"Anyone who thought that Fillmore lacked spine was now disabused"

I have explained in a number of previously published posts how Millard Fillmore's firm and decisive actions in early August 1850 formed the basis for resolution of the crisis that had been building for four years, ever since David Wilmot had introduced his fateful Proviso in August 1846.  In a nutshell (see the posts linked above for more detail), the newly-installed president made clear to the State of Texas that the federal government would fight if state forces attacked the New Mexico territory.

In his newly-published book America's Great Debate: Henry Clay, Stephen A. Douglas, and the Compromise That Preserved the Union, Fergus M. Bordewich points out the guts that this move took:

The following day, August 6 [1850], Fillmore sent his own message to Congress.  [Secretary of State Daniel] Webster may have contributed to it, but to give the president his due, anyone who thought that Fillmore lacked spine was now disabused.  A weak man might well have capitulated to the Texans: Fillmore dug in his well-polished boots.  The president declared unequivocally that New Mexico was federal territory, and that Texas enjoyed no rights or powers beyond her state limits.  "If Texas militia march into any of other States or into any Territory of the United States, there to execute or enforce any law of Texas, they become at that moment trespassers; they are no longer under the protection of any lawful authority, and are to be regarded merely as intruders," he declared.  Should the laws of the United States be opposed or obstructed in any way, it was his duty as commander-in-chief to employ the armed forces as they were needed.

The response to Fillmore's message, especially from northerners in Congress, was highly favorable; from Newport [Rhode Island], Henry Clay sent a telegram offering the president his full support.  The sleekly groomed Fillmore might not be the soldier that hard-edged [Zachary] Taylor had been, but his meaning was equally unmistakable: the United States was ready to go to war.

The president's message shifted the focus from the California issue to Texas-New Mexico.  And the combination of the president's "stick" and the "carrot" represented by the Texas bond bill did the trick:

The real question was: what would [the two Texas senators, Thomas Jefferson Rusk and Sam Houston] do?  Without their support, no compromise would work. . . .  Both . . . knew that federal troops were en route to New Mexico, that the president was firmly committed to resist an invasion, and that without the camouflage of the Omnibus Texas stood no chance of winning congressional recognition for its entire elephantine claim.  Some Texans were also having second thoughts.  "It is unpleasant to impoverish the state and tax our people with insupportable burthens to make war against the U.S. although it is as we all know on our soil," one uneasy constituent wrote to Rusk.

It was over within a matter of days.  On August 9 Rusk and Houston announced their support for the Texas-New Mexico measures.  That day, Stephen Douglas' motion for a third reading of the bill squeaked by, 27 to 24.  "[T]he Texans had tipped the balance."  The final vote on the bill, later that evening, "was decisive, if anticlimactic": 30 votes to 20.

About the illustration at the top, entitled Capability and Availability:

Sharply critical of both the Democratic and Whig choice of presidential candidates in 1852, the artist laments the nomination of two soldiers, Winfield Scott (center) and Franklin Pierce (far right), in preference to several more "capable" statesmen who appear at left. The latter are (left to right): Samuel Houston, John J. Crittenden, Thomas Hart Benton, Millard Fillmore, John Bell, Lewis Cass, Stephen A. Douglas, and Daniel Webster. Most prominent in the group are Fillmore, Cass, and Webster, who also sought the presidential nomination in 1852. Fillmore: "I have sought more anxiously to do what was right; than what would please, and feel no disappointment, at finding that my Conduct has, rendered me an unavailable candidate." Cass: "We have been partizans where we differed in opinions as to the best means of promoting the prosperity and happiness of our native land, but we cast aside, party when we stood Shoulder, to Shoulder, for the Constitution & the Union." Webster: "It is not our fortune to be, or to have been successful Millitary Chieftains. We are nothing but painstaking, hardworking, drudging Civilians, giving our life, and health, and strength, to the maintenance of the Constitution and upholding the liberties of our country." Columbia, draped in stars and stripes and grasping the hands of Scott and Pierce, responds: "I acknowledge your noble services, worth and Constant devotion most Illustrious sons, and that you have the long experience, Sound sense and practical wisdom which fit you to receive the highest honor in my power to bestow, but you are "not Available." " "Availability," in the contemporary lexicon, meant the quality of broad popular appeal. Scott and Pierce were both distinguished in the Mexican War. Scott, holding a liberty staff and Phrygian cap, proclaims: "You see Gentlemen it is "availability" that is required and that is "my" qualification." Pierce holds a shield adorned with stars and stripes, adding, "I am a "Great" man and have done the country "Great" Service! I never knew it before; but it "must be so;" for the Convention has declared it, and the Democracy affirm it." Before his nomination by the Democratic convention of 1852, Pierce was a relatively little known New Hampshire attorney--a fact which Whig publicists tended to exaggerate. Pierce had, after all, served as a two-term congressman and senator from New Hampshire.

Henry Clay and the First Bank: The Cow and the Turkey

In the early 1820s William Harris Crawford of Georgia would become a conservative, almost winning the presidency in 1824. But all that lay in the future. In February 1811, he was a staunch defender of the First Bank of the United States in the Senate, "deliver[ing] a brilliant speech is support of the bank, which even [Nathaniel] Macon called 'a better argument in favor of it on constitutional ground than ever has been made. . . .'"

In his February 15, 1811 Senate speech opposing the extension of the First Bank's charter, Henry Clay, having disposed of William Branch Giles, next turned to Sen. Crawford's complaint, as paraphrased by Clay, "that this has been made a party question." In fact, Clay pointed out, the original bank bill, passed in 1791, "was one of the causes of the political divisions of this country" and had spurred the formation of the Jeffersonian Republicans. It was Crawford, not opponents of the bank, who was playing politics and abandoning the Republican party:

And if, on this occasion, my worthy friend from Georgia has gone over over into the camp of the enemy, is it kind in him to look back upon his former friends, and rebuke them for the fidelity with which they adhere to their old principles?

Taking advantage of the fact that Crawford and other proponents had cited different provisions of the Constitution as the source of Congress's power to create the bank, Clay mocked their attempts to locate "some congenial spot" in which to locate "[t]his vagrant power":

This vagrant power to erect a bank, after having wandered throughout the whole Constitution in quest of some congenial spot whereupon to fasten, has been at length located by the gentleman from Georgia on that provision, which authorizes Congress to lay and collect taxes, &c. In 1791, the power is referred to one part of the instrument; in 1811, to another. Sometimes it is alleged to be deducible from the power to regulate commerce. Hard pressed here, it disappears, and shows itself under the grant to coin money.

Clay's arguments had to this point been largely playful. But now he became more serious. The Constitution granted Congress limited and defined powers. "The power to charter companies is not specified in the grant." And while the Necessary and Proper Clause may effectively grant implied powers, those powers "must be necessary, and obviously flow from the enumerated power with which it is allied."

What is the nature of this Government? It is emphatically federal, vested with an aggregate of specified powers for general purposes, conceded by existing sovereignties, who have themselves retained what is not so conceded. It is said that there are cases in which it must act on implied powers. This is not controverted, but the implications must be necessary, and obviously flow from the enumerated power with which it is allied.

Emphasizing the fearsome powers of corporations, Clay denied that the power to charter companies could be created by mere implication:

The power to charter companies is not specified in the grant, and I contend is of a nature not transferable by mere implication. It is one of the most exalted attributes of sovereignty. In the exercise of this gigantic power we have seen an East India Company created, which has carried dismay, desolation, and death throughout one of the largest portions of the habitable world. A company which is, in itself, a sovereignty - which has subverted empires and set up new dynasties - and has not only made war, but war against its legitimate sovereign!

Examples of implied powers cited by supporters - such as "the power 'to make rules and regulations for the government of the land and naval forces,' which, it is said, is incidental to the power to raise armies and provide a navy" - only proved Clay's point, for they demonstrated "[h]ow extremely cautious the Convention were to leave as little as possible to implication."

In all cases where incidental powers are acted upon, the principal and incidental ought to be congenial with each other, and partake of a common nature. The incidental power ought to be strictly subordinate and limited to the end proposed to be attained by the specified power. In other words, under the name of accomplishing one object which is specified, the power implied ought not to be made to embrace other objects, which are not specified in the Constitution.

Applying these principals might permit the creation of a bank of limited powers. But the First Bank had, and was proposed to have, powers that extended far beyond any enumerated end:

If then you could establish a bank to collect and distribute the revenue, it ought to be expressly restricted to the purpose of such collection and distribution. It is a mockery, worse than usurpation, to establish it for a lawful object, and then extend it to other objects which are not lawful. In deducing the power to create corporations, such as I have described it, from the power to collect taxes, the relation and condition of principal and incident are prostrated and destroyed. The accessory is exalted above the principal. As well might it be said that the great luminary of day is an accessory, a sattelite [sic] to the humblest star that twinkles forth its feeble light in the firmament of the heavens!

In order to illustrate his point Clay resorted to an analogy. I'm not sure it works, but who can resist a story about a cow and a turkey?

Like the Virginia justice, you tell the man, whose turkey had been stolen, that your book of precedents furnishes no form for his case, but then you will grant him a precept to search for a cow, and when looking for that he may possibly find his turkey! You say to this corporation, we cannot authorize you to discount - to emit paper - to regulate commerce, &c. No! Our book has no precedents of that kind. But then we can authorize you to collect the revenue, and, while occupied with that, you may do whatever else you please!

About the illustration, entitled A Foot-Race (1824):

A figurative portrayal of the presidential race of 1824. A crowd of cheering citizens watch as candidates (left to right) John Quincy Adams, William Crawford, and Andrew Jackson stride toward the finish. Henry Clay has dropped from the race and stands, hand on head, on the far right saying, "D--n it I cant save my distance--so I may as well "draw up."" He is consoled by a man in riding clothes, "Well dont distress yourself--there'll be some scrubbing by & by & then you'll have a chance." Assorted comments come from the crowd, reflecting various sectional and partisan views. A Westerner with stovepipe hat and powder horn: "Hurra for our Jacks-"son."" Former President John Adams: "Hurra for our son "Jack."" Two men in coachmen's livery: "That inne-track fellow [Crawford] goes so well; that I think he must have got the better of the bots [boss?]." and "Like enough; but betwixt you & I--I dont think he'll ever get the better of the "Quinsy."" A ragged Irishman: "Blast my eyes if I dont "venter" a "small" horn of rotgut on that "bald filly" in the middle [Adams]." A Frenchman: "Ah hah! Mon's Neddy I tink dat kick on de "back of you side" is worse den have no dinner de fourt of july." In the left background is a platform and an inaugural scene, the "Presidential Chair" with a purse "

Henry Clay and the First Bank: "A most unjustifiable law"

Early in his national career, Henry Clay opposed the extension of the charter of the First Bank of the United States. In his book The Old Republicans: Southern Conservatism in the Age of Jefferson, Norman K. Risjord has characterized Clay's principal speech in opposition to the BUS as "probably the ablest exposition of Republican doctrine on the subject since [James] Madison's war on the bank in 1791." That prompted me to find the speech in the Annals of Congress, and I thought I'd share some highlights here.

Clay first came to Washington to serve brief stints as United States Senator from Kentucky in 1806-07 and 1810-11. It was during his second term that the Senate took up the question whether the Bank of the United States should be extended. The BUS had originally been chartered by the First Congress in 1791 for a period of twenty years, and the charter was scheduled to expire in 1811.

On Friday February 15, 1811, Henry Clay took the Senate floor to oppose extension of the charter. In light of Clay's later advocacy of his American System - based on the three pillars of a national bank, a high, protective tariff, and federal funding of internal improvements - young Senator Clay's denunciation of the First Bank proved to be a supreme irony, which his political opponents ever used against him.

But in February 1811 Clay declared that he had, after much deliberation, concluded that he had no choice but to oppose the charter extension bill as "a most unjustifiable law." Clay maintained that he had initially decided not to speak against the bill. The original Bank bill had been passed after the founders themselves had thoroughly explored the arguments pro and con. What more could Clay add?

As the subject, at the memorable period when the charter was granted, called forth the best talents of the nation- as it has, on various occasions, undergone the most thorough investigation, and as we can hardly expect that it is susceptible of receiving any further elucidation, it was to have been hoped that we should have been spared an useless debate. This was the more desirable because there are, I conceive, much superior claims upon us for every hour of the small portion of the session yet remaining to us.

But the arguments advanced in favor of charter extension, Clay explained, demanded refutation:

Under the operation of these motives, I had resolved to give a silent vote, until I felt myself bound, by the defying manner of the arguments advanced in support of the renewal, to obey the paramount duties I owe my country and its constitution; to make one effort, however feeble, to avert the passage of what appears to me a most unjustifiable law.

With this preamble, Clay rounded on one of the orators whose "defying manner" of argument had apparently stirred Clay - Senator William Branch Giles of Virginia. Sen. Giles, generally an advocate of an energetic federal government, had argued that the federal government nonetheless lacked the power to establish a bank, resulting in (in the words of John Randolph of Roanoke) "the most unintelligible speech on the subject of the Bank of the U.S. I ever heard." Clay played on these contradictions:

After my honorable friend from Virginia (Mr. GILES) had instructed and amused us with the very able and ingenious argument which he delivered on yesterday, I should have still forborne to trespass on the Senate, but for the extraordinary character of his speech. He discussed both sides of the question, with great ability and eloquence, and certainly demonstrated to the satisfaction of all who heard him, both that it was Constitutional and unconstitutional, highly proper and improper to prolong the charter of the bank.

Clay then illustrated Sen. Giles's oratorical success by relating a no doubt apocryphal story about Patrick Henry:

The honorable gentleman appeared to me in the predicament in which the celebrated orator of Virginia, Patrick Henry, is said to have been once placed. Engaged in a most extensive and lucrative practice of the law, he mistook in one instance the side of the cause on which he was retained, and addressed the court and jury in a very splendid and convincing speech in behalf of his antagonist.

His distracted client came up to him whilst he was progressing, and interrupting him, bitterly exclaimed, "you have undone me! "you have ruined me!"

"Never mind, give yourself no concern," said the adroit advocate; and turning to the court and jury, continued his argument by observing, "May it please your honors, and you, gentleman of the jury, I have been stating to you what I presume my adversary may urge on his side. I will now show you how fallacious his reasoning and groundless his pretensions are."

The skilled orator proceeded, satisfactorily refuted every argument he had advanced, and gained his cause! A success with which I trust the exertion of my honorable friend will on this occasion be crowned.

John Tyler Tells A Joke

By way of background, in September 1841 the Whig members of Congress, headed by an irate Henry Clay, read president John Tyler out of the Whig party for twice vetoing bills to establish a third national bank.

In his new book Manifest Destinies: America's Westward Expansion and the Road to the Civil War, Steven E. Woodworth relates that three and a half years later a satisfied Tyler joked about his status as outcast:

While Congress debated and finally approved Texas annexation that winter [1844-1845], Tyler approached the end of his administration with equanimity. He felt vindicated by the widespread public support for annexation . . .. On February 18 [1845] he and Julia [his new wife] held a final presidential ball with three thousand guests in attendance. A marine band was on hand to play cotillions and the more daring waltzes an polkas the Tylers had introduced to Washington society. "Wine and champagne flowed like water," commented a delighted guest. Congratulated on hosting such a gala event, Tyler joked, "Yes, they cannot say now that I am a President without a party."

About the illustration, entitled Going to Texas after the election of 1844:

A comic scene anticipating a Whig victory in the upcoming presidential election. The date is 1845, after an election supposedly decided on the Texas question, the tariff issue, and Democratic identification with Jacksonian policies. The artist ridicules Democrat James K. Polk's advocacy of the annexation of Texas as misguided aggression. In addition, the title's use of the phrase "Going to Texas," contemporary code for embezzling, may be a swipe at the political spoils system associated with the Democrats since the Jackson administration. Incumbent President John Tyler also comes under attack for corruption. The scene is outside the White House. On a "Loco Foco" donkey Polk and running-mate Dallas, heavily armed and equipped with military packs, are about to depart for Texas. Dallas holds a flag with skull-and-crossbones and the motto "Free Trade," a symbol of antiprotectionism. Around the donkey's neck is a feed barrel full of "Poke berries." Before the donkey stands Andrew Jackson, offering his trademark hat and clay pipe, and crooning: I give thee all, I can no more, / Though poor the offering be, / My hat and Pipe are all the store, / That I can bring to thee! / A hat whose worn out nap reveals / A friendly tale full well, / And better far a heart that feels, / More than Hat and Pipe can tell! At this the donkey brays, "Eehaw!" and Polk bids Jackson, "Goodbye General! It is all day with us. I am a gone Sucker!" Dallas exclaims, "D--n Clay!" Behind the donkey stands John Tyler, with lowered head, reflecting, "It is very odd, that after all my treachery, and the unscrupulous efforts of office holders and political dependents, this is my reward! If I had not laid by enough for a rainy day, I should slope for Texas too!" On the ground nearby lies a sign reading: "For Sale A lot of hickory Poles will be sold cheap to close the concern. enquire of Polk & Dallas." From the steps of the White House Henry Clay waves and calls out, "A pleasant journey to you Gentlemen! may your shadows never be less!" Below the title is a narrative, purportedly excerpted from the Tyler administration organ the "Madisonian" of April 1845: All wept particularly when the old chieftain approached and holding his hat and pipe in one hand and the other placed on his heart, with tremulous accent interrupted occasionally with a cough, sang the above lines, an impromptu composed by himself to the well known tune of my heart and Lute, even the sagacious Tyler was subdued and sank into a fit of melancholy abstraction; the Donkey brayed encore.

Some Articles on the Panic of 1837

Lawprof Rick Hills has a new post at Prawsblawg that refers the Panic of 1837: Van Buren to Pennsylvania: Drop Dead. The post also contains links to two articles that I found interesting: Arthur A. Ekirch, Jr., Democracy and Laissez Faire: The New York State Constitution of 1846, and Alasdair S. Roberts, "An Ungovernable Anarchy": The United States' Response to Depression and Default, 1837-1848. Both articles are brief (5 and 7 pages respectively) and well worth a look.

Although not its main point, the Roberts article explains the double-whammy nature of the Panic of 1837 - an initial depression that began in May 1837 and eased somewhat in 1838 and 1839, followed by an even deeper downturn that arose out events in 1839 but whose impact was felt beginning in 1840. As I explained in Henry Clay, President, the early timing of the Whig presidential convention - held before the full impact of the second wave of the Panic was felt - probably denied Henry Clay the presidency in 1840.

About the illustration, entitled Specie Claws:

A melodramatic portrayal of the plight of the tradesman during the Panic of 1837, whose financial distress the artist ascribes to Loco Foco politics and the effects of the Specie Circular, or "Specie Clause." Though a product of the Jackson administration, the measure was also associated with the monetary program of Jackson successor and protege Martin Van Buren. Designed to curb inflationary speculation, the circular stipulated that only specie (i.e., gold or silver) be accepted as payment for federal lands. Radical Democrats, or "Loco Focos," of New York supported Van Buren's anti-Bank fiscal policies. The panic depressed the economy for several years, and caused widespread unemployment. A despondent tradesman, or mechanic, sits at a table in his humble dwelling, a copy of radical Democratic newspaper the "New Era" on his lap. On the wall behind him are prints of Jackson and Van Buren. Strewn at his feet are his tools, and his toolbox is empty but for "Loco Foco Pledges." He laments, "I have no money, and cannot get any work." Beside him are his wife and children. His wife, holding an infant, says, "My dear, cannot you contrive to get some food for the children? I don't care for myself." The children speak: "I'm so hungry," "I say Father, can't you get some "Specie Claws?" and "Father can't I have a piece of bread?" The landlord's agents appear at the door with a warrant of "Distraint for Rent." One says, "I say Sam, I wonder where we are to get our Costs." Weitenkampf tentatively dates the cartoon 1838.

"Fillmore refused to stand on ceremony"

At the end of November 1851 Senator Henry Clay arrived in Washington for the last time. He was dying of consumption and knew it. On December 1 he appeared in the Senate chamber, "a shocking, frail ghost," and delivered "a short speech often interrupted by his racking cough." It was his final appearance in that body. He spent the next seven months until his death on June 29, 1852 largely confined to his rooms at the National Hotel.

He was not alone, though. During those months, friends and old political enemies as well visited to pay their respects. David S. and Jeanne T. Heidler report that one of the former was the president of the United States. "President [Millard] Fillmore sent an invitation for a private dinner a the White House, but Clay apologized that he was too weak to make the short trip up Pennsylvania Avenue. Fillmore refused to stand on ceremony. He came to see Clay right away and made a point of visiting him when he could . .."

"Henry Clay did not"

David S. Heidler and Jeanne T. Heidler have no axe to grind; their subject is Henry Clay, not Millard Fillmore. It is therefore particularly gratifying to read their sympathetic and perceptive appreciation of our thirteenth president:

Millard Fillmore became president amid a grave crisis. The new president could match anyone as to humble origins, for his youth was framed in want, hard men, and harder circumstances, exploited by an apprenticeship that worked him like a dog at the hands of masters intent upon keeping him ignorant and dependent. He rose above it with almost superhuman resolve to acquire an education in the law and to establish himself in politics, first in New York and then in Washington, gaining a reputation as a reliable worker and an unquestionably honest man. Along the way he acquired habits and manners that would have made him celebrated for sophistication had be not been so resolutely self-effacing. His manner in fact convinced many that he was a plodding, timid intellect, but not everyone fell into the trap of thinking simplicity equated with simpleness. [Henry] Clay did not.

About the illustration, entitled Inklings of Travel, Up Salt River:

A broad satire, ridiculing all of the candidates in the 1848 presidential campaign. Swimming up "Salt River" and pulling the "Salt River Barge" is fox Martin van Buren. Seated in the barge are (left to right): Zachary Taylor, Taylor running mate Millard Fillmore, Henry Clay, Democratic vice presidential candidate William O. Butler, and presidential candidate Lewis Cass. Seated in the front of the boat and looking ahead through a spyglass, Taylor observes, "I say, Fillmore, I don't see anything ahead yonder that looks like the White House. The coast is very low & well adapted to Salt Works." Cass, at the tiller, says, "This boat carries Cesar and his fortunes. It cannot fail to arrive at its place of destination."

Could Millard Fillmore Have Made Henry Clay President in 1844?

In Henry Clay: The Essential American, David S. Heidler and Jeanne T. Heidler make a claim I had never seen before: Millard Fillmore was Henry Clay's choice for his vice presidential running mate in 1844:

Clay was prudent in refraining from publicly endorsing anyone in particular [as his vice presidential running mate in 1844], but in private he obliquely inclined toward Millard Fillmore. Others agreed that the New York could best mollify abolitionists and Antimasons and, if Clay died, would not be obnoxious like [John] Tyler. “I think Mr. Fillmore deserves the high estimate in which he was held by the Whigs of the last Congress,” Clay said. “I think him able, faithful, and with uncommon business habits.” It was the closest he came to supporting anyone.

All of which got to me to thinking . . . what if the Whigs had nominated Millard for the vice presidency in 1844 instead of Theodore Frelinghuysen of New Jersey? Could Millard have put Clay over the top and won him the presidency over James K. Polk?

I'm going to have to think about this one, but the idea strikes me as plausible. Clay lost the vote in the Electoral College by sixty-five votes, 170 to 105. New York had 36 electoral votes. If Clay had retained all of the votes he won (including the seven votes of New Jersey), plus New York, he would have prevailed 141 to 134.

Could Millard have turned the tide in New York? Well, the vote there was extremely close. Clay lost by roughly 5,000 out of 486,000 cast. The results were as follows:

Polk (Democrat) 237,588

Clay (Whig) 232,482

Birney (Liberty) 15,812

Could Millard have eliminated that margin? Maybe, just maybe. Apart from the fact that Millard would have been a native son, his nomination might have suppressed the Democratic vote, particularly among the Irish in New York City. Frelinghuysen was tarred as an anti-immigrant, anti-Catholic moralist, a label that Fillmore might well have avoided. Second, Millard might have induced some James G. Birney voters to switch columns. Finally, Millard began his political career as an Anti-Mason. His presence on the ballot might have persuaded additional anti-masons or former anti-masons, who were wary of Clay (who was a Mason) to make their way to the polls.

"I shall do nothing to disturb the sleep of the child or the repose of the mother"

I have previously published several posts on the 1826 duel held between then Secretary of State Henry Clay and Virginia Senator John Randolph of Roanoke. Reading the account of the duel, and the accompanying endnotes, contained in Henry Clay: The Essential American gives me another excuse to revisit this colorful event.

What I realized when I read the Heidlers' description was that Missouri Senator Thomas Hart Benton had been a witness to and participant in events leading up to the duel and had witnessed the duel itself. What is more, Benton composed a description of those events, published in his autobiography.

I located an 1858 printing of Benton's autobiography, Thirty Years' View; or, A History of the Working of the American Government for Thirty Years, From 1820 to 1850 (New York: D. Appleton and Co., 1858), at Google Books. It turns out that Benton's description of the duel is detailed to the point of being turgid. I therefore thought that I'd highlight a few angles that I think are particularly interesting.

On Saturday April 1, 1826, Randolph approached Benton and asked him whether he “was a blood-relation of Mrs. Clay.” Benton said he was (Mrs. Clay's maiden name had been Lucretia Hart). Randolph “immediately replied that that put an end to a request which he had wished to make of me.” He then proceeded to explain that he had received and accepted a challenge from Clay and was hoping that Benton would be his second. Since Benton could not serve, Randolph would ask Col. Edward F. Tattnall (spelled "Tatnall" throughout Benton's account) to do so.

Then Randolph told Benton a secret and swore him to silence: he would not fire on Clay:

Before leaving, he told me he would make my bosom the depository of a secret which he should commit to no other person: it was, that he did not intend to fire at Mr. Clay. He told it to me because he wanted a witness of his intention, and did not mean to tell it to his second or any body else; and enjoined inviolable secrecy until the duel was over.

Procedural details and efforts by the seconds to dissuade the participants delayed matters for a week, but the duel was at last scheduled to take place on Saturday April 8th at 4:00 p.m. The location was the Virginia side of the Potomac, selected by Randolph because, if shot, his native state was “his chosen ground to receive his blood.”

That morning, Benton met with Randolph, hoping to obtain a reaffirmation of his commitment not to fire at Clay. Afraid to ask Randolph directly (because Randolph might take a direct question as an affront to his honor), Benton hit upon a scheme to elicit the information indirectly. He related to Randolph that he had visited the Clay residence the evening before and encountered a pathetic scene. The youngest Clay boy was sleeping on the sofa. Although apparently unaware of the impending duel, Mrs. Clay was “the picture of desolation.” Always physically frail, she was still despondent over the recent deaths of two daughters. “I told him of my visit to Mr. Clay the night before – of the late sitting – the child asleep – the unconscious tranquillity of Mrs. Clay; and added, I could not help reflecting how different all that might be the next night.”

Randolph understood and gave Benton the reassurance he was hoping for. “He understood me perfectly, and immediately said, with a quietude of look and expression which seemed to rebuke an unworthy doubt, 'I shall do nothing to disturb the sleep of the child or the repose of the mother.'"

Immediately before the duel, however, two events occurred that caused Randolph to question his resolve. First, Randolph became flustered when he dropped his pistol on the dueling ground, causing it to discharge. More importantly, shortly before that, during his carriage ride to the dueling ground, he had learned that Clay had requested a change in the rules that made his (Randolph's) injury or death more likely.

The duel was to be with pistols at ten paces, and the seconds had agreed to a procedure that minimized the likelihood that either participant would be shot. Immediately after the command to “fire,” there would be a quick count, “One, two, three, stop.” Hopefully, the participants, neither of whom was experienced with firearms, would not have time to raise their pistols and make accurate shots before the “stop” order was recited.

Shortly before the duel, however, Clay's second, Thomas J. Jesup, at Clay's request, asked Randolph's second to agree to slow down the count. Apparently Clay was concerned that, because he had no experience with pistols, he would not even have time to raise his pistol, leaving him defenseless if Randolph was able to get off a shot. Randolph's second declined the request, and the procedure was not changed.

Word of the request got back to Randolph, who apparently believed that the procedure had in fact been altered to slow down the count. Randolph decided that he might fire at Clay, but only to “disable” him. As he wrote in a note shortly before the duel:

"Information received from Col. Tatnall [Randolph's second] since I got into the carriage may induce me to change my mind, of not returning Mr. Clay's fire. I seek not his death. I would not have his blood upon my hands – it will not be upon my soul if shed in self-defence – for the world. He has determined, by the use of a long, preparatory caution by words, to get time to kill me. May I not, then, disable him? Yes, if I please."

When the time came, Randolph did indeed fire at Clay. “Mr. Randolph's bullet struck the stump behind Mr. Clay.” Clay's bullet was likewise wide of its mark.

After the first shots were exchanged, Benton pulled Randolph aside to try to settle the affair. During that conversation, Randolph affirmed that he had aimed only to disable Clay:

[H]e declared to me that he had not aimed at the life of Mr. Clay; that he did not level as high as the knees – not higher than the knee-band; "for it was no mercy to shoot a man in the knee;” that his only object was to disable him and spoil his aim. And then added, with a beauty of expression and a depth of feeling which no studied oratory can ever attain, and which I shall never forget, these impressive words: "I would not have seen him fall mortally, or even doubtfully wounded, for all the land that is watered by the King of Floods and all his tributary streams."

Clay and Randolph had agreed to a second exchange of fire, but Randolph assured Benton that, this time, he would not defend himself. “[Randolph] regretted this fire [his first shot at Clay] the instant it was over. He felt that it had subjected him to imputations from which he knew himself to be free – a desire to kill Mr. Clay, and a contempt for the laws of his beloved State [dueling was illegal in Virginia]; and the annoyances which he felt at these vexatious circumstances revived his original determination, and decided him irrevocably to carry it out.” “He left me to resume his post . . . with the positive declaration that he would not return the next fire."

Randolph was true to his word. Benton recounts the famous climax:

I withdrew a little way into the woods, and kept my eyes fixed on Mr. Randolph, who I then knew to be the only one in danger. I saw him receive the fire of Mr. Clay, saw the gravel knocked up in the same place, saw Mr. Randolph raise his pistol – discharge it in the air; heard him say, “I do not fire at you, Mr. Clay;” and immediately advancing and offering his hand. He was met in the same spirit. They met half way. shook hands, Mr. Randolph saying, jocosely, “You owe me a coat, Mr. Clay" - (the bullet had passed through the skirt of the coat, very near the hip) – to which Mr. Clay promptly and happily replied, "I am glad the debt is no greater."

"The general principles of this bill receive my approbation"

In Henry Clay: The Essential American, David S. and Jeanne T. Heidler recall the drama of the moment when the public learned for the first time that the Nullification Crisis would be resolved.

In early 1833, Senator Henry Clay of Kentucky fashioned a compromise tariff bill that would gradually reduce the tariff over a period of years, until it would ultimately decrease to a level merely sufficient to raise the necessary income for the federal government, with protection of industry being abandoned. Clay privately discussed his ideas with John Caldwell Calhoun of South Carolina and “emerged from these discussions . . . confident that Calhoun would support it.”

Having laid the groundwork, on the morning of February 11, 1833 Clay took the Senate floor and “announced that he would present a formal compromise proposal the following day.” He provided no details.

The next morning, February 12, 1833, Clay delivered a speech that lasted “several hours”, in which he outlined his plan. At the conclusion, he “asked 'leave' to present his bill formally.” Supporters of president Andrew Jackson immediately objected, “if only to keep Clay from gaining plaudits for breaking the impasse.”

Amid the disorder, however, “the chair recognized Calhoun. The gallery watched the South Carolinian rise from his desk. Clay's eyes were on him, and the chamber fell suddenly silent, like a church in prayer.”

The Gales and Seaton Register of Debates, which reported the proceedings, provides only an indirect account of Calhoun's remarks (e.g., “Mr. Calhoun rose and said . . .”). I have taken the liberty of translating the account back into direct speech. I have also added paragraph breaks. After rising, the Senator from South Carolina made the following brief statement:

I will make but one or two observations.

Entirely approving of the object for which the bill is introduced, I shall give my vote in favor of the motion for leave to introduce it.

He who loves the Union must desire to see this agitating question brought to a termination. Until it is terminated, we can not expect the restoration of peace or harmony, or a sound condition of things, throughout the country. I believe that to the unhappy divisions which have kept the Northern and Southern States apart from each other, the present entirely degraded condition of the country (for entirely degraded I believe it to be) is solely attributable.

The general principles of this bill receive my approbation. I believe that if the present difficulties are to be adjusted, they must be adjusted based on the principles in the bill, of fixing ad valorem duties, except in the few cases in the bill to which specific duties are assigned.

It has been my fate to occupy a position as hostile as any one could, in reference to the protecting policy; but, if it depends on my will, I will not give my vote for the prostration of the manufacturing interest. A very large capital has been invested in manufactures, which have been of great service to the country; and I will never give my vote to suddenly withdraw all those duties by which that capital is sustained in the channel into which it has been directed. But I will only vote for the ad valorem system of duties, which I deem the most beneficial and the most equitable.

At this time, I do not rise to go into a consideration of any of the details of this bill, as such a course would be premature, and contrary to the practice of the Senate. There are some of the provisions which have my entire approbation, and there are some to which I object. But I look upon these minor points of difference as points in the settlement of which no difficulty will occur, when gentlemen meet together in that spirit of mutual compromise which, I doubt not, will be brought into their deliberations, without at all yielding the constitutional question as to the right of protection.

The Register of Debates dryly reports the reaction of the gallery to the stunning news that the Crisis was on its way to resolution:

[Here there was a tumultuous approbation in the galleries, which induced the CHAIR to order the galleries to be cleared. On the expression of a hope, by Mr. [George] POINDEXTER [of Mississippi] and Mr. [John] HOLMES [of Maine] [the same John Holmes, by the way, who was the addressee of Thomas Jefferson's “fire bell in the night” letter], that the order would not, at this time, be enforced, the CHAIR subsequently withdrew it; but gave notice that on any repetition of the disorder, the officers of the House would act without any further direction.]

Drawing on contemporaneous letters (according to the endnotes), the Heidlers provide some additional color:

Spectators in the gallery were not aware that the two [Clay and Calhoun] had made an arrangement. Now, as Calhoun spoke, they heard his words in amazement and immediately exploded into loud cheers, stamping, whistling, and raising such a noise that only the threat of eviction caused the celebration to end. Clay had seized the momentum from the administration. As Calhoun took his seat, Clay's eyes were upon him.

About the illustration, entitled Destruction of the Snake of South Carolina:

Eagle holds a dead snake in beak and another in claws as many smaller snakes slither in surrounding grass. American flag behind eagle with Andrew Jackson and John Calhoun watching from top corners. White envelope with colored ink. Image covers sheet. The destruction of the snake of South Carolina, nullification and secession, and all her progeny by the national bird. To portray the ultimate overthrow of the evil power, which strikes at the life of the national government, is the object of this cut.

The "Corrupt Bargain": The Opening Volley

In Henry Clay: The Essential American, David S. and Jeanne T. Heidler point out that Jacksonian accusation that there was a “corrupt bargain” between Henry Clay and John Quincy Adams arose even before Adams was elected president.

The House vote among the three finalists for the presidency in 1824 (Andrew Jackson, John Quincy Adams and William H. Crawford) was scheduled to be held on February 9, 1825.

One month earlier, on the evening of January 9, 1825, Clay had met privately with Adams in the latter's study for about three hours. “Most of what was said there would remain forever behind the room's doors, for neither man left a lengthy account of their discussion.”

In the following weeks, Clay began lining up votes for Adams. On January 24, 1825, irate Jacksonians learned that the Kentucky delegation in the House would cast its vote for Adams, defying instructions from the state legislature to vote for Jackson.

The Jacksonian assault began the next day, some two weeks before the House voted. The opening volley took the form of an anonymous letter that appeared in the January 25, 1825 edition of the Philadelphia Columbian Observer. A Pennsylvania Congressman by the name of George Kremer later claimed that he wrote the letter, although there is apparently substantial doubt as to his authorship.

I searched around the internet and found a copy of the letter here. It reads as follows (some paragraph breaks added):

DEAR SIR:

I take up my pen to inform you of one of the most disgraceful transactions that ever covered with infamy the Republican ranks. Would you believe that men professing Democracy could be found base enough to lay the axe at the very root of the tree of Liberty? Yet, strange as it is, it is not less true. To give you a full history of the transaction would far exceed the limits of a letter. I shall, therefore, at once proceed to give you a brief account of such a bargain as can only be equalled by the famous Burr Conspiracy of 1801.

For some time past, the friends of Clay have hinted that they, like the Swiss, would fight for those who would pay best. Overtures were said to have been made by the friends of Adams to the friends of Clay, offering him the appointment of Secretary of State for his aid to elect Adams. And the friends of Clay gave this information to the friends of Jackson, and hinted that if the friends of Jackson would offer the same price, they would close with them. But none of the friends of Jackson would descend to such mean barter and sale. It was not believed by any of the friends of Jackson that this contract would be ratified by the members from the States who had voted for Mr. Clay.

I was of opinion, when I first heard of this transaction, that men, professing any honorable principles, could not, nor would not, be transferred like the planter does his negroes, or the farmer his team and horses. No alarm was excited - we believed the Republic was safe. The nation, having delivered Jackson into the hands of Congress, backed by a large majority of their votes, there was on my mind no doubt that Congress would respond to the will of the nation, by electing the individual they had declared to be their choice.

Contrary to this expectation, it is now ascertained to a certainty that Henry Clay has transferred his interest to John Quincy Adams. As a consideration for this abandonment of duty to his constituents, it is said and believed, should this unholy coalition prevail, Clay is to be appointed Secretary of State. I have no fears on my mind - I am clearly of opinion we shall defeat every combination. The force of public opinion must prevail, or there is an end of liberty.

Extra credit question: why have I headed this post with a picture of Stephen van Rensselaer, the Patroon of Rensselaerswyck?

William Crawford Suffers a Stroke

For those of you who don't know of him, William H. Crawford was a leading political figure during the period following the War of 1812 and in the early 1820s. A transplanted Virginian who became a power in his adopted state of Georgia, Crawford served as Secretary of War under President James Madison from 1815 to 1816 and as Secretary of the Treasury from 1816 through 1825 under President Madison and throughout the term of President James Monroe.

In the jockeying for the presidential election of 1824, Crawford was probably the early front-runner in a crowded field that included Secretary of State John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts, Secretary of War John Caldwell Calhoun of South Carolina, House Speaker Henry Clay of Kentucky and dark horse war hero and Senator Andrew Jackson of Tennessee. However, the dynamics of the covert race – and Crawford's own fortunes – changed dramatically when in the summer of 1823 Crawford suffered what modern histories inevitably refer to as a “massive stroke.” Remarkably, Crawford survived, although he suffered the crippling impairments typical of severe stroke victims. (His health later improved somewhat, and he lived for over decade, dying in 1834.)

Equally remarkable was the fact that, despite these impairments, Crawford's candidacy survived as well. Such was his political standing that, although he was essentially non-functional, he nonetheless finished third in the Electoral College vote for president in 1824, ahead of Henry Clay and ending Clay's presidential run. (Because no candidate amassed a majority of Electoral College votes, the House of Representatives would choose the winner from among the top three Electoral College vote-getters. As Speaker of the House, Clay would likely have won that contest had he finished third rather than fourth.)

In their new biography of the Great Pacificator, Henry Clay: The Essential American, David S. and Jeanne T. Heidler provide details about the onset of Crawford's stroke that I had not seen before. Medical incompetence, they assert, transformed a serious but non-critical illness into the stroke that ultimately ended Crawford's national career.

In those days, anyone who could do so fled swampy and steamy Washington, D.C. in the summer to avoid the diseases such as malaria and yellow fever that swept the town. Crawford was no exception. In the summer of 1823 he left Washington and traveled to the home of leading Virginia politician James Barbour in Barboursville, Orange County.

Unfortunately, Crawford seems to have left a few days too late. By the time he arrived at Barbour's home in the more healthful Piedmont, he was seriously ill. Whatever the precise disease Crawford was suffering from, the doctor summoned by Barbour proceeded to misdiagnose it as a heart ailment – and to prescribe an extremely dangerous remedy:

Thinking Crawford suffered from a heart malady, the doctor administered digitalis, an extract of the poisonous foxglove plant and toxic if incorrectly dosed. In fact, it was an extremely dangerous drug. The measure separating a fruitless from a fatal dose could be less than a drop. The doctor gave Crawford too much. With his heart beating wildly out of control, Crawford suffered a massive stroke . . ..

Henry S. Foote on Henry Clay

I have only to add that had there been one such man in the Congress of the United States as Henry Clay in 1860-'61 there would, I feel sure, have been no civil war. Had Mr. Clay himself been then living, the same high toned patriotism and consummate statesmanship which had been so efficiently instrumental in 1819, in 1832, and in 1850, in preserving the Republic from the horrors of civil butchery, and from the yet greater evils sure to result from disunion, whenever that shall be effected, would have been seen to achieve a still grander triumph of principle over the embodied factionists of that period, from whose ill counsels such unmeasured evils have been seen to flow.

Henry Stuart Foote, Casket of Reminiscences (1874).

Henry Clay on Posterity

[Henry Clay] also harbored a certain intellectual arrogance, manifest in a biting invective directed at those he considered less brainy than himself. Bored by a loquacious man who suggested he spoke for posterity, Clay interjected, "Yes, and you seem resolved to speak until the arrival of your audience."

Robert W. Merry, A Country of Vast Designs: James K. Polk, the Mexican War and the Conquest of the American Continent.

About the illustration:

An anti-Jackson broadside issued during the 1824 presidential election campaign. The text strongly criticizes Jackson's anti-tariff platform and condemns him and William Coleman as advocates of British interests. The author also praises Henry Clay's support of American home industry. The illustrations symbolically represent Industry, Commerce, and Agriculture. The first shows a man at a loom, with the motto "National Industry is National Wealth" below. The central vignette shows a sailing ship with "John Quincy Adams of Washington" across its stern, and flags reading "Free Trade & Sailors Rights" and "No Colonial Subjection" flying from its masts. On the right is a view of a man plowing a field, a liberty pole with a banner inscribed "Speed the Plough," and, in the distance, a small cottage. Below is the motto "Agriculture is the Source of Prosperity."

"It is a decision not made by the General Government"

Henry Clay's 1st compromise resolution advocated the admission of California as a state with or without slavery. The text of the resolution, and my review of Clay's comments on it in his speech of January 29, 1850 may be found here.

On February 5, 1850, Clay expanded substantially on his comments a week earlier. In particular, he acknowledged what everyone knew – that if admitted California would be a free state – and took head on complaints by “gentlemen who come from the slaveholding States” “that the North gets all that it desires.”

Clay did not deny this, but he did deny that this result constituted a “concession” by the south. There was no cause to complain because California as a state, not Congress, had reached the decision. This principle, that the people in the states had the power to decide whether to be slave or free, was one that the south regularly espoused:

[B]ut by whom does [the North] get [what it desires]? Does it get it by any action of Congress? If slavery be interdicted in California, it is done by Congress, by this Government? No sir; the interdiction is imposed by California herself. And has it not been the doctrine of all parties, that when a State is about to be admitted into the Union, that State has a right to decide for itself whether it will or will not have within its limits slavery?

Clay cited the Missouri Compromise as precedent. Clay made sure to note that he had been among those “in favor of the admission of Missouri” who “contended that, by the Constitution, no such restriction [on the State after admission] could be imposed.” The same principle applied now, Clay maintained.

Then, if in this struggle of power and empire between the two classes of States a decision of California has taken place adverse to the wishes of the southern States, it is a decision not made by the General Government; it is a decision respecting which they cannot complain to the General Government. It is a decision made by California herself, and which California had incontestably a right to make under the Constitution of the United States.

There is, then, in that first resolution, according to the observation which I made some time ago, a case where neither party concedes; where the question of slavery, either of its introduction or interdiction, is silent as respects the action of this Government; and if it has been decided, it has been decided by a different body – by a different power – by California herself, who had a right to make that decision.

"Two or three general purposes which seemed to me most desirable . . . to accomplish"

Before turning to his individual resolutions, Henry Clay first explained to the Senate on February 5, 1850 the “two or three general purposes which seemed to me most desirable, if possible, to accomplish.”

The first such purpose “was to settle all the controverted questions arising out of the subject of slavery.” Here Clay took a swipe at president Zachary Taylor, whose plans to admit California and the former Mexican territories as states did not deal with other matters such as the Texas-New Mexico border, the District of Columbia, fugitive slaves and the interstate slave trade:

[I]t seemed to me to be doing very little if we settled one question and left other disturbing questions unadjusted. It seemed to me to be doing little if we stopped one leak only in the ship of State, and left other leaks capable of producing danger, if not destruction, to the vessel. I therefore turned my attention to every subject connected with the institution of slavery, and out of which controverted questions have sprung, to see if it were possible or practicable to accommodate and adjust the whole of them.

Clay's second principle was that neither the north nor the south should “sacrifice . . . any great principle”:

Another principal object which attracted my attention was, to endeavor to frame such a scheme of accommodation as that neither of the two classes of States into which our country is unhappily divided should make a sacrifice of any great principle. I believe, sir, that the series of resolutions which I have had the honor of presenting to the Senate accomplishes that object.

Clay maintained that his resolutions required concessions by both sides - “not of principle, not of principle at all, but of feeling, of opinion, in relation to matters in controversy between them.” “[N]either party makes any concessions of principle at all, though the concessions of forbearance are ample.”

Clay's last purpose or principle was extremely odd: it focused on the extent of the concessions that the South would receive from the north:

In the next place, in respect of the slaveholding States, there are resolutions making concessions to them by the class of opposite States, without any compensation whatever being rendered by them to the non-slaveholding states.

The principles are noteworthy for what they omitted. First, there was no counterbalancing principle emphasizing how much the north would be receiving from the south. Even more jarring was the lack of the fundamental principle of equality of burden. Although Clay had mentioned earlier in his remarks that “concessions of forbearance" - presumably by both sides - "are ample,” he pointedly failed to claim that the amount or extent of concessions were equal on both sides.

Clay had explicity stated in his speech on January 29, 1850 that he believed "this project contains about an equal amount of concession and forbearance on both sides." His failure to reaffirm this fundamental idea, together with his final, one-sided declaration about the extent of northern concessions, strongly suggest that, in the intevening week, Clay had become significantly more concerned about southern objections to his plan. He was apparently willing to risk northern complaints about inequality of burden in order to try to diffuse southern complaints that he feared might prove fatal.

I, at least, suspect that this accounts for Clay's somewhat obscure differentiation between "concessions of principle" and "concessions of forbearance." The north and the south were to be treated equally in that neither would be required to make concessions of the former sort. But, Clay implied, "concessions of forbearance" would fall more heavily on the north.

Clay then transitioned to an examination of his resolutions one by one:

I think every one of these characteristics which I have assigned to the measures which I propose is susceptible of clear, satisfactory demonstration, by an attentive perusal and critical examination of the resolutions themselves. Let us take up the first, sir.

"Repress the ardor of these passions"

In his speech of February 5, 1850, after identifying “passion, passion – party, party – and intemperance” as the source “of the great questions which unhappily divide our distracted country,” Henry Clay begged his fellow Senators to step back from the abyss and listen to reason:

All is now uproar, confusion, menace to the existence of the Union and to the happiness and safety of the people. I implore Senators – I entreat them, by all that they expect hereafter, and by all that is dear to them here below, to repress the ardor of these passions, to look at their country at this crisis – to listen to the voice of reason, not as it shall be attempted to be uttered by me, for I am not so presumptuous as to indulge the hope that anything I can say shall deserve the attention I have desired, but to listen to their own reason, their own judgment, their own good sense, in determining what is best to be done for our country in the actual posture in which we find it.

Clay then moved toward consideration of his own “scheme” while at the same time disavowing any attempt to impose a particular plan by fiat. Clay's resolutions were the result of his attempt to come up with “some mode of accommodation, which should once more restore the blessings of concord, harmony, and peace to this great country.” If his colleagues could improve on them, Clay urged them to do so:

[A]llow me to say to honorable Senators, that if they find in it [Clay's plan] anything which is worthy of acceptance, but is susceptible of improvement by amendment, it seems to me that the true and patriotic course for them to pursue is, not to denounce it, but to improve it; not to reject, without examination, any project of accommodation, having for its object the restoration of harmony in this country, but to look at it, and see if it be susceptible of alteration or improvement, so as to accomplish the object which I indulge the hope is common to all and every one of us, to restore peace, and quiet, and harmony, and happiness to this country.

About the illustration, published in New York in 1851:

A patriotic allegory illustrating the cover of sheet music for a song composed by William Vincent Wallace with words by George P. Morris. The theme of the indissoluble union of North and South is evoked here, no doubt in the context of debate over the Compromise of 1850. The artist expresses the concept by two female figures, crowned with diadems, standing together on a globe and holding the staff of a large American flag. The arm of the North (left) encircles the neck of the maiden representing the South. Before them is a large eagle, his talons gripping thunderbolts and his breast emblazoned with the word "Union." The eagle's wings spread to enframe the lower half of the oval picture. The upper half is ringed with stars. Into the distance stretch two great rivers, past large cities, toward rising mountains.

"Calm the violence and rage of party"

On Tuesday February 5, 1850 – one week after he had introduced his resolutions – Henry Clay again took the Senate floor to present a more extended defense of his proposed “amicable arrangement of all questions in controversy between the Free and the Slave States, growing out of the subject of Slavery."

The Senate chamber was packed. As I described some time ago in this post, people eager to hear the Great Pacificator speak were standing in the aisles and galleries. The crowds extended into the entranceway and halls outside the chamber. The resulting pushing and shoving resulted in an interruption to Clay's speech immediately after his opening remarks, discussed below.

Clay's speech extended over two days and takes up more than twelve pages of small print in the Congressional Globe, so I am going to try to be selective. But the opening paragraphs are worth a separate post.

Henry Clay opened his effort by addressing the President of the Senate – none other than Millard Fillmore:

Mr. President, never, on any former occasion, have I risen under feelings of such deep solicitude. I have witnessed many periods of great anxiety, of peril, and of danger even to the country; but I have never before arisen to address any assembly so oppressed, so appalled, so anxious.

And, sir, I hope it will not be out of place to do here what again and again I have done in my private chamber – to implore of Him who holds the destinies of nations and individuals in his hands to bestow upon our country his blessings – to bestow upon our people all his blessings – to calm the violence and rage of party – to still passion – to allow reason once more to resume its empire. And may I now ask of Him, to bestow upon his humble servant, now before Him, the blessings of his smiles, of strength, and of ability, to perform the work which lies before him.

Sir, I have said that I have witnessed other anxious periods in the history of our country; and if I were to mention – to trace to their original source – the cause of all our present dangers and difficulties, I should ascribe them to the violence of party spirit. We have had testimony of this in the progress of this session, and Senators, however they may differ in other matters, concur in acknowledging the existence of that cause in originating the unhappy differences which prevail throughout the country upon this subject of the institution of slavery.

Parties, in their endeavors to obtain the one the ascendency over the other, catch at every passing and floating plank, in order to add strength and power to themselves. We have been told by two honorable Senators, [John P. Hale of New Hampshire and Samuel S. Phelps of Vermont] that the parties at the North have each in its turn, wooed and endeavored to obtain the assistance of a small party called Abolitionists, in order that the scale in its favor might preponderate over its adversaries. Let us look wherever we may, we see too many indications of the existence of the spirit and intemperance of party.

It's hard to know what to make of Clay's diagnosis that “the violence of party spirit” was the “originating” “cause” of the country's differences over slavery. While it is true that rivalry between the Democrats and Whigs sometimes heightened tensions over slavery, it is hard to believe that so astute a student of the American political scene as Henry Clay believed that the Second Party System lay at the heart of the problem. The Wilmot Proviso had revealed sectional fissures that threatened to transcend party differences and to create a new alignment that would overwhelm party identity.

Did Henry Clay really believe, then, that parties were the core problem? I suppose it is possible. The alternative – that parties could not control the discord – might simply have been too frightening to contemplate. But it is also possible to see this as another example of the indirection that I have detected in Clay's method of argument. By characterizing the problem as one of party, perhaps Clay was hoping to remind his auditors that their traditional party affiliations, and not their sectional affiliations, should define their identities. Those party affiliations were or should be defined by their positions on issues such as a national bank, tariffs and internal improvements. It was incumbent on members of both parties, which transcended section, to insure that sectional differences did not make them irrelevant.

"And what, Mr. President, do you suppose it is?"

Henry Clay concluded his speech of January 29, 1850 introducing his compromise resolutions by stirring the patriotic feelings of his auditors. He did so by invoking that great symbol of the Union, George Washington. And he invoked Washington by “relating an incident, a thrilling incident” that was both improbable and calculated to encourage his listeners to suspend their disbelief.

That very morning, Clay related, a man came to his room. Unaware that Clay was just about to give a speech seeking to save the Union, the man offered him an object that he described as “a precious relic.”

He then drew out of his pocket, and presented to me, the object which I now hold in my hand.

Here Clay dramatically thrust out his hand. Addressing Vice President Millard Fillmore, Clay continued:

And what, Mr. President, do you suppose it is?

It is a fragment of the coffin of Washington – a fragment of that coffin in which now repose in silence, in sleep, and speechless, all the earthly remains of the venerated Father of his Country.

Was it portentious that it should have thus been presented to me? Was it a sad presage of what might happen to that fabric which Washington's virtue, patriotism, and valor established?

No, sir, no. It was a warning voice, coming from the grave to the Congress now in session to beware, to pause, to reflect before they lend themselves to any purposes which shall destroy that Union which was cemented by his exertion and example.

Sir, I hope an impression may be made on your mind, such as that which was made on mine by the reception of this precious relic.

A brief coda followed:

And, in conclusion, I now ask every Senator, I entreat you, gentlemen, in fairness and candor, to examine the plan of accommodation which this series of resolutions proposes, and not to pronounce against them until convinced after a thorough examination.

This site suggests it is conceivable that Clay was given a fragment of George Washington's coffin – or at least that such fragments or purported fragments existed and were in circulation:

George Washington Purported Coffin Fragment and Memorabilia. Including a photograph of his tomb, a colored engraving, card with Washington's coat of arms, overall: 15 1/2" x 16" (sight), matted together and framed, Together With a photograph of a group outside his tomb, 8" x 10". When George Washington was originally buried, his body was placed in a wooden casket which was then placed in a closed vault. In 1837, his body was removed from the wooden casket and re-interred in a new marble sarcophagus. The exhumation was witnessed by a number of neighbors and celebrities of the day. The old wooden casket was broken into pieces and presented to those in attendance. This piece, measuring 1 1/2 " x 3/4 " x 3/4 ", is attached to a newspaper clipping (c. 1837) and is mounted with prints of Washington and his gravesite. The newspaper article reads: Some of Washginton's Coffin [From the Milledgeville (Ga.) Union and Recorder]." We held in our hand yesterday a piece of the black walnut coffin in which George Washington, the "Father of His Country" was buried. It was in the possession of H.V. Sanford and about the size of a woman's hand. Mrs. General John W.W. Sanford, formerly of this society, was a lady of great refinement and cultivation, a great traveler, and of fine education. She was present when Washington's coffin was exhumed and procured several pieces of the coffin much larger then [sic] the one handled yesterday, which are now in the possession of a sister of H.V. Sanford. The pieces are about half an inch in thickness, and on account of age, and the many years that they were in the ground, are very light."