Portugal, while simultaneously building a fleet large enough to challenge the Royal Navy in preparation for an invasion of the British mainland. Of course, there were other possibilities. After throwing Wellington out of the Iberian Peninsula, the emperor might eject Britain from Gibraltar, sweep across North Africa into Egypt, and from there push east with the compliance of his new Russian ally and conquer India, which he had long dreamed of doing. Sooner or later, though, he would invade Britain; there could be no doubt about it. Madison was sure that, faced with this reality, the intractable Perceval would at last seek a rapprochement with the United States.
To bring added pressure on the prime minister, Madison planned to invade Canada in the summer of 1812. Once in possession of even part of Canada, he would have a powerful bargaining tool, particularly when a French victory in Russia would threaten British security as never before. In addition, American privateers would be attacking British commerce and disrupting the supply line moving troops, equipment, money, and food to Wellington’s army in Portugal and Spain. The president even hoped that faced with the prospect of having to fight both France and the United States, the stubborn prime minister might come to terms without the need for actual combat.
EMBARRASSED BY HIS dependence on as noxious a dictator as Napoleon, and stung by Federalist accusations that he was a French puppet, Madison consistently denied that he timed his call for war to coincide with Bonaparte’s plunge into Russia. The president was always careful to distance himself in public from the French dictator, insisting that no matter what critics claimed, he was not allied with Napoleon nor dependent on him in any way and never would be. “Our government will not under any circumstances that may occur, form a political connection with France,” Madison wrote in Washington’s semiofficial National Intelligencer . “It is not desirable to enter the lists with the two great belligerents at once; but if England acts with wisdom, and France perseveres in her career of injustice and folly, we should not be surprised to see the attitude of the United States change toward these powers.”
Indifferent to Madison’s warnings, Napoleon attacked American commerce—to the limited extent he could, given the strength of the Royal Navy—throughout 1812. The armada of Yankee merchantmen supplying food to British forces in Spain annoyed the emperor. The ports of Lisbon and Cadiz, it seemed, were always crowded with American vessels, protected by British licenses that permitted them to ship food to Wellington’s army. French privateer attacks on these licensed merchantmen embarrassed and frustrated the president, but he continued to focus his anger on Britain, while condemning Bonaparte and denying any dependence on him.
Secretary of State Monroe underscored the distance the administration was keeping from Bonaparte in public by writing anti-French editorials in the National Intelligencer , which Madison sent to Joel Barlow, the harried American ambassador in Paris, telling him, “in the event of a pacification with Great Britain, the full tide of indignation with which the public mind here is boiling will be directed against France, if not obviated by a due reparation of her wrongs. War will be called for by the nation almost una voce .”
Many years later, in 1827, Madison continued to insist that the American declaration of war and Napoleon’s invasion happening at the same time were a “fortuitous” coincidence. “The moment chosen for the war,” he said, “would, therefore, have been well chosen with a reference to the French expedition against Russia; and although not so chosen, the coincidence between the war and the expedition promised at the time to be as it was fortuitous.”
“Had the French emperor not been broken down,” Madison wrote in the same letter, “as he was to a
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