Adventures in American Diplomacy: Iii. The Treaty of Ghent

I

EXACTLY at midday of August 7, 1814, four Americans might have been seen earnestly consulting together in one of the rooms of the late Baron de Lovendeghem’s residence at the corner of Rue des Champs and Rue des Foulons in the city of Ghent.

It was a notable conference, not only because of its historical significance, but by reason of the singularly harmonious atmosphere which pervaded it, for the participants had nothing in common save the fact that they represented the United States as Commissioners empowered to negotiate a treaty of peace with England, and their earlier meetings had not always been characterized by unanimity either of thought or of action. In fact, as individuals, the distinguished diplomatists in question had acquired a very pronounced distaste for one another’s society during their protracted sojourn in Belgium, and as envoys they hail been subjected to most mortifying treatment.

Under such circumstances it was no more than natural that, the nerves of the official family should have become somewhat unstrung. Indeed, the only remarkable thing about the situation was that five men of such widely differing tastes and temperaments had managed to live under the same roof even for a day — to say nothing of six weeks.

The individual who sat at the head of the conference table was a welldressed, scholarly-looking, middle-aged man, with short, clerical side-whiskers, whose solemn, but strong, face, and dignified, if not haughty, bearing gave him an air of authority of which he was apparently quite sufficiently aware. This was John Quincy Adams, as cultured and conscientious and altogether admirable a public servant, as Massachusetts ever produced; and as fussy and prolix and altogether tiresome a companion as was ever inflicted on any company.

Near this impeccable and irritating gentleman sat a lank, uncouth, untidy and generally unpresentable citizen of the soil, redolent of tobacco and whiskey, whose thin, hard, clean-shaven and somewhat foxy lace was softened by his twinkling eyes and the humorous expression of his mouth. Indeed, the whole aspect of the man depended on his expression. At serious moments he looked offensively ill-tempered and withered, but when he smiled he seemed positively youthful, and his great mass of light-colored (almost white) hair added to this effect, giving the impression of a big overgrown boy, careless of appearance and entirely unawed. He was, as a matter of fact, the youngest of the group assembled at the table, for Henry Clay was only thirtyseven when Fate ordained that he should be delegated to adjust a quarrel which he had done his utmost to provoke.¹

Reside this virile and vulgar representative of Kentucky sat a man whose patrician face and finely formed head, crowned with luxuriant black locks, emphasized the marked contrast between him and his whitish-haired, coarse-featured neighbor. But the two men were not only physically different, they were mentally and politically hostile, for James A. Bayard, ex-United States Senator from Delaware, had bitterly opposed the declaration of war against Great Britain in 1812 and thoroughly disapproved of the swashbuckling, fire-eating appeals by which Clay had influenced public opinion in favor of the conflict. But Bayard’s enthusiasm for peace had been considerably abated by his experiences in Europe as a Peace Commissioner; and had Clay been his companion for the fifteen months during which he had wandered over the Continent seeking peace but finding none, it is possible that he might have reached Ghent in a downright fighting mood. Fortunately for all concerned, however, his traveling companion during those trying days had been a man whose temperament was proof against all personal slights and whose patience was well-nigh inexhaustible. He was, in fact, the only one of the envoys who had no inherited prejudice against England, and to whom the war was not in any respect a family quarrel; for Albert Gallatin, though a loyal American by adoption, was by birth and inheritance a Swiss. Doubtless it was this saving quality that had enabled him to remain unperturbed in the face of the maddening delays and disappointments which he and his associate had encountered during their long diplomatic pilgrimage.

That exasperating experience commenced in May, 1813, when Gallatin resigned his position as Secretary of the Treasury in order to act with Bayard as a Peace Commissioner, and sailed from Philadelphia with his colleagues, duly accredited to meet the representatives of England at St. Petersburg, where the Emperor of Russia was, presumably, to act as mediator between Great Britain and the United States.

The journey proved long and tedious, and when, at the end of ten weeks’ traveling, the envoys at last reached their destination, they found that England had not sent and did not intend to send any commissioners, her government having, in the interim, declined the proffered mediation.

This was, to say the least, an awkward situation, and the embarrassment of the stranded envoys was increased by the fact that they could not gracefully retire from the scene, as they were advised that the Russian Emperor was renewing his offer of mediation and that there was good reason to suppose that England would not offend him by again rejecting his friendly offices.

Months of uncertainty had followed, during which the luckless diplomats were neither officials nor private citizens; so when they had finally learned from a friendly correspondent that England was willing to treat directly with the United States, they traveled to London on the strength of that information. But at the British capital they had discovered that no commissioners had been appointed to meet them and that the plan for direct negotiation was still very much in the air. At last, however, they received word that a new Commission had been appointed by the United States, consisting of Adams, Clay, Jonathan Russell ² and themselves, and that Gothenburg had been selected as the diplomatic battleground. This was cheering news indeed, but before they reached Gothenburg they were advised that the meeting place had been changed to Ghent, and there most of the party had assembled in the last week of June, 1814.

II

After such an experience it was, of course, eminently fitting that the representatives of the United States should be properly housed. For more than a year they had been wandering from pillar to post, and the national dignity demanded that they should acquire a permanent abode. Doubtless it was this fact that induced the envoys to lease the de Lovendeghem residence soon after their arrival in Ghent; and had they been content to utilize it solely for the transaction of their official business all might have passed off well. Unfortunately, however, they invited trouble for themselves by deciding to live as well as work in the building, and the friction of daily living in close quarters was soon more than one of the inmates was able to endure; for no house was big enough to hold John Quincy Adams and his bête noire, Henry Clay.

Indeed, the official family had not much more than begun to settle down in its new abode before Adams rebelled at dining with his associates, who ‘sat long at table drinking bad wine and smoking cigars,’ and otherwise proving anything but agreeable companions for a man of his puritanical habits and tastes. He accordingly took refuge at a neighboring table d’hôte, but after a few days he swallowed his disgust (doubtless at the expense of his digestion) and thereafter schooled himself to participate in all the family repasts. This self-sacrificing move was, strangely enough, occasioned by the regret which Clay contrived to express at his confrère’s retirement from the convivial board; and much as the scion of New England is to be commended for forcing himself to rub elbows with the raw Kentuckian whose personal habits and table manners were far from pleasant, Clay is entitled to something very like heroic honors for diplomatically saddling himself with the company of a man who, by the very excess of his virtue, was a kill-joy to the free and easy.

With such commendable forbearance and courtesy on the part of the protagonists in this ill-mated household, it is probable that all personal friction would have been reduced to a minimum had the English Commissioners arrived promptly on the scene. But they were not on hand by the time the Americans had completed their living arrangements, and as day after day slipped by without any news of them, the waiting diplomats grew more and more bored by their own society and dissatisfied with their surroundings.

Adams was the only one of the party who had had any extended experience in diplomacy, but that did not reconcile his associates to his assumption of leadership, and his inborn superiority and pompous piety fairly maddened them. It is not difficult to understand this state of affairs. The voluminous journal in which Adams recorded all his thoughts and actions reveals the situation at a glance.

‘I usually rise between five and six,’ he wrote at about this time, ‘ but not so regularly as heretofore, my hour of retiring at night being more irregular. I begin the day by reading five chapters of the Bible and have this day finished in course the New Testament. I then write till nine o’clock, when I breakfast alone in my chambers. . . . I have this month frequented too much the theatre and public amusements. . . . May I be cautious not to fall into any habit of indolence or dissipation.’

No wonder this worthy but complacent diarist looked askance at Clay’s all-night card parties and general air of irresponsibility, and that the friction between the members of that incongruous ménage engendered a dangerous amount of heat as the long summer days dragged on.

Meanwhile nothing was heard of the British delegation, and at the end of a month and a half the situation began to be humiliatingly ridiculous. Here were five Americans, who had traveled thousands of miles to confer with England, left to cool their heels in a little Belgian town, without as much as a word of apology, even of explanation. Such contemptuous treatment would have been offensive under any circumstances, but in view of their elaborate preparations it was well calculated to make the marooned diplomats and their country the laughing-stock of the whole world. It is therefore not at all surprising that the atmosphere of the de Lovendeghem residence was anything but genial during the midsummer of 1814.

On the evening of August 6, however, the long-expected British Commissioners actually arrived, but the manner in which their advent was announced did not tend to smooth the ruffled feathers of their opponents. On the contrary, if added insult, to injury, for the newcomers, instead of apologizing for their tardy appearance, sent word that they were quartered at the Hotel Lion d’Or, where the Americans could attend them on the morrow for the purpose of exchanging credentials; and it was to consider this cool proposition that four of the five United States Commissioners assembled at noon on Sunday, August 7.

It did not take them long to agree upon a course of action. Indeed, if the representatives of Great Britain had studied how they could best serve their discordant adversaries, they could not have hit upon a happier plan; for from the moment that they were summoned to attend at the Englishmen’s lodgings the American envoys laid aside their personal differences and became, for the time being at least, a unit. The immediate result was that they determined without a dissenting vote to decline the patronizing invitation. If was not the fire-eating Clay, however, but the judicial Adams who was for handling the situation without gloves. The suggestion which had been made to them was, he declared, an offensive pretension to superiority, based on the usage of ambassadors toward ministers of an inferior order; and supporting his assertion with a citation from Martens, he moved that the British Commissioners be advised that the representatives of the United States would meet them at any time and place other than their own lodgings. Indeed, once he was in the saddle, it was difficult to prevent the doughty Puritan from throwing himself headlong against the foe. But Gallatin finally persuaded him that a flank attack would be more effective, and the upshot was that, a note was dispatched to the Lion d’Or, informing its distinguished patrons that the Americans would meet them at any place which might be mutually convenient, preferably the Hôtel des Pays Bas.

This delicate hint was not lost upon the Englishmen, who promptly accepted it, and the honors of the opening move thus rested with those who, up to that moment, had been playing a lone hand in the diplomatic game.

One o’clock of August 8 was the day and hour assigned for the first joint conference of the Commissioners, and at that time the Americans appeared at the Hôtel des Pays Bas, where they learned that the British representatives had already arrived. They accordingly passed at once into the apartment reserved for the occasion, where they were courteously greeted by a man of fine appearance, whose florid, clean-shaven, characteristically English face was highly intelligent and brimful of health and vitality. This was James, Lord Gambler, Admiral of the White Squadron, ex-Governor of Newfoundland, and a former lord of the Admiralty, whose life from earliest boyhood had been spent at sea and whose vessels were known in the British navy as ‘praying ships,’ for his Lordship was a stout churchman as well as a hard fighter.

His second in command on this occasion was a young man not over thirty years of age, with a keen, cleanshaven face, an ungracious manner, and a very uncertain temper. This youthful envoy was Henry Goulburn, Under Secretary for War and the Colonies, who had only recently been elected to Parliament and who was almost unknown in England, although destined, before many years, to become Chancellor of the Exchequer and one of the foremost British statesmen of his time.

The other English Commissioner was a barrister of no particular distinction, for although Dr. William Adams had a well-earned reputation as a specialist in certain branches of the law, he was not a prominent member of the English Bar, and was utterly unknown outside his own country. In fact, the only qualification that he possessed for the work that lay before him was his knowledge of practice in the Admiralty courts — an advantage which was more than offset by his brusque manners and by his total unfamiliarity with international affairs. Indeed, Goulburn was the only member of the party who had had any training whatsoever in diplomatic negotiations, and it was soon apparent that the British government did not repose much confidence in its official representatives.

Probably the authorities in London believed that the issue would be controlled by events rather than by arguments. But if this was not the explanation of their strange selection of plenipotentiaries, it obviously accounted for their delay in opening the negotiations, for the success of the British land forces in America during the past seven months could not be gainsaid, and there was every prospect that the summer campaign would greatly increase the advantage. Certainly from a military standpoint England could not have hit upon a more favorable moment for discussing a cessation of hostilities, and doubtless the British Ministers felt that they could practically dictate the terms of peace by the time their negotiators appeared in Ghent.

Under such circumstances it was to be expected that Lord Gambier and his associates would take a high stand with their adversaries, and the Ameriicans well knew that a hard fight lay before them. But prepared as they were for serious work, they had no suspicion of the extravagant demands upon which England had determined. The surprise was not delayed, however, for immediately after the interchange of formal courtesies Goulburn proceeded to outline his instructions, which provided, among other things, for the inclusion of the Indian allies of Great Britain as parties to the negotiation, and for the creation of a neutral zone for their protection. Both of these points, he stated, would have to be regarded as conditions precedent to the conclusion of any treaty. This sounded vague and somewhat ominous, but the Americans made no comment, and it was not until after two or three formal meetings that the young cabinet official saw fit to enter upon further details of the British demands, which were well calculated to make his American auditors stare and gasp. The neutral zone for the benefit of the Indians, he explained, was to be formed by surrendering to them all of the region now occupied by Michigan, Wisconsin, and Illinois, most of Indiana, and part of Ohio. This was to form a barrier between Canada and the United States, and was not to be alienated to either England or America. Then, parts of Maine and New York were to be ceded to Great Britain in a revision of the boundary line; the forts at Niagara and Sackett’s Harbor were to be dismantled, and the United States was to agree that it would never maintain any armed force on the Great Lakes or the rivers emptying into them; leaving Great Britain, however, free to do so.

To these and a few minor requirements the American Commissioners listened with unfeigned astonishment. Then Gallatin ventured to inquire what was to become of the citizens of Michigan, Illinois, and Ohio after their territory had been handed over to the Indians, and was brusquely informed that they would of course have to shift for themselves.

This was quite sufficient to bring the conference to a close, and merely requesting that the propositions be reduced to writing, Adams and his colleagues withdrew to their headquarters. Possibly this quiet reception of their ultimata encouraged the British Commissioners to believe that they had raised issues which would effect, a welcome delay in the proceedings by forcing their opponents to seek new instructions from Washington. But if so, they were speedily disillusioned, for an official answer was promptly laid before them, refusing to proceed any further with the negotiations on the lines suggested.

This response would doubtless have been even more promptly delivered had it not been for the fact that when Adams attempted to draft it, all his colleagues attacked his composition, amending and correcting it until very little of the original remained. There was something positively pathetic in Adams’s bewilderment at this merciless treatment of his carefully considered pages. He had played the schoolmaster so long that he could scarcely believe his eyes and cars when he found his authority disputed. But his colleagues had suffered from the worthy doctrinaire for many weeks, and they were in no mood to spare him when their hour arrived. Thus Gallatin took the sting out of all his spirited rejoinders; Clay eliminated all his figurative language; Bayard remoulded all his pet sentences; and, as a crowning insult, Russell corrected his punctuation, his capitalization, and his spelling! Indeed, among his four critics, the indignant author had difficulty in saving even a fraction of his precious screed, for they all supported one another in the work of destruction and, to his mind, the document, as finally submitted to the British plenipotentiaries, was a sorry piece of patchwork, wholly insufficient and unscholarly.

It served, however, to make Lord Gambier and his associates suspect that they might, perhaps, have gone a trifle too far and a bit too fast, and their suspicions were confirmed when they learned that the American Commissioners were preparing to depart from Ghent. This move might have been planned for strategic effect, but it was not. On the contrary, the majority of the United States envoys were firmly convinced that their mission was at an end, and only one of them entertained a different view. This solitary optimist, however, according to Adams, possessed ‘the inconceivable notion that the British would recede from their position.’

There was no tangible basis for that ‘inconceivable notion.’ But Clay was an inveterate gambler, accustomed to bluffing, and one of his favorite games was what was then called ‘brag.’

III

Ten days passed before anything more was heard from the British Commissioners, for they had submitted ‘the patchwork reply’ to their superiors; and meanwhile the Americans continued to prepare for departure. In fact, they actually notified their landlord of their intention to vacate at the end of August, but finally agreed to continue the lease fifteen days longer at the rate of twelve hundred francs a month. It certainly seemed as if the business would be concluded within that time, for when the response of the British Commissioners was received it did not withdraw the objectionable demands, but merely announced that the neutral zone for the Indians need not be regarded as a condition precedent to further discussion. The Americans therefore promptly replied that this would not be satisfactory, and repeated their refusal to enter on any negotiations based on such terms. Indeed, they had determined among themselves to waste no time debating impossible conditions, but to force England to show her hand with the least possible delay.

This bold decision was unquestionably influenced by the ‘brag’ expert, who continued to ‘sense’ the situation with his gaming instincts. As a matter of fact, however, the whole party had been playing cards since its last joint effort, at drafting a reply, and there are two entries in Adams’s diary of about this date which are eloquent proof that while all the diplomats were gaining experience at the card-table, some of them were showing far greater aptitude than the others. For instance, on September 4, the Puritan Abroad wrote: —

‘ We spent the evening at cards. The party broke up at midnight, and after they [the visitors] were gone Mr. Clay won from me at a game of “all fours” the picture of an old woman I had drawn in the lottery. He also won from Mr. Todd the bunch of flowers which Mr. Russell had drawn, and which Todd had won from Mr. Russell.’

Evidently the fever for gambling was running scandalously high in the diplomatic circle. Again, on the 8th, Adams writes, ‘ I was up nearly an hour before I had daylight to read or write. Just before rising I heard Mr. Clay’s company retiring from his chamber. I had left him with Mr. Russell, Mr. Bentzon, and Mr. Todd, at cards.’

It was on the day following this allnight session at ‘brag’ that the English Commissioners were informed that their ‘bluff was called,’ and they hastened to communicate the news to London. Indeed, by this time it was apparent that they were plenipotentiaries only in name, and that their principal function was to act as scapegoats for the mistakes of their superiors. At all events, in this instance they were severely taken to task by the London authorities for having ‘misunderstood their instructions,’ and were ordered to advise the Americans that neither the Indian barrier nor the exclusive control of the Lakes was a prerequisite to peace, although it would still be necessary to admit the Indians as parties to any treaty which might result from the negotiations.

This was, of course, a most material concession, and to reject it as insufficient required courage, for the war had been going steadily against the United States all the summer, and the British envoys saw to it that their adversaries were advised of that fact by providing them with the latest London papers. This thoughtful attention, however, did not produce its intended effect. On the contrary, it, seemed to the company on Rue des Champs suspiciously like ‘overbidding their hand,’ and it was not surprising if the ‘brag’ enthusiasts interpreted the diplomatic manœuvres in the terms of that game, for some of them were certainly devoting themselves to its study. For example, on the day after the British note was received, Adams carefully recorded the fact. that. ‘ there was another card party in Mr. Clay’s chambers last night. I heard Mr. Bentzon retiring from it after I had risen this morning’; and under the same date he noted the attitude of his colleagues toward the latest demands from London, which indicated that they would reject them forthwith.

The framing of the formal reply to that effect, did not, however, fall upon Adams. Indeed, the high-minded diarist was by this time in a very chastened mood, for to his intense chagrin his associates had continued to treat his literary efforts most disrespectfully, virtually tearing to pieces everything he wrote, ‘This must be in great measure the fault of my composition,’ he naïvely remarked to his journal, ‘and I ought to endeavor to correct the general fault from which it proceeds.’ Doubtless the estimable gentleman, whose humbled pride is surely provocative of tears, did earnestly endeavor to correct his ponderous style; but, although his ideas were often approved, his voluminous manuscripts never were, and after weeks of painful badgering he retired in favor of Gallatin, who thereupon assumed the duty of drafting the official correspondence.

Under this new régime the third rejection of Great Britain’s demands was prepared with a view to its effect in London and with no thought, of influencing the individuals to whom it was formally addressed. Indeed, Gambier and his associates, having been relegated by their government to the rôle of messengers, were no longer regarded as factors in the negotiation. It was therefore with no surprise that the Americans learned that their last communication had been forwarded to England, and that there would be another long and wearisome delay before the negotiations could proceed.

This was of course an inevitable consequence of playing the game of ‘brag’ by correspondence, but it placed the representatives of the United States at a great disadvantage, as each day of enforced idleness put an additional strain on their tempers and threatened to end in ruining their team-work. Thus far they had managed to conceal their personal differences and to present an unbroken front to their adversaries. The atmosphere of the uncongenial household, however, had long been too highly charged for safety, and before the receipt of the fourth British note, Clay and Adams collided, an explosion followed, and Jonathan Russell, gathering up his belongings, sought peace and seclusion in the Hôtel des Pays Bas.

Indeed, it is quite possible that this defection might have ended in a complete disruption of the official family had not news of the capture and partial destruction of Washington created a diversion. These discouraging tidings were speedily followed by a new note from the British government, and the warring Peace Commissioners again laid aside their private quarrels to work for the common cause.

But the baneful effect of internal friction was thereafter apparent in their official conferences, for even when it was known that the long-expected response from Great Britain accepted amnesty for the Indians in place of the objectionable treaty rights, they almost lost sight of the significance of the concession in sharply debating trifles. It was finally agreed, however, that the amnesty should be regarded as satisfactory, but the drafting of the official announcement of this fact precipitated something very like an open quarrel. Gallatin and Clay wanted the document to be short. Adams insisted that it be long, and that it be accompanied by an argument for the cession of Canada to the United States! Even the lifelong gamblers were staggered by such reckless plunging on the part of the novice at cards, but the passion for bluffing had taken possession of Adams, and he stuck to his point until it was summarily vetoed by the other Commissioners.

After this colossal attempt to outbrag the other side, any play naturally seemed tame, and the answer which was finally drafted by Clay was extremely distasteful to Adams, who‘ disliked it in all its parts’ and did not hesitate to say so. Nevertheless his objections were overruled, and his discomfiture was not lessened by his successful opponent who openly ‘railed at commerce and Massachusetts, and told what wonders the people of Kentucky would do if they should be attacked.’

The next communication from London, however, tended to unite the disputants, for it incorporated a new demand, that the existing state of the war should be taken as the basis of the contemplated treaty. That is to say, each side was to be confirmed in its ownership of whatever territory was then occupied by its military forces. The acceptance of such a proposition by the United States would have been, of course, a virtual admission of defeat, for Great Britain had acquired control of a considerable area by the spring of 1814, and there was reason to believe that she had more than held her own during the summer months. But discouraging as the war news had been, the Americans were not ready to admit that their adversaries held more than a temporary advantage, and they promptly announced that unless this was conceded the negotiations must end then and there.

This defiant communication was at once forwarded to London, where the authorities hastened to lay the situation before the Duke of Wellington, offering him supreme command of the British forces in America; and the fate of the negotiation hung on his reply.

But Wellington displayed no enthusiasm for the commission. On the contrary, he announced that while he was ready to obey the orders of his government, he did not believe that the military situation in any way justified the demands which were being pressed upon the United States.³ The result of this frank avowal was a withdrawal of the claims, and an announcement of that fact reached Ghent October 31.

IV

Meanwhile the American Commissioners, finding time hanging heavy on their hands, had resumed their petty wrangling, the upshot of which was that Clay finally followed Russell’s example and retired to lodgings of his own. But this did not entirely clear the social atmosphere, for there was some confusion in the distribution of official invitations, which resulted in Clay’s finding himself at a function at which he was not expected, and both he and Russell took offense at being classed among the secretaries when certain courtesies were extended to the diplomats by local societies. The relations between the envoys were therefore none too pleasant when the British government suggested that they prepare and submit the outline of a treaty, and Adams and Clay were soon at loggerheads.

This time, however, the differences between the two men were political as well as personal, for Clay insisted on demanding that England surrender all her rights to the navigation of the Mississippi, which she had acquired by a former treaty, Adams was equally keen for the continuation of the fishing rights secured by the same document, and each was willing to sacrifice the other’s pet project to advance the interest he espoused. The more this subject was debated the hotter the disputants became, and when Adams, notwithstanding his resignation as official draftsman, attempted to resume that rôle, he found three fourths of his manuscript ruthlessly eliminated by his associates.

But accustomed as he had become by this time to such treatment, there was one provision in his draft for which the zealous statesman was prepared to fight, and fight for it he did with all the resources at his command. The gist of his proposal was that peace should follow the mutual restoration of all territory and property taken by either side during the war, and that all matters in dispute between the two countries should be allowed to remain exactly as they were before the war until decided by future and pacific negotiations.

Of course under such an arrangement the question of impressment of seamen and the other issues which had brought about the conflict would remain wholly unadjusted, and Clay, remembering his passionate crusade in defense of American sailors, was loath to see no vindication of their rights. First he declared that the instructions of the government did not admit of a treaty based on any such proposition; and then, being outvoted, he protested that he would not sign any document embodying it. But finally, after he had backed and filled for many days, he appended his signature.

More than two weeks passed before any reply was received to this momentous communication, and meanwhile dispatches arrived from the Washington government expressly authorizing the envoys to conclude peace on precisely the terms for which Adams had so stoutly and successfully contended. This, of course, disposed of Clay’s objections, but when on November 26 the long-expected response arrived from England, he completely lost his temper, for the British authorities, while making no reference to the question of the fisheries, expressly stipulated for the continuance of Great Britain’s privileges in regard to the navigation of the Mississippi.

This immediately precipitated a violent dispute between Adams and Clay which threatened to bring the entire negotiation to a disastrous close. Gallatin, however, handled the combatants with consummate skill, displaying such sympathy, tact, humor, and patience that his influence was irresistible, and a compromise was finally effected which permitted the business to proceed. This compromise took the form of an offer on behalf of the United States to concede to England the right of navigating the Mississippi in exchange for the continuation of the fishing privileges; but Clay did not surrender with good grace. Indeed, he asserted that the Commission was making ‘a damned bad treaty,’ and intimated more than once that he would not sign it. But by this time Adams had regained control of his temper, and when Gallatin, losing patience, commented severely on Clay’s unseasonable trifling, the Kentuckian yielded, and the joint conferences were renewed.

Had the English envoys been aware of the dangerous split in their opponents’ ranks they might have manœuvred effectively to widen the breach. Not a sign of their bitter internal strife was visible, however, when the Americans met their adversaries face to face. To all outward appearances they were men of one mind, with a settled policy, ready to support each other on every point at a moment’s notice. Indeed, their magnificent exhibition of teamplay and their solid, formidable front, maintained with the utmost gravity, produced a moral effect which unquestionably hastened the result.

But the heart-breaking compromise which had almost rent them asunder was not accepted by the English Commissioners, who, after much discussion, finally submitted a counter-proposition to reserve all questions concerning the Mississippi and the fisheries for future negotiation. The Americans immediately saw that such an agreement might be construed as a waiver of what they deemed to be their rights. But there was no longer any scope for further give-and-take. Adams and his associates therefore proposed that a treaty be concluded without any mention of either of the hotly disputed claims, and this suggestion was eventually accepted by the English Commissioners. Still, the result was not reached without a hard struggle, for Gambier, Goulburn, and Dr. Adams, although overmatched by their opponents in point of ability, displayed good fighting qualities, and the end did not come until the year (1814) was drawing to a close. On Christmas Eve, however, the Commissioners gathered to sign the completed document, and as Adams delivered the American copies to Lord Gambier, he expressed the hope that it would be the last treaty of peace between Great Britain and the United States.

Thus ended the great game of diplomatic ‘brag’ which, played to a finish, left each side a winner and promoted a friendship which has lasted throughout a hundred years.