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alternatehistory.com
A STRANGE AMERICA
"The sacred rights of mankind are not to be rummaged for among old parchments or musty records.
They are written, as with a sunbeam, in the whole volume of human nature, by the hand of divinity itself, and can never be erased."
–Alexander Hamilton
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The Moonlight Sonata
George and Alexander met the night before the march. George had a faraway look on his face. He seemed, for the first time that Alex could remember, old. He thought of George as an oak tree, growing stronger and harder with time, wearing each passing year like a badge of honor, but he seemed pale tonight.
“I have a strange feeling,” Washington said. Hamilton grinned. “As do I. A brave new world lies at the end of this march. Americans will stand proudly on their own terms, free and independent.” George nodded, but his expression confused Alexander, and his smile faded. “Is anything the matter?” he said. He was shaken by his mentor’s mood. George was a great man, the greatest he’d ever known. George had seen the greatness that Alexander, the bastard son, always knew he had within him, and George was the man who gave him the opportunity to win glory for himself and for his new nation. It was a nation Alexander was eager to build, one he was already constructing in his head when he should’ve been sleeping. George had become a fatherly figure in Alexander’s life, and he knew that George was mostly eager to return to his farm – so why did he seem so disturbed? Washington cupped a glass of whiskey between his hands, but he seemed afraid to sip it.
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “The Revolution will be over soon, but what revolutions will follow? We already scramble to pay our citizens for their service. Will we become free only to be swallowed up again? What in God’s name can keep it all together?”
Hamilton had never heard such fear in him before. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You can,” he said. This time Washington smiled, a reprieve of Hamilton’s earlier smile in a minor key. “No,” he said. “I cannot. I will not.” Hamilton shrugged. “You can be a farmer at first, if you like, but if the country needs you, surely you can save it again.” George rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Perhaps,” he sighed. “I don’t know, Alexander. I have a strange feeling. A terrible feeling…”
“It’s nothing,” Hamilton insisted. “And if it’s something, then we’ll face it together. All our work is about to come to fruition, but your caution has always been your greatest virtue. You fear our work will come undone, but one must be prepared for the worst to happen without expecting it. It’s late, and the night can play with a man’s mind. It’s time we both went to bed.”
George nodded numbly and Alexander turned to go, but George seized his arm. “Wait,” he said. “What?” Alex asked. George examined his face with a strange intensity. “Goodnight, my friend,” he said, finally. Hamilton felt a lump rise in his throat, without understanding why. “Goodnight, George. Victory awaits us.”
"There is no such thing as an accident, only fate misnamed." – Napoleon Bonaparte
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King of Anything
I’m Joshua Bottler, and while your world is fascinating, it’s not my own. I’m a tourist – not a time traveler, and no more than an amateur historian, but I’ve been slipping between present tenses since my early days. When I first came to your universe, I was baffled by the strange America I saw. I soon found the only separation between the United States and my native home was the trajectory of a single piece of lead.
1781’s Battle of Yorktown is famous as the final battle of the Revolution, but the victory is bittersweet in the minds of my Americans. In both our worlds, the combined French and American forces defeated the British in the last conflict of the Revolutionary War, and in both our worlds, the number of American casualties was under 100 – yet it cannot truly be said that all men are equal, though the Declaration of Independence we share says as much. During the Siege of Yorktown, General George Washington of the Continental Army was struck by a stray bullet, severing his femoral artery and slaying him in short order. Washington led his men from the front, and seemed to be protected by divine providence until, at last, he wasn’t. In your world, George Washington was the first President of the United States, founding father of American Republicanism. In mine, he is the Martyr of the Revolution, winning the war and losing his life in the same fateful battle.
This painting looks a little different where I come from.
Hamilton led the troops in the final assault, and Cornwallis personally surrendered to him after the Siege of Yorktown was lifted. The nation mourned even as they celebrated, and the nation’s foundation seemed to teeter over a Washington-shaped hole. The country was in the midst of a crisis of confidence, and though many figures grew in prominence with Washington gone, many considered Hamilton his informal successor. He seized glory after the Battle of Yorktown, but no one was more shaken than Washington’s death than he. He wrote in a letter to his wife, Elizabeth Schuyler, “The people look to me for leadership, but I feel my right hand has been torn away from me.” Hamilton was always known for his hot-headed ambition, but the death of his mentor seemed to ground him somewhat. He became increasingly aware of his own mortality, both in his waking and sleeping life, and Washington’s last words rang in his ears long after the Treaty of Paris. Hamilton was convinced that the country would be doomed without a centralizing power.
Troubled by the nation’s inability to compensate its troops, an army officer named Lewis Nicola sent Hamilton an auspicious letter in 1782, suggesting Hamilton make himself king over the former colonies in a mixed republican government, noting, “In a well-regulated legislative body I conceive a third branch necessary. Montesquieu observes that a hereditary nobility is requisite in a monarchy but incompatible with a republick, taking this for granted, some degree of nobility may be proper in a mixed government, but limited, suppose not hereditary.” The Nicola Letter did not plant the seed of monarchy in Hamilton’s mind – Hamilton was a known supporter of the British system, and had long advocated a lifelong executive – but it watered the seed, and soon, the seed would blossom.
Ladies.
The American economy continued to deteriorate in the wake of the war, and the Articles of Confederation were frayed to breaking point. Shattuck’s Revolt in 1785 proved the system’s inadequacy to Hamilton, and he feared the rebellion was only the beginning of greater discontent. In a nation gripped by anxiety, the Federal Convention gathered in 1786 with Hamilton elected to arbitrate the discussion. Delegates from every state (save Vermont and Rhode Island) set out to discuss the terms of a new Constitution that would ensure its peoples’ freedom in perpetuity.
The contentious debate went on for over a year, and it would’ve fallen apart completely if not for Hamilton’s co-authorship of the Federalist Papers, written with John Jay and James Madison under the pseudonym “Publius.” The Papers were written in a few days’ frenzy and published en masse in the newspapers. Hamilton had a habit for rhetoric but he checked his fire in favor of Madison’s reasoned tones. The tide of opposition ebbed in the face of Publius’ writings. As President of the Convention, Hamilton was not allowed to directly influence the debate, but he spoke through his supporters. Though they believed the country needed an executive to keep the country together, many others feared a tyrant would strangle liberty in its cradle. The Federalists initially proposed the monarchy as a way to check the President’s power. If the executive branch was divided between a President of the Congress with a limited term and a King with a lifelong term but limited powers, the people could be enforced while maintaining a sense of national continuity, or so the Federalists said.
It was a passionate debate, but Hamilton’s subtle control of the Convention steered his side to victory. America would have a King, but its position would reflect the compromise of its creation. Hamilton deeply believed the country could not last without a crown to centralize it, but he knew that a king with full executive power would never be accepted. Hamilton was unable to create a monarchy without public support and political allies. To see his most important plans become reality, he had to concede other positions. A Bill of Rights was considered a necessary measure to keep the king from assuming absolute power, and though Hamilton abhorred slavery, the Constitution was forced to remain relatively silent on the issue. The 50-50 Compromise made slaves count as one-half of a person for the purposes of taxation and representation. Southern delegates had been in favor of a lower fraction when taxation was the issue at hand and a high fraction when they moved on to representation, so the Compromise seemed a simple and fair solution. Later Southerners denounced it as “Solomon’s Compromise,” but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
Do pardon the nudity. It is only a small imposition, pun very much intended.
In the end, a system unlike any other was forged. In the last most important trifle of the Convention, the delegates argued what to call the new country, eventually settled on “The Royal Federation of America.” The President of the Congress was Chief of Government, Chief Legislator (with veto power, the ability to suggest bills to Congress, and the responsibility of arbitration between the House and the Senate), and Commander-in-Chief, with the power to appoint federal commissions, federal judges, and other federal positions, and was named the ultimate head of those departments. Unlike the King, who ruled until death, the President had a 5-year term. The monarch’s power was indirect, as Head of State and Chief Diplomat, given powers to appoint and dismiss ambassadors and the Federal Cabinet (with advice and consent from the President), as well as a royal veto to check the President’s. The first King would be elected with the President, and could be impeached in the same way. A Succession Council made up of the King, the President, the Secretary of State, the Secretary of War, the Secretary of the Treasury, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and the Speaker of the House, would convene every 5 years to choose an heir from the King’s family. The monarch could hold no public office nor lead a private business to avoid corruption, and the Succession Council was encouraged to choose a successor based primarily on merit. The American monarch was conceived as an embodiment of the national spirit, given authority not by divine right but by the will of the governed. Hamilton officially revealed his hand in the Federalist Papers after the election, but few were surprised, and the people cheered him as “King Publius.”
Though Hamilton fought to see his vision of America come to life, he confided to his wife that he was unhappy about the results of the Convention. “The Constitution is a miracle,” he wrote, “but to see it writ I have crucified my ambitions.” Hamilton knew that becoming King himself would mean an end to the life he loved. Hamilton wished he could elect another to the throne, but George’s sacrifice meant he could not refuse a sacrifice of his own. John Hancock might’ve been considered, but his failing health kept him from the Convention and the nomination both. Any who would support the Federalists’ plan would vote for their leader, and anyone opposed wouldn’t favor a king at all. He’d gotten all the powers he felt were essential to steer the country on the proper course, but he had to let go of so much to do it. Hamilton’s coronation at Independence Hall in meant forgetting his nascent law career and leaving New York City, his first love. He felt he had given up his own personal freedom to uphold the freedom of the American people, and once wrote to James Madison, “I am the one subject in a country of kings.”
Perhaps the only person more disappointed to see Hamilton crowned was Thomas Jefferson, who led the opposition to the Federalists. Jefferson burned all bridges between himself and the future King during the heated debates of the Federal Convention, and Hamilton’s rise to power meant the death of Jefferson’s political ambitions. A few months before Hamilton was crowned King Alexander I of the Americans, Jefferson received the key to the Bastille in a letter from LaFayette. He was bitter to see years of struggle amount to nothing, and he left for a new Revolution, hoping this one would not be corrupted.
Those wacky Frenchies. I'm sure it'll be fine.
Hamilton stretched the boundaries of impartiality during his rule, but despite Jefferson’s misgivings, he cemented the reputation of a benevolent monarch in America with few of the ostentatious trappings of European monarchy. Instead, King Alexander I forged a new monarchy for a new country in a new era.
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Money
In 1790, The Royal Federation of America was an infant learning to walk. They proclaimed Philadelphia the country’s capital, and Independence Hall became the first home of the American Congress. They knew Philadelphia would be the seat of the government, and though the King’s residence was still in question, the question was moot in those early years, because Alexander I hardly stayed in one place long enough to call it home. Frustrated by his inability to directly influence legislation, he rode on horseback from state to state to win the country over to his ideals. John Adams was sworn in as first President of the Congress in 1789 and Alexander Hamilton was crowned first King of the Americans in 1790, but the national debt kept Hamilton from a lavish ceremony. His coronation at Independence Hall was a humble one, but it earned him the goodwill of the people. That proved to be a more important resource than any other, as the authority of Hamilton and Adams’ government was constantly put to the test.
You can practically taste the freedom.
Alexander I’s primary concern was the economy. He appointed Oliver Wolcott Jr. Secretary of the Treasury, more for his loyalty and his excellent listening skills than anything else. Alexander I knew that he could funnel his ideas through Wolcott with relative ease, and the first years of the Federation saw his economics written into law. Redemption and assumption became the official debt policy of the RFA. The federal government consolidated the nation’s collective $25,000,000 debt, much to the chagrin of states like Virginia that had already paid off their debts. There was significant backlash against the assumption plan by farmers and planters who correctly surmised that Alexander I sought to encourage industry at the expense of agriculture. The King defended the assumption plan as a means to “serve the nation, not to enrich a clique.”
The cornerstones of Hamilton’s agenda were protective tariffs to foster American industry, a National Bank to regulate the economy, and industrial subsidies to further strengthen the country’s productive power. John Adams supported Hamilton’s policies in the Congress, and by 1791 they were all passed into law, but success didn’t mean contentment. An opposition coalesced around Samuel Adams, one of the founding fathers, and Aaron Burr, an up-and-comer in the Democratic Society. Burr was a young firebrand with a gift for oratory and something of a personal vendetta against the King. Burr and Hamilton had once been on good terms, but 1791 was sweet for Hamilton and bitter for Burr. Hamilton’s father-in-law Philip Schuyler defeated his bid for the New York Senate, and Burr grumbled about the dangers of nepotism. He swore the Hamiltons would regret standing in his way.