part I The Making of a Continentalist 1 Alexander Hamilton hadn''t intended to father a party and then subvert it; his first goal in politics had been to reform the Continental Congress. Hamilton granted Congress credit for declaring independence from Britain in 1776, but in the war that followed, it did more harm than good, he judged. Its members were idiots, or at least behaved that way. "Folly, caprice, a want of foresight, comprehension and dignity characterize the general tenor of their actions," Hamilton asserted in a letter to George Clinton, the governor of New York, in February 1778. Hamilton was writing from the headquarters of the Continental Army at Valley Forge amid the worst winter of the Revolutionary War. He had got there by talent and audacity. Born in the West Indies, abandoned by his father, effectively orphaned by the death of his mother, Hamilton had found his way to New York in his teens. He developed a knack for impressing men who could promote his career.

George Clinton was one; George Washington was another. Hamilton was clearly going places; at this point he was aide-de-camp to Washington. "Their conduct with respect to the army especially is feeble, indecisive and improvident, insomuch that we are reduced to a more terrible situation than you can conceive," Hamilton said to Clinton about the members of Congress. They were starving the army. "By injudicious changes and arrangements in the commissary''s department in the middle of a campaign, they have exposed the army frequently to temporary want, and to the danger of a dissolution from absolute famine." The situation grew more dire by the day. "Desertions have been immense, and strong features of mutiny begin to show themselves," Hamilton observed. "If effectual measures are not speedily adopted, I know not how we shall keep the army together or make another campaign.

" Clinton couldn''t tell to what degree Hamilton was speaking for Washington. The sentiments seemed like those of Washington, who too had complained about Congress. But the language was more forthright, indeed disdainful. Like Washington, Clinton had been charmed by Hamilton, but the governor must have asked himself where this brash young immigrant--Hamilton said he was twenty-one; some other evidence suggests twenty-three--had got the idea he knew the business of America''s Congress better than its own members did. Of course he read on. Hamilton explained that even while Congress failed to provide for the rank and file of the army, it let itself be bamboozled by those it made into officers, especially foreigners. "They have disgusted the army by repeated instances of the most whimsical favouritism in their promotions, and by an absurd prodigality of rank to foreigners and to the meanest staff of the army," Hamilton wrote. The foreign officers took advantage of the opportunities Congress afforded them.

"It is become almost proverbial in the mouths of the French officers and other foreigners that they have nothing more to do to obtain whatever they please than to assume a high tone and assert their own merit with confidence and perseverance." Hamilton wondered what had become of the distinguished body of 1776. "America once had a representation that would do honor to any age or nation," he told Clinton. "The present falling off is very alarming and dangerous." Where had the great men gone? "Are they dead? Have they deserted the cause?" Hamilton supplied his own answer: "Very few are dead and still fewer have deserted the cause; they are all except the few who still remain in Congress either in the field or in the civil offices of their respective states." Hamilton perceived a baneful competition between the states and the central government for talent. The states were winning. "Each state, in order to promote its own internal government and prosperity, has selected its best members to fill the offices within itself and conduct its own affairs," he said.

Congress had done nothing to counter the appeal of the states. "This is a most pernicious mistake and must be corrected." Hamilton struck a note he would play without pause for the rest of his life: the nation must come before the states. "However important it is to give form and efficiency to your interior constitutions and police," he said to Clinton, referring to the states generally, "it is infinitely more important to have a wise general council." If the central government failed, the states would follow. "You should not beggar the councils of the United States to enrich the administration of the several members." The results of state preference brought the country into disrepute, domestically and especially overseas, Hamilton said. "Realize to yourself the consequences of having a Congress despised at home and abroad.

How can the common force be exerted if the power of collecting it be put in weak foolish and unsteady hands? How can we hope for success in our European negotiations if the nations of Europe have no confidence in the wisdom and vigor of the great continental government?" At last Hamilton acknowledged that he might be speaking out of place. He was, after all, merely an aide-de-camp. He relied on Governor Clinton''s discretion. "The sentiments I have advanced are not fit for the vulgar ear, and circumstanced as I am, I should with caution utter them except to those in whom I may place an entire confidence." As the harrowing winter passed, Hamilton grew more impatient with Congress, which appeared bent on spoiling what it didn''t neglect. "Shall I speak what seems to me a most melancholy truth?" he wrote to Clinton in March. "It is this--that with the most adequate means to ensure success in our contest, the weakness of our councils will, in all probability, ruin us." Congress had tacitly accepted an untruth circulated by the British that Washington was forcing British prisoners to turn coat.

"This silences all our complaints against the enemy for a similar practice, and furnishes them with a damning answer to anything we can say on the subject," Hamilton said. Congress meddled in the exchange of prisoners. "Lately a flag, with provisions and clothing for the British prisoners, with General Washington''s passport, was seized at Lancaster," Hamilton reported. "The affair was attended with circumstances of violence and meanness that would disgrace Hottentots. Still more lately, General Washington''s engagements with General Howe for an exchange of prisoners have been most shamefully violated." Hamilton granted that opinions could differ on the wisdom of exchanges. "But, admitting this to be true, it is much worse policy to commit such frequent breaches of faith and ruin our national character. Whatever refined politicians may think, it is of great consequence to preserve a national character.

" Reputation meant a great deal to Hamilton as a young man on the make. Introducing another theme that would mark his career, he declared that reputation should mean no less to the government of a country struggling for its very existence. "The general notions of justice and humanity are implanted in almost every human breast and ought not to be too freely shocked," he said. If Washington struck a deal with Howe on prisoners, Congress should honor it. America would stand or fall according to the enthusiasm of the American people for the common cause. "I would ask whether in a republican state and a republican army such a cruel policy as that of exposing those men who are foremost in defence of their country to the miseries of hopeless captivity can succeed." Hamilton again acknowledged that he might be speaking out of turn. But he couldn''t not speak.

"I dwell upon the faults of Congress because I think they strike at the vitals of our opposition"--to Britain--"and of our future prosperity," he said. "I cannot but wish that every gentleman of influence in the country should think with me." Hamilton was no idle complainer; he rarely criticized without proposing remedies. Appalled by the fecklessness of Congress, he at once considered how the institution might be improved. He discussed the matter with James Duane, a New York lawyer and member of Congress; Duane was sufficiently intrigued by Hamilton''s thinking to ask him to elaborate. "The fundamental defect is a want of power in Congress," Hamilton declared. He identified three causes. First: "an excess of the spirit of liberty," which made the states jealous of any powers claimed by Congress.

Second: "a diffidence in Congress of their own powers," by which that central body had got in the habit of deferring to the states. Third: "a want of sufficient means at their disposal to answer the public exigencies." Here the rub was the inability of Congress to levy taxes on the people; instead it could merely make requests to the states. Hamilton didn''t blame Congress itself entirely. "It may be pleaded that Congress had never any definitive powers granted them and of course could exercise none," he wrote. Yet he wasn''t going to let Congress off the hook. The members should have seized power wherever plausible. "They should have considered themselves as vested with full power to preserve the republic from harm.

" They had declared independence, after all, and were conducting a war. What greater marks of sovereignty were there? Congress should have pushed further into the gray area beyond what was expressly authorized. "Undefined powers are discretionary powers, limited only by the object for which they were given: in the present case, the independence and freedom of America." The problem, though, ran deeper than the diffidence of the members of Congress. "The confederation itself is defective and requires to be altered,.