For the first time in eight years the country witnessed a real presidential contest. The campaign, none the less, was one in which the candidates themselves took but little active part. The days of “swinging around the circle” had not yet dawned in our national politics, nor had even those of the “front-porch” campaign. Adams made no effort either to be nominated or to be elected, retaining throughout the contest that austere reserve in public manner which contrasted so singularly with his amiability and good humor in private life. Jackson remained quietly at the Hermitage, replying to correspondents and acknowledging expressions of support, but leaving to his managers the work of winning the voters. Clay, whose oratorical gifts would have made him an invincible twentieth century campaigner, contented himself with a few interviews and speeches. The candidate who normally would have taken most active personal part in the campaign was Crawford. But in August, 1823—six months before the caucus nomination—he was stricken with paralysis and rendered speechless, almost blind, and practically helpless. For months he hovered between life and death in a “mansion” on the outskirts of Washington, while his friends labored to conceal the seriousness of his condition and to keep his canvass going. Gradually he rallied; but his powerful frame was shattered, and even when the caucus discharged its appointed task of nominating him, the politicians were cold-heartedly speculating upon who would receive the “old republican” support if he should die. He recovered and lived ten years; but his chances of the presidency were much diminished by his ill fortune. “He had fallen with his face toward the goal, with his eyes and his heart fixed upon it.”
As the canvass progressed, Jackson steadily gained. His election to the United States Senate, in the autumn of 1823, over a stanch supporter of Crawford showed that his own State was acting in good faith when it proposed him for the higher position. Clever propaganda turned Pennsylvania “Jackson mad”; whereupon Calhoun, with an eye to the future, sought an alliance with his competitor. The upshot was that a convention held at Harrisburg in March, 1824, nominated Jackson almost unanimously and named Calhoun for the vice presidency. Hostility to the caucus became also a great asset. Tariff, internal improvements, and foreign policy were discussed in the campaign, but the real issue was the manner of selecting the President. Should he continue to be chosen by a combination of Congressmen, or should the people take matters into their own hands? Impatience with the caucus system showed itself in numerous nominations of Clay, Adams, and Jackson by sundry state conventions, legislatures, and other more or less official bodies. The supporters of Jackson, in particular, made “down with the caucus” their rallying cry and found it tremendously effective. In the earlier stages of the campaign the politicians, aside from Lewis and his coworkers, were unwilling to believe that Jackson could be elected. Later, however, they were forced to acknowledge his strength, and at the end the fight was really between Jackson and the field, rather than between Crawford and the field as had been anticipated.
At the beginning of November, Jackson, accompanied by his wife and traveling in a handsome coach drawn by four of the finest Hermitage thoroughbreds, set out for Washington. Hostile scribblers lost no time in contrasting this display of grandeur with the republican simplicity of Jefferson, who rode from Monticello to the capital on the back of a plantation nag without pedigree. But Jackson was not perturbed. At various points on the road he received returns from the elections, and when after four or five weeks the equipage drew up in the capital Jackson knew the general result. Calhoun had been elected vice president with little opposition. But no one of the presidential candidates had obtained an electoral majority, and the task of choosing among the highest three would, under the terms of the Constitution, devolve upon the House of Representatives. When, by the middle of December, the returns were all in, it was found that Jackson would have 99 votes in the electoral college, Adams 84, Crawford 41, and Clay 37.
The country awaited the 9th of February—the day of the official count—with great interest. Clay was, of course, eliminated. Crawford likewise, by reason of his poor showing and the precarious state of his health, could not expect to do more than hold his own. The contest had narrowed to Jackson and Adams, with Clay holding the balance. There were twenty-four States in the Union; the successful candidate must command the votes of thirteen.
The choice that Clay now had to make was distasteful, although not really difficult. Jackson had obtained a substantial plurality of the electoral votes; he probably had a plurality of the popular vote, although in the six States in which the electors were chosen by the Legislature the popular vote could not be computed; the Legislature of Clay’s own State called upon the Congressmen from the State to give the Tenneseean its support. But Clay had felt very bitterly about the candidacy of “this military chieftain.” Furthermore, he knew that if Jackson were to be elected, the country would not be disposed to take his successor from the West. Besides, Calhoun had put himself in line for the Jacksonian succession. On the other hand, Clay was not without grievances against Adams. The New Englander had captured the coveted Secretaryship of State in Monroe’s Cabinet; he had taken no pains to conceal his dislike of the Kentucky “gamester in politics”; his foreign policy had been the target of many of Clay’s keenest oratorical thrusts. But the country would be safe in his hands; and a popular westerner might well hope to become his successor. The decision in favor of Adams was reached with little delay and was confided to intimates almost two months before the House balloted. Though Clay’s choice did not insure the election of Adams, it made that outcome extremely probable.
As the weeks passed, the situation became more tense. All the principals in the drama were at the capital—Adams as Secretary of State, Crawford as Secretary of the Treasury, Clay as Speaker of the House, Jackson as Senator—and the city was filled with followers who busied themselves in proposing combinations and making promises which, for the greater part, could not be traced to the candidates themselves. O’Neil’s Tavern—graced by the vivacious “Peggy,” who, as Mrs. John H. Eaton, was later to upset the equilibrium of the Jackson Administration—and other favorite lodging houses were the scenes of midnight conferences, intimate conversations, and mysterious comings and goings which kept their oldest and most sophisticated frequenters on the alert. “Incedo super ignes—I walk over fires,” confided the straitlaced Adams to his diary, and not without reason. A group of Clay’s friends came to the New Englander’s room to urge in somewhat veiled language that their chief be promised, in return for his support, a place in the Cabinet. A Missouri representative who held the balance of power in his delegation plainly offered to swing the State for Adams if the latter would agree to retain a brother on the federal bench and be “reasonable” in the matter of patronage.
By the last week of January it was rather generally understood that Clay’s strength would be thrown to Adams. Up to this time the Jackson men had refused to believe that such a thing could happen. But evidence had been piled mountain-high; adherents of both allies were openly boasting of the arrangements that had been made. The Jacksonians were furious, and the air was filled with recriminations. On January 28, 1825, an anonymous letter in the Columbian Observer of Philadelphia made the direct charge that the agents of Clay had offered the Kentuckian’s support to both Jackson and Adams in return for an appointment as Secretary of State, and that, while the friends of Jackson would not descend to “such mean barter and sale,” a bargain with the Adams forces had been duly closed. Clay’s rage was ungovernable. Through the columns of the National Intelligencer he pronounced his unknown antagonist “a base and infamous calumniator, a dastard and a liar,” called upon him to “unveil himself,” and declared that he would hold him responsible “to all the laws which govern and regulate men of honor.”
Two days later an obscure Pennsylvania Congressman by the name of George Kremer tendered his respects to “the Honorable H. Clay,” avowed his authorship of the communication in question, offered to prove the truth of his charges, and closed sententiously by affirming that as a representative of the people he would “not fear to ‘cry aloud and spare not’ when their rights and privileges are at stake.” The matter was serious, but official Washington could hardly repress a smile. Kremer was a thoroughly honest but grossly illiterate rustic busybody who thus far had attracted the capital’s attention mainly by reason of his curiously cut leopard-skin overcoat. The real author of the charge seems to have been James Buchanan, and Kremer was simple-minded and credulous enough to be made the catspaw in the business. Clay was taken aback. Kremer significantly made no reference to the “code of honor”; and since a duel with such a personage would be an absurdity, Clay substituted a request that the House make an immediate investigation of the charges. A committee of seven was appointed. But when it summoned Kremer to give his testimony, he refused to appear, on the ground—which in the present instance was a mere pretext—that the House had no jurisdiction over the conduct of its members outside the chamber.
The truth of the matter is that Kremer was only a tool in the hands of the Jackson managers. He admitted privately to members of the committee that he did not write the letter in the Observer, and it was plain enough that he did not understand its purport. His promise to substantiate its contents was made in a moment of surprise, because somebody had neglected to coach him on the point. Finding that it could make no headway, the committee reported the fact, on the 9th of February, and the investigation was dropped. This was precisely what the Jackson managers wanted. Whatever happened, Jackson would be the gainer. “If Clay transferred his following to Adams, the charge would gain credence with the masses; if he were not made Secretary of State, it would be alleged that honest George Kremer (an ardent Jacksonian) had exposed the bargain and prevented its consummation.” ¹