A Wilderness So Immense (10 page)

Gardoqui had John Jay pegged. “The American,” he reported in a confidential letter to Carlos III and his chief minister,

Gardoqui was confident “that a little management in dealing with her and a few timely gifts will secure the friendship of both, because I have reason to believe that they proceed resolved to make a fortune.” Nor was Jay “the only one in the country who has the same weakness, for there are many poor persons among the [Congress],” Gardoqui continued, “and I believe a skillful hand which knows how to take advantage of favourable opportunities, and how to give dinners and above all how to entertain with good wine, may profit without appearing to pursue them.”
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Armed with shrewd advice from their envoy to the United States, Carlos III and his ministers provided Gardoqui ample tools for social diplomacy: a conspicuously handsome residence on Broadway, a salary four times Jay’s, and a lavish expense account for dinners, dances, and incidental gifts. These resources came, as requested, with explicit royal instructions to cultivate and entertain the New Yorker and his wife, Sarah Livingston Jay, daughter of the governor of New Jersey.

Jay loved horses. “My inquiries for horses have been frequent and extensive,” he confessed to a fellow devotee: “fine, large, and strong, are qualities rarely found” in American horses “since the war.” Gardoqui took notice and sent word to Spain. Months later, on March 1, 1786, Jay asked Congress for permission to accept Carlos Ill’s thoughtful gift of an Arabian stallion—fine, large, and strong. The king’s favor to the ardent farmer George Washington was selected with similar care: a hardy Spanish jackass, and Washington was delighted. Nor would Gardoqui disappoint the former president of Congress, Richard Henry Lee, who
thought “it will be unfortunate for us if Mr. Gardoque should not be a Smoker and so not be provided with Havanna Segars.” Gardoqui’s unofficial predecessor “used to supply us so copiously,” Lee recalled, “that he has occasioned us to loose all appetite for other smoking.” Even a congressional nobody from Delaware felt charmed “by Gardoqui the Spanish Ambassador—Who seem’d particular in his Attention to me.”
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Gardoqui had not crossed the Atlantic to lie for his king and country. He came ready to dine, dance, drink, share his cigars—and listen and learn. For their part, American politicians responded to Gardoqui’s hospitality and charm with amazing candor, especially in private conversations. The Americans saved their duplicity for one another.
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Spain’s wealth dazzled many Americans, as did her potential demand for American fish and agricultural commodities. Even the infirmities of her empire—the seeming lethargy of her colonial populations or the reputed corruption of her customhouse officials—offered opportunities for commerce. From the moment Gardoqui’s appointment was announced, Congress put its business with Spain on hold while its members tracked his journey across the Atlantic. In their letters to one another, in their reports home to state governors and legislators, and in their correspondence with influential men around the country and abroad, congressmen revealed their eagerness for Gardoqui’s arrival. The buzz escalated with every bit of news: “He was very shortly to sail from Cadiz for Philadelphia in a King’s Frigate,” South Carolina’s delegation reported to their governor in February 1785. “From Spain we expect a Mr. Gardoqui in quality of charge des aff[ai]rs. All our measures with that court have of course ceased untill his arrival,” Monroe advised Jefferson early in April. Soon thereafter a clergyman in Danvers, Massachusetts, learned from Samuel Holten that “the secretary of foreign affairs laid before Congress a letter he had rec[eive]d from Don Diego de Gardoqui informing, that he was arrived at Philadelphia.”
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Once Gardoqui set foot on American soil, his presence only heightened congressional anticipation and apprehension. Their anxiety derived, in part, because the members of Congress knew that negotiations on several critical matters could easily stalemate. Congressman Holten was eager for Gardoqui to “come forward with his commission and present himself to Congress … as we shall soon know the sense of his court upon some important matters.” “The Envoy of Spain Mr. Gardoquoie is expected to arrive here in a few Days from Philad[elphi]a,” the Connecticut delegation advised its governor on May 27, “when a Negotiation will
commence upon the important subject of the Mississippi Navigation and other consequential Topicks.” That same afternoon, Samuel Dick, of New Jersey, informed his brother-in-law that “we expect hourly the Arrival of Don Gardoqui.” The next day William Grayson told James Madison, “Nothing has happened of any consequence except the passage of the Land Ordinance and the arrival of Don Diego de Gardoqui at Philadelphia.” “We expect him soon here,” Richard Henry Lee wrote Madison the next day, “so that we shall quickly know whether he can or will do any thing conclusive concerning the Navigation of Mississippi.”
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The anticipation continued through June: “We look for him here shortly,” wrote Pennsylvania congressman David Jackson from his sickbed on June 4. “The navigation, full and free to the United States of the Mississippi must of course become a matter of enquiry, and subject of discussion with his court,” Jackson continued, “that is a matter the United States can never give up, otherwise our territory in that quarter would be of little consequence.” “The Spanish Plenipotentiary has not yet reach’d this City,” Maryland congressman William Hindman reported to his governor on June 24, “but [is] daily expected. I see little Prospect of Congress adjourning in the Course of this Year, being up to their Eyes in Business, and Mr. Gardoqui’s Arrival will I expect add considerably thereto.”
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Once Gardoqui reached New York City, American attention focused more closely on the minister and his mission. “Mr. Gardoqui, charge des affaires Plenipotentiary from the Court of Spain is at length arrived at this place,” Grayson reported to Madison on June 27, “but I believe very few have seen him. I understand he has been bred to the business of a Merch[an]t and is an agreable man; he has resided some short time in Philad[elphi]a and the people from thence represent him in a favorable light.” “Mr. Gardoqui has been receiv’d as the Minister of Spain,” a Connecticut congressman reported to his governor early in July. “He applied yesterday to know when, and with whom he sho’d enter upon the Objects of his Mission. This shews a good disposition to the dispatch of Business to which he will receive a speedy answer, and the Negotiations may be soon open’d but I will not engage they will be very soon closed. We have much to say to him as well as he to us.” Gardoqui “presented a letter of credence from the King and has full powers to treat upon the subject of the disputed boundary etc.,” Monroe wrote Madison on July 12, and “is a polite and sensible man.”
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At last, on July 14, 1785—exactly four years before angry French citizens would storm the Bastille—the polite and sensible representative of His Most Catholic Majesty Carlos III formally presented his diplomatic credentials to the assembled Congress of the young American republic:
“Mr. Gardoqui has had an audience and Mr. Jay will probably be appointed to negotiate with him,” Massachusetts congressman Elbridge Gerry reported to John Adams, who was representing the United States in London.
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At thirty-nine, John Jay was ten years younger than Diego de Gardoqui. They had first met during Jay’s mission to Madrid during the Revolutionary War. Now it was Jay’s turn to help Gardoqui adapt to the locale. Together, they adjusted old protocols for the encounter between agents of His Most Catholic Majesty and the world’s youngest republic, gracefully side-stepping a few inconvenient details of diplomatic etiquette as the Spanish divine-right monarchy met America’s vox populi, vox Dei. “He produc’d a letter from the King with full powers to treat upon the subjects arising between us,” Monroe wrote Jefferson in mid-July, “yet his stile is Encargado de negotios. We have had some difficulty in regulating the etiquette respecting him, whether to consider him as a minister or Encargado de Negotios, or charge des aff[ai]rs,” Monroe concluded, “and to avoid giving offence we have us’d the terms us’d by his master. We hope it will have the desir’d effect.”
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As expected, Congress designated John Jay “to negotiate, treat and sign with Don Diego de Gardoqui… whatever Articles, Compacts and Conventions may be necessary for fixing the boundaries between the Territories of the said United States and those of his Catholic Majesty and for promoting the general harmony and Mutual interest of the two Nations”—but Congress also kept the New Yorker on a short leash: “Mr. Jay is authorised to treat with Mr. Gardoqui upon the subjects arising between the two parties,” Monroe explained to Jefferson, but “he is to lay every proposition before Congress before he enters into any engagement with him.”
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The anxiety that American congressmen revealed in their correspondence tracking Gardoqui’s advance from Cádiz derived, in part, from the recognition that much was at stake and that negotiations between Jay and Gardoqui could easily stalemate. The requirement that Jay “lay every proposition before Congress before he enters into any engagement” was rooted in a far deeper worry. Of the three matters at issue—western boundaries, international trade, and the navigation of the Mississippi River—the last was likely to cause an impasse.

Spain had not signed the 1783 treaty between the United States and Great Britain that ended the American Revolution, hence Spain had not
agreed to the location of a boundary separating the Gulf Coast of Spanish West Florida from the Tennessee Country. Regardless of where that line might finally be drawn, below it the Spanish claimed control of both sides of the Mississippi River, and on June 26, 1784, they had closed the river to American traders. Carlos III had ordered Gardoqui to deny the Americans use of the Mississippi below Natchez, while Congress had given Jay an equally firm instruction to insist upon free navigation of the Ohio-Mississippi watershed from Pittsburgh to the Gulf of Mexico.

The two men, each fully conversant in the other’s language, met and talked week after week through the autumn and the winter and well into the spring of 1786. They were friendly, they made some progress on minor issues, and Gardoqui gracefully entertained the members of Congress and New York society with his personal charm and his monarch’s generous hospitality, including “Havanna Segars”—but neither man could yield ground on the question of Mississippi navigation, and both men knew it.

During nearly a year of negotiations, Gardoqui found that the Americans did indeed have much to say to him. Somewhere during the course of his conversations—whether with Jay or with congressmen from the New England states—Gardoqui learned that the American commitment to opening the Mississippi was far from unanimous. He discovered that for the right price, there were men willing to sell the interests of Kentucky frontiersmen and their southern friends down the river. The enticements that he could offer most of these men, Gardoqui quickly recognized, were trading privileges in the ports of the Spanish empire, recognition of American fishing rights in the North Atlantic, and a ready market for New England cod among his Roman Catholic countrymen, especially during Lent. A few might also accept cash.

The problems of Gloucester fishermen, Salem shipowners, and Boston merchants had never elicited strong sympathy west of the Hudson River—or perhaps west of Walden Pond. “The Newfoundland fishery is a source of wealth as valuable to us,” exclaimed the
Boston Independent Chronicle
in 1799, “as the hills of Potosí is to the Spaniards.” Nevertheless, at the end of the Revolution, during the three-way negotiations among the United States, her ally France, and her former enemy Great Britain, congressional indifference to New England’s fishing rights in the North Atlantic drove some Massachusetts politicians to contemplate a separate peace with Great Britain. “Whatever may be our Prospects in every other Respect,” complained Bay State congressman Elbridge Gerry in 1782,