a blockade by lawful means, and therefore it had become “a matter of evident and imperious necessity” that she should turn pirate. The true sense of the recommendation was neither doubted nor disputed in England, except as matter of parliamentary form. That the attempt to cut off the supply of French and Spanish sugar from Europe, either by proclaiming a paper blockade or the Rule of 1756, might result in war with the United States was conceded, and no one in private denied that America in such a case had just cause for war. The evidence upon which the Report founded its conclusion largely dealt with the probable effect on the colonies of a war with the United States; and the Report itself, in language only so far veiled as to be decent, intimated that although war would be essentially detrimental to the islands it would not be fatal, and would be better than their actual condition. The excuse for what every reasonable Englishman frankly avowed to be “a system of piracy,”[46] was that the West Indian colonies must perish without it, and England must share their fate. In vain did less terrified men, like Alexander Baring or William Spence, preach patience, explaining that the true difficulty with the West Indies was an overproduction of sugar, with which the Americans had nothing to do.

“To charge the distresses of the West Indian planters upon the American carriers,” said Spence,[47] “is almost as absurd as it would be for the assassin to lay the blame of murder upon the arsenic which he had purposely placed in the sugar-dish of his friend.”

Thus Parliament, Ministry, navy, colonies, the shipping and the landed interest of England had wrought public opinion to the point of war with the United States at the moment when Lord Gambier bombarded Copenhagen and the “Leopard” fired into the “Chesapeake.” The tornado of prejudice and purposeless rage which broke into expression on the announcement that a British frigate had fired into an American, surpassed all experience. The English newspapers for the year that followed the “Chesapeake” affair seemed irrational, the drunkenness of power incredible. The Americans, according to the “Morning Post” of Jan. 14, 1808, “possess all the vices of their Indian neighbors without their virtues;” and two days afterward the same newspaper—which gave tone to the country press—declared that England was irresistible: “Our vigor and energy have just reached that sublime pitch from which their weight must crush all opposition.”

No one could say for how much of this extravagance Canning was directly responsible; but the tone of the press was certainly an echo of the tone he had so long taken, and which he stimulated. That he was really so reckless as he seemed need not be imagined; although eighteen months afterward, Lord Grenville with the utmost emphasis said in the House of Lords,[48] “I do firmly believe that it is the object of his Majesty’s ministers to do everything in their power to force America into hostility with this country.” Lord Grenville occasionally exaggerated, and he was probably mistaken in this instance; but he found it possible to believe ministers capable of acting with the motive he charged on them. In truth he had strong ground for the opinion he held, which was by no means peculiar to him. As early as July 27, 1807, the “Morning Chronicle,” in announcing the first news of the “Chesapeake” affair, added:—

“We trust it is of a nature to be adjusted without that most ruinous of all follies yet left us to be guilty of,—an American war. We have rather more fear than hope however on the subject, when we reflect that the present ministers are of those who consider an American war as rather desirable.”

Within a short time the “Morning Post” avowed and proclaimed, in articles evidently inspired by Government, the wish for war with America:[49]—

“A war of a very few months, without creating to us the expense of a single additional ship, would be sufficient to convince her of her folly by a necessary chastisement of her insolence and audacity.”

In January, 1808, the same newspaper spoke even more plainly:[50]—

“For us, we have always been of the opinion that in the present temper of the American government no relations of amity can be maintained with that nation unless at the expense of our dearest rights and most essential interests.”

Perhaps this tone was taken partly with the idea of terrifying the Americans into obedience; but beyond question a strong party leaned to violence. Monroe, who had the best means of knowing, felt no doubts on this point, and warned the President of the danger to the United States.

“There has been,” he wrote Aug. 4, 1807,[51] “at all times since the commencement of the present war, a strong party here for extending its ravages to them. This party is composed of the shipowners, the navy, the East and West India merchants, and certain political characters of great consideration in the State. So powerful is this combination that it is most certain that nothing can be obtained of the government on any point but what may be extorted by necessity.”

Insane as such a policy might seem, Lord Grenville’s charge against ministers had solid ground.

Special interests were commonly blind to the general good. That the navy, the mercantile marine, and the colonies should have favored war with America was not surprising; but that the mania should have seized upon the English nation at large was a phenomenon to be explained only by general causes. The true explanation was not far to seek; the secret, if secret it could be called, was the inevitable result of Jefferson’s passion for peace,—social and political contempt. This feeling was unbounded, pervading all parties and all classes, and finding expression in the most gross as in the simplest and least intentional forms.

“Hatred of America,” said one of the numerous British pamphleteers of the time,[52] “seems a prevailing sentiment in this country. Whether it be that they have no crown and nobility, and are on this account not quite a genteel Power; or that their manners are less polished than our own; or that we grudge their independence, and hanker after our old monopoly of their trade; or that they closely resemble us in language, character, and laws; or finally, that it is more our interest to live well with them than with any other nation in the world,—the fact is undeniable that the bulk of the people would fain be at war with them.”

The Somersetshire squire and the chancery barrister in Westminster Hall—the extremes of national obtuseness and professional keenness—agreed in despising America. The pompous Lord Sidmouth, the tedious Lord Sheffield, the vivacious Canning, the religious Perceval, and the merry-andrew Cobbett—whose genius was peculiar in thinking itself popular—joined hands in spreading libels against a people three thousand miles away, who according to their own theory were too contemptible to be dangerous. Except a few Whig noblemen, a number of Yorkshire and Lancashire manufacturers and a great mass of the laboring people, or American merchants like the Barings, and one or two Scotch Liberals who wrote in the “Edinburgh Review,” the English public had but one voice against Americans. Young Henry Brougham, not yet thirty years old, whose restless mind persistently asked questions which parsons and squires thought absurd or impious, speculated much upon the causes of this prejudice. Was it because the New York dinners were less elegant than those of London, or because the Yankees talked with an accent, or because their manners were vulgar? No doubt a prejudice might seize on any justification, however small; but a prejudice so general and so deep became respectable, and needed a correct explanation. The British nation was sometimes slow-witted, and often narrow-minded, but was not insane.

For a thousand years every step in the progress of England had been gained by sheer force of hand and will. In the struggle for existence the English people, favored by situation, had grown into a new human type,—which might be brutal, but was not weak; which had little regard for theory, but an immense and just respect for facts. America considered herself to be a serious fact, and expected England to take her at her own estimate of her own value; but this was more than could reasonably be asked. England required America to prove by acts what virtue existed in her conduct or character which should exempt her from the common lot of humanity, or should entitle her to escape the tests of manhood,—the trials, miseries, and martyrdoms through which the character of mankind had thus far in human history taken, for good or bad, its vigorous development. England had never learned to strike soft in battle. She expected her antagonists to fight; and if they would not fight, she took them to be cowardly or mean. Jefferson and his government had shown over and over again that no provocation would make them fight; and from the moment that this attitude was understood, America became fair prey. Jefferson had chosen his own methods of attack and defence; but he could not require England or France to respect them before they had been tried.

Contempt for America was founded on belief in American cowardice; but beneath the disdain lurked an uneasy doubt which gave to contempt the virulence of fear. The English nation, and especially the aristocracy, believed that America was biding her time; that she expected to become a giant; and that if she succeeded, she would use her strength as every other giant in the world’s history had done before her. The navy foresaw a day when American fleets might cover the ocean. The merchant dreaded competition with Yankee shrewdness, for he well knew the antiquated processes, the time-honored percentages, the gross absurdities of English trade, the abuses of the custom-house, the clumsiness and extravagance of government. The shipowners had even more cause for alarm. Already the American ship was far in advance of the British model,—a swifter and more economical sailer, more heavily sparred and more daringly handled. In peace competition had become difficult, until the British ship-owner cried for war; yet he already felt, without acknowledging it even to himself, that in war he was likely to enjoy little profit or pleasure on the day when the long, low, black hull of the Yankee privateer, with her tapering, bending spars, her long-range gun, and her sharp-faced captain, should appear on the western horizon, and suddenly, at sight of the heavy lumbering British merchantman, should fling out her white wings of canvas and fly down on her prey.

Contempt, mingled with vague alarm, was at the bottom of England’s conduct toward America; and whatever the swarm of newspaper statesmen might say or think, the element of alarm was so great that the Tory ministers, although they might expect war, did not want it, and hoped to prevent it by the very boldness of their policy. Even Canning was cautious enough to prefer not to give America occasion for learning her strength. He meant to clip her wings only so far as she would submit to have her wings clipped; and he not only astonished but disgusted the over-zealous politicians who applauded Admiral Berkeley, by disavowing the admiral’s doctrines of international law and recalling the admiral himself. The war faction broke into a paroxysm of rage[53] when this decision became known, and for a time Canning seemed likely to be devoured by his own hounds, so vociferous was their outcry. Monroe and Pinkney were loud in praise of Canning’s and Perceval’s temperate and candid behavior.[54]

Canning was obliged to defend himself, and under his promptings a long reply to his critics was written for the “Morning Post,”[55]—a newspaper version of the instructions carried by his special minister to Washington. He excused his treatment of Admiral Berkeley on the ground that lawyers recognized no right of search in national ships. The excuse was evidently feeble. The law, or at least the lawyers, of England had hitherto justified every act which the government had chosen to commit,—the seizure of the Spanish treasure-ships in 1804, accompanied by the unnecessary destruction of hundreds of lives; the secret seizure of the larger part of American commerce in 1805, by collusion with the Admiralty judges; the paper blockade of Charles James Fox in 1806; the Order in Council of January, 1807, by which Lord Howick cut off another main branch of neutral commerce with which England had no legal right to interfere; finally, the lawyers justified the bombardment of Copenhagen as an act of necessary defence, and were about to justify a general control of all neutral commerce as an act of retaliation. To suppose that law so elastic, or lawyers with minds so fertile, could discover no warrant for Berkeley’s act was preposterous. To neutral commerce England had no legal right; yet she took it, and her lawyers invented a title. To her citizens and seamen she actually had a legal right, recognized by every court in Christendom; and if after a fair demand on the neutral government she found that her right could be satisfied only by violating neutral jurisdiction, the lawyers, in view of all their other decisions, must hold that such violation was a matter of expediency and not of law. Canning’s critics in reply to his assertion that the lawyers would recognize no right of search in national ships, could fairly say that he was alone to blame,—he should have ordered them to find it. George Canning could not seriously propose to sacrifice a vital English interest in obedience to the scrupulous legal morality of Spencer Perceval, Lord Eldon, Sir William Scott, and Sir Vicary Gibbs.

In truth, Canning had reasons more forcible. With a character not unlike that which Dryden ascribed to Lord Shaftesbury, he was pleased with the danger when the waves ran high; and if he steered too near the shoals in order to prove his wit, he did not wish to run the vessel ashore. He disavowed Admiral Berkeley, not because the lawyers were unable to prove whatever the government required, but because the right of searching foreign ships-of-war was not worth asserting, and would cost more than it could ever bring in return. Besides this obvious reason, he was guided by another motive which would alone have turned the scale. Perceval had invented a scheme for regulating neutral commerce. This measure had begun to take a character so stern that even its author expected it to produce war with the United States; and if war could be avoided at all, it could be avoided only by following Erskine’s advice, and by sending to America, before the new Orders in Council, an apology for the attack on the “Chesapeake.”

FOOTNOTES:

[36] Peter Plymley’s Letters, ix.

[37] Peter Plymley’s Letters, i.

[38] Malmesbury’s Diary, iv. 376.

[39] Canning to Boringdon, Nov. 19, 1799; Stapleton’s Canning, p. 43.

[40] Correspondance, xv. 467.

[41] Napoleon to Berthier, Aug. 17, 1807; Correspondance, xv. 504.

[42] Malmesbury’s Diary, iv. 392.

[43] Morning Chronicle, Oct. 7, 1807.

[44] Campbell’s Lord Chancellors, ix. 288, n.

[45] Cobbett’s Debates, ix., Appendix lxxx.; Atcheson’s American Encroachments, Appendix No. viii. 114.

[46] The Radical Cause, etc., by William Spence, 1808, p. 43.

[47] The Radical Cause, etc., by William Spence, 1808, p. 19.

[48] Cobbett’s Debates (Feb. 17, 1809), xii. 776.

[49] The Morning Post, Nov. 12, 1807.

[50] The Morning Post, Jan. 13, 1808.

[51] Monroe to Madison, Aug. 4, 1807; State Papers, iii. 186.

[52] Orders in Council; or, An Examination of the Justice, Legality, and Policy of the New System, etc. (London, 1808), p. 61.

[53] Brougham to Lord Howick, Nov. 7, 1807; Brougham’s Memoirs, i. 386.

[54] Brougham to Lord Howick, Nov. 7, 1807; Brougham’s Memoirs, i. 383.

[55] The Morning Post, Oct. 23, 1807.

CHAPTER IV.

The Orders in Council of Nov. 11, 1807, gave an impulse so energetic to the history of the United States; they worked so effectually to drive America into a new path, and to break the power and blot out the memory of Virginia and Massachusetts principles,—that every detail of their history was important. Englishmen were little likely to dwell on acts of which even at the time England was at heart ashamed, and which she afterward remembered with astonishment. To Americans alone the statesmanship of Spencer Perceval and George Canning was a matter of so much interest as to deserve study.

At the close of the year 1806 American merchants might, as always before, send cargoes of West Indian produce to any port on the continent not blockaded, provided they could satisfy British cruisers and courts that the cargo was in good faith neutral,—not French or Spanish property disguised. Jan. 7, 1807, Lord Howick issued the Order in Council which, under pretence of retaliation for Napoleon’s Berlin Decree, cut off the coasting rights of neutrals. After that time the American merchant might still send a ship to Bordeaux; but if the ship, finding no market at Bordeaux, should resume her voyage, and make for Amsterdam or the Mediterranean, she became fair prize. Something has been already said[56] upon the character of Lord Howick’s order, and on the subsequent debate in Parliament, when, February 4, Spencer Perceval attacked the Whig ministry for not carrying the principle of retaliation far enough. Two objects were to be gained, said Perceval[57] from the opposition bench: the first and greatest was to counteract the enemy’s measures and protect English trade; the second was to distress France. Howick’s order neither did nor could effect either object; and Perceval called for a measure which should shut out colonial produce from France and Spain altogether, unless it came from England and had paid a duty at a British custom-house to enhance the price. If Lord Howick’s principle of retaliation was good for anything, Perceval contended it was good to this extent; and as for neutrals, there was no necessity for consulting them,—all they could reasonably expect was a notice.

The Whigs naturally replied to Perceval that before further punishing America for the acts of France, America should be allowed time to assert her own rights. This suggestion called out Lord Castlereagh, who frequently spoke the truth in ways inconvenient to his colleagues and amusing to his enemies. In this instance he admitted and even accented a point which became afterward the strongest part of the American argument. He ridiculed the idea of waiting for America to act, because notoriously the Berlin Decree had not been enforced against American commerce:—

“This is one ground why we should look upon America with jealousy. It is an aggravation that she has, by a secret understanding with the French government, contrived to take her shipping out of the operation of the decree, that was at first general, and placed herself in a situation of connivance with the French government.”

A few weeks afterward Perceval and Castlereagh took office. One of their first acts set on foot a parliamentary inquiry into the state of West Indian commerce. The report of this committee, presented to the House July 27, was ordered to be printed August 8. August 10 the House voted to take it into consideration early in the next session; and four days afterward Parliament was prorogued, leaving ministers to deal at their leisure with the “Chesapeake” affair, the Danish fleet, and Napoleon’s attempts to exclude English manufactures and commerce from Europe.

Napoleon’s Berlin Decree of Nov. 21, 1806, had remained till then almost a dead letter. The underwriters at Lloyds, alarmed at first by the seizures made under that decree, recovered courage between April and August, 1807, so far as to insure at low rates neutral vessels bound to Holland and Hamburg. This commerce attracted Napoleon’s notice. August 19 he threatened his brother Louis, King of Holland, to send thirty thousand troops into his kingdom if the ports were not shut;[58] August 24 he sent positive orders[59] that his decree of Berlin should be executed in Holland; and in the last days of August news reached London that a general seizure of neutral vessels had taken place at Amsterdam.[60] From that moment no ship could obtain insurance, and trade with the Continent ceased. Soon afterward the American ship “Horizon” was condemned by the French courts under the Berlin Decree, and no one could longer doubt that the favor hitherto extended to American commerce had also ceased.

These dates were important, because upon them hung the popular defence of Perceval’s subsequent Orders in Council. No argument in favor of these orders carried so much weight in England as the assertion that America had acquiesced in Napoleon’s Berlin Decree. The President had in fact submitted to the announcement of Napoleon’s blockade, as he had submitted to Sir William Scott’s decisions, Lord Howick’s Order in Council, the blockade of New York, and the custom of impressment, without effectual protest; but the Berlin Decree was not enforced against American commerce until about Sept. 1, 1807, and no one in America knew of the enforcement, or could have acted upon it, before the British government took the law into its own hands.

The month of September passed, and the British ministry was sufficiently busy with the bombardment of Copenhagen and the assault on the “Chesapeake,” without touching neutral trade; but October 1 Lord Castlereagh wrote a letter[61] to Perceval, urging retaliation upon France in order to make her feel that Napoleon’s anti-commercial system was useless, and in order to assert for future guidance the general principle that England would reject any peace which did not bring commerce with it. The idea presented by Castlereagh was clear and straightforward,—the double-or-quits of a gambler; and however open to the charge of ignorance or violence, it was not mean or dishonest.

In reply Perceval drew up a paper of suggestions[62] for the use of the Cabinet, dealing first with the justice, next with the policy of retaliation. Of its justice as against France he thought there could be no doubt, while Lord Howick’s order had already asserted the principle as against neutrals, even before it could be known whether neutrals would retaliate on their own account; but apart from this precedent, “the injury which neutrals sustain is consequential; the measure is not adopted with a view to injure the neutrals, but to injure the enemy.” Perhaps Perceval felt that this argument might lead too far, and that on such a doctrine England might appropriate the world on every declaration of war; for in the next paragraph he pleaded the particular war in which England was actually engaged as his warranty:—

“When an enemy arises who declares to all the world that he will trample upon the law of nations, and hold at nought all the privileges of neutral nations when they do not suit his belligerent interests; and when by the great extent of his power he is enabled in great measure to act up to his declaration,—it is evident that if those Powers with which he is at war should continue to hold themselves bound to rules and obligations of which he will not acknowledge the force, they cannot carry on the contest on equal terms. And the neutral who would control their hostility by those rules and laws which their enemy refuses to recognize, and which such neutral does not compel that enemy to observe, ceases to be a neutral by ceasing to observe that impartiality which is the very life and soul of neutrality.”

This allegation differed from the first. Perceval began by maintaining that England possessed a right, if she chose, to suppress the existence of America or of any other neutral, provided the suppression were consequential on an intent to injure France. He next argued that the existence of America might be equally suppressed because she had not yet succeeded in compelling France to observe neutral privileges, which so far as she was concerned had not been violated. If these two propositions were worth making, they should have settled the question. Yet Perceval was not satisfied; he took a third ground:—

“This question, however, need not now be argued to the extent which was necessary to justify the assertion of the late Government; because whatever might be the doubts upon it when the decree of France first issued, and before it was known to what extent neutrals would resist or acquiesce in it, since those neutrals have acquiesced in it, or at least have not resisted or resented it to the extent of obtaining a formal recall of the decree and an open renunciation of the principle which dictated it, nor the abandonment of the practices which flow from it,—they by their acquiescence and submission have given to Great Britain a right to expect from them (when her interests require the exertion of measures of correspondent efficacy) a forbearance similar to that which they have shown toward her enemy.”

If Perceval’s two opening premises gave a strange idea of English statesmanship, his third was little creditable to the English bar. He took the ground that England might do what she would with American commerce, because America, whatever effort she might have made, had not already forced Napoleon to recall a decree from the application of which the United States notoriously had till within six weeks been exempted. Lord Castlereagh’s doctrine that America’s exemption aggravated her offence was a wide-minded argument by the side of Perceval’s assertion that America’s acquiescence was proved by the French decree itself. Considering that America had in this sense acquiesced in Sir William Scott’s decisions and the wholesale confiscation of her commerce, in the impressment of her native citizens and their compulsory service in the British navy, in the blockade of New York, in Fox’s paper blockade of the German coast, in Lord Howick’s Order in Council, and perhaps even in the “Chesapeake” outrage,—Perceval’s argument must have seemed convincing to Napoleon, if not to President Jefferson. If the law of nations thus laid down was sound, the continued presence of American citizens in British ships of war was alone sufficient proof of American acquiescence in impressment to warrant Napoleon in acting without regard to neutral rights. From a neutral or French point of view Perceval’s reasoning not only conceded the legality of the Berlin Decree, but barred his own right of retaliation, since England, as the first and worst offender, could not properly profit by her own misdeeds.

There Perceval rested his case, so far as concerned the law. His three grounds were—(1) That as a neutral the United States could complain of no retaliation between belligerents, unless this retaliation was avowedly adopted with a view to injure neutrals; (2) That America ceased to be a neutral from the moment that she wished England to observe rules which France refused to recognize, and which America did not at once compel France to recognize; and (3) That the continued existence and recent enforcement of the Berlin Decree were sufficient proof of the neutral’s acquiescence.

Thus a measure of vital consequence to England was proposed to the Cabinet on grounds which would hardly have been sufficient to warrant an injunction to restrain a private nuisance. So far as argument was concerned, Perceval had no more to say. Having in his opinion established his legal right to do what he pleased with American commerce, he next discussed the policy and extent of the proposed interference. His first idea was comparatively moderate.

“If we actually prohibit all intercourse between neutrals and the enemies’ colonies,” he continued, “or between neutrals and the enemies’ continental possessions, it would be such a severe blow upon the trade of America as might make it no unreasonable choice on her part to prefer the dangers and chances of war to such a restriction upon her trade. I should therefore wish to leave such advantages still to neutral trade as to make it quite clear to be the policy of America, if she is wise, to prefer the neutral trade that will be left to her to the total stoppage of her trade with the enemy and with ourselves which a war might occasion.... With this view, therefore, I would recommend to relax thus far in the rigor of our retaliatory prohibitions as to leave to neutral nations the right of trading directly in articles of their own growth, produce, and manufacture exported in their own vessels to enemies’ countries, and of importing from the enemies’ countries for their own use articles the growth, produce, and manufacture of such enemies’ countries; that is, leaving to them free the direct trade between the enemy and themselves in articles of their respective growth, etc., but to prohibit the re-exportation of any articles the growth, etc., of the enemies’ countries or their colonies, or the carriage of them to any other country but their own.”

Perceval’s first suggestion was far from being so radical as the measure at last adopted. He proposed to cut off France from her colonies and force all trade between those colonies and Europe to pass through British hands; but an American ship laden with American cotton or wheat might still sail from the United States direct to France and return to the United States, or might carry provisions and lumber to Martinique and Cuba, carrying French or Spanish sugar back to New York. This so-called “direct” trade was to be untouched; the “indirect” or carrying trade between the West Indies and the continent of Europe was to be permitted only under special licenses to be issued by British authorities.

In this shape Perceval sent his suggestions to the Prime Minister, the Duke of Portland, who gave his entire approval to the principle of retaliation as against France, but wished to retaliate against France alone:[63] “Considering the unpopularity which, it cannot be denied, we are held in throughout the Continent, I very much doubt whether we should limit this intercourse beyond the actual dominions of France. I am well aware that by admitting the intercourse with Holland and Spain, France will obtain circuitously those supplies which she will stand in want of.”

This disadvantage, the Duke thought, could be largely compensated by a rigid observance of the navigation laws. The Duke’s opinion was very short, and barely hinted at the American question.

John Fane, Earl of Westmoreland, Lord Privy Seal,—Sot Privé, or Privy Fool, as Canning afterward nicknamed him by a pun on the French word sceau,[64]—gave next his written opinion on the subject.[65] Going beyond either Perceval or Portland, he urged the expediency of stopping all trade with the enemy except through the medium of England,—“the effect of which must be either to distress them to such a degree as to induce a relaxation of their decrees, or to cause a great trade from this country. Its effect in case of an extension of hostility can certainly not be ascertained; but I am disposed to think that we cannot carry on war allowing our enemy advantages of commerce as in peace, and that if we only do what is right we must take our chance for the consequences.”

The next opinion was apparently that of Lord Hawkesbury, the Home Secretary, who was also clear that Perceval’s plan wanted energy. While supporting the Duke of Portland in narrowing its scope to France, or at the utmost to Holland, he favored harsher treatment of America:[66]

“I incline strongly to the opinion that it is expedient to put an end, as far as in us lies, to all intercourse by sea between neutrals and the continental dominions of France, and possibly of Holland. I am satisfied that the measure of retaliation as proposed in the enclosed paper would have no other effect than to raise the price of colonial produce in France to a small degree. It would offend neutrals, particularly the Americans, and inflict no adequate injury upon the enemy. But if we should determine to prevent all intercourse whatever with the ports of France except by British license, we should have it in our power to destroy at once all the remaining commerce of France, which by means of neutrals is not inconsiderable, and to strike a most important blow against her agriculture by preventing the exportation of her wines.”

Lord Hawkesbury kept in view the retaliatory character of the measure as a punishment of France. Lord Castlereagh, the Secretary for War, was not quite so careful.[67] He acquiesced in Perceval’s scheme, provided it should reserve the right to extend its own application whenever the balance of advantage should favor the extension; but he added,—

“I am of opinion that some decisive measure, in vindication of our own commerce and in counteraction of the unsocial system of France,—the principle of which is not the growth of this war, but was acted upon by her throughout the late short peace,—is become indispensable, not merely as a measure of commercial policy, but in order to put the contest in which we are engaged upon its true grounds in the view of our own people and of the world. It is no longer a struggle for territory or for a point of honor, but whether the existence of England as a naval power is compatible with that of France.”

Avowing that a commercial transaction was his object, and that the punishment of France was secondary to a “vindication of our own commerce,” Castlereagh assumed that punishment of France and “vindication” of English commerce were both belligerent rights, as though the right to kill an adversary in a duel implied the right to pick a bystander’s pocket. His colleague and rival Canning was not so confused, for Canning’s duties obliged him to defend the new policy against neutral objections. Carefully as the other ministers mingled the ideas of retaliation and of commerce, the double motive of Perceval’s measure had never been concealed; the intention to permit a licensed trade with France was avowed. Perceval and Castlereagh wanted, not to take commerce from France, but to force commerce upon her; and none of their colleagues could detect this inconsistency so readily as Canning, whose duties would oblige him to assert before the world that retaliation alone was the object of a measure which he privately knew to have no motive but that of commercial rivalry. Canning’s written opinion, beginning by affirming in strong terms the right and justice of retaliation, continued as follows:[68]—

“The question of policy is all that remains; and in this view I should think all such modifications as go to lighten the burden imposed upon neutrals, and as are obviously intended for that purpose, more advisable than any direct reservations for our own interest and advantage. For this reason I would rather confine the measure to a part of the countries in the occupation of the enemy (a large part to be sure,—France and Holland, for instance), and apply it in all its rigor to that part, than extend it to the whole and relax it generally by complicated exceptions and regulations. And I would keep out of sight the exceptions in favor of ships going from this country, the benefit of which might be equally obtained by licenses; but the publication of that exception would give to the measure the air of a commercial rather than a political transaction.”

By the end of October all the Cabinet opinions were in Perceval’s hands, and he began the task of drafting the proposed orders. His original draft[69] contained an elaborate preamble, asserting that Napoleon’s decrees violated the laws of nations, which Perceval broadly maintained were binding on one belligerent only when the obligation was reciprocally acknowledged by the other; that neutrals had not resented and resisted the outrage, “nor interposed with effect for obtaining the revocation of those orders, but on the contrary the same have been recently reinforced;” that Lord Howick’s retaliatory order had served only to encourage Napoleon’s attempts; that his Majesty had a right to declare all the dominions of France and her allies in a state of blockade; but “not forgetting the interests of neutral nations, and still desirous of retaliating upon the commerce of his enemies with as little prejudice to those interests” as was consistent with his purpose, he would for the present prohibit only trade which neutrals might be disposed to pursue in submission to the French decrees, and require that such trade should pass to or from some British port.

Then followed the order, which prohibited all neutral trade with the whole European sea-coast from Copenhagen to Trieste, leaving only the Baltic open. No American vessel should be allowed to enter any port in Europe from which British vessels were excluded, unless the American should clear from some British port under regulations to be prescribed at a future time.

This draft was completed in the first days of November, and was sent to Lord Bathurst, President of the Board of Trade, who mercilessly criticised the preamble, and treated his colleague’s law with as little respect as though Bathurst were an American.

“I wish the principle of retaliation,” wrote Lord Bathurst, “not to be unqualifiedly advanced, for which I think there is no necessity. May it not be said that in a contest with an unprincipled enemy the doctrine of retaliation is one dangerous to admit without qualifications? I own I do not like the word. If my enemy commits an act of injustice, I am not therefore justified in committing the same, except so far as may be necessary, in consequence of his act, either to protect myself from injury, or prevent a recurrence to, or continuance in, such acts of injustice. All operations of war are justified only on the principle of defence. Retaliation seems to admit something of a vindictive spirit.”

The Board of Trade was not usually scrupulous in dealing with American commerce; but in this instance Earl Bathurst let it be plainly seen that he wished to have no share of responsibility for Perceval’s casuistry. The longer he studied the proposed order the less he liked it; and in the end he wrote an opinion contrary to his first. He withdrew his assent to the order altogether, and hinted some unpleasant truths in regard to it.

“Our ability to continue the war,” he said,[70] “depends on our commerce; for if our revenues fail from a diminution of our commerce, additional imports will only add to the evil. The enemy forms one great military empire. The extent of country he covers does not render him so dependent on an export and import trade. The whole of that trade might perish and he could still continue the war. If one third of ours were to fail we should be soon reduced to peace.”

The proposed order, Bathurst argued, not only restricted the neutral trade still further than had been done by Napoleon, but risked war with Russia and America, without materially hurting France; he added an argument which struck at the foundation of Perceval’s policy:—

“The object of the proposed order, though general, is in fact nothing but the colonial trade carried on through America; and by making it general we unite Russia in defence of a trade with which she has no concern or any interest to defend. As far as America is concerned, it must be expected she will resist it; and an American war would be severely felt by our manufacturers, and even by the very class of merchants now so eager for some measure of relief. We might therefore have to fight for a rule of war, new, the policy of which would be questionable, to support an interest which would be the first to suffer by the war,—against two countries, one of which the order unnecessarily mixes in the question, and with both of which we have great commercial relations.”

Bathurst closed by expressing a preference for the Rule of 1756, or for a blockade of the West Indian Islands,—which, if the Admiralty thought it practicable, Bathurst considered as the best of all the measures proposed; but besides this radical change, he demanded certain alarming reforms. He complained to Perceval that already, even under the existing orders, such abuses prevailed that in order to prevent a public parliamentary inquiry he had been obliged by the general clamor of merchants to investigate their grievances:[71]—

“The result of the examination established the truth of the vexations to which the trade is now subject by privateers, who are enabled to persevere in them in consequence of the commercial restrictions and the proceedings of the Court of Admiralty. In a communication I had with Sir William Scott, who had been very angry with the inquiry, I proposed some regulations which, indeed, I knew would be unsatisfactory unless there were some alterations in the proceedings of his Court,—a subject which I did not venture to touch.”

Lord Bathurst’s well-meant efforts for reform, gentle as they were, showed him the fortresses in which corruption was already entrenched. Sir William Scott, like his brother Lord Eldon, never relaxed his grasp on a profitable abuse. He gave cogent reasons for rejecting Lord Bathurst’s suggestions, and could afford to disregard the danger of interference, for Spencer Perceval was completely under the influence of Lord Eldon. Bathurst urged Perceval to reform the license-system, so that at least the license should give complete protection to the cargo, no matter to whom the cargo might belong; and he hoped that this reform would put an end to the abuses of the Admiralty Court. “But,” he added, “I did not venture to give this as my reason before Sir John Nichol [advocate-general], for you must be aware that both his profits and those of Sir William Scott depend much on privateers and the litigations which, it is my hope, will by this alteration be considerably diminished.”

Many members of the British government and nearly the whole British navy were growing rich on the plunder of American commerce. From King George downward, mighty influences were involved in maintaining a system which corrupted law officers, judges, admirals, and even the King himself. Spencer Perceval’s proposed Order in Council extended these abuses over whatever branches of commerce had hitherto been exempt; turned a new torrent of corruption into the government; and polluted the sources of British honor. In the light of Lord Bathurst’s protest, and his significant avowal that the object of the proposed order, though general in form, was in fact nothing but the colonial trade carried on through America, Canning might well wish to publish nothing that would draw attention to what he called the “commercial” side of the affair. Jefferson’s measures of peaceful coercion bore unexpected results, reacting upon foreign nations by stimulating every mean and sordid motive. No possible war could have so degraded England.

As the Cabinet came closer to the point, the political, or retaliatory, object of the new order disappeared, and its commercial character was exclusively set forth. In a letter written about November 30, by Spencer Perceval to Charles Abbot, Speaker of the House of Commons, not a word was said of retaliation, or of any political motive in this process of “recasting the law of trade and navigation, as far as belligerent principles are concerned, for the whole world.”

“The short principle is,” said Perceval,[72] “that trade in British produce and manufactures, and trade either from a British port or with a British destination, is to be protected as much as possible. For this purpose all the countries where French influence prevails to exclude the British flag shall have no trade but to or from this country, or from its allies. All other countries, the few that remain strictly neutral (with the exception of the colonial trade, which backward and forward direct they may carry on), cannot trade but through this being done as an ally with any of the countries connected with France. If therefore we can accomplish our purpose, it will come to this,—that either those countries will have no trade, or they must be content to accept it through us. This is a formidable and tremendous state of the world; but all the part of it which is particularly harassing to English interests was existing through the new severity with which Bonaparte’s decrees of exclusion against our trade were called into action. Our proceeding does not aggravate our distress from it. If he can keep out our trade he will; and he would do so if he could, independent of our orders. Our orders only add this circumstance: they say to the enemy, ‘If you will not have our trade, as far as we can help it you shall have none; and as to so much of any trade as you can carry on yourselves, or others carry on with you through us, if you admit it you shall pay for it. The only trade, cheap and untaxed, which you shall have shall be either direct from us, in our own produce and manufactures, or from our allies, whose increased prosperity will be an advantage to us.’”

These private expressions implied that retaliation upon France for her offence against international law was a pretence on the part of Perceval and Canning, under the cover of which they intended to force British commerce upon France contrary to French wishes. The act of Napoleon in excluding British produce from French dominions violated no rule of international law, and warranted no retaliation except an exclusion of French produce from British dominions. The rejoinder, “If you will not have our trade you shall have none,” was not good law, if law could be disputed when affirmed by men like Lord Eldon and Lord Stowell, echoed by courts, parliaments, and press,—not only in private, but in public; not only in 1807, but for long years afterward; and not only at moments, but without interruption.

Thus Canning, although he warned Perceval against betraying the commercial object of his orders, instructed[73] Erskine at Washington to point out that American ships might still bring colonial produce to England, under certain regulations, for re-export to France. “The object of these regulations will be the establishment of such a protecting duty as shall prevent the enemy from obtaining the produce of his own colonies at a cheaper rate than that of the colonies of Great Britain.” Not to distress France, but to encourage British trade, was, according to Canning, the object of this “political” weapon.

Thus Perceval, in the debate of Feb. 5, 1808, in discussing the policy of his order, affirmed that the British navy had been “rendered useless by neutral ships carrying to France all that it was important for France to obtain.”[74] The Rule of 1756, he said, would not have counteracted this result,—a much stronger measure was necessary; and it was sound policy “to endeavor to force a market.” Lord Bathurst, a few days afterward, very frankly told[75] the House that “the object of these orders was to regulate that which could not be prohibited,—the circuitous trade through this country,”—in order that the produce of enemies’ colonies might “be subjected to a duty sufficiently high to prevent its having the advantage over our own colonial produce;” and Lord Hawkesbury, in the same debate, complained[76] that neutrals supplied colonial produce to France at a much less rate than the English paid for it. “To prevent this,” he said, “was the great object of the Orders in Council.” James Stephen’s frequent arguments[77] in favor of the orders turned upon the commercial value of the policy as against neutrals; while George Rose, Vice-President of the Board of Trade, went still further, and not only avowed, in the face of Parliament, the hope that these Orders in Council would make England the emporium of all trade in the world, but even asserted, in an unguarded moment of candor, that it was a mistake to call the orders retaliatory,—they were a system of self-defence, a plan to protect British commerce.[78]

Thus, too, the orders themselves, while licensing the export through England to France of all other American produce, imposed a prohibitive duty on the export of cotton, on the ground—as Canning officially informed[79] the American government—that France had pushed her cotton manufactures to such an extent as to make it expedient for England to embarrass them.

According to the public and private avowals of all the Ministry, the true object of Perceval’s orders was, not to force a withdrawal of the Berlin Decree so far as it violated international law, but to protect British trade from competition. Perceval did not wish to famish France, but to feed her. His object was commercial, not political; his policy aimed at checking the commerce of America in order to stimulate the commerce of England. The pretence that this measure had retaliation for its object and the vindication of international law for its end was a legal fiction, made to meet the objections of America and to help Canning in maintaining a position which he knew to be weak.

After this long discussion, and after conferences not only with his colleagues in the Cabinet, but also with George Rose, Vice-President of the Board of Trade, with James Stephen, who was in truth the author of the war on neutrals, and with a body of merchants from the city,—at last, Nov. 11, 1807, Spencer Perceval succeeded in getting his General Order approved in Council. In its final shape this famous document differed greatly from the original draft. In deference to Lord Bathurst’s objections, the sweeping doctrine of retaliation was omitted, so that hardly an allusion to it was left in the text; the assertion that neutrals had acquiesced in the Berlin Decree was struck out; the preamble was reduced, by Lord Eldon’s advice, to a mere mention of the French pretended blockade, and of Napoleon’s real prohibition of British commerce, followed by a few short paragraphs reciting that Lord Howick’s order of Jan. 7, 1807, had “not answered the desired purpose either of compelling the enemy to recall those orders or of inducing neutral nations to interpose with effect to obtain their revocation, but on the contrary the same have been recently enforced with increased rigor;” and then, with the blunt assertion that “his Majesty, under these circumstances, finds himself compelled to take further measures for asserting and vindicating his just rights,” Perceval, without more apology, ordered in effect that all American commerce, except that to Sweden and the West Indies, should pass through some British port and take out a British license.

The exceptions, the qualifications, and the verbiage of the British Orders need no notice. The ablest British merchants gave up in despair the attempt to understand them; and as one order followed rapidly upon another, explaining, correcting, and developing Perceval’s not too lucid style, the angry Liberals declared their belief that he intended no man to understand them without paying two guineas for a legal opinion, with the benefit of a chance to get a directly contrary opinion for the sum of two guineas more.[80] Besides the express provisions contained in the Order of November 11, it was understood that American commerce with the enemies of England must not only pass through British ports with British license, but that colonial produce would be made to pay a tax to the British Treasury to enhance its price, while cotton would not be allowed to enter France.

The general intention, however confused, was simple. After November 11, 1807, any American vessel carrying any cargo was liable to capture if it sailed for any port in Europe from which the British flag was excluded. In other words, American commerce was made English.

This measure completed, diplomacy was to resume its work. Even Canning’s audacity might be staggered to explain how the government of the United States could evade war after it should fairly understand the impressment Proclamation of October 17, the Order in Council of November 11, and the Instructions of George Henry Rose,—who was selected by Canning as his special envoy for the adjustment of the “Leopard’s” attack on the “Chesapeake,” and who carried orders which made adjustment impossible. Such outrages could be perpetrated only upon a helpless people. Even in England, where Jefferson’s pacific policy was well understood, few men believed that peace could be longer preserved.

FOOTNOTES:

[56] See vol. iii. p. 416.

[57] Cobbett’s Debates, Feb. 4, 1807, viii. 620-656.

[58] Napoleon to Champagny, Aug. 19, 1807; Correspondance, xv. 509.

[59] Same to Same, Aug. 24, 1807; Ibid., p. 542.

[60] Parliamentary Inquiry, 1808; Evidence of Robert Shedden and Mr. Hadley.

[61] Castlereagh to Perceval, Oct. 1, 1807; Castlereagh Correspondence, viii. 87.

[62] Original Suggestions to the Cabinet, Oct. 12, 1807; Perceval MSS.

[63] Opinion of the Duke of Portland; Perceval MSS.

[64] Stapleton’s Canning, p. 411.

[65] Opinion of the Earl of Westmoreland; Perceval MSS.

[66] Opinion of Lord Hawkesbury; Perceval MSS.

[67] Opinion of Lord Castlereagh; Perceval MSS.

[68] Opinion of Mr. Canning; Perceval MSS.

[69] First Draft of Orders in Council, with remarks by Earl Bathurst; Perceval MSS.

[70] Opinion of Lord Bathurst in dissent to the Principle of Mr. Perceval’s proposed Order; Perceval MSS.

[71] Lord Bathurst to Spencer Perceval, Nov. 5, 1807; Perceval MSS.

[72] Spencer Perceval to Speaker Abbot; Diary and Correspondence of Lord Colchester, ii. 134.

[73] Erskine to Madison, Feb. 23, 1808; State Papers, iii. 209.

[74] Cobbett’s Debates, x. 328.

[75] Debate of Feb. 15, 1808; Cobbett’s Debates, x. 471.

[76] Debate of Feb. 15, 1808; Cobbett’s Debates, x. 485.

[77] Speech of James Stephen, March 6, 1809; Cobbett’s Debates, xiii., Appendix lxxvi.

[78] Debate of March 3, 1812; report in Times and Morning Chronicle of March 4, 1812.

[79] Erskine to Madison, Feb. 23, 1808; State Papers, iii. 209.

[80] Baring’s Inquiry, pp. 14, 15.

CHAPTER V.

The curtain was about to rise upon a new tragedy,—the martyrdom of Spain. At this dramatic spectacle the United States government and people might have looked with composure and without regret, for they hardly felt so deep an interest in history, literature, or art as to care greatly what was to become of the land which had once produced Cortes, Cervantes, and Murillo; but in the actual condition of European politics their own interests were closely entwined with those of Spain, and as the vast designs of Napoleon were developed, the fortunes of the Spanish empire more and more deeply affected those of the American Union.

General Armstrong waited impatiently at Paris while Napoleon carried on his desperate struggle with the Emperor Alexander amid the ice and snows of Prussia. After the battle of Eylau the American minister became so restless that in May, 1807, he demanded passports for Napoleon’s headquarters, but was refused. Had he gone as he wished, he might have seen the great battle of Friedland, June 14, and witnessed the peace of Tilsit, signed July 7, which swept away the last obstacle to Napoleon’s schemes against Spain and America. After the peace of Tilsit, Armstrong could foresee that he should have to wait but a short time for the explanations so mysteriously delayed.

Except Denmark and Portugal, every State on the coast of Europe from St. Petersburg to Trieste acknowledged Napoleon’s domination. England held out; and experience proved that England could not be reached by arms. The next step in the Emperor’s system was to effect her ruin by closing the whole world to her trade. He began with Portugal. From Dresden, July 19, he issued orders[81] that the Portuguese ports should be closed by September 1 against English commerce, or the kingdom of Portugal would be occupied by a combined French and Spanish army. July 29 he was again in Paris. July 31 he ordered Talleyrand to warn the Prince Royal of Denmark that he must choose between war with England and war with France. That the turn would next come to the United States was evident; and Armstrong was warned by many signs of the impending storm. August 2, at the diplomatic audience, the brunt of Napoleon’s displeasure fell on Dreyer, the Danish minister, and on his colleague from Portugal; but Armstrong could see that he was himself expected to profit by the lesson. He wrote instantly to the Secretary of State.[82]

“We had yesterday our first audience of the Emperor since his return to Paris. Happening to stand near the minister of Denmark, I overheard his Majesty say to that minister: ‘So, M. Baron, the Baltic has been violated!’ The minister’s answer was not audible to me; nor did it appear to be satisfactory to the Emperor, who repeated, in a tone of voice somewhat raised and peremptory, ‘But, sir, the Baltic has been violated!’ From M. Dreyer he passed to myself and others, and lastly to the ambassador of Portugal, to whom, it is said, he read a very severe lecture on the conduct of his Court. These circumstances go far to justify the whispers that begin to circulate, that an army is organizing to the south for the purpose of taking possession of Portugal, and another to the north for a similar purpose with regard to Denmark; and generally, that, having settled the business of belligerents, with the exception of England, very much to his own liking, he is now on the point of settling that of neutrals in the same way. It was perhaps under the influence of this suggestion that M. Dreyer, taking me aside, inquired whether any application had been made to me with regard to a projected union of all commercial States against Great Britain, and on my answering in the negative, he replied: ‘You are much favored, but it will not last!’”

A few days afterward another rumor ran through Paris. The Prince of Benevento was no longer Minister of Foreign Affairs, and his successor was to be M. de Champagny, hitherto Minister of the Interior. At first Armstrong would not believe in Talleyrand’s disgrace. “It is not probable that this is very serious, or that it will be very durable,” he wrote.[83] “A trifling cause cannot alienate such a master from such a minister; and a grave one could not fail to break up all connections between them.” Reasonable as this theory seemed, it was superficial. The master and the minister had not only separated, but had agreed to differ and to remain outwardly friends. Their paths could no longer lie together; and the overwhelming power of Bonaparte—who controlled a million soldiers with no enemy to fight—made cabals and Cabinet opposition not only useless but ridiculous. Yet with all this, Talleyrand stood in silent and cold disapproval of the Emperor’s course; and since Talleyrand represented intelligent conservatism, it was natural to suppose that the Emperor meant to be even more violent in the future than in the past. The new minister, Champagny, neither suggested a policy of his own, nor presumed, as Talleyrand sometimes dared, to argue or remonstrate with his master.