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John Jay
by
As peace commissioners, America named Franklin, John Adams, Laurens, Jay and Jefferson.
Jefferson refused to leave his wife, who was in delicate health. Adams was at The Hague, just closing up a very necessary loan. Laurens had been sent to Holland on a diplomatic mission, and his ship having been overhauled by a British man-of-war, he was safely in that historic spot, the Tower of London.
So Jay and Franklin alone met the English commissioners, and Jay stated to them the conditions of peace.
In a few weeks Adams arrived, still keeping a diary. In that diary is found this item: “The French call me ‘Le Washington de la Negociation’: a very flattering compliment indeed, to which I have no right, but sincerely think it belongs to Mr. Jay.”
Jay quitted Paris in May, Seventeen Hundred Eighty-four, having been gone from his native land eight years. When he reached New York there was a great demonstration in his honor. Triumphal arches were erected across Broadway, houses and stores were decorated with bunting, cannons boomed, and bells rang. The freedom of the city was presented to him in a gold box, with an exceedingly complimentary address, engrossed on parchment, and signed by one hundred of the leading citizens.
Jay spent just one day in New York, and then rode on horseback up to the old farm at Rye, Westchester County, to see his father. That evening there was a service of thanksgiving at the village church, after which the citizens repaired to the Jay mansion, one story high and eighty feet long, where a barrel of cider was tapped, and “a groce of Church Wardens” passed around, with free tobacco for all.
John Jay stood on the front porch and made a modest speech just five minutes long, among other things saying he had come home to be a neighbor to them, having quit public life for good. But he refused to talk about his own experiences in Europe. His reticence, however, was made up for by good old Peter Jay, who assured the people that John Jay was America’s foremost citizen; and in this statement he was backed up by the village preacher, with not a dissenting voice from the assembled citizens.
It is rather curious (or it isn’t, I’m not sure which) how most statesmen have quit public life several times during their careers, like the prima donnas who make farewell tours. The ingratitude of republics is proverbial, but to limit ingratitude to republics shows a lack of experience. The progeny of the men who tired of hearing Aristides called The Just are very numerous. Of course it is easy to say that he who expects gratitude does not deserve it; but the fact remains that the men who know it are yet stung by calumny when it comes their way.
That fine demonstration in Jay’s honor was in great part to overwhelm and stamp out the undertone of growl and snarl that filled the air. Many said that peace had been gained at awful cost, that Jay had deferred to royalty and trifled with the wishes of the people in making terms.
And now Jay had got home, back to his family and farm, back to quiet and rest. The long, hard fight had been won and America was free. For eight years had he toiled and striven and planned: much had been accomplished–not all he hoped, but much.
He had done his best for his country, his own affairs were in bad shape, Congress had paid him meagerly, and now he would turn public life over to others and live his own life.
All through life men reach these places where they say, “Here will we build three tabernacles”; but out of the silence comes the imperative Voice, “Arise, and get thee hence, for this is not thy rest.”
And now the war was over, peace was concluded; but war leaves a country in chaos. The long, slow work of reconstruction and of binding up a nation’s wounds must follow. America was independent, but she had yet to win from the civilized world the recognition that she must have in order to endure.