When Harrison gave Navy to North Carolinian George E. Badger, Clay put the best face on it, hoping that Clayton's rejection was "the result of perhaps rather an imp[r]udent rule adopted by Genl Harrison, in respect to the geographical distribution of the members of his cabinet" rather than any intentional slight directed at him. Nevertheless, the president-elect's intransigence hurt Clay's feelings, and he forlornly told Clayton, "Your disappointment will be far less than my own."72 By far, however, Clay's most telling disappointment concerned the collector of customs for New York, a position that many regarded as second only to the presidency in the vast patronage it commanded. Clay wanted his supporter Robert C. Wetmore to receive the appointment, but rumor had it that Harrison intended to select Edward Curtis, a former Antimason whom Peter Porter described as "a shrewd and managing man." Clay had little reason to support someone who had worked hard to defeat his nomination at Harrisburg.73 Curtis had Weed and Seward in his corner, however, and he had long been a Webster man, so he had a self-interested advocate in Harrison's inner circle.74 Having Webster's supporter in the collector's post where he could spread the patronage wealth for the New Englander was a chilling prospect. New York Whig leaders apparently realized this might be the main obstacle to obtaining Clay's consent, and Thurlow Weed met with Peter Porter to hint that if Clay withdrew his objections, Curtis would support him in 1844. Clay was not persuaded. If anything, he was all the more suspicious of a man so willing, as he had put it, to row one way and look the other. "How can such a man as Curtis be trusted?" he asked. "My determination not to cooperate in his appointment is irrevocable." Having Webster's supporter in the collector's post where he could spread the patronage wealth for the New Englander was a chilling prospect. New York Whig leaders apparently realized this might be the main obstacle to obtaining Clay's consent, and Thurlow Weed met with Peter Porter to hint that if Clay withdrew his objections, Curtis would support him in 1844. Clay was not persuaded. If anything, he was all the more suspicious of a man so willing, as he had put it, to row one way and look the other. "How can such a man as Curtis be trusted?" he asked. "My determination not to cooperate in his appointment is irrevocable."75 It soon became apparent that his cooperation was immaterial, and in reaction to the slight, Clay lowered his head and resigned himself to the inevitable. Curtis received his appointment after Harrison's inauguration, and Clay's public pose was an obvious attempt to preserve his dignity. He was determined not to let the setbacks over Clayton and Curtis ruin the opportunity presented by a Whig Congress with a Whig president. "We must support this administration," he said, "or rather, I should say, we must not fall out with it because precisely the friends we could wish had not in every instance been called to the cabinet. I have strong fears & strong hopes. And sometimes the one & sometimes the other predominate."76 The weather in Washington was gray and raw on March 4, but it did not dampen the enthusiasm of the large crowds in the capital for Harrison's swearing in. A special session of the new Senate came to order at 10:00 A.M., A.M., adopted a resolution electing Alabama's William R. King president pro tem for the ceremonies of the day, and appointed Henry Clay to administer the oath to him. adopted a resolution electing Alabama's William R. King president pro tem for the ceremonies of the day, and appointed Henry Clay to administer the oath to him.

At 11:00 the diplomatic corps and Supreme Court justices entered the chamber, and thirty minutes later, King in turn administered the oath to John Tyler, who delivered "an eloquent and able address."77 At least Tyler's speech was brief, something everyone would remember with a measure of gratitude later that afternoon. Harrison entered the Senate chamber at a quarter past noon to be escorted to the East Portico of the Capitol, his arrival there greeted by a thunderous ovation and prolonged cheers from the crowd below before everyone settled down. As it happened, they had to settle in, for Harrison commenced an interminable inaugural address of more than eight thousand words, going on for nearly two hours, to this day the longest in presidential history. Webster had tried to tidy it up with careful cuts, but Harrison was intent on showing both his erudition and his stamina, forgetting the connection between brevity and wit, and disregarding the fact that even a young man, bareheaded and lightly clad, should not stand outside in the snow for two hours. At least Tyler's speech was brief, something everyone would remember with a measure of gratitude later that afternoon. Harrison entered the Senate chamber at a quarter past noon to be escorted to the East Portico of the Capitol, his arrival there greeted by a thunderous ovation and prolonged cheers from the crowd below before everyone settled down. As it happened, they had to settle in, for Harrison commenced an interminable inaugural address of more than eight thousand words, going on for nearly two hours, to this day the longest in presidential history. Webster had tried to tidy it up with careful cuts, but Harrison was intent on showing both his erudition and his stamina, forgetting the connection between brevity and wit, and disregarding the fact that even a young man, bareheaded and lightly clad, should not stand outside in the snow for two hours.

When Roger Taney was finally able to administer the oath, the cheers and applause that followed were likely as much an expression of gushing relief as a tribute to Tippecanoe. Cannon fired from Capitol Hill, echoed by others in remote parts of the city, "and the crowd dispersed." After the ordeal, it most certainly did.78 The new Senate of the Twenty-seventh Congress returned to its chamber and was about to adjourn when Willie Mangum gained the floor to introduce a resolution to be taken up the following day. It was a move to fire Democrats Francis Preston Blair and John C. Rives as printers to the Senate. Clay was behind this. On February 19, he had stoutly opposed the dying Democrat majority's effort to reappoint Blair and Rives and thereby saddle the incoming Whig Congress with men "utterly odious to those who were in a few days to succeed to the possession of the Government."79 Mangum's resolution dismissing them was to be the first initiative undertaken by the Whig majority, and it set off a lengthy and acrimonious debate that stretched over several days and ultimately got out of hand. Democrats cried foul over the Whig effort to break a two-year contract made in good faith with Blair and Rives. Clay countered that the appointment of these men had been an imperious "act of power-pure, naked unqualified power," but moreover he insisted that they should be fired because of Blair's "notoriously bad character." Mangum's resolution dismissing them was to be the first initiative undertaken by the Whig majority, and it set off a lengthy and acrimonious debate that stretched over several days and ultimately got out of hand. Democrats cried foul over the Whig effort to break a two-year contract made in good faith with Blair and Rives. Clay countered that the appointment of these men had been an imperious "act of power-pure, naked unqualified power," but moreover he insisted that they should be fired because of Blair's "notoriously bad character."80 The move was personal for Clay, because his break with Blair had been ugly in the way that only a rupture between old friends could be, veined with traces of betrayal and deceit. Yet Whigs who had no personal history with Blair felt equally outraged at the prospect of keeping "men in their employ whose only language toward them has been that of contumely and insult."81 Clay was therefore not alone in condemning the Washington Clay was therefore not alone in condemning the Washington Globe Globe and its pugnacious editor. For years Blair had alternated between vicious language and a mocking sneer to mount ferocious attacks on Andrew Jackson's opponents in general and Clay in particular. In the days when Calhoun was friendly to Whigs, even he had described the and its pugnacious editor. For years Blair had alternated between vicious language and a mocking sneer to mount ferocious attacks on Andrew Jackson's opponents in general and Clay in particular. In the days when Calhoun was friendly to Whigs, even he had described the Globe Globe as "filthy and mendacious," and it was understandable that the Whig majority would not want to subsidize that press with a lucrative printing contract. as "filthy and mendacious," and it was understandable that the Whig majority would not want to subsidize that press with a lucrative printing contract.82 On March 9, Clay watched in growing anger as Connecticut's Perry Smith accused him of implying that all senators who had supported Blair were also "infamous." Then Alabamian William R. King reminded everyone of Clay's personal friendship with Blair before their break and insisted that the editor's character would compare favorably with Clay's. The likes of Perry Smith did not merit his notice, Clay hotly responded, but King, "who considers himself responsible, responsible," was quite another matter. King, in fact, had "gone one step further ... to classify classify me with the partisan Editor of the Globe." These remarks by King, Clay shouted, were "false, untrue, and cowardly." me with the partisan Editor of the Globe." These remarks by King, Clay shouted, were "false, untrue, and cowardly."

Whispered talk had long painted King as a homosexual, although the only evidence for the insinuation was a tendency to dandified dress and his close friendship with another confirmed bachelor, James Buchanan, with whom he lodged at Mrs. Ironsides's on Tenth and F streets.83 The rumors, along with the heightened sense of pride common among southerners, made King touchy, as John Randolph had been, and Clay's words brought him to his feet amid a raucous clamor that rapidly died away. The dark look on King's face clearly indicated that Clay's remarks, "short and intemperate" in the estimation of John Quincy Adams, had crossed a line. "Mr. President," King said in measured, terse tones, "I have no reply to make-none whatever." He sat down. Nobody moved. The chamber was slipping into reflective silence when Perry Smith piped up to ask if he really was beneath Clay's notice. "Not at all," Clay snapped. Smith paused to digest the disdain and then embarked on an embarrassing ramble of self-pity and awkward sarcasm, but nobody was likely listening to him. The entire body of senators sat as though dealt a hard blow. Clay's words-"false," "untrue," and worst of all, "cowardly"-hung in the air like an unpleasant odor. William Preston rose to say that it was regrettable "that any thing should have occurred that should have driven honorable Senators to do any thing inconsistent with parliamentary decorum," but the observation at this point was a remarkable understatement. In fact, King had taken the time during the exchanges following his remark to scribble a note. He motioned for Lewis Linn of Missouri to accompany him from the chamber, and after adjournment, Linn appeared before Clay with a piece of paper, apparently King's note. The rumors, along with the heightened sense of pride common among southerners, made King touchy, as John Randolph had been, and Clay's words brought him to his feet amid a raucous clamor that rapidly died away. The dark look on King's face clearly indicated that Clay's remarks, "short and intemperate" in the estimation of John Quincy Adams, had crossed a line. "Mr. President," King said in measured, terse tones, "I have no reply to make-none whatever." He sat down. Nobody moved. The chamber was slipping into reflective silence when Perry Smith piped up to ask if he really was beneath Clay's notice. "Not at all," Clay snapped. Smith paused to digest the disdain and then embarked on an embarrassing ramble of self-pity and awkward sarcasm, but nobody was likely listening to him. The entire body of senators sat as though dealt a hard blow. Clay's words-"false," "untrue," and worst of all, "cowardly"-hung in the air like an unpleasant odor. William Preston rose to say that it was regrettable "that any thing should have occurred that should have driven honorable Senators to do any thing inconsistent with parliamentary decorum," but the observation at this point was a remarkable understatement. In fact, King had taken the time during the exchanges following his remark to scribble a note. He motioned for Lewis Linn of Missouri to accompany him from the chamber, and after adjournment, Linn appeared before Clay with a piece of paper, apparently King's note.84 That evening rumors raced through the capital that King had challenged Clay to a duel. Reports also told of their being arrested, but actually only King was briefly detained for fear that he would do something rash. Both men posted bonds with D.C. justices of the peace as surety that they would not assault each other.85 Bennett's Herald Herald had great fun with this set-to, suggesting that sending King and Clay on a journey together over New York's wretched roads to Albany would make them "meek and gentle as new-born kittens," but the incident was unseemly and embarrassing for everyone, most of all for Clay, who had lost his temper and behaved badly. The Senate dismissed Blair and Rives on a 26 to 18 vote, but the affair meanwhile gave rise to wild stories and rising invective throughout the country. In New England, newspapers reported that a duel had killed Clay and left King mortally wounded. Democrat papers branded Clay a "blackleg and demagogue" and ridiculed his pledge not to fight as that of a man "who calls on his friend to hold him by the coat tail, to keep him from striking his antagonist." had great fun with this set-to, suggesting that sending King and Clay on a journey together over New York's wretched roads to Albany would make them "meek and gentle as new-born kittens," but the incident was unseemly and embarrassing for everyone, most of all for Clay, who had lost his temper and behaved badly. The Senate dismissed Blair and Rives on a 26 to 18 vote, but the affair meanwhile gave rise to wild stories and rising invective throughout the country. In New England, newspapers reported that a duel had killed Clay and left King mortally wounded. Democrat papers branded Clay a "blackleg and demagogue" and ridiculed his pledge not to fight as that of a man "who calls on his friend to hold him by the coat tail, to keep him from striking his antagonist."86 Linn, acting for King, and Clay's friends William Archer and Preston worked together to orchestrate a public reconciliation on March 14 near the close of the special session. Preston rose in the Senate to describe the affair as a misunderstanding, which opened the way for Clay to admit that he had been wrong in his interpretation of King's remarks and therefore wrong to lose his temper. He apologized. King followed suit, assuring the Senate that he had meant no offense to his friend from Kentucky. As King was concluding his remarks, Clay was already on his feet, striding across the chamber with his hand out. King took it, and a smattering of applause grew into a thunderous ovation from their colleagues, spectators in the gallery joining in.87 The happy conclusion to this incident could not disguise the fact, however, that everyone was on edge in this new arrangement where Democrats, accustomed to being a majority, and Whigs, eager to act like one, were bound to clash. But Clay's overreaction suggested that larger problems were nagging him. The quarrel with Democrats over printers was irritating, but his disagreements with William Henry Harrison had become exasperating. To his thinking, those differences threatened to squander the victory of 1840.

CLAY HOPED THAT the close of the brief special session of the Twenty-seventh Congress would be quickly followed by another "at the earliest convenient & practicable day" to begin enacting elements of the Whig program. He had begun floating the idea shortly after the election, and in early 1841 he openly stated that to oppose the extra session was to favor "the continuation of Mr. V. B'[s] Admon [ the close of the brief special session of the Twenty-seventh Congress would be quickly followed by another "at the earliest convenient & practicable day" to begin enacting elements of the Whig program. He had begun floating the idea shortly after the election, and in early 1841 he openly stated that to oppose the extra session was to favor "the continuation of Mr. V. B'[s] Admon [sic] 12 or 18 months after its constitutional termination." As Tom Corwin had said, to win the election and do nothing threatened to make liars of them all.88 But Harrison dithered, and soon enough it was easy to see why. His cabinet was evenly divided on the issue, but Webster's negative vote most influenced the president. From their first interview to discuss Webster's joining the administration, Dan'l had been anything but godlike, adopting instead a submissive demeanor toward Harrison that first ingratiated him to the president-elect and then gave him increasing clout with the president. That Harrison, a proud stylist, had consulted Webster on his inaugural address was one sign of that growing power, the selection of Curtis and Granger was another, and the president's attitude about the extra session yet another. Webster's motives were mixed, but his plans for the presidential contest in 1844 were certainly foremost. Blocking the extra session meant that Clay would have no reason to remain in Washington, and Webster could solidify his position with Harrison to guide the administration for eight months unchallenged. Deprived of a forum until December, Clay's tactics for 1844 would suffer a serious setback.89 Reasons other than a desire to keep pace with Webster, or even an obligation to address the needs of the people, must have filled Clay with a sense of urgency over the extra session. Given everyone's observations about Harrison's health, there was the distinct possibility that the new president could become ill enough to elevate John Tyler to an acting presidency, at least temporarily. Clay had never said a word to anyone about John Tyler, for it would have been most imprudent to do so, but he had to be concerned that Tyler's attitudes about Whig principles did not necessarily mesh with his own, or Harrison's for that matter. During the campaign, there had been troubling signs. For instance, Pittsburgh Democrats, in a ploy to embarrass Tyler, had requested that he write a letter spelling out his true opinions on the Whig program. Tyler complied, but at the last minute he had congressional Whigs vet the communication. To a man, they said not to publish it.90 Clay would have known about this cynical maneuver to disguise what Tyler actually believed. It was unsettling. Clay would have known about this cynical maneuver to disguise what Tyler actually believed. It was unsettling.

On March 13, Clay took the liberty to write to Harrison about the need for an extra session and even enclosed a draft proclamation for Harrison to use in calling one. It was a risky move, to be sure, and that Clay was willing to chance it indicates how anxious he was to have Congress get to work as soon as possible. But it immediately proved to be a dreadful mistake. Already testy about what he perceived as Clay's meddling over appointments, Harrison bristled. There was to be a state dinner that evening where Clay and Harrison could have conversed, but the president was angry and instead dashed off a note to Clay that began with a prickly "My dear friend" and went on from there: "You use the privilege of a friend to lecture me & I will take the same liberty with you-You are too impetuous."91 Newspaper reporter Nathan Sargent claimed that Harrison's note enraged Clay not only because of its tone but because it all but instructed him to communicate in the future with the administration only in writing. "And it has come to this!" Clay was said to have shouted, though Sargent is the only source for this scene. Despite not feeling very well, Clay kept his dinner engagement at the White House that evening, which was a large party attended by scores of prominent men. In the wake of his and Harrison's exchange, it must have been at best an awkward event for Clay.92 In any case, he bitterly realized that he was not only beaten on this issue but was also confronting a nearly total triumph by Webster to control the administration. Clay swallowed his pride to repair the damage. He wrote to the president to confess that he was "mortified" by the suggestion that he was dictating to him. "There is danger of the fears, that I intimated to you at Frankfort, of my enemies poisoning your mind towards me." He rather helplessly felt the need to revisit the controversy over Curtis: he claimed that he had not said Curtis should not be appointed, which was not altogether true, but he hedged by explaining that he had merely stated his opinion that Curtis was unworthy of the post. If expressing his opinion meant that Clay could be accused of dictating, there was little he could do about it. He told Harrison not to trouble with answering. In any case, he bitterly realized that he was not only beaten on this issue but was also confronting a nearly total triumph by Webster to control the administration. Clay swallowed his pride to repair the damage. He wrote to the president to confess that he was "mortified" by the suggestion that he was dictating to him. "There is danger of the fears, that I intimated to you at Frankfort, of my enemies poisoning your mind towards me." He rather helplessly felt the need to revisit the controversy over Curtis: he claimed that he had not said Curtis should not be appointed, which was not altogether true, but he hedged by explaining that he had merely stated his opinion that Curtis was unworthy of the post. If expressing his opinion meant that Clay could be accused of dictating, there was little he could do about it. He told Harrison not to trouble with answering.93 When Harrison did not respond, the silence from the White House sent a clear message, and two days later Clay left Washington for home. He had gotten only as far as Baltimore when he became seriously ill. It has never been clear what was wrong with him, but he later described the malady as an "attack ... more severe than I was aware of at the time."94 His ailment was serious enough to stop his trip and confine him to a room at Barnum's Hotel for almost a week. Very likely the repeated humiliations, many of them now embarrassingly public, were finally taking their toll. His ailment was serious enough to stop his trip and confine him to a room at Barnum's Hotel for almost a week. Very likely the repeated humiliations, many of them now embarrassingly public, were finally taking their toll.95 On the very day that Clay left Washington, Harrison abruptly relented and issued a call for the extra session, although a disturbing consultation with his cabinet over the plummeting economy, not Clay's influence, was the reason he changed his mind. Biddle's United States Bank of Philadelphia had suspended specie payments, western state treasuries were empty and their governments on the verge of debt repudiation, and Treasury secretary Ewing brought in figures that showed the federal government's already substantial deficit would soon be bloated by more than 11 million additional dollars. The imperative of an appropriations bill and finding the money to fund it compelled the administration to summon Congress, the sooner the better. At this point, even Webster agreed. Harrison called for Congress to meet on May 31.96 A week after issuing the proclamation, Harrison came down with a chill and quickly developed pneumonia. Office seekers and official functions had dogged his days, and his rash decision to deliver his lengthy inaugural address in bad weather further weakened his already fragile constitution. The exhausted old man died on April 4, only four weeks into his term, the shortest presidency in American history.

Tippecanoe was dead, and Tyler Too was now the president. Andrew Jackson was ecstatic. Harrison, he said, did not have the energy to withstand office seekers. Jackson speculated that Old Tip had been resorting to "stimulants" to keep pace. His death was the work of a "divine ... Providence," according to Jackson, a heavenly decree to kill this president in order to save the Union and the republican system.97 Jackson's attitude was distasteful and unbecoming, but for the Whigs it was even worse; it was never good for them when Andrew Jackson was happy.

STILL WEAK FROM his illness in Baltimore, Clay had only just arrived at Ashland in early April when he received word that Harrison was dead. "It is greatly to be deplored," he said, though he did not think the news surprising. "I told some of his Cabinet that, unless he changed his habits, he could not live long." his illness in Baltimore, Clay had only just arrived at Ashland in early April when he received word that Harrison was dead. "It is greatly to be deplored," he said, though he did not think the news surprising. "I told some of his Cabinet that, unless he changed his habits, he could not live long."98 Given Clay's deteriorating relationship with Harrison, John Tyler's succession at first glance should have meant an improvement in harmony between the Whig congressional leadership and the president. Yet considerable uncertainty resulted from the unprecedented event of the president's dying in office and the vice president's assuming his place. Beyond the constitutional prescription of succession, almost everything about it was uncharted, including the minor quandary of what to call John Tyler. John Quincy Adams insisted that at most he should be addressed as the acting president, and Clay continued to refer to him as vice president because he thought that Tyler's "administration will be in the nature of a regency."99 He was a pleasant man with kind eyes and manners to match them. Soft-spoken and courtly, Tyler was only fifty-one years old in 1841 but was graying and had a dignified bearing with a sedate air. His sloping forehead, prominent nose, firm mouth, and strong chin made for a fetching face, which some said resembled a statue from the Greco-Roman world. His reserve gave the impression that he was self-effacing, and his affability, warmth, and humor had always made him a gracious friend and cordial opponent, traits that tended to mislead enemies and allies about Tyler's character. Blair had a low opinion of him. Expecting him to become Clay's "pliant tool," he called the new president "a poor weeping willow of a creature," a reference to stories about Tyler's tears over Clay's defeat at Harrisburg. Amos Kendall also judged Tyler as diffident and "not man enough man enough for his position," while Clay weighed him as honest, patriotic, and having "ability quite equal to his predecessor" but with the "defect" of lacking "moral firmness." If from different perspectives Blair, Kendall, and Clay concluded that John Tyler was weak-willed, they had considerably missed the measure of the man, for beneath his seeming diffidence, Tyler was proud to the point of preening and principled to the point of obstinacy. "I believe that Tyler is a friend of Clay," said Willie Mangum, adding with discernment, "yet men change as we have recently seen." for his position," while Clay weighed him as honest, patriotic, and having "ability quite equal to his predecessor" but with the "defect" of lacking "moral firmness." If from different perspectives Blair, Kendall, and Clay concluded that John Tyler was weak-willed, they had considerably missed the measure of the man, for beneath his seeming diffidence, Tyler was proud to the point of preening and principled to the point of obstinacy. "I believe that Tyler is a friend of Clay," said Willie Mangum, adding with discernment, "yet men change as we have recently seen."100 Like most outwardly unassuming but inwardly prideful men, Tyler could also be thin-skinned. For example, he was sensitive about his title because he correctly read into it the nature of his identity as chief executive. He did not plan to be a placeholder. Two days after Harrison's funeral, he issued a statement to the people in which he referred to "my administration," an expression Whigs found jarring. Sometimes referred to as Tyler's "inaugural address," on the surface it contained nothing that should have unduly alarmed his fellow Whigs. The new president agreed with Clay that the executive and legislative functions should be completely separate. Tyler's concerns over growing executive power had been one of the reasons he opposed Jackson and broke with the Democrats, and in his April 9 statement he gave indications of supporting the concept of legislative supremacy, at least to a point. But in reaching that point, Tyler also contradicted Harrison by omission. He did not disclaim a second term, for instance, and he implied a more liberal use of the veto in regard to measures he thought were unconstitutional.101 The language and sentiments troubled many Whigs who had eagerly anticipated the restoration of legislative supremacy in which Congress would set policy under the guidance of their congressional leaders, Clay foremost among them. The language and sentiments troubled many Whigs who had eagerly anticipated the restoration of legislative supremacy in which Congress would set policy under the guidance of their congressional leaders, Clay foremost among them.

Despite the April 9 message, Clay masked his worries about Tyler by claiming to believe that he would "contribute to carrying out the principles and policy of the Whigs."102 He repeated the sentiment throughout April, but he was not as certain as he pretended. Clay confessed, "I believeI shall rather say, hope that he will interpose no obstacle to the success of the Whig measures, including a Bank of the U.S." He repeated the sentiment throughout April, but he was not as certain as he pretended. Clay confessed, "I believeI shall rather say, hope that he will interpose no obstacle to the success of the Whig measures, including a Bank of the U.S."103 Buoyed by his characteristic optimism, Clay at least claimed that a national bank was all but certain, and he sketched out the desirable features of it in letters to friends. One of those friends happened to be Treasury secretary Ewing, whom Clay expected would have a bill ready for the extra session. He wanted Congress to focus exclusively on the economy and avoid other issues that could distract it. Buoyed by his characteristic optimism, Clay at least claimed that a national bank was all but certain, and he sketched out the desirable features of it in letters to friends. One of those friends happened to be Treasury secretary Ewing, whom Clay expected would have a bill ready for the extra session. He wanted Congress to focus exclusively on the economy and avoid other issues that could distract it.104 Although Tyler would come to regret it, his determination to keep Harrison's cabinet calmed the party's fears at the time. Whigs regarded the cabinet's chief responsibility as exercising a high level of control over executive actions. In fact, the cabinet was supposed to act as a committee in which the president participated in discussions rather than presided over them, an arrangement that orthodox Whigs like Attorney General John J. Crittenden endorsed. To their way of thinking, Harrison's councilors would ensure the continuation of Harrison's attitudes in the new administration.105 Before Clay left Kentucky, however, he received a candid letter from John Tyler in which the new president said he thought the special session should only repeal the Subtreasury and attend to seacoast defenses. He expressed reservations about establishing a national bank and cited his reasons: the public would be wary of it, and capitalists would be cautious about investing in something that, as Jackson demonstrated, could easily be destroyed. But most ominously, Tyler related his constitutional misgivings over such a bank, remarks that gave Clay pause.106 Shortly after receiving Tyler's troubling note, Clay had a letter from Ewing, who had obviously taken the measure of Tyler's qualms. The information that Tyler "would wish if possible to avoid the question at the special session" did not reassure, although Ewing did predict that Tyler would comply with the will of Congress. That and the guarantee that Tyler spoke of Clay "with the utmost kindness" and that Clay could count on Tyler's "strong & unabated" friendship were at least slender threads to hold on to. Shortly after receiving Tyler's troubling note, Clay had a letter from Ewing, who had obviously taken the measure of Tyler's qualms. The information that Tyler "would wish if possible to avoid the question at the special session" did not reassure, although Ewing did predict that Tyler would comply with the will of Congress. That and the guarantee that Tyler spoke of Clay "with the utmost kindness" and that Clay could count on Tyler's "strong & unabated" friendship were at least slender threads to hold on to.107 All too soon, though, those threads would snap. Tyler's defenders later insisted that everyone had known about his opposition to the Bank as well as other Whig projects and that nobody had the right to feign surprise over his opposition to them once he became president.108 Yet as events unfolded, Whigs were not so much surprised as exasperated. The indication that Tyler intended to devise policy from the White House rather than comply with congressional initiatives overturned the basic principle of legislative supremacy in the first place, but it also undermined the Whig agenda that the country had voted for in 1840. In the wake of a Whig victory largely based on turning back executive usurpation, his claim that he would judge the constitutionality of congressional enactments courted ruin. Yet as events unfolded, Whigs were not so much surprised as exasperated. The indication that Tyler intended to devise policy from the White House rather than comply with congressional initiatives overturned the basic principle of legislative supremacy in the first place, but it also undermined the Whig agenda that the country had voted for in 1840. In the wake of a Whig victory largely based on turning back executive usurpation, his claim that he would judge the constitutionality of congressional enactments courted ruin.109 Tyler should never have accepted the vice-presidential nomination of a party with which he fundamentally disagreed, for in the end his elevation to the presidency presented him, the Whig Party, and the country with an impossible situation. The nationalist wing was the Whig Party's most dominant, and as its leader, Henry Clay could exercise more influence than Tyler, the sectional advocate. On the other hand, Tyler as president had the powerful weapon of patronage, and more, he had the veto. The clash that resulted was a disaster for the Whig Party and its program, but it was also a debacle for John Tyler, the choice of the cynical Harrisburg delegates who had not taken into account that after all was said and done, he was at heart a Democrat.

IN THE SENATE, Clay quickly moved to establish a select committee to study the abysmal state of the currency and suggest a remedy. Responding to a question about the nature of that remedy, Clay laid his cards on the table. "A national bank," he said, despite Tyler's insistence in his message to the session that he would strike down legislation for any fiscal agent he thought unconstitutional. Clay got his committee, however, with himself as chairman. On June 2, Clay also wrote to Ewing in rather a state of pique. He had repeatedly tried to see him, but the secretary was never available. Clay flatly stated, "I wished to know whether you have made any, and, if any, what progress in the draft of a Bank Charter?" Clay quickly moved to establish a select committee to study the abysmal state of the currency and suggest a remedy. Responding to a question about the nature of that remedy, Clay laid his cards on the table. "A national bank," he said, despite Tyler's insistence in his message to the session that he would strike down legislation for any fiscal agent he thought unconstitutional. Clay got his committee, however, with himself as chairman. On June 2, Clay also wrote to Ewing in rather a state of pique. He had repeatedly tried to see him, but the secretary was never available. Clay flatly stated, "I wished to know whether you have made any, and, if any, what progress in the draft of a Bank Charter?"110 And the following day, he forged ahead to begin the repeal of the Independent Treasury Act, fending off delaying tactics by Calhoun and others who tried to impede any consideration of a bank. And the following day, he forged ahead to begin the repeal of the Independent Treasury Act, fending off delaying tactics by Calhoun and others who tried to impede any consideration of a bank.

Clay was not alone in believing that the terrible state of the economy was cause for great haste. The refusal of banks to pay specie had dried it up rapidly, and day-to-day transactions were being conducted in banknotes of small denominations, beaten-up foreign currency, even tokens, and a complex web of credit speculation, promissory notes, and discounts. Foreign money remained the most prevalent currency in many areas of the country (and would continue so until Congress changed the system in 1857), with Americans still speaking of money in terms of pounds, shillings, and pence. Bringing order to this chaos was imperative to restoring financial health, and more than a few Americans believed the cure was a national bank. The board of trade in New York City sent Clay a petition signed by some twenty thousand citizens calling for a bank. Produced on a continuous sheaf, the petition was 250 feet long, and Clay dramatically presented it to the Senate by unrolling it with a flourish to show that it stretched from the secretary's table to beyond Clay's desk. Armed with that sort of support from all over the country, he bluntly responded to anyone who proposed alternatives to a bank, "I am tired of experiments."111 Getting the kind of bank he wanted would prove more than difficult. Five days after his impatient query to Ewing, Clay presented a comprehensive program to the Senate in which he charged the Whig majority in the House of Representatives with addressing revenue problems by means of loans and a higher tariff to replace the expiring one of 1833. He also urged his Senate colleagues to repeal the Independent Treasury, approve distribution, and revive the Bank.112 Many saw Clay's agenda as a direct repudiation of Tyler's message. Many saw Clay's agenda as a direct repudiation of Tyler's message.

On June 12, Ewing finally sent over the administration's bank bill. It landed in the Senate like a bomb. Tyler insisted that in establishing a fiscal agent Congress could act only as the District of Columbia's local legislature to charter a bank there. Furthermore, states could refuse branches of that bank by denying permission to create them.113 Clay and his friends were dumbfounded. Without the branching power, the Bank could not hope to attract investors, hobbling it from the outset. "What a Bank that would be!" Clay marveled. Worse, allowing a state to block a federal agency amounted to a states' right fetish bordering on nullification. "We are in a crisis, as a party," Clay muttered. He now had the first tangible signal that Tyler might "throw himself upon Calhoun, Duff Green, &c &c and detach himself from the great body of the Whig party." Clay and his friends were dumbfounded. Without the branching power, the Bank could not hope to attract investors, hobbling it from the outset. "What a Bank that would be!" Clay marveled. Worse, allowing a state to block a federal agency amounted to a states' right fetish bordering on nullification. "We are in a crisis, as a party," Clay muttered. He now had the first tangible signal that Tyler might "throw himself upon Calhoun, Duff Green, &c &c and detach himself from the great body of the Whig party."114 As for Clay, Democrats began decrying his egotism and impatience. "He is much more imperious and arrogant with his friends than I have ever known him," Silas Wright told Van Buren. Blair's Globe Globe accused him of being a dictator, and Democrats in the Senate took up the refrain. He was aware of the impression. When Clay tried to counter Democrat delays by changing Senate procedural rules on subjects for debate, he said he would "dictate a modification, though I do not like to be a dictator in any sense." Buchanan chirped, "You do it so well, you ought to like it," and Silas Wright grumbled, "That's fair," causing other Democrats to chime their agreement. accused him of being a dictator, and Democrats in the Senate took up the refrain. He was aware of the impression. When Clay tried to counter Democrat delays by changing Senate procedural rules on subjects for debate, he said he would "dictate a modification, though I do not like to be a dictator in any sense." Buchanan chirped, "You do it so well, you ought to like it," and Silas Wright grumbled, "That's fair," causing other Democrats to chime their agreement.115 The Whigs referred Ewing's bill to Clay's select committee, ostensibly to discuss it but actually to buy time for the Senate Whig caucus to draft an alternative. That group held lengthy daily meetings for the better part of a week. Sensitive to claims that he was being too dictatorial with friends as well as foes, Clay held his tongue, but the result was nevertheless a bill of his devising. On June 23, he brought it before the Senate. Clay's bill corrected the most obnoxious part of Ewing's proposal as far as Whigs were concerned. In the caucus's adaptation, Congress was competent to establish a national bank with the power to set up branches in the states without obtaining their approval.116 A majority of Whigs supported Clay's overt challenge to Tyler, but the subsequent debate over the bank bill pushed some in the party to side with the president. In the House, Henry A. Wise became his fellow Virginian's most steadfast supporter, and Democrat William Cabell Rives ("Little Billy Gold Spoons" to his enemies) followed suit, a portent of Tyler's eventual popularity with Democrats eager to make mischief among Whigs. A so-called Virginia Cabal became unofficial advisers to Tyler, and over the summer Tyler's real cabinet gradually lost influence to this shadow group. The prospect that a slew of presidential vetoes could scrap not only the centerpiece of the Whig program but also distribution and the tariff increases to fund it agitated Tyler's official family. Tom Ewing, it was said, had taken to his bed. Webster began an all-out drive to salvage the situation, first by trying to forge a compromise on Ewing's bill.117 Whigs in Congress, Clay included, were just as fearful of a veto. Consequently, while Webster worked on a compromise from his end, Clay reached out to the administration by meeting with Tom Ewing and apparently with Tyler himself. The only account of the interview between Clay and the president relates that it ended stormily with Tyler exploding: "Then, sir, I wish you to understand this-that you and I were born in the same district; that we have fed upon the same food, and breathed the same natal air. Go you now, then, Mr. Clay, to your end of the avenue, where stands the Capitol, and there perform your duty to the country as you shall think proper. So help me God, I shall do mine at this end of it as I think proper." Possibly this meeting occurred and in just this way, but like so much else in this episode, the account comes from a single source, John Tyler's son, who has rather surprisingly been regarded as a perfectly objective chronicler, despite the fact that he never produced a shred of documentary evidence for his account, was not born until twelve years after the event, and was only nine when his father died.118 Yet presuming that the president and Clay did have this angry interview, nobody should have blamed the latter for repairing to Congress and performing his duty there as he thought proper. John Tyler had told him to.

AS JUNE GAVE way to July, Clay's bill suffered eroding support as Webster wooed states' rights Whigs and lured the wavering with promises of patronage. Boiling temperatures made all irritable as they worked in the steamy Capitol for seven hours a day. When the Senate considered a resolution to begin the day at eleven rather than ten, Clay was disgusted by the prospect of prolonging debate with shorter sessions. If anything, they should start the day earlier! He recommended his regimen: he went to bed no later than ten and rose no later than five. He exercised by riding for at least an hour, sometimes more, then performed his ablutions, ate breakfast, scanned the newspapers, and went to work. He promised that anyone adhering to this course would be healthy and offered to pay their doctor's bills as a guarantee. The Senate decided to keep to its schedule, but Clay was not being altogether honest about his health. John, who had come with Clay to Washington, reported home that "Papa is at present much debilitated & even exhausted." way to July, Clay's bill suffered eroding support as Webster wooed states' rights Whigs and lured the wavering with promises of patronage. Boiling temperatures made all irritable as they worked in the steamy Capitol for seven hours a day. When the Senate considered a resolution to begin the day at eleven rather than ten, Clay was disgusted by the prospect of prolonging debate with shorter sessions. If anything, they should start the day earlier! He recommended his regimen: he went to bed no later than ten and rose no later than five. He exercised by riding for at least an hour, sometimes more, then performed his ablutions, ate breakfast, scanned the newspapers, and went to work. He promised that anyone adhering to this course would be healthy and offered to pay their doctor's bills as a guarantee. The Senate decided to keep to its schedule, but Clay was not being altogether honest about his health. John, who had come with Clay to Washington, reported home that "Papa is at present much debilitated & even exhausted."119 It showed. He tired of the Democrats helping to block initiatives and compromises by casting votes with either the president's faction or his to intensify Whig differences. On July 17, a series of Democrat amendments to the extra session's loan bill finally exhausted Clay's patience, and Buchanan smugly said he was sorry to see Clay so angry.

"Not at all," said Clay, "not at all. I wish I had a more lady-like manner of expressing myself."

It was a clear and unkind reference to the rumors about Buchanan's sexuality. Buchanan responded: "I am afraid the Senator will lose the proper intonation of his voice if he pitches it on so high a key."

Clay shot back: "Not unlikely, as you can put my voice so often in requisition .... [I will] modulate [my] voice to suit the delicate ear of the Senator from Pennsylvania."

A couple of weeks later, it was Buchanan's turn to lose patience. He snapped that he would not want to be one of Clay's slaves because he was certainly "a severe master."

"Ask Charles," Clay retorted, "if I'm not a kind master." Buchanan said he was mightily sick of hearing about the fabled Charles Dupuy, whose numerous mentions on the Senate floor by Clay had made him "almost as notorious as his master."120 Clay's fighting trim could not stem Whig defections from his plan, and by the end of July it was clear that only a compromise reconciling his and Ewing's bills could pass Congress and avoid Tyler's veto. To break the impasse, Clay agreed to strike the branching power from the bank bill and require the consent of states, though within a specified time, after which the Bank could interpret silence as permission. This was a difficult compromise to swallow as it was, but Clay also added an amendment claiming the Bank had power to establish branches even without the states' permission if Congress deemed that the Constitution gave it such power.

On Saturday, August 7, the bill was presented to Tyler in the presence of his cabinet. He had everyone note the time (it was 1:20 P.M. P.M.), an ominous point of procedure. Tyler made plain that Clay's compromise was unacceptable, but days passed with no word from the White House, giving rise to speculation about Tyler's plans and the hope that he would let the deadline pass, thus allowing Whigs in Congress to have their way. It was all wishful thinking. On the morning of August 16, Ewing found Tyler putting the last touches on the veto message. He explained that if his objections spelled out in his message were met, Congress could have its bank in three days. As Congress awaited the veto that everyone now knew was coming, Clay received a note from Crittenden confiding that Tyler primarily objected to the proposed bank's power to compete with local institutions in making loans. The information renewed hope among congressional Whigs that a compromise with the White House was possible. On the face of it, they needed only to limit national bank branches to commercial activities such as promoting interstate transactions, a role that would boost local economies without infringing on local lending institutions.121 When John Tyler, Jr., appeared outside the Senate, the chamber fell silent as he "with some difficulty" made his way through the crowd gathered at the door to deliver his father's veto message. As it was read, spectators in the gallery began hissing, and Thomas Hart Benton angrily demanded that the sergeant-at-arms turn these people out. Clay watched in silence, unmoved by the commotion but obviously irritated by Tyler's message, which described the branching power in Clay's bill as unconstitutional and rebuked his compromise on state consent as "irrational." That tone colored the entire message and hardly indicated a conciliatory posture on the part of the president.122 Indeed, the veto outraged Whigs. That evening, a mob staged a protest outside the White House and the next night returned to burn Tyler in effigy. For his part, Clay regarded Tyler's stance as an act of executive usurpation rivaling those of Jackson and Van Buren. In addition, the veto convinced him that there was no dealing with this president, never mind Crittenden's assurances that removing local discounts would assure Tyler's approval of a bank. As it turned out, Clay was correct, for Tyler had little reason to meet him even partway on this issue. From the moment John Tyler became president, the real issue had not been about a bank or the tariff or distribution. In fact, Tyler's August 16 veto revealed that the bank issue was actually secondary to a larger question: Who was to be the leader of the Whig Party? Giving Clay a bank would certainly have answered that question, but the answer would not have been pleasing to John Tyler. The moment he became president, Tyler decided that he would be a candidate in 1844. The Whig Party was no longer big enough for both him and Henry Clay.123 Tyler's behavior after his veto would have provided additional proof of that, had Whigs not been so eager to look the other way, placate him, and prevent a break between their congressional majority and the White House. No one seems to have considered, for instance, that Tyler's objection to local discounts had surfaced quite unexpectedly, for he had not pointed to it in Ewing's original bill as a problem, suggesting that his hostility to the function was a contrivance.124 The Whigs persevered as Clay became more passive in this renewed effort to pacify the president, not only because he rightly suspected that his involvement would impair real progress, but also because he doubted that real progress was achievable. "If our friends betray us," Wade Hampton ruefully noted, "what can we expect from our opponents." The Whigs persevered as Clay became more passive in this renewed effort to pacify the president, not only because he rightly suspected that his involvement would impair real progress, but also because he doubted that real progress was achievable. "If our friends betray us," Wade Hampton ruefully noted, "what can we expect from our opponents."125 After all, on the night of the veto, a delegation of Democrats that included Calhoun and William R. King visited Tyler to extend praise and congratulation. Tyler had a busy day. After all, on the night of the veto, a delegation of Democrats that included Calhoun and William R. King visited Tyler to extend praise and congratulation. Tyler had a busy day.

Nevertheless, on the afternoon of the veto (before the mob assembled and the Democrats showed up), Virginia Whig congressman Alexander H. H. Stuart called on Tyler at the White House to propose a bank bill without local discounts. According to Stuart, Tyler leaped at the suggestion, saying that if Congress would send him such a bill he would "sign it in twenty-four hours." And though he instructed Stuart to avoid giving the impression that he was "dictating" to Congress, Tyler told his cabinet that all would be well.126 Whigs were excited by what they saw as a major breakthrough. The Whig caucus swung into action, albeit without Clay but with the assurance from Willie Mangum that Clay would pose no obstacle to the new plans. Just to make sure there was no misunderstanding, Senator John M. Berrien and Representative John Sergeant also called on Tyler the next day. Although they noticed that he was not as enthusiastic as Stuart had reported, they inferred that his reticence was to prevent the charge that he was meddling in Congress. They were wrong. That afternoon Tyler told John Bell that he was not certain he could accept any sort of bank at all, and that evening, he gave the cabinet the troubling news that he wanted the question postponed altogether. Unfortunately for him, the hasty work of the Whig caucus, acting on his request for speed and unaware that he had completely changed his mind in the space of forty-eight hours, made a postponement impossible. Its members had written the bill he said he wanted, even to the point of calling its object a "Fiscal Corporation" to avoid even mentioning a bank. They had the votes in both houses to put it on his desk as soon as possible.127 As these events were unfolding, Clay held his tongue and even delayed a symbolic attempt to override Tyler's veto. With that restraint, he allowed the Whig caucus to proceed with its plans. On Thursday, August 19, the caucus's amended bank bill was brought before the House of Representatives, while across the Capitol in the Senate chamber, Clay finally broke his silence. He spoke for about ninety minutes, attacking the language of the veto message as "harsh, if not reproachful." He all but accused Tyler of bad faith and concluded that the president would not have signed even Ewing's bill, presumably the administration's measure. Clay also fumed over Tyler's increasing reliance on a Kitchen Cabinet, a group he dubbed "a corporal's guard," a label that stuck in the public's memory as well as John Tyler's. Clay predicted that this group intended to use the presidency to form a third party committed to extreme states' rights. Other Whig critics were less restrained in their criticism of Tyler, derisively referring to the president as "Captain Tyler," a disparaging reference to Tyler's service in the Virginia militia. It became easy to blame Clay's speech and these other critics for alienating Tyler, but that conclusion ignores the president's growing reluctance to support the new bank bill two days before Clay spoke in the Senate.128 "The Whigs present the image of a body with its head cut off," said Clay as he became convinced that the breach with Tyler was irreparable.129 The cabinet gloomily weighed the deteriorating situation. Another veto would compel it to resign, and all of them dreaded the prospect of leaving lucrative employment during hard economic times. One last effort to patch things up seemed in order, and Crittenden took the lead in organizing it. On Saturday night, August 28, he opened his house for a large party of about one hundred guests. His wife graciously arranged for the food and drink and sent invitations to key people, including Henry Clay and John Tyler. Senator Clay showed up smiling, but Tyler was nowhere to be seen. Without the president, the gathering was pointless. The cabinet gloomily weighed the deteriorating situation. Another veto would compel it to resign, and all of them dreaded the prospect of leaving lucrative employment during hard economic times. One last effort to patch things up seemed in order, and Crittenden took the lead in organizing it. On Saturday night, August 28, he opened his house for a large party of about one hundred guests. His wife graciously arranged for the food and drink and sent invitations to key people, including Henry Clay and John Tyler. Senator Clay showed up smiling, but Tyler was nowhere to be seen. Without the president, the gathering was pointless.

Several congressmen went from Crittenden's to the White House and found its windows dark and doors locked. They banged away until Tyler appeared, and they more or less forced him to come out with them. Back at Crittenden's, Henry Clay answered the door with a broad smile. "Well, Mr. President," he said, "what are you for, Kentucky whiskey or champagne?" Tyler appeared shy and a bit confused, but Clay said, "Lets [sic] go take a glass," and the two went to the sideboard. "Come, Mr. Pres[ident]," Clay laughed, "what do you take[?] Show your hand." Tyler always preferred champagne to whiskey, and Clay poured him a glass. Tyler found his voice, and said he had come "for a frolick [sic]," although John Quincy Adams thought that he showed more "frolicsome agony" than sincere jolliness.130 Possibly Tyler was actually willing to make merry at least for that night, and Crittenden could have judged the event a success. A few days later, at a garden party on Capitol Hill, Clay approached Robert Tyler, shook his hand warmly, and said, "I am very glad to see you. I hope your father is well."131 Clay was under no illusions, though. Other influences were obviously working their will on the president, and the debate on the Fiscal Corporation took place under "the general belief that he will veto the new bank bill." Clay was under no illusions, though. Other influences were obviously working their will on the president, and the debate on the Fiscal Corporation took place under "the general belief that he will veto the new bank bill."132 Accordingly, Clay considered the process futile and resorted to sarcasm and angry invective, satirizing the "Loco Focos" for their August 16 visit to Tyler, evoking roars of laughter among senators and spectators. Accordingly, Clay considered the process futile and resorted to sarcasm and angry invective, satirizing the "Loco Focos" for their August 16 visit to Tyler, evoking roars of laughter among senators and spectators.133 The Whigs were deadly serious, however, and Clay did not need to say or do anything in this latest tilt with Tyler to rile them up. They were furious that their own president, in depriving them of their program, was likely to hand Democrats victories in the upcoming fall elections. They were grim and determined as they rammed the Fiscal Corporation through both houses and slammed it on Tyler's desk. On September 9, he vetoed it. The Whigs were deadly serious, however, and Clay did not need to say or do anything in this latest tilt with Tyler to rile them up. They were furious that their own president, in depriving them of their program, was likely to hand Democrats victories in the upcoming fall elections. They were grim and determined as they rammed the Fiscal Corporation through both houses and slammed it on Tyler's desk. On September 9, he vetoed it.

Because of the way the bill had come to life, this second veto presented the strange spectacle of a president essentially striking down his own initiative. Two days after the veto, Clay exhibited Whig frustration when he essentially asked: What on earth did Tyler want? The president had asked for the repeal of the Subtreasury and and for the creation of a "Fiscal Corporation." He approved the repeal of the Independent Treasury but had twice rejected its sensible replacement. The president had constitutional scruples? Clay pointed to the intolerable constitutional situation that Tyler had created. The president now had power over both the military for the creation of a "Fiscal Corporation." He approved the repeal of the Independent Treasury but had twice rejected its sensible replacement. The president had constitutional scruples? Clay pointed to the intolerable constitutional situation that Tyler had created. The president now had power over both the military and and the Treasury, power over both sword and purse! the Treasury, power over both sword and purse!134 Even as Clay was speaking these words, Tyler sat at his desk, his son John at his side, and glumly watched as letters of resignation arrived from his cabinet. The first came in at half past noon, and the last appeared five hours later. John Jr. bleakly noted the exact time of arrival for each, a habit of his father's. Packing his papers in the attorney general's office, Crittenden was bitter. "In my present mood perhaps I could not do justice & therefore ought not to trust myself to speak of the President," he told a friend. Yet he did anyway. Tyler's conduct was reprehensible, muttered Crittenden; he had betrayed the people who had put him in office.135 CLAY'S ENEMIES-DEMOCRATS, states' rights Whigs, rivals with axes to grind-blamed him for the rupture, claiming that he was driven by ego to challenge the president for supremacy in the party and was spurred by ambition to cast aside an inconvenient incumbent in his way for 1844. Both of those goals required intransigence and imperiousness to the point of provocation, and consequently Clay was being unreasonable, inflexible, and provocative in a deliberate plan to drive Tyler from the Whig Party. This description became a formula for destroying Clay's reputation as a statesman at the time, reducing him to a petty politician with a pretty voice, but a petty politician all the same. Thus a man noted for his joviality was portrayed as overbearing with his friends and a "dictator" who would have everything his way or no way at all. states' rights Whigs, rivals with axes to grind-blamed him for the rupture, claiming that he was driven by ego to challenge the president for supremacy in the party and was spurred by ambition to cast aside an inconvenient incumbent in his way for 1844. Both of those goals required intransigence and imperiousness to the point of provocation, and consequently Clay was being unreasonable, inflexible, and provocative in a deliberate plan to drive Tyler from the Whig Party. This description became a formula for destroying Clay's reputation as a statesman at the time, reducing him to a petty politician with a pretty voice, but a petty politician all the same. Thus a man noted for his joviality was portrayed as overbearing with his friends and a "dictator" who would have everything his way or no way at all.

This theme of Clay's ego and ambition destroying the Whig Party persisted beyond his and Tyler's time, in part because of the Jacksonian lesson that persuasion was nine-tenths relentless repetition, in part because Clay's enemies were numerous and tireless. Rather than the often repeated adage that the victors write the history of an event, the story of anything is actually determined by the unswerving adoption of one version of it, and the telling of that version by a determined cadre of writers. In time, the version with the most persistent adherents becomes the "truth." Thus propaganda becomes history. The version of the Clay-Tyler clash that blamed everything on Clay was exclusively the product of his enemies, both in and out of the Whig Party. Just as Jacksonians were able to represent the routine political arrangement of 1825 as treachery on the order of Judas's betrayal of Christ, Clay's enemies in 1841 were able to render the image of an embittered man attacking an honorable president while smashing his political party in the process. As the years passed, a counter to that image gradually vanished. Enemies solidified it, fixed it as plausible, and gradually gained its acceptance without challenge.

After the Civil War, the publication of Henry Wise's memoir in the 1870s (dedicated to Tyler), Lucian Little's friendly account of Clay's Kentucky adversary Ben Hardin in 1887, and Lyon G. Tyler's two-volume tribute to his father in the 1890s furthered the process. These works appeared when nostalgic southerners, embracing the "Lost Cause," tended to remember many of the events preceding and during the war as missed opportunities. Virginians added a possessive protectiveness of the Old Dominion's sons, including Robert E. Lee and others such as John Tyler, often praising them by disparaging people from someplace else. Lee lost at Gettysburg because of his non-Virginian subordinates. Tyler had his presidency ruined because of the selfish aspirations of Henry Clay. In the midst of all this, James Lyons of Richmond published his damaging recollections in the New York World World of August 31, 1880. There was Clay described as "violent" toward Harrison and arrogantly announcing early in the extra session that "Tyler dare not resist; I will drive him before me," the very picture, drawn four decades after the event, of the dictatorial and arrogant schemer. of August 31, 1880. There was Clay described as "violent" toward Harrison and arrogantly announcing early in the extra session that "Tyler dare not resist; I will drive him before me," the very picture, drawn four decades after the event, of the dictatorial and arrogant schemer.136 In the wake of these widely accepted accounts, the definition of "balance" became assigning at least some share of the blame to Tyler, but only to emphasize that there was plenty of blame to go around. Mostly, though, even objective or friendly biographers have been apt to cast Clay in the role of spoiler in 1841 and mark his behavior as lamentable. Less friendly writers condemn it as deplorable, even going so far as to say that Clay did not really want a bank at all but merely used Tyler's well-known opposition to it as a way to alienate him from the party.137 Yet Clay alone could not have challenged John Tyler without the unwavering support of his congressional colleagues, who were equally incensed by a putative Whig president acting like a Democrat. Tyler defended his inflexibility as a defense of the Constitution, claiming that Clay wanted to make the president a tool of the legislature, but Clay did not want to diminish Tyler's independence in those areas where it was constitutionally clear. Congress had no authority, Clay insisted on one occasion, to question the president's placement of U.S. military forces in war or peace, and any attempt to impinge on that executive prerogative was perilous. "In a crisis," Clay said, "when all depended upon secrecy and celerity in military operations, the plans of the commander might be thwarted by the interference of the legislative branch of the Government."138 "In what sense is Mr. Clay a dictator dictator?" a Whig newspaper finally asked. "He has no offices to bestow-no patronage-no power .... The men who concur with him in opinion do so as his equals and his friends."139 Political allies and objective observers apparently agreed. One pointed out that the label of "dictator" had been settled on Clay by the "locos" and that it was more appropriate to call him "the great Statesman of the West." Political allies and objective observers apparently agreed. One pointed out that the label of "dictator" had been settled on Clay by the "locos" and that it was more appropriate to call him "the great Statesman of the West."140 Later, after Clay had retired from the Senate, another joked about it, bemoaning the tendency of Congress to dally and speechify in the absence of a real leader and wishing for someone to impose a measure of legislative discipline: "If we had the Dictator, he could do it, like a soldier." Later, after Clay had retired from the Senate, another joked about it, bemoaning the tendency of Congress to dally and speechify in the absence of a real leader and wishing for someone to impose a measure of legislative discipline: "If we had the Dictator, he could do it, like a soldier."141 In the fall of 1841, after the bruising fight, when everything had gone to ruin, Clay's enemies were in full voice, and they circulated the story that he had engineered the cabinet resignations to discredit Tyler's administration and ruin Tyler politically. Some pinned the story on Webster, and men who knew better characterized it as a baseless slander, especially when Ewing, Badger, and Bell explained themselves in lengthy letters to the newspapers. But the tale would not die. Two years later, its persistence exasperated Tom Ewing. Webster, he said, knew very well that nobody had consulted with Clay but had acted out of honor, had responded in the only way they could to a man who turned his back on his friends to embrace their enemies.142 At the time, Whigs dismissed out of hand such attempts to slander Clay. He emerged from the veto fights stronger than ever, and numerous Whig newspapers throughout the country that fall were already plumping him for president. He had not gotten his bank, but he had won the battle for political supremacy.143 The gulf between the Whigs and Tyler immediately widened to complete rupture. Two days after the cabinet resignations, Whig congressional delegations convened in a garden near the Capitol and expelled the president from the party. In the months to come, Daniel Webster seemed to court the same fate. For on that Saturday of mass resignations, when it appeared that Tyler was indeed to be sunk by the desertions from his administration, Webster had not sent him a letter. Instead, Webster had come to Tyler's office to say that he would like to stay. Hearing these words, Tyler was giddy. "Give me your hand on that," he cried, "and now I will say to you that Henry Clay is a doomed man." The gulf between the Whigs and Tyler immediately widened to complete rupture. Two days after the cabinet resignations, Whig congressional delegations convened in a garden near the Capitol and expelled the president from the party. In the months to come, Daniel Webster seemed to court the same fate. For on that Saturday of mass resignations, when it appeared that Tyler was indeed to be sunk by the desertions from his administration, Webster had not sent him a letter. Instead, Webster had come to Tyler's office to say that he would like to stay. Hearing these words, Tyler was giddy. "Give me your hand on that," he cried, "and now I will say to you that Henry Clay is a doomed man."144

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Four Letters HENRY CLAY INSANE!" screamed the headline. "We should not be surprised to hear that he should attempt the assassination of Tyler, and all who oppose a Bank." "Like a whale stranded on a mudflat," Clay "lashed and spouted filth all around." screamed the headline. "We should not be surprised to hear that he should attempt the assassination of Tyler, and all who oppose a Bank." "Like a whale stranded on a mudflat," Clay "lashed and spouted filth all around."1 One Democrat newspaper in Ohio reported that rancor against Tyler had turned murderous. Clay's brother Porter-"a preacher of the gospel," it sniffed-had exclaimed on learning of the second veto, One Democrat newspaper in Ohio reported that rancor against Tyler had turned murderous. Clay's brother Porter-"a preacher of the gospel," it sniffed-had exclaimed on learning of the second veto, "I wish somebody would assassinate him." "I wish somebody would assassinate him." And another Whig was said to have pledged And another Whig was said to have pledged "one hundred specie dollars to any one who will kill him." "one hundred specie dollars to any one who will kill him."2 Not much of this was true, of course. Clay was not crazy, and Porter Clay most certainly had not wished Tyler dead. Yet some people apparently did. The president had in fact received death threats. Not much of this was true, of course. Clay was not crazy, and Porter Clay most certainly had not wished Tyler dead. Yet some people apparently did. The president had in fact received death threats.

Even with all the acrimony during the extra session, some things had been accomplished. A new bankruptcy law was a sound measure, but in trying to help debtors, it incongruously seemed to favor wealthy spendthrifts. It was so unpopular that Whigs and Democrats alike began lobbying for its repeal the following year. A loan for $12 million to cover an anticipated budget deficit simply continued the Van Buren administration's practice of floating the Treasury with bond issues, but nobody much trusted the government's solvency after the quarrel over the Bank, and the loan did not begin to solve the revenue crisis. Raising the tariff proved equally difficult and in the end yielded disappointing and ineffective rates that produced insufficient returns.3 Land policy suffered as well, mainly because it became inextricably linked to the tariff. Without high duties, the government needed revenue from its only other asset, the public lands, a situation that required maintaining relatively high land prices, which the East favored but the West protested. Democrats had always opposed the distribution of land sale proceeds, favoring instead low land prices resulting from graduation (the gradual lowering of land prices) and preemption (preferential treatment for squatters). Clay could not persuade western members of his party to take the political risk of disowning preemption, because the policy was popular with their land-hungry constituents.

The compromise necessary to pass a Whig land law consequently produced a most unsatisfactory bill from Clay's perspective. By including a preemption policy, the legislation became a clear Democrat triumph. Preemption also diminished the funds available for distribution and, if that were not enough, Democrats peeled away enough Whigs to tack on an amendment tying distribution to the tariff as well. The instant that tariff duties climbed above 20 percent, distribution would cease. The irony was that Clay, with a Whig majority and an ostensible Whig president, had been able to realize only a fraction of the Whig program, while Democrats, in the minority for the first time in over a decade, were scoring gains that had eluded them during all the years they controlled Congress and occupied the White House.

In sum, the extra session dealt a serious blow to the Whigs. Despite having "passed in Congress all our great measures," as Clay somewhat inaccurately put it, lingering bad feelings about the Bank cast a pall over everything. Having repealed the Subtreasury, the Whigs put nothing in its place, leaving the Treasury to operate much as it had under Van Buren. More in sorrow than anger, Clay lamented, "If the President had been cordial with us, what a glorious summer this of 1841 would be!"4 Too late in moving toward conciliation, Tyler's second veto message was relatively timorous in tone compared to his first, and he plaintively inventoried the loan, the bankruptcy law, the tariff, and land policy as evidence that he could work with congressional Whigs. He even promised to reconsider a new fiscal agent when Congress met in regular session at the end of the year. But these were, after all, just words, and Tyler's actions spoke much louder. Before the second veto, Clay had been certain that the president would never join the Locofocos: "The soil of Virginia is too pure to produce traitors." By mid-September, he was not so sure. "Tyler is on his way to the Democratic camp," he predicted to the Whig caucus. "They may give him lodgings in some outhouse, but they will never trust him."5 It appeared that Tyler had wanted his cabinet to resign all along, for he was obviously ready with replacements when it did. His new cabinet contained several men whose primary qualifications were their allegiance to states' rights or their opposition to Henry Clay. At least they were all Whigs, although they were also, like Tyler, former Democrats. Clay described them warily as "a curious" lot. "If they work well together," he said, "it will be against all the laws of union and harmony; for a more incongruous collection of gentlemen could hardly have been got together."6 And then there was Daniel Webster. Tyler's jubilant exclamation to Webster that the two of them would doom Clay laid bare his belief that an alliance with the New Englander was imperative to salvaging his presidency, not to mention sustaining his quest to establish dominance in the party. Webster's motives for staying in the cabinet and risking his standing among Whigs were mixed. He plausibly explained to Massachusetts Whigs that duty required him to continue at the State Department while relations with Britain remained unsettled. New York had indicted one of the men allegedly responsible for torching the Caroline Caroline and was trying him for arson and murder, a proceeding that London warned would mean war if the trial ended with a conviction and death sentence. Weighing Webster's responsibilities, Clay accepted his reasoning, but he also gave Webster fair warning that if he were staying on to take Tyler's part, Whigs would condemn him. and was trying him for arson and murder, a proceeding that London warned would mean war if the trial ended with a conviction and death sentence. Weighing Webster's responsibilities, Clay accepted his reasoning, but he also gave Webster fair warning that if he were staying on to take Tyler's part, Whigs would condemn him.7 Clay's warning in the fall of 1841 did not sit well with Webster. He seems to have sincerely believed that Clay was behind the cabinet resignations, suspecting that the episode was engineered to injure him as much as to embarrass Tyler. Perceptive observers believed that Webster's decision to stay in the cabinet stemmed from his plans for 1844. Yet Clay found Webster's strategy hard to follow, especially if he thought he could exert any influence over Tyler. Clay knew that the president's intimates habitually spoke of Webster with contempt while flattering Tyler with visions of a third party and a second term. As for Webster's credibility with fellow Whigs, it had been seriously damaged when he acted as liaison on the second bank bill, assuring Congress that Tyler was on board. It was difficult to see how he could recover from the taint of Tyler's bad faith.8 Congress adjourned on September 13, a rainy Monday, and that night, the Whig caucus gathered for its farewell meeting. Everyone was somber, "like the weather and the night, dark and gloomy." Chairman Nathan F. Dixon, a Rhode Islander, had a puckish sense of humor despite his imposing appearance. At sixty-seven, he was "of the old school of gentlemen" and dressed accordingly, his snow-white hair in a cue that almost reached his waist. His gray eyes peered from behind spectacles at the doleful tableau the Whigs presented, but then he saw Clay, "tall and majestic," rising from his chair, beaming a broad smile, a cheerful lilt to his voice that perked everyone up.

"This is a dark night," Clay said, but he urged his fellow Whigs to take heart. "We, Senators, will soon pass away, but our principles will live while our glorious Union shall exist. Let our hearts be cheerful."9 And as Clay continued, they did become cheerful in spite of themselves, in spite of John Tyler. Clay outlined the ordeals of the session and spoke in specifics about a program all knew by heart-bank, tariff, currency-but his insistence that those principles would not perish made them feel they were hearing it all fresh and for the first time. Like Dixon, they were looking intently at Henry Clay as he spoke. As they listened to his confident speech, they knew they were looking at the future of their party, and as their glimmering optimism grew, they saw the future of their country as well, at least if they had anything to say about it. And as Clay continued, they did become cheerful in spite of themselves, in spite of John Tyler. Clay outlined the ordeals of the session and spoke in specifics about a program all knew by heart-bank, tariff, currency-but his insistence that those principles would not perish made them feel they were hearing it all fresh and for the first time. Like Dixon, they were looking intently at Henry Clay as he spoke. As they listened to his confident speech, they knew they were looking at the future of their party, and as their glimmering optimism grew, they saw the future of their country as well, at least if they had anything to say about it.

Clay castigated Tyler, of course. That sort of flourish had become automatic with all of them. But his close was a lighthearted tribute to Dixon's "manner ... which ... by a single look, kept order at our meetings." To a growing chorus of chuckles, Clay said that "the most excited, the most boisterous, has been quieted at once, and brought into lamb-like docility." He concluded by wishing that "the whole civilized world" had seen such a deft and good-natured chairman at work.

Dixon rose to the occasion. He said he considered himself Clay's superior as a presiding officer for he had kept "order among the most disorderly body that was ever assembled." By now, everyone was laughing, both surprised and relieved that the wake had been unexpectedly transformed into a celebration. Dixon continued: some might have suspected that Clay "was not in full earnest" in his praise of the chair's parliamentary skills, he solemnly intoned. But they should always "give [Clay] full credit for sincerity, for any remarks he may make before ten o'clock at night"-Dixon theatrically paused-"after that there may be some doubts."10 The room erupted into applause and roars of laughter. The room erupted into applause and roars of laughter.

It was almost midnight before everyone parted, and the next day they began their journeys home. They left Washington buoyed by the cheerful words, jovial banter, and infectious optimism of Clay. "Remember," he would say throughout an otherwise depressing autumn, "that we have a fine Country."11 They intended to make him the future of it.

BACK IN LEXINGTON, Clay attended to Ashland's enterprises, including the financial health of the farm, the care and feeding of his horses, and producing that year's brood of pigs. Clay preferred Berkshires. He bred them in the first week of December in order to have piglets in April. In the second week of May, when the pigs could crack corn, the boars were neutered and the sows spayed for meat in the fall. He held out enough boars and sows for reproduction, segregating them until early December to begin the process anew. He always fed them well. Clay believed that "starving never succeeds with man or beast." Clay attended to Ashland's enterprises, including the financial health of the farm, the care and feeding of his horses, and producing that year's brood of pigs. Clay preferred Berkshires. He bred them in the first week of December in order to have piglets in April. In the second week of May, when the pigs could crack corn, the boars were neutered and the sows spayed for meat in the fall. He held out enough boars and sows for reproduction, segregating them until early December to begin the process anew. He always fed them well. Clay believed that "starving never succeeds with man or beast."12 He saw that mules were delivered to a buyer and arranged for an auction of some forty blooded cattle, selected horses, several asses, and about thirty additional mules. Clay was not merely winnowing his inventory of livestock. He needed money as the economic emergency afflicting the country finally began to hit close to home. James Erwin's finances remained a worry, not just because of the grandchildren but also because Erwin's business was in part linked to Clay through endorsed notes and loans.13 Clay's primary source of anxiety was Thomas's rope and bagging business that had been founded in partnership with Mary's brother Waldemar Mentelle. James Brown Clay participated briefly in the venture, though only in a limited way, and Clay was always its primary backer. Begun with high hopes in 1839, the business was troubled from the start by fluctuating prices, unexpected expenses, bad weather, and the normal difficulties of starting up any venture in hard times. Thomas turned out to be at best a marginal businessman, and Waldemar wasn't appreciably better. Bad reports followed upon bad reports with distressing frequency, and that fall, matters began to unravel. To keep Thomas afloat, Clay endorsed notes and dispatched bank drafts. Despite his encouragement and advice, he suspected the Clay-Mentelle rope and bagging venture was sinking.14 As for himself, he felt he had little choice, quite literally throwing good money after bad as he doggedly continued his assistance, indebting himself and pledging to cover Thomas's debts for tens of thousands of dollars. The business lasted only into the following summer, but by then Clay had sunk almost $30,000 into it, a massive liability that forced him to pledge Ashland as collateral. He began the unpleasant task of calling in loans with minor success, as he scrupulously avoided dunning debtors. He also sold off assets it had taken him a lifetime to accumulate. Unless his fortunes improved, Clay confronted the possibility of losing everything, including Ashland. He put on a brave face. "The times are gloomy enough," he told Lucretia, "but we must all try to preserve our spirits, and not sink beneath their pressure."15 While this depressing state of affairs began unfolding, the fall state elections added to the gloom. Skillful patronage appointments kept John Tyler's political fortunes alive by sacrificing Whig unity and, worse, by confusing voters. The result was, as Clay had predicted, a rout by Democrats in state after state. In just one year, all the gains of 1840 vanished, because Whig voters did. Across the country, they stayed away from the polls in droves. Clay said candidates should have expected it. Tyler had betrayed them all. Why would people remain loyal to a party led by a treacherous man?16 The catastrophe convinced most Whigs that they had to rally around a leader with unquestioned allegiance to the party's agenda. Obviously, that was not John Tyler, and because of his continuing association with Tyler, it was not Daniel Webster. Some were touting "that Peacock Genl. Scott," but his support was at best slight. Only Henry Clay, the man they had cast aside in 1839 for the electable Harrison, now carried the magical prestige described by nodding politicos as "availability." Southern Whigs came to the conclusion fairly early and were important in boosting Clay's popularity. To them, Tyler's first veto had been an understandable, if not agreeable, expression of his constitutional principles, but many regarded his second veto as simply spiteful. One North Carolinian thought that Whigs "should hoist the Clay flag forthwith," and Willie Mangum was soon exhorting his neighbors in the Old North State to take the lead, "nominate Mr. Clay for the presidency, unconditionally, unconditionally," and quash all maneuvering and double-dealing at the national convention.17 With his political fortunes on the rise, Clay arrived in Washington on Sunday, December 5, for the regular session of the Twenty-seventh Congress with a miserable cold. He never completely recovered his health throughout the session. In January, he was diagnosed with a severe case of pleurisy, which laid him low for days. Clay was consequently not the leading cause of Tyler's continuing problems with the legislature during these weeks. Instead, Whigs on their own made the president's life miserable. Convinced that reconciliation with the administration was futile, they mounted a full-bore attack to block Tyler's initiatives in the House while the Senate refused to confirm many of his appointees.18 In the void left by the repeal of the Subtreasury and his vetoes of a bank, Tyler tried to satisfy both Whigs and Democrats with a fiscal agency he dubbed the Exchequer, but nobody in either party much cared for the ungainly creature. Additional restrictions designed to allay Tyler's obvious distaste for a real national bank did not help. In fact, the Exchequer bill did not stand a chance of being adopted, and when Tyler stubbornly insisted that the country supported his plan, Clay shook his head: "Poor deluded man!"19 Finally, in the last week of December, Clay was well enough for a time to resume his Senate seat, and he immediately took up the fight against the Exchequer with parliamentary maneuvers that sent the proposal to a committee that in turn refused to bring it to a vote. Meanwhile, on December 29, he proposed constitutional amendments to curtail executive power. Foremost in his plan was the restriction of the hated veto. He always claimed that it was not Tyler's behavior that prompted him to oppose the veto power (after all, he had made similar proposals during Jackson's presidency), but rather, sound principles of republican government led him to do so. Unchecked veto authority, he said, gave the president despotic power to control the course of legislation. He could hamper and usually kill congressional initiatives merely by intimating that he would veto them. At the very least, Clay said, an override should require only a simple majority, and eventually he deprecated every instance of a veto, from the great George Washington to the miserable "Captain" Tyler, as an abuse of power, a thwarting of the people's apparent will in their elected representatives.20 Clay also wanted to institutionalize Harrison's pledge to reduce the president's control over the Treasury by giving Congress authority to appoint its secretary. To prevent patronage abuse bordering on bribery, Clay proposed to bar members of Congress from accepting presidential appointments during their terms. Finally, he declared his support for an amendment to limit the presidency to one term.21 Clay's amendments proposed radical changes, and though he was quite serious about them, he could not even persuade his friendly colleagues to give them any more than passing attention. In the end they became more symbolic than realistic proposals, at best emphasizing the dangers of executive usurpation. None ever came to a vote, and all quietly disappeared in March 1842. Clay's amendments proposed radical changes, and though he was quite serious about them, he could not even persuade his friendly colleagues to give them any more than passing attention. In the end they became more symbolic than realistic proposals, at best emphasizing the dangers of executive usurpation. None ever came to a vote, and all quietly disappeared in March 1842.

Clay remained ill and irritable, and Senate debates brought out the worst in him as he fell into the habit of lashing out at the slightest provocation. During the debate on repeal of the Bankruptcy Act, Clay butted heads with Thomas Hart Benton when Benton began imperiously hectoring Whigs who held the floor, adding to the insult by haughtily lounging in his chair. When Benton began shouting "False, false" during Nathaniel P. Tallmadge's remarks, Clay rose to insist that the senator from Missouri was out of order. Benton shouted at him. Clay whirled, his face a thundercloud. "The Senator shall not address me me in his seat," he spat, "and if he does, it shall be followed by language corresponding to such conduct." in his seat," he spat, "and if he does, it shall be followed by language corresponding to such conduct."22 Three days after his irate exchange with Benton, Clay suffered a back seizure so severe that he would have fallen if friends had not caught him. He called it "lumbago," one of those picturesque terms the nineteenth century used for lower back pain, and he soon reported it as a passing malady. Yet it was clear that his work was beginning to impose a high toll on him.23 To make matters worse, relations with Tyler reached their lowest ebb, for the president gave as bad as he got. Anyone even suspected of supporting Clay was politically punished, and his most distant acquaintances found themselves frozen out of the patronage. The "President is moreover jealous, envious, embittered towards me," Clay said glumly as he assessed their irretrievable relationship, and he caviled at suggestions he was mainly at fault. "He has power; I have none."24 That February, Clay's mail contained a letter from Carter Beverley, the author of the infamous 1827 letter that had given new life to the charges of the Corrupt Bargain by giving Jackson the chance to say that Clay's friends had put the presidency up for bids. Clay had always regarded Beverley as simply another Jackson pawn and was certain his letter had been prompted by Jackson in the same way and for the same reason George Kremer's wretched accusation had. Now, Clay had to be surprised as he read Beverley's lengthy note. The Virginian said he was certain that the timeworn allegations against Clay would be resurrected for the 1844 election, and he therefore wanted to repair the damage he had done in 1827. He recanted his earlier accusations. It had taken fifteen years for him to say so, but Beverley now declared that he had concluded "long ago" that "the very greatest injustice was done you in the charge made." To allay suspicions that this latest statement was arranged for political effect, Beverley pledged that he and Clay had had no contact for more than a decade.25 From the tone of his response, it seems Clay was scarcely impressed by Beverley's soul-searching and the confession it produced. The entire affair, he said, "has been of late very rarely thought of by me," and he claimed that only after rereading the 1827 letter was he reminded of Beverley's role in the affair. Neither of these statements was truthful, of course, for hardly a day went by that Henry Clay did not smart under the ancient charge that he was a corrupt schemer. All could not be forgotten nor any of his tormentors forgiven for the years of irreparable damage just because they were now willing to admit they were wrong. At most, he could register a cool gratitude. "I am thankful for the justice your letter has done me," he said, "which is creditable to your heart." As for the admission, Clay assured Beverley that he did not need it for his his conscience but would act on Beverley's permission to publish it to prove as baseless "the calumny of which I have been the object." Beverley was exultant, as if Clay's chilly note were an absolution. conscience but would act on Beverley's permission to publish it to prove as baseless "the calumny of which I have been the object." Beverley was exultant, as if Clay's chilly note were an absolution.26 Carter Beverley's conscience was clear and his mood lighthearted as a result, but Clay had lived with this cloud over his head for so many years that he knew Beverley's prediction was unrealistic. Sure enough, in his campaign for governor of Tennessee the following year, James K. Polk began talking about Clay's "Corrupt Bargain" with references so casual as to indicate they had become a reflexive routine with Democrats, like inquiring about one's health or mentioning the weather. It had become over the years a kind of verbal tic. As 1844 approached, they again resorted to the charge as if to fill the air while thinking of something else to say. Clay knew that as long as a single supporter of Andrew Jackson walked the earth, the phrase "Corrupt Bargain" would never die.27 OF COURSE OTHER attacks were made. In February, Clay's role in the 1838 duel between William Graves and Jonathan Cilley again became a point of dispute. Because Tyler partisan Henry A. Wise was at the center of this latest controversy, Clay suspected that dredging up the episode had as much to do with assaulting his character as with getting the facts straight. attacks were made. In February, Clay's role in the 1838 duel between William Graves and Jonathan Cilley again became a point of dispute. Because Tyler partisan Henry A. Wise was at the center of this latest controversy, Clay suspected that dredging up the episode had as much to do with assaulting his character as with getting the facts straight.28 As the regular session of the Twenty-seventh Congress wore on, the government had to address the looming financial crisis caused by the failure of Treasury bonds to attract investors. Making the situation worse, the first of two tariff reductions mandated by the Compromise Tariff of 1833 had already occurred in January, and the second was to take place in the summer. Worried that a strapped Treasury would not be able to fund basic operations, even the military, Tyler and the Whig majority clashed on how best to solve the problem. He wanted to stop distribution, but Whigs wanted to postpone tariff reduction. On February 15, Clay introduced a plan in eleven sprawling resolutions, which he described as a comprehensive project to restore the country's prosperity and stabilize its economy. Government solvency and the restoration of confidence were crucial. In fact, Washington should lead by example through retrenchment that embraced the strictest economies, cutting departmental budgets in the executive branch as well as the judicial. Nothing, not even the franking privilege, should escape scrutiny. He condemned the recent practice of raising revenue with loans and Treasury notes. Instead, the tariff should be increased, and the linking of distribution to tariff levels repealed. Distribution was a pledge to states already suffering dire financial embarrassments, and breaking that promise would not only mean dishonor but would discourage renewed confidence in the government. Learning that Alabama Democrats had pushed the state to take the lead in refusing on principle to accept its portion of distribution proceeds, Clay was dismayed. Any state's refusal to do so was resistance to federal law, he said, and merely applied the doctrine of nullification by "sneaking and cowardly" means rather than "the bold and daring ones" of South Carolina in 1832.29 Having spelled out the Whig economic vision in elaborate detail, within twenty-four hours Clay wrote to the Kentucky legislature to resign from the Senate effective March 31. He had accepted the seat with the likelihood that he would not serve the entire six-year term, and as early as the previous fall he had been intimating that he would not remain beyond another session of Congress and was likely to leave before it concluded. Washington, he said, "has ceased or is ceasing to have any charms for me."30 Doubtless that was true, but two other factors were the leading causes for the decision's timing. He wanted to quit while the Kentucky legislature was in session and could choose his replacement (the Kentucky General Assembly unanimously selected his friend and lieutenant Crittenden, as it happened), but his presidential plans mostly determined his timing. His stated reason-that he was resigning to remove a source of strain between Congress and the White House-was obviously a pretext and deceived nobody. Doubtless that was true, but two other factors were the leading causes for the decision's timing. He wanted to quit while the Kentucky legislature was in session and could choose his replacement (the Kentucky General Assembly unanimously selected his friend and lieutenant Crittenden, as it happened), but his presidential plans mostly determined his timing. His stated reason-that he was resigning to remove a source of strain between Congress and the White House-was obviously a pretext and deceived nobody.31 Instead, his departure on March 31 would come just prior to the Whig convention in North Carolina, scheduled for April 4 and urged by Mangum and others to nominate Clay. The Tarheel endorsement would consequently occur after his official retirement in order to avoid any suggestion that he was using his place in Congress to politick for the presidency. Freed from that restraint, he could begin consolidating his national support in the third and last of his campaigns, heading off rivals like Webster, who was doing himself in with Tyler, and Winfield Scott, who was attractive at most as a running mate on a Clay ticket. Appearance in these political games was everything, and despite his obvious intentions, Clay was careful to continue the ruse of reluctance, insisting that he had not yet decided "to consent to the use of my name."32 That sort of statement didn't fool anybody either. That sort of statement didn't fool anybody either.

Clay so wanted a vote on his eleven resolutions before his retirement that he overexerted himself, defending his program in late March with a speech of three hours. Observers noted that his performance was disjointed and rambling, and the next day he suffered "an excrutiating [sic] stricture" on the left side of his chest. His physician cupped and purged him, but the signs pointed to something a great deal more serious than a cold or rheumatism. It is very likely that on March 24, Clay suffered a heart attack. He had ruefully predicted that his retirement would not satisfy his enemies. "Death only can accomplish" that, he said, "or the total loss of public confidence." As the doctor applied the red-hot glasses to blister out the supposed toxins and dosed him with emetics, Clay almost gave them their first wish.33 He was on his feet, however, just a week later to deliver his farewell address to the Senate, denying his enemies his death, and with an emotional performance proving that he could still command public confidence. He traced his history with the Senate to laud it as "this noble theatre of my public service," and he recalled the many friends with whom he had served. He expressed regret over the disappointments of this and the extra session, but he was certain that reflection and time would put matters right. He could not overlook, though, how "a recent epithet ... has been applied to me," that "I have been held up to the country as a dictator!" He bristled: If I have been a dictator, I think those who apply the epithet to me must at least admit two things: In the first place, that my dictatorship has been distinguished by no cruel executions, stained by no deeds of blood, soiled by no act of dishonor. And they must no less acknowledge, in the second place ... that if I have been invested with, or have usurped the dictatorship, I have at least voluntarily surrendered the power within a shorter period than was assigned by the Roman laws for its continuance.

Having gotten that out of his system, he continued in a more reflective, pleasant tone, and finally, after presenting John J. Crittenden's credentials, he closed: May the blessings of Heaven rest upon the heads of the whole Senate, and every member of it; and may every member of it advance still more in fame, and when they shall retire to the bosoms of their respective constituencies, may they all meet there that most joyous and grateful of all human rewards, the exclamation of their countrymen, "well done thou good and faithful servants." Mr. President, and Messieurs Senators, I bid you, one and all, a long, a last, a friendly farewell.34 Crittenden ceremoniously took his seat, and it was done. A prolonged ovation along with whistles, shouts, and even tears greeted Clay as he ambled through the chamber, shaking hands and receiving in that moment sincere, unalloyed affection from both Whigs and Democrats crowding around him. Calhoun made his way through the throng of senators, finally coming face-to-face with the man he had come to call an enemy. They had not spoken socially since 1837, their oblique and sometimes searing references to each other coming exclusively in often angry debates on the Senate floor. They did not speak now in the raucous din that kept on and on as each stood staring into the other's eyes. They had begun together so many years before, boarding in the War Mess, when the new country was on the verge of challenging Britain over honor as much as commerce. They had stared without blinking at the most powerful empire on earth, the talented boy from the Carolina Upcountry and the magnetic one from the Virginia Slashes, a good team. Then they had been immortal. Now they were old men, sicker than they knew, like the country, and divided over slavery and sectionalism, like the country. Calhoun's passions, so relentlessly suppressed under his didactic manner, had begun to act as forge and anvil on the rugged good looks of his youth, making everything about this iron man stark, severe, metallic, even his eyes, which he often fixed in an angry stare. But now they stared at Henry Clay to see the end of an era, and even the iron man could not help himself as he welled up. Calhoun extended his hand. Clay opened his arms.35 Their embrace stirred an even greater volume of cheers and applause, but more important for them, it washed away the venom for a brief moment, the best medicine in the world for Henry Clay's injured heart, more than good for what ailed him.

HENRY CLAY HAD every reason to believe that he had closed a chapter of his life with his retirement from the Senate. His ten years there seemed in symmetry with his career in the national legislature, a fitting counterpart for his groundbreaking service as Speaker of the House, and his achievements in many contentious sessions, while meager in number, were significant. His defeats were profoundly disappointing, but mostly people would remember his victories, especially his successful work to defuse crises that threatened the Union. He had mastered the workaday routines of the Senate and occasionally chided much younger colleagues who found legislative schedules too arduous; but his real talent was in the magic of his personality. Whether he was mesmerizing his colleagues and the gallery from the floor, or producing improbable majorities through casual conversations at parties and careful negotiations in committees, Clay walked the capital as a giant. When he said his farewell to deafening applause and John C. Calhoun's sad stare, it indeed marked the end of an era. Most such conclusions emerge as important only in retrospect, but all who witnessed Clay retire from the Senate knew they had seen something extraordinary. For the rest of their lives those men and women would tell of that occasion, ending with the simple declaration: "I was there." every reason to believe that he had closed a chapter of his life with his retirement from the Senate. His ten years there seemed in symmetry with his career in the national legislature, a fitting counterpart for his groundbreaking service as Speaker of the House, and his achievements in many contentious sessions, while meager in number, were significant. His defeats were profoundly disappointing, but mostly people would remember his victories, especially his successful work to defuse crises that threatened the Union. He had mastered the workaday routines of the Senate and occasionally chided much younger colleagues who found legislative schedules too arduous; but his real talent was in the magic of his personality. Whether he was mesmerizing his colleagues and the gallery from the floor, or producing improbable majorities through casual conversations at parties and careful negotiations in committees, Clay walked the capital as a giant. When he said his farewell to deafening applause and John C. Calhoun's sad stare, it indeed marked the end of an era. Most such conclusions emerge as important only in retrospect, but all who witnessed Clay retire from the Senate knew they had seen something extraordinary. For the rest of their lives those men and women would tell of that occasion, ending with the simple declaration: "I was there."

Clay quit the Senate but did not immediately leave for home. Instead, he remained in Washington for most of April to attend a round of parties in his honor. His lingering in Washington was not just social but political, as Democrat newspapers resentfully noted. "Henry Clay is eating eating and and dancing dancing his way to the Presidency," one grumbled, obviously put off by evidence of his swelling popularity and signs of increasing Whig unity behind him. As expected, North Carolina did its part to launch his presidential bid when the Whig convention in Raleigh gave him a ringing endorsement. A delegate reported that "the very mention of his name appears to brighten the countenance of every member and inspire him with fresh and increased zeal." his way to the Presidency," one grumbled, obviously put off by evidence of his swelling popularity and signs of increasing Whig unity behind him. As expected, North Carolina did its part to launch his presidential bid when the Whig convention in Raleigh gave him a ringing endorsement. A delegate reported that "the very mention of his name appears to brighten the countenance of every member and inspire him with fresh and increased zeal."36 Feted in Washington and celebrated across the country, Clay triumphantly returned to Kentucky where the mild winter had given way to a glorious spring. Although on the day of his arrival, May 2, the weather had turned gray and drizzly, it didn't matter. As he approached Lexington, thousands on horseback and mules and ladies in countless carriages streamed out to greet him at the Five Mile Bridge, the procession stretching more than a mile. Lexington's bells pealed as a band stood outside the Dudley House blasting out favorites such as "Jenny Get Your Hoe Cake Done" and "Rosin the Bow." In due course, Clay reached Ashland and Lucretia. He had been longing to see both.37 Of all his many callers that spring, Clay was most eager to have Martin Van Buren visit him at Ashland. He extended a hearty invitation for Van Buren to make the house his "headquarters," and the ex-president gratefully accepted the hospitality. He arrived on May 20 and remained at Ashland for almost a week. Van Buren was in good health, a plump 172 pounds (not such a "little" magician anymore), and thoroughly enjoyed his time with his host. Unlike Jackson and Calhoun, who took political disagreement as a personal affront, these two could put aside differences to share stories, trade jests, gossip, and lay wagers, and they apparently did just that and little else during Van Buren's stay. In fact, Clay remarked after Van Buren departed that they had spoken about many things but had not discussed political affairs.38 It seems unlikely that these two political animals could spend days together and not talk politics, especially in light of what happened in 1844. Clay would later visit Van Buren's New York home, "Lindenwald," where they "talked over old scenes without reserve." These visits became objects of deep suspicion, suggesting to some cooperation beyond cordiality. Yet possibly their time together was in fact only spent in telling jokes and recalling "old scenes." Just as everyone expected Clay to be the Whig nominee in 1844, Van Buren became a foregone conclusion for the Democrats. His southern journey was, after all, a political trip thinly disguised as a sightseeing jaunt, the custom of the time. Possibly they both had been cagey, at most feeling each other out with indirect remarks, preserving the good humor that was so elusive for their supporters. "Thus do the sensible leaders of the two parties," James Gordon Bennett mused, "while away the lovely spring afternoon in Ashland, with a glass of cool claret between them-the birds singing over their heads-the heavens bright and blue above-and their respective partisans throughout the country, abusing, fighting, and disgracing themselves like so many fiends, in the conflict that is about [to take] place."39 Lexington held a grand barbecue in Clay's honor on June 9. It was the perfect occasion for him to launch his campaign, and he looked forward to it with "excitement." On the appointed day, about twenty thousand people gathered outside of town at Maxwell's Spring, a lush bluegrass pasture hemmed by stately trees. There would have been more people from distant locales, but bad weather during the previous two days had discouraged travel. Great piles of meat and vegetables were put on tables at one o'clock, and after the food and the customary toasts and tributes, Clay rose to speak. For more than two hours before a cheering crowd, he turned in a characteristically masterful performance.40 After a brief biographical sketch in which he once more exaggerated the poverty of his youth (a staple of American politics by now) and again explained his actions in 1825 (a staple of Clay's political life by now), he hit his stride to smite Democrats hip and thigh. He cataloged the financial dislocations of the 1830s and what had caused them, particularly Jackson's and Van Buren's mishandling of the currency, land policy, and the banking establishment. That was only the start, though, and he delved deeper to condemn nullification, the admission of territories without proper procedures, and state election frauds perpetrated to secure Democratic majorities.

Where he was lengthy and methodical with his denunciation of Democrats, he dismissed John Tyler as unworthy of notice. Calling Whigs to action in his final paragraph, he shouted at its close, "As for Captain Tyler, he is a mere snap-a flash in the pan-pick your Whig flints and try your Rifles again."41 The crowd rollicked and rolled in delight at this sharp, succinct barb, just as Clay knew it would, but others, including his son James, winced over it. "Perhaps your criticism ... is just," Clay later admitted to a friend who gently chided him for the remark, especially its reference to firearms. Clay rather lamely defended himself with humor by reminding critics that he was talking to a Kentucky audience, some of whom, being hunters of Kentucky, were "accustomed to the rifle." Yet on reflection he was sorry to have been caught up in the moment, a trap that often snared the habitually extemporaneous speaker. "After all," he finally sighed to a critic, "you may be right." The crowd rollicked and rolled in delight at this sharp, succinct barb, just as Clay knew it would, but others, including his son James, winced over it. "Perhaps your criticism ... is just," Clay later admitted to a friend who gently chided him for the remark, especially its reference to firearms. Clay rather lamely defended himself with humor by reminding critics that he was talking to a Kentucky audience, some of whom, being hunters of Kentucky, were "accustomed to the rifle." Yet on reflection he was sorry to have been caught up in the moment, a trap that often snared the habitually extemporaneous speaker. "After all," he finally sighed to a critic, "you may be right."42 "All our friends here," wrote Crittenden from Washington, "would be flattered by your correspondence, & you must task yourself a little to please them." Yet Bob Letcher, who had been impressed by Clay at the barbecue, at least up to a point, was wary of ruining a sure thing. "The old Prince is taking a pretty considerable rise everywhere, I can tell you," he wrote to Crittenden. "I guess he now begins to see the good of leaving the Senate,-of getting off getting off a while merely to a while merely to get on get on better." Yet Letcher worried about Clay's tendency to talk himself into trouble, not just in speeches like the one at the barbecue with the imprudent crack about Tyler, but with impolitic letters. "He must hereafter remain a little quiet and better." Yet Letcher worried about Clay's tendency to talk himself into trouble, not just in speeches like the one at the barbecue with the imprudent crack about Tyler, but with impolitic letters. "He must hereafter remain a little quiet and hold his jaw, hold his jaw," Black Bob counseled. "In fact, he must be caged cagedthat's the point, cage him cage him! He swears by all the gods, he will keep cool and stay at home. I think he will be prudent, though I have some occasional fears that he may write too many letters."43 Nobody could have imagined in that sunny spring of Clay's western star rising that Letcher was more right than even he knew. He had reason to be worried about Clay's travels and especially about Clay's letters. Henry Clay was an indefatigable letter writer and could churn out a half dozen to the hour. More than a few Whigs feared that Clay's volubility would eventually spoil everything. "If St. Paul had been a candidate for the Presidency," one fretted, "I should have advised him to cut the Corinthians and not to let the Hebrews even see his autograph."44 DURING THAT SUMMER in 1842, Kentucky's grand weather produced abundant yields, and Clay was busy with "extensive preparations to Water rot Hemp," a new process for him because he had always before used the process of dew rotting. Meanwhile, his lieutenants in Washington kept him abreast of events, and taking to heart Crittenden's advice, he was not timid about counseling them on strategy. A series of deft maneuvers made Willie P. Mangum president pro tem over Tyler's choice of Richard H. Bayard. The defeat wounded the White House because it was another sign of Tyler's declining influence in Congress. in 1842, Kentucky's grand weather produced abundant yields, and Clay was busy with "extensive preparations to Water rot Hemp," a new process for him because he had always before used the process of dew rotting. Meanwhile, his lieutenants in Washington kept him abreast of events, and taking to heart Crittenden's advice, he was not timid about counseling them on strategy. A series of deft maneuvers made Willie P. Mangum president pro tem over Tyler's choice of Richard H. Bayard. The defeat wounded the White House because it was another sign of Tyler's declining influence in Congress.45 Despite that success, Whigs had the same problem in 1842 as in the previous year. Clay's program was just as certain to invite Tyler's veto then as before. Whigs delayed passing legislation as a tactic, throwing bills on Tyler's desk amid the gravest financial distress in the hope that it would make him reluctant to strike them down. Consequently, it was not until late in June that Congress voted to postpone to August 1 the second tariff reduction and distribution. Tyler did not hesitate in the least. He promptly vetoed it on the grounds that distribution was prohibited as long as tariff duties remained above 20 percent.46 From one perspective, Tyler could argue that Congress had linked the 20 percent duty rate with distribution, but Whigs could counter that he was no longer applying the maxim that he would veto bills only on constitutional grounds and was now doing so when he simply disagreed with a measure. His insistence that he knew best was alone enough to fan Whig anger. Crittenden looked for the silver lining. With every veto, he told Clay, "Tyler is one of your best friends. best friends." Clay, however, took little pleasure in the continued thwarting of the party's agenda. Not to stand for anything other than winning elections and holding on to office was repellent. Government under that formula became merely a grubby scramble for power and privilege. Tyler might think he was doing right, but Clay was finding it hard to continue giving him that much credit. "We could get along with a man who was only a fool or knave, or mad," he muttered, "but the extraordinary occurrence of all three of those qualities combined in one person is intolerable."47 After this latest setback, the Whigs decided to use the tariff to bait a trap. Instead of reducing duties below 20 percent, they raised them so steeply that Tyler would not be able to stomach them. For good measure, they again included distribution in defiance of his most recent veto, clearly to provoke another one. Either the Treasury would dry up or the Whigs would have their tariff. Clay was more direct. The party, he declared, had "bearded the old Lion [Jackson] amidst his loudest roars. Surely it will not give way, or suffer itself to be frightened by the pranks of a Monkey."48 As expected, Tyler vetoed this new bill on August 9, and as planned, Whigs embarked on a determined effort to drive him from the party once and for all. Even though they had already expelled him, Tyler continued to call himself a Whig.

The Whigs finally succeeded in forcing John Tyler to make plain his opposition to almost everything they stood for, and his repeated use of the veto gave validity to their accusations of executive usurpation. Yet Whigs also skewered themselves with this strategy. The country was in no mood for squabbling and symbolism while the government faced default and bankruptcy. Congress had to provide a source of revenue, and that obligation ultimately forced Whigs to strip distribution from a tariff bill. Doing so further divided them because many would not support a tariff without distribution. Only by cracking the whip did Whig managers manage to ram the bill through, and Tyler clenched his teeth to sign it. The government simply had to have the money, distasteful as this was to almost everyone as a means to get it.

By almost every measure the extra and second sessions of the Twenty-seventh Congress were disastrous for the Whig Party. Flush with victory in 1840, two years later all they had to show for it was a petulant president, a retired statesman, a slightly higher tariff obtained only by sacrificing distribution, and an unsatisfactory land policy achieved only by their swallowing preemption. Their legislative program aside, the real catastrophes for the party lay in elections. Just as in 1841, the fall elections of 1842 held grim portents, only this time they included congressional off-year contests that turned out enough Whigs in the House to install a Democrat majority.

The likely prospect of Tyler moving toward the Democrats or stealing away wavering Whigs with a third party movement completed the wretched picture. Only Clay's growing popularity gave them hope. Perfect strangers not only felt a connection, they did not refrain from telling him so. A man from Clayton, New York, spoke for many: "I have never had the honor of a personal acquaintance with you, but Still I love you," he told Clay that spring. "Strange as it may seem:-I have communed with your mind, and the name Henry Clay is endeared by 10,000 recollections." In the bright light of such adulation, his candidacy seemed irresistible, his victory in 1844 inevitable. Georgia Whigs nominated him, and New York Whigs would not hear of any other candidate. "Clay is going ahead like a locomotive, locomotive," Crittenden marveled. Tyler could not challenge him, nor, it seemed, could any real Whig. Winfield Scott's fortunes in Pennsylvania were illustrative. A brief Keystone boomlet for him that summer quickly fizzled. Scott knew the truth of it. "He is a good Whig & a good fellow," Crittenden nodded, certain that Scott would support Clay when the time came. They all would.49 BY THE 1840S, no campaign was complete without heartwarming stories highlighting a candidate's rapport with ordinary people. One making the rounds about Clay had him stopping at an exclusive hotel in Virginia. The clerk did not recognize Clay and after surveying his dusty clothes concluded he was a farmer who had fetched up far above his place and far beyond his pocketbook. There were no private rooms, the clerk sniffed, but he could allow Clay to bunk in with several other lodgers of his sort. Clay said that would be fine and trudged up four flights of stairs to a room full of snoring tradesmen. The next morning as they all dressed for breakfast he quickly made these fellows his friends with his easygoing manner and wealth of funny stories. Downstairs, they asked who the "funny old cock" was, but the staff did not know. Their roommate soon appeared in the dining room, and a well-dressed, courtly gentleman quickly rose from his chair to greet "Senator Clay." The tradesmen swallowed hard, and the clerk was in a cold sweat as he quietly ordered the best room in the place prepared, the one reserved for the president of the United States. He then timidly approached Clay to offer a stumbling apology and inform him his room was ready. "Never mind, sir," Clay said, "your no campaign was complete without heartwarming stories highlighting a candidate's rapport with ordinary people. One making the rounds about Clay had him stopping at an exclusive hotel in Virginia. The clerk did not recognize Clay and after surveying his dusty clothes concluded he was a farmer who had fetched up far above his place and far beyond his pocketbook. There were no private rooms, the clerk sniffed, but he could allow Clay to bunk in with several other lodgers of his sort. Clay said that would be fine and trudged up four flights of stairs to a room full of snoring tradesmen. The next morning as they all dressed for breakfast he quickly made these fellows his friends with his easygoing manner and wealth of funny stories. Downstairs, they asked who the "funny old cock" was, but the staff did not know. Their roommate soon appeared in the dining room, and a well-dressed, courtly gentleman quickly rose from his chair to greet "Senator Clay." The tradesmen swallowed hard, and the clerk was in a cold sweat as he quietly ordered the best room in the place prepared, the one reserved for the president of the United States. He then timidly approached Clay to offer a stumbling apology and inform him his room was ready. "Never mind, sir," Clay said, "your rooms are all occupied, rooms are all occupied, [and] I am perfectly satisfied with my present accommodations." [and] I am perfectly satisfied with my present accommodations."50 Another story told of a blacksmith approaching Clay in Blue Lick Springs, Kentucky, and wanting to shake his hand. Clay heartily took the "honest hand" that forged iron with one that forged laws while chuckling that they both "had to strike while the iron was hot." The blacksmith said admiringly, "My blows only make the anvil tremble, whilst yours shake empires." The Louisville Journal Journal nodded approvingly, "This was well said." nodded approvingly, "This was well said."51 Clay actually never pandered to the poor, however, even in election seasons. When Ohio Democrat William Allen tried to abolish the tariff on salt by arguing that it would benefit the poor, Clay called the effort highly offensive because "any attempt to select certain classes for taxation was absurd." When Thomas Hart Benton also tried to use the poor as a political stalking horse by claiming that blankets should be on the free list because poor people used them, Clay branded the reasoning as twaddle. Such a move, he said, would not warm a single pauper but would instead create a British monopoly on blanket manufacturing.52 Nevertheless, these principled stands could not escape the new political realities imposed by an expanding franchise. Ideally a candidate would be able to claim that he had been born into poverty and had grown up in humble surroundings, the humbler the better, a log cabin the most current fashion thanks to the Whig strategy in 1840 that made Harrison into a cider-swilling, raccoon-skin-capped man of the people. The coonskin symbolism endured, turning Whigs into "Coons" even after the election, and they accordingly became nickname-happy, tagging everyone they could with folksy monikers. In addition to being the Old Chieftain, Harry of the West, and Prince Hal, Clay was now dubbed "the Old Coon," derisively by Democrats for being a schemer, admiringly by Whigs for being an agile, clever champion. Cartoonists began attaching Clay's face to raccoon bodies to show him treed by the opposition or outsmarting it, depending on the press.53 Whig strategists set about rewriting Clay's early years to create a new set of symbols tailored especially for him. "The Mill Boy of the Slashes Mill Boy of the Slashes is to be honored in every Whig procession by a string of the honest yeomen of the country," predicted the Alexandria is to be honored in every Whig procession by a string of the honest yeomen of the country," predicted the Alexandria Gazette. Gazette. They would be "mounted on tackeys [ponies] with switch tails, with a meal bag over the shoulder, just as They would be "mounted on tackeys [ponies] with switch tails, with a meal bag over the shoulder, just as Harry Harry used to ride (when he was a poor fatherless boy) through the slashes of Hanover to carry home to his mother bread for her dinner." used to ride (when he was a poor fatherless boy) through the slashes of Hanover to carry home to his mother bread for her dinner."54 The writer probably got away with ignoring the presence of Hal Watkins and the relative prosperity of Clay's Spring, but perceptive readers might have scratched their heads over young Clay not just fetching flour but kneading it into dough and baking it to boot, all while riding home on horseback. The writer probably got away with ignoring the presence of Hal Watkins and the relative prosperity of Clay's Spring, but perceptive readers might have scratched their heads over young Clay not just fetching flour but kneading it into dough and baking it to boot, all while riding home on horseback.

Clay had dabbled in this political art before, working to depict his youth as poor and put upon, but after he retired from the Senate and began his undistracted quest for the presidency, it was time for the professionals to take up the task. Enjoined by one correspondent to trust exclusively in God to deliver the country, Clay said he thought prayer was certainly a creditable idea but not to exempt human exertion: God helped those who helped themselves.55 Accordingly, the newspaper editor and successful dramatist Epes Sargent was recruited to write Clay's campaign biography, and Philadelphia publisher Grigg & Elliott put out an almanac featuring another brief biography of Clay written by Nathan Sargent (no relation to Epes), with laudatory songs, anecdotes, and poems integrated into the calendar pages. Nathan Sargent was careful to include more on Clay's tribulations as an orphan than had ever before appeared. The print run was significant: fifty thousand copies to sell for $15 or $20 per thousand, whatever the traffic would bear. These pamphlets became so ubiquitous that it was said a vendor approached Daniel Webster as he was leaving the Astor House in New York City to ask, "Take the life of Henry Clay?" Webster was supposed to have replied, "I cannot take the life of so eminent a citizen." Accordingly, the newspaper editor and successful dramatist Epes Sargent was recruited to write Clay's campaign biography, and Philadelphia publisher Grigg & Elliott put out an almanac featuring another brief biography of Clay written by Nathan Sargent (no relation to Epes), with laudatory songs, anecdotes, and poems integrated into the calendar pages. Nathan Sargent was careful to include more on Clay's tribulations as an orphan than had ever before appeared. The print run was significant: fifty thousand copies to sell for $15 or $20 per thousand, whatever the traffic would bear. These pamphlets became so ubiquitous that it was said a vendor approached Daniel Webster as he was leaving the Astor House in New York City to ask, "Take the life of Henry Clay?" Webster was supposed to have replied, "I cannot take the life of so eminent a citizen."56 Epes Sargent took his task seriously and tried to obtain personal information for authenticity. "I never kept a diary," Clay confessed. "I never thought the events of my life worthy of such a record." He did send Sargent some memoranda drawn entirely from memory. If they were useful, said Clay, "I can send you more of such trash."57 The Whig editor Calvin Colton, a former clergyman turned journalist, had more luck as he worked on his campaign biography of Clay, and from this kernel came the first full account of his life (published in 1846), a two-volume work informed by personal papers and family letters, some of which Colton never returned, much to the Clay family's eventual dismay. In any case, putting together these tracts made Clay vaguely uncomfortable. He was not being falsely modest when he wished that Epes Sargent "had a better subject for his pen." At the same time, Clay thought that Colton was producing something too striking and interesting. After reviewing an early draft, he noted "a few inaccuracies, and too much commendation and panegyric." A credulous public would indelibly etch the inaccuracies into the historical record. The Whig editor Calvin Colton, a former clergyman turned journalist, had more luck as he worked on his campaign biography of Clay, and from this kernel came the first full account of his life (published in 1846), a two-volume work informed by personal papers and family letters, some of which Colton never returned, much to the Clay family's eventual dismay. In any case, putting together these tracts made Clay vaguely uncomfortable. He was not being falsely modest when he wished that Epes Sargent "had a better subject for his pen." At the same time, Clay thought that Colton was producing something too striking and interesting. After reviewing an early draft, he noted "a few inaccuracies, and too much commendation and panegyric." A credulous public would indelibly etch the inaccuracies into the historical record.58 Harrison had broken the tradition of a candidate's passivity during the 1840 campaign to overcome Democrats' disparagement of him as "General Mum," and Clay soon thought himself impelled by necessity and circumstance to embark on campaign trips far more numerous and extensive than anyone had undertaken before. "Henry Clay is very busy in the west," the New York Herald Herald observed in the fall of 1842. Indeed he was. The immediate draw was the Ohio Whig convention gathering in Dayton on September 29. With an entourage that included Crittenden, Thomas Metcalfe, and Charles Morehead, Clay headed north for this event through Maysville and Louisville, crossing the Ohio at Cincinnati where twenty thousand people awaited his arrival. Along the way, he delivered seemingly impromptu addresses, but he actually had carefully constructed them to detail the Whig program in precise and unwavering language. He repeated virtually the same address to the thronging masses that descended on Dayton for the Whig convention. Their numbers staggered even those who had seen the enthusiasm of Harrison's 1840 campaign, with some estimates counting two hundred thousand. Whether the fervor was for Henry Clay or for the ideas he espoused did not matter at this point. If these popular outpourings meant anything, Democrats had reason to be worried. observed in the fall of 1842. Indeed he was. The immediate draw was the Ohio Whig convention gathering in Dayton on September 29. With an entourage that included Crittenden, Thomas Metcalfe, and Charles Morehead, Clay headed north for this event through Maysville and Louisville, crossing the Ohio at Cincinnati where twenty thousand people awaited his arrival. Along the way, he delivered seemingly impromptu addresses, but he actually had carefully constructed them to detail the Whig program in precise and unwavering language. He repeated virtually the same address to the thronging masses that descended on Dayton for the Whig convention. Their numbers staggered even those who had seen the enthusiasm of Harrison's 1840 campaign, with some estimates counting two hundred thousand. Whether the fervor was for Henry Clay or for the ideas he espoused did not matter at this point. If these popular outpourings meant anything, Democrats had reason to be worried.59 When Clay left Dayton for a series of appearances in Indiana, however, an incident marred the trip, although at the time many scored it a triumph. It occurred in Richmond on October 1 and pointed to the growing and disruptive role the slavery controversy was to play in elections. Indiana's antislavery movement was relatively new but vital and animated. A reformist faction of the Quaker community was at its core, and it was finding voice by attracting recruits and organizing into activist groups such as the Liberty Party and the Indiana Anti-Slavery Society. In anticipation of Clay's visit, the latter organization circulated a petition entreating him to free his slaves. The plan was to force it on him in Richmond. The petition reportedly had about two thousand signatures.

The gesture had the look of a stunt designed to embarrass Richmond's guest, and local Whigs were quite agitated by the time Clay arrived, but events suggest that his hosts had developed a plan to turn the abolitionists' ploy against them. That Saturday afternoon, about ten thousand Hoosiers stood in the bright Indiana sun to hear Clay deliver his stock address lauding the Whig program and denouncing Democrat corruption. After he finished and the cheers at last died away, Whig congressman James Rariden did not ignore the abolitionists as they signaled for his attention. Instead, he invited them to approach the dais to present their petition, a peculiar indulgence that at least some of them suspected was a baited trap. Nevertheless, Hiram Mendenhall, a strapping fellow, shouldered his way through the unfriendly crowd, ignoring its muttered growls, and held out the sheaf of papers to Clay, who refused to touch them. Rariden took the petition and read it aloud as the crowd's mood turned increasingly ugly.

Clay raised his hands to call for calm and implored everyone to show Mendenhall "no disrespect, no indignity, no violence, in word or deed." Clay had good reason to be sincerely earnest about this. Just seven years before in Alton, Illinois, a confrontation between a raging mob and the abolitionist editor Elijah Lovejoy had ended with his murder. Clay could not have been blind to the risk Mendenhall was taking nor to the considerable harm an incident like the one in Alton could mean for the Whigs' cause. He therefore walked a very fine line as he proceeded to dissect the unfortunate Quaker who soon found himself shamed, not for being an abolitionist but for being rude.

Clay asked why Mendenhall would present this petition in this way. It was clearly nothing more than a symbolic gesture to embarrass him, and consequently it had made all of Indiana appear churlish. Suppose, Clay asked, that Mendenhall were to visit Kentucky only to be greeted by Clay with a petition demanding that he give up his farm? Clay then turned to his audience and explained slavery's relation to states' rights. He made particular reference to the health of his slaves (the obligatory mention of Charles Dupuy occurred here, the sort of thing that irked Buchanan in the Senate) and described the cruelty of liberating the helpless and infirm, which was only one of abolition's dangers, the most dire being the possibility of race war. He ended by turning back to Mendenhall, who had stood self-consciously frozen during Clay's remarks. Hiram Mendenhall should mind his own business, Clay declared, and if he were charitably inclined, he should attend to the needs of widows and orphans.60 Judging from the reaction of the crowd at the moment and the newspapers in the weeks to come, it was a successful performance, if hardly a laudable one. Aside from the staged spontaneity-shabby political theater that was beneath Clay-at Richmond he laid bare his discomfiting accommodation of slavery's fundamental immorality, despite his singing the praises of Quaker tenderness. Clay said that slavery was wicked, just as he always did, but he also rationalized it under a blizzard of words that recounted the historical record but actually revealed the limits of his conscience when confronted by the realities of property. Standing off the dais, waiting obediently and silently, Charles Dupuy heard Clay say these words. A visitor to Ashland just weeks later referred to him as "Black 'Charles' of Mendenhall Memory" who was "a happy fellow & is a Chesterfieldian in all the rules of etiquette of highlife."61 One can only wonder if Charles Dupuy was happy and full of Chesterfieldian equanimity that sunny day in Richmond, Indiana, when he heard Henry Clay compare his worth as a human being to that of a farm. One can only wonder if Charles Dupuy was happy and full of Chesterfieldian equanimity that sunny day in Richmond, Indiana, when he heard Henry Clay compare his worth as a human being to that of a farm.

CLAY COMPLETED HIS western tour by delivering another major address to a teeming audience in Indianapolis, and he had no reason to think that anything untoward awaited him when he arrived at Columbus, Indiana, several days later. Appearing on the steps of the courthouse, he listened in stunned disbelief as former Whig congressman William Herod introduced him. Herod had served under Andrew Jackson and the lingering attachment to Old Hickory got the better of him, prompting him to begin his introduction by shouting "Hurra for Jackson!" Clay was livid, and immediately shouted, "Hurra for Jackson, you say. Where is your country? I say hurra for my country, and the man that says hurra for Jackson, deserves not the name of a freeman, but he ought to be a subject of the autocrat of Russia, and have the yoke of tyranny placed upon his neck till he was bowed down; down to the very dust." western tour by delivering another major address to a teeming audience in Indianapolis, and he had no reason to think that anything untoward awaited him when he arrived at Columbus, Indiana, several days later. Appearing on the steps of the courthouse, he listened in stunned disbelief as former Whig congressman William Herod introduced him. Herod had served under Andrew Jackson and the lingering attachment to Old Hickory got the better of him, prompting him to begin his introduction by shouting "Hurra for Jackson!" Clay was livid, and immediately shouted, "Hurra for Jackson, you say. Where is your country? I say hurra for my country, and the man that says hurra for Jackson, deserves not the name of a freeman, but he ought to be a subject of the autocrat of Russia, and have the yoke of tyranny placed upon his neck till he was bowed down; down to the very dust."62 It was obviously time for Clay to go home. It was obviously time for Clay to go home.

His outburst was not at all characteristic during these months, because he did his best to keep the peace in the party and mollify all who could lodge any objections against him for past positions and future policies. He patiently explained to one correspondent that he opposed direct taxes except in time of war, favoring instead a tariff sufficient to raise revenue and protect American industry. He opposed free trade because all other countries imposed restrictions on American commerce. Mindful of the ire of Antimasons that had cost him so dearly in 1839, he explained to another query that he had become a Mason many years before because of "youthful curiosity and a social disposition." He recalled the Masonic goals as "charitable and benevolent," their work resembling that of a social club. In any case, he saw no reason to support or oppose anyone because he was a Mason but instead looked upon the Constitution and the law as a proper guide for judging a man's worth to the country.63 Keeping peace in the party was no small task. Ambitious challengers such as Winfield Scott, John McLean, and Daniel Webster disregarded the signs that pointed to Clay's inevitability and began agitating for a national convention where they hoped to repeat 1839 and broker him out of the nomination. Clay buried any residual bitterness he felt over what had happened at Harrisburg and counseled others to do the same. Sometimes, he said, it was necessary to throw "a veil on the past for the sake of the future." At the same time, however, he insisted that he would not accept the nomination from a convention unless he was sure that it reflected the people's will, which was a way for him to oppose a convention without seeming to. When the congressional Whig caucus nevertheless announced in early 1843 that the party would hold a national nominating convention the following year, Clay acceded because he had little choice.64 He also realized that a convention could relieve him of the touchy task of selecting a vice-presidential nominee, a decision certain to alienate this or that Whig faction. As it became clearer that Clay would be the nominee, numerous aspirants for the second slot on the ticket began popping up. Clay was prudent in refraining from publicly endorsing anyone in particular, but in private he obliquely inclined toward Millard Fillmore. Others agreed that the New Yorker could best mollify abolitionists and Antimasons and, if Clay died, would not be obnoxious like 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."65 It was the closest he came to supporting anyone. It was the closest he came to supporting anyone.

On the other hand, Clay actively quashed the suggestion that he consider Daniel Webster. On September 30, 1842, Webster delivered an extraordinary speech at Boston's Faneuil Hall, and though the bulk of it addressed his negotiations with Britain over the Maine boundary, he mounted an ill-judged defense of John Tyler and, in a badly disguised attempt to challenge Clay's mounting ascendancy in the party, made some roundabout attacks on the Kentuckian. He laid the blame for Whig failures in Congress and at the polls at the feet of those ultras who refused to work with the president (meaning Clay), and he denounced the battles over the Bank and the tariff as unnecessary (meaning they were contrivances of Clay). He criticized the recent Massachusetts Whig convention for having read Tyler out of the party, but it was obvious that his real aim was to condemn its endorsement of Clay.66 "Was ever man so fallen as Mr. Webster?" Clay bitterly asked. He never completely trusted "Black Dan" for remaining in the cabinet, and now he was "shocked and afflicted" by his behavior. Webster had dramatically asked in his speech, "Where am I to go?" Clay indignantly commented, "I confess, with pain & regret, that I have not since seen where he has gone."67 The following year, when it was clear Clay would be the nominee, intermediaries urged him and Webster to reconcile, hoping that Webster could land on Clay's ticket. Clay was adamant in his opposition and fired off a series of letters to his friends and Webster's advocates explaining why. He pointed out that he had done nothing to alienate Webster. He had defended him during his confirmation as secretary of state. On the contrary, Webster had done the alienating by allying with Tyler. Clay angrily noted how Webster's latest project seemed to be promoting John McLean for the nomination, and that he had even heard that Webster had considered supporting Calhoun! To suggest reconciliation with a view to Webster's becoming Clay's vice president was absurd. Clay did not think there was "the remotest probability" that a national convention would consent to placing Webster on the ticket. In any case, Clay flatly stated he would make no bargain for the presidency-words carefully chosen to resonate. These letters finally satisfied even Webster's supporters that Clay was serious, and they dropped the bid for the vice presidency.68 Clay spent the winter social season of 184243 in New Orleans where as many as fifty thousand people awaited his arrival on December 23, and the city held extensive programs to entertain and honor him. The purpose of the visit was more business than politics, however, for Clay was now laboring fully under the shadow of Thomas's business failure, an unmitigated financial disaster that made the trip rather "cheerless and uncomfortable" despite the nonstop gaiety. He was to argue a case before the Louisiana Supreme Court in late January, but with Ashland mortgaged, he feverishly tried to collect debts and to sell the hemp stacked in warehouses, enjoying little success in either endeavor. Then, as if to cap the clouded nature of his visit, on January 3, as Clay appeared at the Louisiana Supreme Court, a deranged man fired a pistol at the ceiling of the courtroom. "You may hear that it was fired at me," Clay told Lucretia. "It is possible that my presence may have occasioned it; but I do not believe that the man had any design against any body."69 If not firearms, the weather seemed pitted against him. Clay left New Orleans on January 30 aboard the Creole Creole bound for Mobile. The following day a terrifying storm over the Gulf of Mexico buffeted the boat with towering waves and gale force winds, and when it did not arrive in Mobile on time, the steamer and all on board were presumed lost. At the end of February, a steam packet arrived in Memphis with the news that Henry Clay was dead. Of course, it was not true, as he quickly reported to Lucretia. It had been "a very boisterous passage," he said, but "we were not in fact in any danger." Not until early March did reports begin to circulate that the bound for Mobile. The following day a terrifying storm over the Gulf of Mexico buffeted the boat with towering waves and gale force winds, and when it did not arrive in Mobile on time, the steamer and all on board were presumed lost. At the end of February, a steam packet arrived in Memphis with the news that Henry Clay was dead. Of course, it was not true, as he quickly reported to Lucretia. It had been "a very boisterous passage," he said, but "we were not in fact in any danger." Not until early March did reports begin to circulate that the Creole Creole was safe and Clay was "yet in the land of the living." By then he was also back at Ashland, "like an old stag which has been long coursed by the hunters and the hounds." was safe and Clay was "yet in the land of the living." By then he was also back at Ashland, "like an old stag which has been long coursed by the hunters and the hounds."

"I am not sure that I shall leave home at all before winter," he said, and for once, he meant it.70 JAMES BROWN CLAY returned permanently to Lexington and at last settled on a career as a lawyer, much to his father's relief. Clay tracked James at his studies and assured him that at twenty-five he was young enough to gain distinction if he were "industrious & diligent." Clay repeated to his capricious son, "Very industrious and diligent." By the time Clay returned from New Orleans, James had opened an office, and Clay set himself up in it with the threefold purpose of helping James get started, taking fees to offset part of his mounting debt, and making himself accessible to political visitors. returned permanently to Lexington and at last settled on a career as a lawyer, much to his father's relief. Clay tracked James at his studies and assured him that at twenty-five he was young enough to gain distinction if he were "industrious & diligent." Clay repeated to his capricious son, "Very industrious and diligent." By the time Clay returned from New Orleans, James had opened an office, and Clay set himself up in it with the threefold purpose of helping James get started, taking fees to offset part of his mounting debt, and making himself accessible to political visitors.71 Most pleasing to him was another sign that the young man was not just settling in but settling down. He met, fell in love with, and married Susan Jacob, daughter of wealthy John J. Jacob of Louisville. While her father did not entirely approve of the match, Susan did not care. Henry and Lucretia could not have been happier, though, and Susan returned their affection with warm devotion. She never lost her awe of the master of Ashland. Her seventeen-year-old brother likely described her feelings best when he wrote to her, "It is said by persons when first treading upon the classic shores of Greece and Rome," that "they feel a turn of mind of a very romantic and poetic nature .... You are standing upon the same soil and breathing the same air in which Homer & Virgil lived. Why should not a similar sensation be experienced by one when arriving at Ashland, it too has a great and illustrious possessor."72 United behind Ashland's illustrious owner, Whigs reached a zenith of confidence in the fall of 1843, though considering their persistently uninspiring showing at the polls, it was hard to see why. From their commanding majority in the House of Representatives during 1841 (133 Whigs to 102 Democrats), they suffered a significant reverse in the 1842 elections to give the Democrats a majority of 142 to 79. Surveying this development, Clay worried that Whig certainty was not so much deluded as it was breeding overconfidence and complacency. State elections over the summer of 1843 were mixed at best and included some unpleasant surprises. Indiana's palpable enthusiasm for Clay during his visit earlier in the year made the result of the state's August 7 election as unexpected as it was shattering. Democrats emerged with majorities in both houses of the state legislature. These trends alarmed Clay, and he renewed his calls for the Whigs to establish a system of general organization with a central committee for the nation, subsidiary ones for each state, and local ones for counties and towns, all of them to mount an active correspondence. His counsel in this regard had become a repetitive refrain, but there was no certainty that Whigs would ever cast off the tendency to trust that their program alone was attractive enough to persuade the people, making extraordinary exertions by the party organization unnecessary.73 It was in the midst of these unfolding events that Clay decided to plan an extended trip for the spring of 1844, this time through the southern states. He had an invitation from a North Carolina committee in Raleigh that reminded him of his 1842 promise to visit the state, and it seemed fitting that he would go to the place that had been the first to endorse his presidential bid. Getting to Raleigh would give him the excuse for a circuitous path through Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina. He could continue from North Carolina into Virginia and finally arrive in Washington. Clay loved to travel. He confessed as if in a reverie that there were two places in the country he wanted to see more than any other, Nantucket Island and the Eastern Shore of Virginia, because in those isolated locales one could observe the perfectly preserved manners and customs of old Europe as they existed from the days of the earliest immigrants. Much of his planned southern tour, he noted with a kind of boyish enthusiasm, would take him "on ground which I never trod before." In addition to the exciting prospect of seeing new places, undertaking the journey in the spring of 1844 seemed an ideal way to show himself to a part of the country indispensable to his victory the following November. He weighed the risks. "Will these Southern trips create any jealousy at the North?" he asked Peter Porter. In the end, wanderlust won out. "You know," he said, "I have never been in those States."74 WHILE WHIGS WERE growing in confidence despite their election setbacks, the Democrats sank into malaise despite their successes. Philosophical and personal divisions were pulling Democrats in various directions, and the added stress of sectional differences threatened to pull their party apart at the seams. Van Buren's candidacy had a measure of fervent support, but it also revived equally passionate complaints about his lackluster showing in 1840, although nobody could agree on the reasons. Some said his economic policies had made him the victim of soft-money conservative Democrats like Tallmadge and Rives, while others insisted that relentlessly repeated Whig lies had simply smeared him into defeat. John C. Calhoun briefly sought to supplant the Little Magician, and Clay relished the prospect of running against a man who would "theorize" the country "to death." Calhoun's individual effort sputtered from the start, though, and in 1844 was replaced with a general sectional demand that the Democrat nominee be proslavery, ideally a southerner. growing in confidence despite their election setbacks, the Democrats sank into malaise despite their successes. Philosophical and personal divisions were pulling Democrats in various directions, and the added stress of sectional differences threatened to pull their party apart at the seams. Van Buren's candidacy had a measure of fervent support, but it also revived equally passionate complaints about his lackluster showing in 1840, although nobody could agree on the reasons. Some said his economic policies had made him the victim of soft-money conservative Democrats like Tallmadge and Rives, while others insisted that relentlessly repeated Whig lies had simply smeared him into defeat. John C. Calhoun briefly sought to supplant the Little Magician, and Clay relished the prospect of running against a man who would "theorize" the country "to death." Calhoun's individual effort sputtered from the start, though, and in 1844 was replaced with a general sectional demand that the Democrat nominee be proslavery, ideally a southerner.75 John Tyler might have been just the man to satisfy the Calhoun wing. He certainly wanted to be, and his aggressive use of patronage ultimately revealed a bold and radical plan to rearrange the political landscape by forming an entirely new party out of Democrats disgruntled with Van Buren and Whigs alienated by Clay. If Tyler's third party gambit were dynamic enough, it might even subsume the Democrat Party and give him its nomination. In any case, Tylerites planned to hold a convention at the same time the Democrats did in May 1844. The prospect that everything could blow up because of these two conflicting, simultaneous meetings was quite real. Van Buren's people were more than troubled by the possibility.76 These developments naturally delighted Whigs. They were certain that Captain Tyler's audacious plan would founder, but not before doing Van Buren considerable harm. They looked forward to putting Clay's vision as well as Clay's person against Sweet Sandy Whiskers and his failed economic policies. They were certain that the contrast would again awaken voters to the sensible course just as it had in 1840. Only this time, death and betrayal would not force the Whigs to stray from the sensible course. They would beat Van Buren again, and they cheerfully dusted off the complaints and revved up the attacks from four years earlier.

As the serious campaign season began, Whigs committed themselves to strategic emphasis on their best issues, the tariff foremost among them. The party tended to divide along sectional lines on the wisdom of a new bank, but it showed remarkable unity in insisting that the Tariff of 1842 had been successful in resuscitating the country's melancholy financial state. True enough, the duties that Tyler had grudgingly accepted in 1842 had made the Treasury flush while retiring the deficit. That happy condition had encouraged agricultural and manufacturing markets to perk up. As 1844 dawned, the Whig press and Whig candidates hailed the protective tariff as the country's savior, and with the economy on the verge of achieving a satisfying hum, everyone, Democrats included, expected Whigs to show up at the polls in force in November.77 If the Whigs had been able to hold on to that issue and otherwise limit the election to economic concerns, they likely would have won. They were alert to the dangers posed by the country's growing nativist movement, a reaction to surging immigration, especially an influx of Irish Catholics in northern cities. Wages already depressed by hard times fell further as immigrants were willing to work for almost nothing. In addition, the belief that Catholicism was an alien culture controlled by Rome and subversive to American values was beginning to find expression in political organizations such as the American Republican Party in New York, the forerunner of the Native American Party that appeared shortly after the election of 1844.

These antiforeign elements troubled Clay even more than the Antimasons. Their attempt to gain credibility and influence by allying with Whigs was most disturbing. The electoral implications were significant because Irish Catholics gravitated toward a welcoming Democrat Party that organized them into voting blocs rather than trying to reform them with temperance lectures. In the three weeks before the election of 1844, as many as five thousand immigrants in New York City alone were naturalized so they could vote. Whigs, with their reform policies and reliance on a strong Protestant base, found it all but impossible to attract these new arrivals, and complaints that many immigrants were hastily naturalized or were allowed to vote even when not citizens further cemented their bond with Democrats. Clay consequently approached the issues of immigration and naturalization gingerly. Neither he nor the Whig Party opposed immigration and naturalization, he insisted, especially that of Irish Catholics. He pointed to his long record of supporting Spanish American independence and voting for land grants to French and Polish immigrants. Yet he also insisted that the government should enforce naturalization. Otherwise voter fraud would make elections meaningless and destroy the people's faith in democracy. There was a reason, after all, that felons who were citizens were not allowed to vote. Like felons, residents who were not citizens were more likely to sell their votes to the highest bidder, polluting the franchise and soiling the very concept of civic virtue. "I am in favor of American industry, American institutions, American order, American liberty," Clay proclaimed, but he added, "I wish our Country, forever, to remain a sacred asylum for all unfortunate and oppressed men whether from religious or political causes."78 Most damaging for Whigs was the Texas question that came to the forefront in late 1843 and 1844, because it would prove Clay's undoing. Texas quickly displaced the economy as the primary concern of the voters, in part because the improving economy made it a less compelling point of dispute, but primarily because it intermingled that generation's two greatest points of political contention: territorial expansion and slavery.79 Ever since gaining its independence in 1836, Texas had been wobbly, stalked by debt and threatened by hazards. Mexico regarded the Lone Star Republic as a rebellious province that one day would be repatriated, through conquest if necessary. The Mexican government made menacing gestures at the mere suggestion that the United States might become involved in this dispute, but the prospect of Texas reviving arguments over slavery expansion stayed Washington's hand more than did the threat of Mexican hostilities. Jackson and Van Buren had accordingly rebuffed Texan overtures to join the Union.

Meanwhile, Texas had to maintain an expensive army in the expectation that a much larger Mexico would strike again. Peril rather than choice prompted Texas to open negotiations with England and France with the aim of possibly becoming a protectorate. The best Texas could manage by 1840, however, was commercial treaties with France, Holland, and Belgium.

That did not mean Britain was indifferent about Texas. On the contrary, the British government was more than eager to see Texas remain independent in order to block American expansion into the Southwest. Ideally, Texas would become a marionette with London pulling the strings, possibly even contriving a disagreement that would give the Royal Navy and Redcoats a chance to dismantle Monroe's impudent doctrine. British merchants also saw in Texas a large market that would allow them to bypass the American tariff and promote free trade. British textile manufacturers eyed Texas cotton that would lessen their dependence on exports from the American South. The French were no less calculating, hopeful that Texas could be the key to their colonial resurgence in the western hemisphere.

For the United States, these were troubling aspects of the Texas problem, to be sure, but it was the noise being made by British abolitionists that most alarmed southerners. The British antislavery movement was industriously trying to establish a grip on Texas in the hope that abolition there might ignite abolition in America's Cotton Kingdom. The prospect terrified slave-owning southerners.

Clay was slow to realize the explosive potential of this issue, but he was aware of the sectional passions it was sure to arouse. As early as the spring of 1843, he refused to issue a public statement opposing Texas annexation. The pronouncement would have improved his image in New England, but it was also certain to injure him in the South. It was an intensely sectional issue, with almost all support for annexation coming from the South and almost all in opposition coming from the North. Clay danced around this conundrum by saying he did not think a significant number of citizens favored annexation, and he claimed that he had heard no mention of it during his recent visit to New Orleans. Even if that were true, which was doubtful, and even if he believed it, which was also doubtful, he unwisely disregarded a looming storm on slim fragments of personal experience and anecdotal evidence. In contrast, he was much more forthcoming when queried about American expansion into Oregon. The move risked a confrontation with the British, who were on the ground there, and promised to rile southerners, who bristled at the prospect of so much nonslave territory coming into the Union. Clay, however, carefully worded his reason for opposing Oregon. In addition to the region's being too remote and thus too expensive to protect, he said, time and demographics were on America's side. Oregon was, after all, even more remote and costly for the British. In both instances, though for different reasons, Clay counseled prudence and delay.80 In the months that followed, because of John Tyler, it became more difficult to dismiss the issue. Unlike his predecessors, Tyler was more than ready to risk a sectional firestorm over Texas annexation. For him, Texas became a cudgel to use against his enemies and a cause with which to attract southern friends. The president's plans became more apparent after Webster resigned in May 1843. Tyler's fellow Virginian Abel Upshur became secretary of state. Upshur shared Tyler's enthusiasm for annexation and was equally heedless of its consequences. The two worked behind the scenes to persuade Texas to sign a treaty, a task made more difficult because Washington's previous snubs made the Lone Star government wary. Meanwhile, Tyler sent Duff Green to London as a special envoy, and Green reported to the administration that the British planned to fund compensated emancipation in Texas, a story later proved false. At the time, though, it sent Tyler into a mild panic.

In December, Clay's friends warned him that Tyler's exertions were making Texas annexation a controversial issue in the North, but he remained outwardly unconcerned. Tyler could plan all he wanted, and the world, including the North, could judge his motives accordingly. The president was only revealing his impotence, Clay said, for annexation could occur only through a treaty, and the administration could not muster the two-thirds of the Senate necessary to ratify it. In fact, Clay was certain that "such a recommendation would be the last desperate move of a despicable traitor."81 Nevertheless, Texas began to cause Clay twinges of worry. He recalled a letter he had written confidentially to William Ellery Channing years earlier, a letter in which he had adamantly opposed annexation. Channing was dead now, but Clay asked friends, if possible, to obtain the letter from Channing's heirs. He remained cagey about his reasons. "I do not wish to make or encourage new issues, as I regard this to be," he explained, "but, and in the progress of events, it may become necessary for me to make some public expression of my opinions on this project, in which case I should prefer availing myself of that letter."82 Yet it was hardly a new issue by the end of 1843, and he was well aware of that, as a letter he wrote the following day to Crittenden shows. He had been giving Texas a great deal of thought, and he was framing up a response to the annexation controversy to test on his friends. Clay believed that the United States should concentrate on developing what it already owned, especially when any new territory would cause unhealthy arguments. Any annexation treaty, he said, could not be ratified, and the southern hope that Texas would make the slave states dominant in national politics was misguided. The North would simply offset the South's gain, possibly by annexing Canada. (He was wrong only about the place, which actually would be Oregon.) In addition, annexation would dishonor the United States in the eyes of the civilized world by revealing that the country intended to spread slavery rather than pursue a sensible plan to end it.

Tyler's annual message provided indirect notice of the administration's intent to enter into negotiations with Texas for annexation. Although Clay was convinced that Tyler's aggressive stance on annexation was designed to create discord among Whigs and distract the nation from his failures, he still maintained for the time being that silence was best. Yet he also intended to be ready with an answer should the time come for the question. By the end of February, Upshur almost had a treaty. Clay was just beginning his southern tour. For months, he had insisted that the question of what to do about Texas was irrelevant. Thanks to John Tyler, that question was suddenly to be on the entire country's lips.83 CLAY ARRIVED IN New Orleans on December 23 with plans to remain in the area for two months before embarking on his southern tour. He was again feted at numerous events in the city. The simple fact of the trip and all the activity surrounding it filled Democrats with suspicion and resentment, and their public prints commenced a sniping attack on almost every aspect of Clay's doings that continued unabated through the spring and summer. Amos Kendall revived stories about Clay's excessive gambling and drinking, and others took up the refrain. Most of these attacks he wisely ignored, but when Democrats began a vigorous effort to breathe new life into the Corrupt Bargain story, he could not remain silent. Andrew Jackson wrote to the editors of the Nashville New Orleans on December 23 with plans to remain in the area for two months before embarking on his southern tour. He was again feted at numerous events in the city. The simple fact of the trip and all the activity surrounding it filled Democrats with suspicion and resentment, and their public prints commenced a sniping attack on almost every aspect of Clay's doings that continued unabated through the spring and summer. Amos Kendall revived stories about Clay's excessive gambling and drinking, and others took up the refrain. Most of these attacks he wisely ignored, but when Democrats began a vigorous effort to breathe new life into the Corrupt Bargain story, he could not remain silent. Andrew Jackson wrote to the editors of the Nashville Union Union on May 3, 1844, to declare that he still firmly believed Adams and Clay had befouled the presidency with their arrangement in 1825. Blair reprinted the letter in the Washington on May 3, 1844, to declare that he still firmly believed Adams and Clay had befouled the presidency with their arrangement in 1825. Blair reprinted the letter in the Washington Globe Globe of May 18. Clay said he could hardly believe this ancient history was again in currency, and he responded as he always did, by amassing testimony to refute the charge, a strategy that his enemies smiled at and his friends, rightly judging it ineffective, had come to find tedious. of May 18. Clay said he could hardly believe this ancient history was again in currency, and he responded as he always did, by amassing testimony to refute the charge, a strategy that his enemies smiled at and his friends, rightly judging it ineffective, had come to find tedious.84 Nothing Clay did was exempt from scrutiny or criticism. In New Orleans, when he participated in the Eighth of January parade commemorating the Battle of New Orleans, Democrats branded him a hypocrite for denigrating Jackson's achievement while trying to claim for himself its luster. He electioneered in several Louisiana parishes where beautiful weather, parties, and balls marked his progress. Someone Clay had met almost twenty years earlier called on him that February in New Orleans and thought him much changed: "He seems to have shrunk in size, and his manners, though most kind, urbane, and cheerful, have no longer the vivacity and great animal spirits that then accompanied them." Age was clearly reshaping Clay physically, but his acquaintance likely misjudged the cause of Clay's subdued manner. He was suffering from another of his chronic colds.85 Clay left New Orleans for Mobile on February 24. The Alabama port greeted him warmly, and he visited friends Henry and Octavia LeVert for about a week. John joined him as he traveled north through the Alabama Black Belt to Montgomery and then east to Columbus, Georgia, all new sights for him. Large and appreciative crowds turned out along the way, and many cheered his stock campaign address touting Whig programs and blaming Democrats for the country's predicaments, although just as many fell silent when he talked of a protective tariff. By the time he reached Milledgeville on March 19, he had adjusted the message. He delivered his speech from a large platform built especially for the occasion. Seats for dignitaries were arranged on it, and Clay's place had him facing directly into the sun, a situation an organizer tried to correct by suggesting that he move to the south side of the platform. Clay quipped that he "wished to be on all sides," and there was a burst of laughter. Possibly nobody remembered the remark when he later claimed in his speech that what he really favored was a revenue tariff that would provide merely incidental protection to manufacturers as it supplied the government with sufficient money to allow the distribution of land revenues to the states. That seemed to sit better, and he was able afterward to say truthfully that the tariff, as he now framed it, excited no great animosity in the South. He did not say that judging from the deplorable state of Georgia's roads, the state could use all the distribution it could get.86 A deft old master at the give-and-take of such appearances, Clay was having fun. He was leaving Milledgeville when a spring thunderstorm opened up the skies and a farmer ran after his coach in the pouring rain. The farmer implored Clay to come up the hill to his house. His wife wanted to meet Clay but was too ill to come out. Clay paused and then said that he was too old to risk traipsing about in a soaking rain. The farmer was offering Clay his coat when a boy appeared running down the hill and shouting, "Daddy, daddy, Mammy says you must get Mr. Clay to name the b-a-b-y! if he won't come!"

That he could do, said Clay, asking whether it was a girl or a boy. A girl, said the farmer. "Then tell your good lady to call it Lucretia, Lucretia, after my wife." The farmer beamed. Clay asked the name of the farmer's wife. "Louisa." Clay beamed. He promised that he would return the honor by naming his next daughter after her. The farmer stared before cackling and repeatedly slapping his knee as Clay's carriage pulled away. after my wife." The farmer beamed. Clay asked the name of the farmer's wife. "Louisa." Clay beamed. He promised that he would return the honor by naming his next daughter after her. The farmer stared before cackling and repeatedly slapping his knee as Clay's carriage pulled away.87 Much of the trip was like that, a mixture of serious politics and silly fun, a combination Clay liked best. His reputation for jokes as well as his considerable celebrity preceded him, and people turned out to see a famous, likable personage as much as to hear a political speech. In Augusta, a newspaper correspondent studied him closely as he mingled among the crowd gathered at the Masonic Hall. "There's something about him that draws one to him, and makes one feel perfectly familiar," said the reporter. Clay began his speech, and the reporter noted how he was "monstrous ugly if you go to siferin' out his features like yould common people's." Then as the voice filled the hall, Henry Clay became "the best looking man I ever saw. His mouth is like an overseer's wages, extending from one year's end to tother, but when he speaks, you wouldn't have it any smaller if you could."88 Traveling by way of Savannah, Columbia, and Charleston, Clay finally reached Raleigh on April 12, his birthday. He sustained the pretense that this was not a political trip but a sightseeing tour, though he had made enough speeches to become hoarse. His friend Benjamin Watkins Leigh traveled down from Virginia to see Clay's reception and found him "in fine spirits, and in the best humour." Clay made "an excellent speech," Leigh told Mangum, all the better because the old master had learned not to attack Tyler too energetically in the Deep South and continued the tack as he headed north. "The very slightness of the allusion marked his contempt more strongly than the most laboured invective could have done."89 On the very day that Clay arrived in Raleigh, John Tyler's administration concluded a treaty with the republic of Texas consenting to its annexation by the United States. It was the work of Calhoun, ironically enough, as though the fates were determined to unite Clay's most implacable foes against him. In late February, an accidental cannon explosion aboard a warship during a gathering of Washington politicos had killed Abel Upshur, and Tyler appointed the South Carolinian to head the State Department. Calhoun pursued Texas annexation just as tirelessly as his deceased predecessor had but with the added motive of emphasizing its expansion of slavery. He hoped to force Van Buren's hand on the matter, provoking open opposition to annexation that would cause southern Democrats to abandon the New Yorker. To remove any doubt about the proslavery aspect of Texas, Calhoun wrote an inflammatory letter to British minister Richard Pakenham praising slavery as a positive good and casting annexation as a way to thwart British abolitionism. Calhoun meant to be provocative, and the political conflagration that resulted fulfilled his wishes. Tyler sent the treaty and accompanying documents, including the Pakenham letter, to the Senate on April 22 with a request for closed deliberations, but antislavery senators refused to keep anything confidential. Benjamin Tappan of Ohio gave everything to the press on April 27.

While these events were occurring in Washington, Clay made a fateful decision in Raleigh. The news of the treaty convinced him that he could no longer delay his statement and that in fact he might have waited too long. If Van Buren preceded him in opposing annexation, Clay's following suit would make him appear expedient rather than principled. Consequently, on April 17 he wrote a lengthy letter for publication in the National Intelligencer National Intelligencer opposing immediate annexation generally and Tyler's treaty particularly. Several of his friends agreed it was his duty to make his views public, so Clay sent the letter to Crittenden. He was confident that it was a sound declaration, but he wanted Crittenden and others to review it as well. He also left it to his friend in consultation with other Whigs to determine the timing of its publication. opposing immediate annexation generally and Tyler's treaty particularly. Several of his friends agreed it was his duty to make his views public, so Clay sent the letter to Crittenden. He was confident that it was a sound declaration, but he wanted Crittenden and others to review it as well. He also left it to his friend in consultation with other Whigs to determine the timing of its publication.90 Later known as the Raleigh Letter, this communication filled Crittenden with considerable foreboding. Apprehensive that Clay had seriously misjudged southern sentiment, he strongly advised against its publication, but Clay's worries over losing the North to Van Buren made him insist. Crittenden finally relented. The Raleigh letter appeared in the National Intelligencer National Intelligencer on April 27, the same day as Tappan's release of Tyler's treaty. Nor was this all, for on that same day, a statement from Martin Van Buren opposing annexation also appeared in the Democrat Washington on April 27, the same day as Tappan's release of Tyler's treaty. Nor was this all, for on that same day, a statement from Martin Van Buren opposing annexation also appeared in the Democrat Washington Globe. Globe. Clay had been correct at least in the presumption that he and Van Buren were on "common ground" and that something on the issue was imminent from the Little Magician. The timing, however, amounted to a coincidence so incredible and spectacular that almost nobody believed it to be a coincidence at all. Instead, many jumped to the conclusion that Van Buren and Clay had cynically colluded to avoid a controversial issue that could disrupt their respective campaigns. Clay had been correct at least in the presumption that he and Van Buren were on "common ground" and that something on the issue was imminent from the Little Magician. The timing, however, amounted to a coincidence so incredible and spectacular that almost nobody believed it to be a coincidence at all. Instead, many jumped to the conclusion that Van Buren and Clay had cynically colluded to avoid a controversial issue that could disrupt their respective campaigns.91 That most certainly was not the case. For years, Clay and Van Buren had opposed annexation on principle, and for much the same reason: slavery expansion endangered the Union. By 1844, the rapid push for Texas annexation directly threatened it, forcing the two men to break their silence. That they had done so simultaneously was an accident that had everything to do with their friends and nothing to do with them. Van Buren wrote his letter on April 20, three days after Clay's. It was a response to Mississippi congressman William H. Hammett in which Van Buren simply showed that he was no longer willing to placate the South by avoiding Texas. In the days that followed, Silas Wright gauged northern anger over Tyler's treaty among his Senate colleagues and became worried that Van Buren supporters might alienate the North by unwittingly supporting annexation. Wright decided on April 27 to publish Van Buren's response to Hammett in the Globe Globe to set the record straight. Only by chance did Crittenden on that same day at last yield to Clay's demands that the Raleigh letter be published. Speculation that Clay and Van Buren had struck a deal, possibly during Van Buren's visit to Ashland two years earlier, is groundless for at least two reasons. The Texas controversy was not the foremost issue in 1842, nor did anybody conceive that it would be in 1844; and even if they had been gifted with such foresight, both Clay and Van Buren were too prudent to make such a bargain two years before the election. to set the record straight. Only by chance did Crittenden on that same day at last yield to Clay's demands that the Raleigh letter be published. Speculation that Clay and Van Buren had struck a deal, possibly during Van Buren's visit to Ashland two years earlier, is groundless for at least two reasons. The Texas controversy was not the foremost issue in 1842, nor did anybody conceive that it would be in 1844; and even if they had been gifted with such foresight, both Clay and Van Buren were too prudent to make such a bargain two years before the election.92 Just as Crittenden feared, southerners squinted at Clay's statement and grumbled. For the time being, though, they did nothing more. The Whig convention met in Baltimore just days after the appearance of the Raleigh letter, and Clay's stand on Texas did not injure his standing among the delegates. Many southern Whigs agreed with Alexander Stephens that Texas annexation was "a miserable humbug" that Tyler and Calhoun had contrived "to divide and distract the Whig party at the South." The convention unanimously committed to Henry Clay, ignored Texas altogether, and bickered only about the best candidate for vice president, a decision that Clay left to the delegates. They finally chose Theodore Frelinghuysen of New Jersey.93 Van Buren became an immediate victim of his opposition to annexation. "The southern portion of the Democracy Democracy are furious at Van Buren's letter," noted the abolitionist are furious at Van Buren's letter," noted the abolitionist Liberator. Liberator. "There is considerable chance that he will be dropped, and Tyler, Cass, or Calhoun, taken up." Southern Democrats flatly declared that they would not abide Van Buren as their nominee, giving other Democrats opposed to Van Buren the excuse to push him aside and ultimately nominate Tennessean James K. Polk, a choice that showed Andrew Jackson's continuing and weighty influence in the party. Livid over Van Buren's opposition to Tyler's treaty, Jackson essentially read his former protege out of the party, threw his support to his fellow Tennessean, and linked annexation with patriotism. Jackson reflected mainstream Democrat attitudes about territorial expansion that saw sectional disharmony as a surmountable obstacle, a mere matter of horse-trading to remove northern objections. The Democrats consequently adopted an unequivocally expansionist platform that placated antislavery objections over Texas with a promise to balance it by acquiring a free "All Oregon" from Britain. "There is considerable chance that he will be dropped, and Tyler, Cass, or Calhoun, taken up." Southern Democrats flatly declared that they would not abide Van Buren as their nominee, giving other Democrats opposed to Van Buren the excuse to push him aside and ultimately nominate Tennessean James K. Polk, a choice that showed Andrew Jackson's continuing and weighty influence in the party. Livid over Van Buren's opposition to Tyler's treaty, Jackson essentially read his former protege out of the party, threw his support to his fellow Tennessean, and linked annexation with patriotism. Jackson reflected mainstream Democrat attitudes about territorial expansion that saw sectional disharmony as a surmountable obstacle, a mere matter of horse-trading to remove northern objections. The Democrats consequently adopted an unequivocally expansionist platform that placated antislavery objections over Texas with a promise to balance it by acquiring a free "All Oregon" from Britain.94 In stark contrast, the Whigs did not even mention Texas in their platform.

CLAY ARRIVED BACK at Ashland only days before the Democrats discarded Van Buren at Baltimore. A torchlight parade greeted him, "music filled the air, and ever and anon the boom of the 'big gun' wound up the chorus." An observer claimed to see on Clay's face a solemn expression as "he thought of the high office he will soon accept from the hands of an admiring people. Let him have it." Democrats, however, were soon spreading a story describing how he received the news of their nomination. One of his sons, it was said, burst in on him at Ashland and asked him to guess the Democrat nominee. "Why Matty, of course," Clay was reported as saying. Told no, he seemed puzzled. He guessed Lewis Cass, then Buchanan. Finally informed that it was Polk, Clay purportedly jumped from his chair and exclaimed, "Beat again, by God!" The opposition took great delight in this preposterous fabrication. They soon were tweaking it a bit to have Clay shout, "Beat again, by hell!" which struck many as better. Its colorful nature got the story repeated even by people who did not believe it. Then gradually, as is the case with any recurring lie, the story began to seem possible, then plausible, and finally it acquired the trappings of truth. By September, Clay was hearing from correspondents wanting him to refute it, a sure sign that doing so was pointless. at Ashland only days before the Democrats discarded Van Buren at Baltimore. A torchlight parade greeted him, "music filled the air, and ever and anon the boom of the 'big gun' wound up the chorus." An observer claimed to see on Clay's face a solemn expression as "he thought of the high office he will soon accept from the hands of an admiring people. Let him have it." Democrats, however, were soon spreading a story describing how he received the news of their nomination. One of his sons, it was said, burst in on him at Ashland and asked him to guess the Democrat nominee. "Why Matty, of course," Clay was reported as saying. Told no, he seemed puzzled. He guessed Lewis Cass, then Buchanan. Finally informed that it was Polk, Clay purportedly jumped from his chair and exclaimed, "Beat again, by God!" The opposition took great delight in this preposterous fabrication. They soon were tweaking it a bit to have Clay shout, "Beat again, by hell!" which struck many as better. Its colorful nature got the story repeated even by people who did not believe it. Then gradually, as is the case with any recurring lie, the story began to seem possible, then plausible, and finally it acquired the trappings of truth. By September, Clay was hearing from correspondents wanting him to refute it, a sure sign that doing so was pointless.95 Clay was surprised that the Democrats had dumped Van Buren, but actually his opinion about Democrat disarray was strengthened when they did so. "I do not think I ever witnessed such a state of utter disorder, confusion and decomposition as that which the Democratic Party now presents," he had observed in early May, and as far as he could see, nothing had changed. He was confident that he would defeat Polk. The Tylerite convention in Baltimore nominated the president and adopted a pro-annexation platform, thus putting forth a candidate unlikely to succeed but liable to hurt Polk by splintering the annexationist vote. Whigs seemingly had nothing to worry about.96 Yet over the summer, Clay's grand advantage gradually disappeared. James K. Polk was responsible for some of that. Whigs mocked him as an undistinguished nonentity, but he had been in national politics for years, including a stint as Speaker of the House. In fact, he was a better candidate than even the Democrats at first believed. They had nominated him as a "dark horse," a racing term here used for the first time in politics to denote a winner that comes out of nowhere. Once the standard-bearer, he proved effective in wooing back disgruntled Van Burenites and cementing the loyalties of Calhoun's faction. Democrats called him "Young Hickory" and chortled over the return of their glory days. They also courted John Tyler with pledges that the new administration would protect his appointments, promote his expansionist policies, and cease attacks on him in the Democrat press, especially Blair's Globe. Globe. By late August, the promise of a diplomatic post abroad, possibly an appointment by Polk as minister to Great Britain, clinched the deal. "So Tyler has withdrawn!" Clay exclaimed. "And that upon the promise of a Mission, made by our opponents!" He could console himself that "there were suitable equivalents in that bargain; for nothing was given and nothing will be received," and indeed, no appointment occurred, but that would be cold comfort later. As the election loomed, the implications of Tyler's joining forces with the Democrats were simply profound. By late August, the promise of a diplomatic post abroad, possibly an appointment by Polk as minister to Great Britain, clinched the deal. "So Tyler has withdrawn!" Clay exclaimed. "And that upon the promise of a Mission, made by our opponents!" He could console himself that "there were suitable equivalents in that bargain; for nothing was given and nothing will be received," and indeed, no appointment occurred, but that would be cold comfort later. As the election loomed, the implications of Tyler's joining forces with the Democrats were simply profound.97 Democrats were also able to make the Whig convention's selection of Theodore Frelinghuysen as the vice-presidential nominee seem a serious mistake. Whig versifiers licked their pencils to come up with such gems as "Hurrah, Hurrah, the country's risin' / for Harry Clay and Frelinghuysen" (sung to the tune of the all-purpose "Dan Tucker"), but Democrats licked their chops at the prospect of branding Clay's running mate a bigot. The charge was a contemptible smear, for Theodore Frelinghuysen was a fine man, even extraordinary, with impeccable credentials that included service in the United States Senate and work with benevolent moral reform movements. Yet these admirable civic activities proved his Achilles' heel, for his religious work had put him in the orbit of anti-Catholic elements in Protestant churches. All the moral advantage of Frelinghuysen's spotless and spiritual life evaporated as Democrats roared that his nomination revealed a secret Whig plan to erect a Protestant theocracy. They whispered to Catholics, especially Irish immigrants teeming in urban wards, that Frelinghuysen's work with the American Missionary Society and the American Tract Society proved not just his prejudice but the intolerance of all Whigs. These tactics were effective and, for Whigs, maddening. The Democrats had it both ways, excoriating Clay for being a libertine and tarring Frelinghuysen for being devout.98 As Democrat attacks became more vicious, Whig unity began to fray at the edges. Instead of defending Frelinghuysen against the outrages, they blamed him for hurting the ticket. The most troubling fissures in Whig unity, however, had to do with Texas annexation. The Democrats began aggressively promoting their plan to extend America into both Oregon and Texas, linking immediate annexation to patriotism and tarring its opponents as abolitionists. As that strategy gained ground in the South, the Whig stand on Texas as defined by Clay's Raleigh letter became increasingly difficult to defend. Clay watched his strength in the South ebb and Polk's grow. At the end of June, the Whig situation had become critical. Georgia Whigs, for example, were confident that Clay could still win, except "the only difficulty we have, is the Texas question."99 On July 1, Clay sent a letter to Stephen Miller for publication in Miller's Tuscaloosa Monitor. Monitor. It was a relatively brief note that later became known as the First Alabama Letter (Clay would unfortunately feel the need to write another later in the month). His purpose, he said, was to deny in the plainest terms that his Raleigh letter had been a ploy to court the abolitionist vote. Instead, he opposed It was a relatively brief note that later became known as the First Alabama Letter (Clay would unfortunately feel the need to write another later in the month). His purpose, he said, was to deny in the plainest terms that his Raleigh letter had been a ploy to court the abolitionist vote. Instead, he opposed immediate immediate annexation because he thought it sure to arouse sufficient northern anger to endanger the Union. Saying that much, at least, gave no grounds for a charge of inconsistency. That Clay also felt obliged to say "Personally, I could have no objection to the annexation of Texas" did not even indicate a shift in his thinking, for he had told Alexander Stephens before writing the Raleigh letter that he would not oppose annexation if it could be accomplished without harming the Union. annexation because he thought it sure to arouse sufficient northern anger to endanger the Union. Saying that much, at least, gave no grounds for a charge of inconsistency. That Clay also felt obliged to say "Personally, I could have no objection to the annexation of Texas" did not even indicate a shift in his thinking, for he had told Alexander Stephens before writing the Raleigh letter that he would not oppose annexation if it could be accomplished without harming the Union.100 More troubling, the first Alabama letter indicated a potentially disastrous shift in his political approach to the issue, one he recklessly completed on July 27 with another letter, this time to the editors of the Tuscumbia North Alabamian. North Alabamian. The Second Alabama Letter committed the serious mistakes of insisting that slavery did not really enter into the question of Texas annexation, which made him look foolish, and of intimating that as president he might find it advantageous to annex Texas himself, which made his Raleigh letter appear craven. One could cite his insistence that he would only accept Texas if it could be done without dishonoring the nation, risking war, or disturbing sectional harmony as evidence that Clay had indeed sustained a principled consistency over the course of the Raleigh and Alabama letters; but political inferences in the midst of a campaign are never so subtle. Instead, the Alabama letters were nothing short of devastating. The Second Alabama Letter committed the serious mistakes of insisting that slavery did not really enter into the question of Texas annexation, which made him look foolish, and of intimating that as president he might find it advantageous to annex Texas himself, which made his Raleigh letter appear craven. One could cite his insistence that he would only accept Texas if it could be done without dishonoring the nation, risking war, or disturbing sectional harmony as evidence that Clay had indeed sustained a principled consistency over the course of the Raleigh and Alabama letters; but political inferences in the midst of a campaign are never so subtle. Instead, the Alabama letters were nothing short of devastating.101 The Democrats focused unremittingly on the supposed inconsistencies and concessions, and Clay was finally compelled to write yet another letter because, as he said in a massive understatement, "my two Alabama letters have created some unfavorable impressions in particular localities." Posted to the National Intelligencer National Intelligencer on September 23, his lengthy explanation was closely argued and perfectly sensible in pointing out his unfailing caveat that only if it did not hurt the Union could he support Texas annexation. Yet the very fact that he had felt it necessary to write this lengthy clarification showed that it was unlikely to do any good. In sum, his letters about Texas annexation had totaled three, another proof of the maxim about trouble. Clay tried to break the hex with a fourth. It did not work. on September 23, his lengthy explanation was closely argued and perfectly sensible in pointing out his unfailing caveat that only if it did not hurt the Union could he support Texas annexation. Yet the very fact that he had felt it necessary to write this lengthy clarification showed that it was unlikely to do any good. In sum, his letters about Texas annexation had totaled three, another proof of the maxim about trouble. Clay tried to break the hex with a fourth. It did not work.102 Meanwhile, Democrats pursued other avenues of attack, leaving no stone unturned. They unearthed the ancient charge that Clay had been too young to serve in the Senate in 1806 and that he had perjured himself in taking the oath, a way to launch additional attacks that irregularities had always mottled his career. Clay clubs throughout the nation nervously sought evidence to clear him of the Corrupt Bargain charge, while Democrat campaigns in the North painted him as a staunch defender of slavery and in the South as an abolitionist. These tactics received exasperating help from Clay's cousin Cassius, who published an impolitic letter at this crucial stage of the contest describing Clay as friendly to abolition. The gesture further hurt him in the South and did him little good in the North, and Clay had to renounce it, which then hurt him in the North and began his estrangement from his kinsman.103 As the decision approached, excitement mounted, newspapers became more frenzied in their attacks and defenses, and voters laid wagers and made plans. Many Whigs were still so certain of Clay's triumph that they were scheduling journeys to Washington for the inauguration. In Lexington, people were already calling him "the 'President.'" And finally, the prolonged tensions of the lengthy campaign began to wear thin, and more than a few people wanted to see the thing done. "Of politics, that all absorbing theme," said one Whig, "I am heartily sick and tired, yet here it is the only topic of conversation-business-pleasure everything yields to it."104 It is customary to speak of the elections during this period in the singular, as in "the election of 1844," but actually what occurred in the fall of 1844 was a series of elections that decided state contests as well as national ones, including the presidency. These were not held on the same day throughout the nation but were scattered events, and state elections that fell during the late summer were always taken as portents. As those state returns came in, Clay was outwardly confident but privately worried. Democrat turnout was surprisingly high in his home state of Kentucky and his strongholds of Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, Louisiana, and North Carolina. In addition to the Democrats' throwing everything they could lay hands on at him, he had injured himself in the North with his stand on Texas and the late repudiation of Cassius Clay's statements. The smearing of Frelinghuysen had driven immigrants into the Democrat fold while diminishing his grand moral standing as a counter to questions about Clay's character. Clay's stand on slavery had been misrepresented in such ways as to alienate northerners while making southerners suspicious.

Thus in the first two weeks of November, the issue played out in the shadow of Whig disadvantages that combined to become ultimately inescapable. On November 13, Clay knew the result. "The intelligence brought to us this morning has terminated all our hopes, our suspense & our anxieties in respect to the Presidential election," Crittenden wrote him. "We now know the worst-Polk is elected, & your friends have sustained the heaviest blow that could have befallen them." The defeat was all the more excruciating because victory had been so close. Polk defeated Clay in the popular vote by a margin of only 38,000 (1,339,368 to 1,300,687) out of the extraordinarily high turnout of 2.7 million (including Liberty Party votes), a number representing 78.9 percent of eligible voters. The count in the Electoral College was similarly close, with Polk at 170 and Clay at 105, New York's 36 votes being the difference.

Analyses of this result have pointed to myriad causes ranging from the fateful mistake of the Alabama letters to the emergence of the vital Liberty Party in New York that siphoned significant antislavery votes from Clay, votes that would not have gone to Polk but that Clay needed to overcome Polk's advantage on annexation. As stunned Whigs surveyed the wreckage, they quickly saw that the key to the election had in fact been New York, where the Liberty Party's impact, combined with an extraordinary amount of voter fraud in the immigrant population, had tilted the scale and given Polk the prize.105 Clay, the savvy head counter, had known all along that New York was the key to the contest, and when he received the news about the state returns, he knew their significance. Some reports had him in tears throwing himself into Lucretia's arms, and Cassius Clay would later describe Clay in a blistering tantrum, but the former stories were apparently fabrications, and Cousin Cassius's account came after their rift. Susan Jacob Clay always insisted that nothing frantic or highly emotional occurred at Ashland the day Clay learned of his defeat, but rather that her father-in-law accepted it sadly but with resignation. Frelinghuysen wrote to recommend that they both take succor in "the promises & consolations of the Gospel of our Saviour," but whatever his demeanor at the time, Clay remained profoundly troubled by the outcome of this election. He quietly admitted that he had "fearful forebodings" about the fate of the country. He could only hope that they "may, in the sequel, be found to be groundless."106 Everyone had believed that 1844 was to be Clay's time. He had believed that too, and for most of the campaign season, his certainty of victory had been an unshakable expectation, akin to certainty that the sun would rise at dawn or the stars would run their nightly courses. It was supposed to be a triumph that would vindicate him as well as Whig policies. Even as the chance for victory slipped away over the summer, the reality of Clay's inevitable victory gradually transforming into Clay's inescapable defeat had been impossible to grasp, and even the jarring fact, finally laid bare in the second week of November, that 1844 was to be yet another missed opportunity was difficult to absorb. As Clay slowly did so, however, the blow was certainly crushing, but it was also strangely cathartic.

Ashland's routines were restorative, and Clay now had time to reflect on many matters beyond the quest that had consumed virtually every particle of his attention for the last four years. He wrote more sparingly in the days after the defeat, mainly to answer notes consoling him on the loss. On the morning of December 9, he went to his desk and briefly answered a circular asking him to endorse Reverdy Johnson for the U.S. Senate (Clay declined, saying it would be "indelicate and improper" to meddle in Maryland's affairs), then turned his attention to drafting another document.107 On that December morning in 1844, that document's brevity as well as its legal formality imparted a cold, lifeless character to its words. Yet as Clay framed them, the words were as golden as anything he had ever produced in his loftiest flights of oratory. Clay dipped the fine-pointed nib of his pen and scratched "H. Clay" at the bottom of the paper, a deed of emancipation.

Charles Dupuy was free.108

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

"Death, Ruthless Death"

ELECTION POSTMORTEMS DEEPENED Whig despondency. Stories of rampant fraud came in from all over the country. Louisiana had been lost because the Democrats cheated in places like Plaquemines Parish, where they managed a 970-vote majority even though the parish had never tallied more than 340 votes in previous elections. Whig despondency. Stories of rampant fraud came in from all over the country. Louisiana had been lost because the Democrats cheated in places like Plaquemines Parish, where they managed a 970-vote majority even though the parish had never tallied more than 340 votes in previous elections.1 New York, however, had decided the election, and there the fraud was simply unbridled. Democrats had openly baited Roman Catholics, immigrants, and abolitionists, but their secret operations in voter fraud had been no less obvious. The Central Clay Committee in New York City spent $5,000 investigating the matter, but nothing came of it. New York, however, had decided the election, and there the fraud was simply unbridled. Democrats had openly baited Roman Catholics, immigrants, and abolitionists, but their secret operations in voter fraud had been no less obvious. The Central Clay Committee in New York City spent $5,000 investigating the matter, but nothing came of it.2 The thousands of illegal votes were those of immigrants, impossible to trace and, given the slipshod records and loose checks of the time, impossible to invalidate. Clay was thus " The thousands of illegal votes were those of immigrants, impossible to trace and, given the slipshod records and loose checks of the time, impossible to invalidate. Clay was thus "cheated out of his election by vote fraud," wailed Leslie Combs. out of his election by vote fraud," wailed Leslie Combs.3 On December 4, Combs came to Ashland as one of Kentucky's twelve presidential electors. The day before in Frankfort they had unanimously cast their votes for Clay and Frelinghuysen and now had come to Lexington to pay respects to Clay. Governor William Owsley and citizens of the town accompanied the group to Ashland. The electors gathered at the base of the house's front steps, and Clay slowly emerged through the large front door. Joseph Underwood read prepared remarks lauding Clay and Whig principles while lamenting his loss, bitterly denouncing it as "fraud upon the election franchise." Clay was gracious in his response. Their gesture touched him deeply, he said, and he was equally grateful for the privilege of living in Kentucky, now for more than forty years. He flatly stated he would not condemn the Polk administration and was silent on the issue of election fraud. Instead, he expressed confidence that Whig principles would endure, just as the country would, although both temporarily faced discouraging prospects. "I have the high satisfaction to know that I have escaped a great and fearful responsibility," he said, and he spoke of the "peace and tranquility" he looked forward to in retirement.4 His voice was still strong and rich, but he looked very old and very tired. Some of the electors pulled out handkerchiefs as he spoke. Clay was clearly exhausted, and his visitors now had confirmed what they had suspected. He was saying good-bye. His voice was still strong and rich, but he looked very old and very tired. Some of the electors pulled out handkerchiefs as he spoke. Clay was clearly exhausted, and his visitors now had confirmed what they had suspected. He was saying good-bye.

Even from a distance the scene was affecting. In Washington, John J. Crittenden confessed that newspaper accounts of it made him "quite melancholy."5 When Clay told him that he merely wanted to spend "the remnant of my days, in peace and retirement" at Ashland, Crittenden at last believed that he meant it. When Clay told him that he merely wanted to spend "the remnant of my days, in peace and retirement" at Ashland, Crittenden at last believed that he meant it.6 Possibly at the time Clay believed he meant it too. Possibly at the time Clay believed he meant it too.

They both should have known better.

EVEN IF CLAY really intended to retreat for good from public life, the public would not retreat from him. Accolades from his admirers never ceased, and the material proof of their affection arrived almost daily at Ashland. In Philadelphia, a hat made especially for Clay from the finest Rocky Mountain beaver was put on display and became a tourist attraction before its dispatch to Kentucky. And while many of the gifts were small and charming, some were so generous they were discomfiting. Lucretia, for example, received "a brilliant bracelet studded with diamonds" that Clay gratefully acknowledged but she would seldom if ever wear. really intended to retreat for good from public life, the public would not retreat from him. Accolades from his admirers never ceased, and the material proof of their affection arrived almost daily at Ashland. In Philadelphia, a hat made especially for Clay from the finest Rocky Mountain beaver was put on display and became a tourist attraction before its dispatch to Kentucky. And while many of the gifts were small and charming, some were so generous they were discomfiting. Lucretia, for example, received "a brilliant bracelet studded with diamonds" that Clay gratefully acknowledged but she would seldom if ever wear.7 Yet it was Clay who received a series of spectacular gifts during the spring and summer of 1845 that left him speechless. He faced a grave crisis in his financial affairs; in fact, his money woes eroded his customary optimism more than his political disappointments ever had. For almost a decade, the gradual depletion of his assets had been more than alarming, reducing his net worth by more than half since 1839. He had trouble paying his 1844 taxes. Helping Thomas absorb the failure of his hemp and bagging business saddled Clay with an unexpected $20,000 obligation. Added to that were the costs associated with closing his friend John Morrison's estate. In addition, there was the loan from John Jacob Astor, making the sum of Clay's total indebtedness a staggering $40,000 (more than a million dollars in today's money). He tried to reduce that figure by selling off lands he owned in Missouri and Kentucky, but he could barely manage to keep up with the interest, let alone shrink the principal. At the beginning of 1845, his financial emergency reached a critical point. Clay had offered his beloved Ashland as collateral to save Thomas from bankruptcy. Now he was certain to lose it.

Then in mid-February, Clay received a letter from John Tilford, the president of the Northern Bank of Kentucky, which held the bulk of his notes. Tilford had peculiar news: the bank had received from donors, who wished to remain anonymous, $5,000 to apply to Clay's debt. They wanted, Tilford reported, "to render your remaining years free from pecuniary cares." Furthermore, they felt their gesture repaid "only part of a debt they owe you for your long and valued Services in the cause of our country and its institutions."8 A few days later, Clay received another note from Tilford informing him that an additional $5,000 had arrived. Clay was at first astonished. Then he was embarrassed. Although Tilford never revealed the benefactors' identities, Clay could readily guess their names. He sought to explain directly to a few how he had become so insolvent, candidly citing Thomas's troubles as the primary cause. A few days later, Clay received another note from Tilford informing him that an additional $5,000 had arrived. Clay was at first astonished. Then he was embarrassed. Although Tilford never revealed the benefactors' identities, Clay could readily guess their names. He sought to explain directly to a few how he had become so insolvent, candidly citing Thomas's troubles as the primary cause.9 But most of all, Clay was profoundly touched. Tilford's strange but happy role as go-between for these singular acts of generosity continued, and through him Clay profusely thanked his nameless friends for their kindness, especially for "the delicate manner in which it has been rendered." He hoped that it had not caused anyone the slightest financial hardship, and he wanted all to know that if the situation had been reversed, he too would have rushed to their aid. But most of all, Clay was profoundly touched. Tilford's strange but happy role as go-between for these singular acts of generosity continued, and through him Clay profusely thanked his nameless friends for their kindness, especially for "the delicate manner in which it has been rendered." He hoped that it had not caused anyone the slightest financial hardship, and he wanted all to know that if the situation had been reversed, he too would have rushed to their aid.10 The money continued to pour in from Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and New Orleans and was deposited in varying but substantial sums over the course of March and April. In short order, every penny Henry Clay owed the Northern Bank of Kentucky was paid off. Then in the months that followed, his friends began paying off his Astor loan as well. Clay protested that this was really too much, but he was gently told not to worry. It was, said William N. Mercer, the least his friends could do.11 Yet Clay insisted. Continuing the pretense of ignorance, he told Tilford, who continued to execute the group's financial wishes, to inform his friends they had done more than enough. He would repay Astor on his own; they should send no more money. Yet Clay insisted. Continuing the pretense of ignorance, he told Tilford, who continued to execute the group's financial wishes, to inform his friends they had done more than enough. He would repay Astor on his own; they should send no more money.12 "I am not rich," Clay told a correspondent who was unaware of his financial rescue and was writing to offer help, "but I am now nearly free from debt, and I possess a competency to enable me, to live in comfort during the remnant of my days, and to fulfill some of the duties of hospitality." "I am not rich," Clay told a correspondent who was unaware of his financial rescue and was writing to offer help, "but I am now nearly free from debt, and I possess a competency to enable me, to live in comfort during the remnant of my days, and to fulfill some of the duties of hospitality."13 The matter was handled quite deftly and kept as private as possible, but the story was too good to remain undisclosed for long. Newspapers soon reported it, and eventually imparted to the episode a more theatrical flair: Clay, the story went, appeared at the Northern Bank to make a payment when the cashier handed him the note and told him it was entirely settled. Clay was said to have wept. None of this happened. Clay clearly first learned of his friends' generosity from Tilford's letter.14 Unencumbered by debt for the first time in years, Clay flourished. His estate did too. Visitors admired its "profusion of venerable forest trees, evergreens and shrubbery" that adorned the main grounds, a nucleus of fifty acres surrounded by the larger working farm. A winding carriage road snaked through a shady grove to the house from which radiated an abundance of walking trails lined with dogwoods, periwinkles, and redbuds. Mockingbirds and whip-poor-wills filled the trees. The house was equally inviting, modestly but comfortably furnished and containing "many choice and valuable evidences of the respect of his countrymen."15 Ashland had become the showplace Clay had always imagined. Lucretia's dairy thrived and boasted cheese and butter houses constructed of cool, insulating stone. There were also chicken coops, dovecotes, barns, and sheds, all trim and well maintained. The stables housed handsome horses, increasingly the focus of John's life. Lucretia, who also cultivated ornamentals in a spacious greenhouse, supervised a four-acre fruit and vegetable garden. Beyond this prosperous farm, Ashland became a sprawling six-hundred-acre plantation of cultivated fields devoted to wheat, rye, corn, and hemp. Pastures of fabled bluegrass fattened lowing cows and pedigreed sheep. All fences were in good repair, and weeds were regularly hoed down in their corners as well as amid the crops those fences protected. Ashland had become the showplace Clay had always imagined. Lucretia's dairy thrived and boasted cheese and butter houses constructed of cool, insulating stone. There were also chicken coops, dovecotes, barns, and sheds, all trim and well maintained. The stables housed handsome horses, increasingly the focus of John's life. Lucretia, who also cultivated ornamentals in a spacious greenhouse, supervised a four-acre fruit and vegetable garden. Beyond this prosperous farm, Ashland became a sprawling six-hundred-acre plantation of cultivated fields devoted to wheat, rye, corn, and hemp. Pastures of fabled bluegrass fattened lowing cows and pedigreed sheep. All fences were in good repair, and weeds were regularly hoed down in their corners as well as amid the crops those fences protected.

The routines of the estate were pleasantly consistent. Lucretia rose early to organize the day's work in her gardens and the dairy and to see to the sale of her butter and cheese to Lexington markets and households. The "milk and egg" money that resulted was hardly a trifle; her enterprise brought in about $1,500 a year. She would also make certain that any guests in the mansion were comfortable. "Mrs. Clay is one of the best hearted women I have ever known," reported one. "She is all attention to my wants."16 Clay rose early too and usually dressed plainly in clothes of American manufacture. He might attend to some improvement to the main house-he raised the roof line at the dining room during these months, for instance-and nurture the array of plants he had carefully situated over the years for the best aesthetic effect.17 Shortly after his retirement in 1842, he had resumed practicing law, both to deal with his debt-"I am not at all unwilling to receive liberal fees," he joked Shortly after his retirement in 1842, he had resumed practicing law, both to deal with his debt-"I am not at all unwilling to receive liberal fees," he joked18-and to help James establish himself at the bar. After his debts were no longer an issue, he still spent several hours a day at the office, a plain establishment with "no cushioned chairs, carpeted floors, mahogany book cases and desks."19 He strode through Lexington swinging a gold-headed cane and puffing on a cigar. A little girl established a charming ritual with Clay: she placed her sunbonnet on the counter of her father's store, and Clay would drop a silver ten-cent piece in it as payment for a kiss on his cheek. He might stop by to see Leslie Combs or go to the courthouse to trade yarns with young attorneys. On Saturday evenings, he often visited the market in downtown Lexington, where crowds gathered around him at vegetable stalls to shake his hand or discuss the weather. "I believe he really is," said one visitor, "one of the happiest men on earth." He strode through Lexington swinging a gold-headed cane and puffing on a cigar. A little girl established a charming ritual with Clay: she placed her sunbonnet on the counter of her father's store, and Clay would drop a silver ten-cent piece in it as payment for a kiss on his cheek. He might stop by to see Leslie Combs or go to the courthouse to trade yarns with young attorneys. On Saturday evenings, he often visited the market in downtown Lexington, where crowds gathered around him at vegetable stalls to shake his hand or discuss the weather. "I believe he really is," said one visitor, "one of the happiest men on earth."20 His greatest delight came from watching his land blossom and his livestock fatten. Clay was always a serious farmer. His goal was to make Ashland a model of husbandry boasting the best and most improved stock breeds.21 He was an early advocate of scientific agriculture and experimental breeding. He varied his crops and saw to their methodical rotation to prevent soil exhaustion. He also replenished his fields with liberal applications of natural fertilizers and planted nitrogen-fixing legumes. His work with hemp growing earned him renown, and he published articles describing successful methods for cultivating and harvesting the plants; his discourses on the methods of rotting hemp fiber from stalks filled pages. He was an early advocate of scientific agriculture and experimental breeding. He varied his crops and saw to their methodical rotation to prevent soil exhaustion. He also replenished his fields with liberal applications of natural fertilizers and planted nitrogen-fixing legumes. His work with hemp growing earned him renown, and he published articles describing successful methods for cultivating and harvesting the plants; his discourses on the methods of rotting hemp fiber from stalks filled pages.22 He dug a large canal, a quarter of a mile long, three feet wide at the bottom and six feet wide at the top, and two and a half feet deep, to drain the low ground, and built vats to water rot his hemp. Convinced that properly prepared American hemp was the equal of its Russian counterpart, he boasted he would rig the sailing ships of the entire U.S. navy with cordage made from Ashland's crop. He dug a large canal, a quarter of a mile long, three feet wide at the bottom and six feet wide at the top, and two and a half feet deep, to drain the low ground, and built vats to water rot his hemp. Convinced that properly prepared American hemp was the equal of its Russian counterpart, he boasted he would rig the sailing ships of the entire U.S. navy with cordage made from Ashland's crop.23 Meanwhile, his work as a stockman gained him notice for pioneering efforts to improve the bloodlines of cattle, sheep, and horses. He bought animals in Europe, sparing little expense when he found a promising prospect to develop a superior breed. Meanwhile, his work as a stockman gained him notice for pioneering efforts to improve the bloodlines of cattle, sheep, and horses. He bought animals in Europe, sparing little expense when he found a promising prospect to develop a superior breed.24 OUT OF PUBLIC office since 1842 and defeated in 1844, Clay remained in the public eye through his work as an attorney. He was involved in two of Kentucky's most notable courtroom dramas during these years. The first was the murder trial of Lafayette Shelby, son of James Shelby and grandson of Isaac Shelby, the scion of one of the state's most prominent families. Young Shelby, hotheaded and touchy, knew Henry M. Horine only as a fellow lodger at a Lexington hotel, but on January 10, 1846, he took Horine's customary chair at dinner and then took exception to Horine's objections. Shelby accosted Horine in the street for his impertinence, tried to provoke a fight, and then shot him dead. Shelby was held without bail, and the family appealed to Clay, who took the case. office since 1842 and defeated in 1844, Clay remained in the public eye through his work as an attorney. He was involved in two of Kentucky's most notable courtroom dramas during these years. The first was the murder trial of Lafayette Shelby, son of James Shelby and grandson of Isaac Shelby, the scion of one of the state's most prominent families. Young Shelby, hotheaded and touchy, knew Henry M. Horine only as a fellow lodger at a Lexington hotel, but on January 10, 1846, he took Horine's customary chair at dinner and then took exception to Horine's objections. Shelby accosted Horine in the street for his impertinence, tried to provoke a fight, and then shot him dead. Shelby was held without bail, and the family appealed to Clay, who took the case.25 "It is a very hard case," Clay remarked in considerable understatement, for his client had clearly murdered the man, "but for the sake of his numerous and highly respectable connections, I hope to be able to secure his acquittal." "It is a very hard case," Clay remarked in considerable understatement, for his client had clearly murdered the man, "but for the sake of his numerous and highly respectable connections, I hope to be able to secure his acquittal."26 As the trial commenced at the end of June, Shelby was in such despair that he wanted to kill himself, but his "highly respectable connections" as well as Clay's dramatic courtroom presence befuddled the jury to indecision. As the trial commenced at the end of June, Shelby was in such despair that he wanted to kill himself, but his "highly respectable connections" as well as Clay's dramatic courtroom presence befuddled the jury to indecision.27 Shelby's defense rested in part on his being provoked by Horine's insolent stare in the dining room. Years later, Judge R. A. Buckner recalled how Clay showed that a mere look could be more offensive than words by forming "such an expression to his countenance of withering contempt and hate that all confessed that it was more insulting than any other form of expression." Shelby's defense rested in part on his being provoked by Horine's insolent stare in the dining room. Years later, Judge R. A. Buckner recalled how Clay showed that a mere look could be more offensive than words by forming "such an expression to his countenance of withering contempt and hate that all confessed that it was more insulting than any other form of expression."28 The news of the hung jury caused a small riot in Lexington, where a mob, incensed by the obvious favor shown to Shelby, burned judge, jurors, and Clay in effigy.29 Clay was slated to defend Shelby in a second trial scheduled for September 1848, but the defendant was not willing to press his luck and fled to Texas. He did not return until 1862, and by then the Civil War had made him and the murder old news. He never answered for killing Horine. Clay was slated to defend Shelby in a second trial scheduled for September 1848, but the defendant was not willing to press his luck and fled to Texas. He did not return until 1862, and by then the Civil War had made him and the murder old news. He never answered for killing Horine.

The Shelby affair was Henry Clay's last criminal case, but his last notable court appearance was in a civil trial over a contested will. The case involved the enormous estate of Mary Bullitt, known as Polly, the daughter of Alexander and Mary Bullitt. Both had children by previous marriages, representatives of Kentucky's most important families whose blood and marriage ties broadly linked them to other prominent families in the state, including the Clays. Polly's mother was a Churchill (of Louisville's Churchill Downs), and Mary Churchill's first husband, Richard Prather, was a distant relation of Henry Clay, Jr.'s late wife. Their daughter, Eliza Prather, married James Guthrie, a wealthy Louisville businessman, leader of the state Democratic Party, and railroad promoter.

It was into this web of interlocking families that Polly Bullitt was born, and that would be the cause of all the trouble later on. Alexander and Mary had two other children together, but it was soon clear that Polly was severely retarded, and they consequently arranged a considerable inheritance for her care.30 When the Bullitts both died in 1816, Polly was only eight, and her half sister, Eliza Guthrie, as her guardian, sent her to the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth, a Catholic convent near Bardstown. Polly lived with the nuns until she was nineteen and then lived in James Guthrie's home. Failing health and increasing mental debility eventually required her to live at the St. Vincent Infirmary, and there her brief, sad life ended in 1843 at age thirty-five. Yet it was claimed that she had dictated a will bequeathing her entire Bullitt fortune to her Guthrie nieces, James and Eliza's children, Mary, Augusta, and Sarah. The Bullitt children by Alexander's first marriage immediately challenged this will, charging that Polly, unable to count, unteachable, and irritable to the point of tantrums, had not been mentally capable of crafting such a document. They accordingly claimed that the will was a transparent manufacture of the Guthries. When the Bullitts both died in 1816, Polly was only eight, and her half sister, Eliza Guthrie, as her guardian, sent her to the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth, a Catholic convent near Bardstown. Polly lived with the nuns until she was nineteen and then lived in James Guthrie's home. Failing health and increasing mental debility eventually required her to live at the St. Vincent Infirmary, and there her brief, sad life ended in 1843 at age thirty-five. Yet it was claimed that she had dictated a will bequeathing her entire Bullitt fortune to her Guthrie nieces, James and Eliza's children, Mary, Augusta, and Sarah. The Bullitt children by Alexander's first marriage immediately challenged this will, charging that Polly, unable to count, unteachable, and irritable to the point of tantrums, had not been mentally capable of crafting such a document. They accordingly claimed that the will was a transparent manufacture of the Guthries.31 When the court upheld the will, the Bullitts appealed and hired Henry Clay to represent them. The case was heard again in 1849 and instantly became sensational theater for the same reasons it would be for any time: it featured prominent, affluent families in dispute, it had at its center a mentally disabled child and at its periphery a Catholic convent with nuns attesting to Polly's competency, and it offered the prospect of loving nieces being rewarded and rightful heirs being cheated. And it showcased Henry Clay, a lion in winter to be sure, but a lion nonetheless. When the court upheld the will, the Bullitts appealed and hired Henry Clay to represent them. The case was heard again in 1849 and instantly became sensational theater for the same reasons it would be for any time: it featured prominent, affluent families in dispute, it had at its center a mentally disabled child and at its periphery a Catholic convent with nuns attesting to Polly's competency, and it offered the prospect of loving nieces being rewarded and rightful heirs being cheated. And it showcased Henry Clay, a lion in winter to be sure, but a lion nonetheless.

The complaint against the will hinged on Polly's fitness to make it, and Clay consequently attacked those who defended her competency, which required him to challenge the priests and nuns, especially Catherine Spalding, the formidable mother superior of the Sisters of Charity of Nazareth. Clay knew the order well-he had handed out diplomas at Nazareth's first commencement-but he was unrelenting in cross-examination and characteristically biting in his demeanor.32 Over the course of a week in late April and early May, he performed for a courtroom packed with "the most distinguished ladies" of Louisville. Over the course of a week in late April and early May, he performed for a courtroom packed with "the most distinguished ladies" of Louisville.33 His final appearance drew an outsized crowd of women, young and old, who began to arrive at eight in the morning, hours before he was to speak. The judge ordered one bench cleared to accommodate the ladies, then another, and another, until the only males remaining were the lawyers, the jury, and a little boy curled up on a windowsill who refused to budge lest he lose the chance to hear Clay. One lady sat in Clay's chair as soon as he rose to speak, and others squeezed into the jury box. Clay wore a black suit and a white cravat, "stood as erect as a flag-pole, spoke with great deliberation and distinctness, and held spellbound the attention of the judge, bar, and jury, as well as the crowded court-room." They listened as he swelled his rich baritone to emphasize a point or occasionally mutter in mock resignation under his breath, though quite audibly, "Guthries, Guthries, Guthries-always there are Guthries." His final appearance drew an outsized crowd of women, young and old, who began to arrive at eight in the morning, hours before he was to speak. The judge ordered one bench cleared to accommodate the ladies, then another, and another, until the only males remaining were the lawyers, the jury, and a little boy curled up on a windowsill who refused to budge lest he lose the chance to hear Clay. One lady sat in Clay's chair as soon as he rose to speak, and others squeezed into the jury box. Clay wore a black suit and a white cravat, "stood as erect as a flag-pole, spoke with great deliberation and distinctness, and held spellbound the attention of the judge, bar, and jury, as well as the crowded court-room." They listened as he swelled his rich baritone to emphasize a point or occasionally mutter in mock resignation under his breath, though quite audibly, "Guthries, Guthries, Guthries-always there are Guthries."34 Finally handed the case, the jury deliberated for three hours before notifying the court that it could not reach a verdict. As in the trial of Lafayette Shelby, Clay had managed to plant enough doubt to cause a jury to stall in indecision, but in this instance, it meant a defeat for his clients. The previous ruling upholding the will was allowed to stand. Yet nobody would ever forget Henry Clay striding and gesturing before that court, befuddling one witness into doubting his own signature, causing fits of hilarity to rock the assembly, his biting sarcasm delivered with a smile, the judge himself quietly shaking with laughter before reluctantly gaveling the proceedings back to order. Nobody would ever forget that they had seen a lion, impressive in any season, making the mundane memorable, winning the crowd if not the case.35 "I AM ENDEAVORING to separate myself as much as I can from this world," Clay told a friend in early 1845, "but, in spite of all my wishes for seclusion, great numbers call to see me at this place." He did not have the heart to turn them away. to separate myself as much as I can from this world," Clay told a friend in early 1845, "but, in spite of all my wishes for seclusion, great numbers call to see me at this place." He did not have the heart to turn them away.36 In fact, Ashland hummed as a center of warm hospitality. Visitors showed up out of the blue, and sometimes as many as a half dozen people, strangers to each other as well as to Clay, would appear on his doorstep, always expecting him to do most of the talking and saying virtually nothing themselves. In fact, Ashland hummed as a center of warm hospitality. Visitors showed up out of the blue, and sometimes as many as a half dozen people, strangers to each other as well as to Clay, would appear on his doorstep, always expecting him to do most of the talking and saying virtually nothing themselves.37 One of the visitors to Ashland that summer attracted wide notice. George Peter Alexander Healy, a gifted young American artist who had been studying in Europe, came with a special commission from "Louis-Philippe, the king of the French," as he styled himself to denote his distance from monarchical pretense. Louis-Philippe fondly recalled his four years of residence in the United States during the turmoil of the French Revolution, and he dispatched Healy to paint portraits of America's aging statesmen, including Andrew Jackson, John Quincy Adams, Daniel Webster, and Henry Clay. In May 1845, Healy arrived in Boston aboard the steamer Hibernia Hibernia and hurried first to Nashville because reports accurately told of Andrew Jackson's imminent death. The artist then traveled north to Ashland, bringing with him the Jackson portrait, which he had only just completed before Old Hickory's demise. If Clay regarded this as some sort of portent, he didn't say so, although as he sat for Healy-"a most unpleasant occupation," he complained-he wasn't feeling very well, nor was Lucretia. Yet both liked what Healy was doing, and Clay judged him "an artiste of real talent." and hurried first to Nashville because reports accurately told of Andrew Jackson's imminent death. The artist then traveled north to Ashland, bringing with him the Jackson portrait, which he had only just completed before Old Hickory's demise. If Clay regarded this as some sort of portent, he didn't say so, although as he sat for Healy-"a most unpleasant occupation," he complained-he wasn't feeling very well, nor was Lucretia. Yet both liked what Healy was doing, and Clay judged him "an artiste of real talent."38 Everyone, including Clay, had commented on the apparent inability of even the most practiced artists to capture a decent likeness of him. Portraits of Clay were like the "body without the Soul-the Head without the mind." In short, his features required animation to make them express his personality. "Clay in in calm repose, calm repose," a friend concluded, "was not Clay at all. at all."39 Many artists did try to capture the fire that animated Clay's features, and some came close. Matthew Jouett painted several portraits of him. Several years before Healy's visit, the Philadelphia artist John Neagle had come to Ashland to paint one of the most famous likenesses of Clay ever produced, a full-length portrait that Neagle boasted broke from the tradition of simply sticking a head on a prepainted body. It was instead actually a full representation of Henry Clay.

Healy's labors, however, were of a different class, and the portrait that resulted was a testament to his skill. Clay was shown full-faced and gazed steadily with his mouth set in what appeared to be the start of a smile. His features were less sharp and his eyes were softer. Some family members would recall that Healy had considerable difficulty getting the eyes right, and not all of them liked the result. Not only did he not capture the color (a very pale blue), he "failed absolutely to get the expression or the fire," they said.40 It was always Lucretia's favorite likeness, however. Healy presented a copy to her as a gift, and she had it framed and mounted at Ashland. When admirers proposed to take it to Frankfort, she would not "part from it." It was always Lucretia's favorite likeness, however. Healy presented a copy to her as a gift, and she had it framed and mounted at Ashland. When admirers proposed to take it to Frankfort, she would not "part from it."41 Extended family was a constant presence at Ashland. Grandchildren often filled the house with chatter and laughter, eager to see Grandmama and Grandpapa, who were generous with treats and hugs.42 In addition to Henry and Lucretia, John remained in residence, and while their houses were being built, Thomas and James with their families lived at Ashland too. Even after the older sons moved their families to their new houses, they remained nearby, and social routines kept the house full. Thomas and Mary always came to dinner on Sunday afternoons, for example, as did Henry Jr.'s children, Nannie and Tommy. In addition to Henry and Lucretia, John remained in residence, and while their houses were being built, Thomas and James with their families lived at Ashland too. Even after the older sons moved their families to their new houses, they remained nearby, and social routines kept the house full. Thomas and Mary always came to dinner on Sunday afternoons, for example, as did Henry Jr.'s children, Nannie and Tommy.43 Henry Jr. remained in Louisville, but he often came to visit the children, who were living in Lexington with cousin Nanette while going to school. Clay repeatedly tried to get Henry to move back to Lexington, even to live at Ashland, but he would not. Henry was hard to make cheerful. Julia had been dead for five years, but for the young widower, her passing might have happened only yesterday. Henry Jr. remained in Louisville, but he often came to visit the children, who were living in Lexington with cousin Nanette while going to school. Clay repeatedly tried to get Henry to move back to Lexington, even to live at Ashland, but he would not. Henry was hard to make cheerful. Julia had been dead for five years, but for the young widower, her passing might have happened only yesterday.44 Clay hovered over his children when they were near him and clung to them when they were distant. When he traveled, he wanted regular letters and complained when they were not forthcoming. It was important to him that everyone stay in touch, and Clay thought it odd when others did not. When, during his extended stay at Ashland, artist John Neagle did not receive any letters, Clay observed, according to Neagle, that "my family did not seem to care for me."45 When Clay was in ready proximity to his children, he could be smothering. Losing all his daughters filled him with dread about the children who survived. In addition, he had always treated his girls differently. For them he had always been full of praise and encouragement, an attitude that extended to his daughters-in-law as well. James's wife, Susan, became Clay's confidante and informally his private secretary, the keeper of the documents and, according to conjecture, destroyer of same if they were potentially unflattering. "I never knew a man more loved-adored in his family than Henry Clay," Susan Jacob Clay would remember. "I never heard him speak an unkind nor even a hasty word to any member of his household."46 That sort of reverence could be endearing, but it also emphasized for his sons that their father cast a long shadow. That sort of reverence could be endearing, but it also emphasized for his sons that their father cast a long shadow.

Because they had been allowed to grow up largely undisciplined and at considerable liberty-a custom of the times as well as a result of their parents' indulgence-all of the boys came uncertainly and unevenly to the burdens of adulthood. Theodore's insanity placed extra expectations on his brothers. They naturally chafed under them, which prompted even more hectoring from their father. Clay could never shake off his inclination to run things and manage people, and his sons never fully escaped his watchful eye nor were spared his advice in matters great and small. Henry Jr. stubbornly remained in Louisville, but when he considered running for Congress from that district, his father was ready with counsel as well as encouragement. He was soon suggesting that Henry Jr. move in at Ashland to save money and be near his children, possibly to go into business with Thomas. Henry Jr. would have none of it.47 Thomas and James were often unhappy as they and their families lodged at Ashland waiting for their houses to be finished. James was practicing law, but his father showed up frequently at the office with suggestions for improving this brief or that argument. Clay had advice about how to raise and educate his grandchildren too.

These boys became young men under the nearly impossible circumstance of being the sons of a great man of considerable renown and achievement. Living up to that standard was daunting enough without its exemplar's constantly, reflexively offering guidance. Worse, what Clay considered fatherly devotion could be stifling and was sometimes hurtful. Thomas was under no illusion that his father always regarded Henry Jr., serious and talented and bookish, as the most capable of the sons. Thomas was solemn enough all right, but he was never quite able to manage a success. He had launched his hemp and bagging business with high hopes and his father's generous capitalization, but the hopes had been dashed and his father nearly ruined when the business failed. In debt to his father for $20,000 (an obligation never repaid and finally forgiven in Clay's will), Thomas eventually embarked upon another business, a sawmill, but the equipment was second-rate, and he had to depend on his father again to come up with the $600 necessary to improve it. Thomas lived at Ashland, cheerless and irritable, eager to move in to his own house, even if it was only minutes away. He quarreled with John frequently, and the arguments could be heated enough to send one or the other stomping out. The subsequent truces were awkward and halfhearted.48 The arguments were usually John's fault. As the baby of the family, a child who came to Henry and Lucretia after so much loss and heartbreak, he was terribly spoiled by his parents and so petted by Lucretia that John's brothers tended to be jealous of him and mildly resentful of her. "I think you do your mother[']s heart wrong in supposing it engrossed by John," Clay admonished James, adding what he knew to be true: "I believe that she affectionately feels for all her children. Her manner does not always truly indicate the intensity of her actual feelings."49 Nevertheless John's brothers had a point, for Lucretia was doggedly blind to the boy's faults. Nevertheless John's brothers had a point, for Lucretia was doggedly blind to the boy's faults.50 He could be petulant and temperamental. Any good behavior on his part was such an unexpected treat that his parents were apt to characterize it as exemplary. He could be petulant and temperamental. Any good behavior on his part was such an unexpected treat that his parents were apt to characterize it as exemplary.

"John looks very serious," Clay reported to Lucretia when he and his son were on their way to enroll him at Princeton in 1837, "but has conducted himself well." In only a few months, though, John's experiment at college went awry. "John has lately given me great pain," Clay admitted, "and I almost despair of him." After John visited Ashland in the spring of his freshman year, the boy's level mood and good conduct encouraged his father, but upon returning to Princeton, John began disappearing for days at a time on drunken sprees in New York and Philadelphia. It was clear that when far from home, he could not resist indulging "his frailties" of strong drink and careless gambling. In March 1839, Clay himself requested that Princeton expel John from the junior class. The college was more than happy to oblige.51 And so it went. Clay next enrolled John in Washington College in Washington, Pennsylvania, with his grandson, Henry Clay Duralde, hopeful that a relative's companionship and the watchful eye of the headmaster would settle both boys down (Henry Duralde had his own problems). Clay confidentially informed the headmaster that John lacked "the will to study," a shortcoming he had cheerfully admitted to his father. "He has a high and irascible temper," Clay warned the school, but added that he was "easily acted upon by kindness and persuasion."52 John's hair-trigger temper continued to be a problem, but in the spring of 1845, his demeanor took an ominous turn. Over the course of several weeks his behavior grew increasingly unpredictable. By early April, Clay openly worried that John was becoming "more and more deranged" and at last broached the unthinkable: Would his youngest son, like his oldest, have to be committed?53 As with Theodore-hardly a comforting comparison-the ostensible cause was a girl: "His passion for Miss J-- revived," Clay explained, "and yesterday [April 4] he attempted to see her, but she, being advised of his situation, properly declined to receive him." Unrequited, John roamed the woods into the wee hours and became "wild and boisterous in his language," even "incoherent." At least he, unlike Theodore, had not threatened anyone-yet. After John's failed attempt to see the girl, Clay made the arrangements, and John went "quietly to the Hospital, without any resistance." Lucretia was heartsick. As with Theodore-hardly a comforting comparison-the ostensible cause was a girl: "His passion for Miss J-- revived," Clay explained, "and yesterday [April 4] he attempted to see her, but she, being advised of his situation, properly declined to receive him." Unrequited, John roamed the woods into the wee hours and became "wild and boisterous in his language," even "incoherent." At least he, unlike Theodore, had not threatened anyone-yet. After John's failed attempt to see the girl, Clay made the arrangements, and John went "quietly to the Hospital, without any resistance." Lucretia was heartsick.54 A week passed, but John was no better. If anything, he was worse. "I am afraid," Clay sadly confessed, "that John's case is hopeless." He was even more unhinged than Theodore had been when they first put him away. Clay found the state of affairs unbearable. He tried to comfort himself by making certain that Theodore and John, suddenly unexpected roommates, were as comfortable as possible in a building full of lunatics. He stationed a family servant in their room to see to their needs. But the matter preyed on his mind, especially because John retained enough rationality to suffer from his confinement but not enough to justify his freedom. Theodore at least had slipped into a catatonic state that shielded him from his hopelessness. (Fanciful stories that described Theodore as thinking he was George Washington and holding presidential levees for the other inmates at the asylum were complete fabrications.55) John's slender thread of lucidity, however, also gave Clay hope that his son could possibly come home. By the end of April, Clay was considering just such an experiment, and in early May, John finally returned to Ashland. He seemed better-in fact, better than his old self-but neither Clay nor Lucretia would ever again be easy about the boy. When John traveled alone and did not stay in touch, his parents always worried.56 John eventually found himself, and found a girl (if an unlikely one). For decades John remained a bachelor horse breeder. Hearing that his nephew Eugene Erwin, Anne's third son, had been killed while serving as a Confederate colonel at Vicksburg, he wrote to console Eugene's young widow, Josephine Russell Erwin. Their letters eventually assumed a warm, tender tone, and Josephine came to Lexington with her three daughters. John and Josephine married, with the result that Anne's little brother would raise her grandchildren as his own children. Thus would John eventually find his place as a stockman and breeder of horse racing champions and father to his little nieces. John would be all right. He even came to affectionate terms with Thomas. "You cannot imagine how much I was gratified at hearing of your visiting at Thomas's and talking kindly together as brothers," Clay wrote to John.57 When he penned that letter, Henry Clay was in Washington, dying, still worrying about them all. When he penned that letter, Henry Clay was in Washington, dying, still worrying about them all.

JOHN'S PLIGHT WAS only one source of family trouble for the Clays during these years. James and Susan's little girl was born in 1844 with a spinal defect so severe that everyone feared she would die, or at least be unable to walk. Lucy survived and turned out to be a cheerful child despite the chronic problems that filled her life with doctors and painful braces. It hurt her grandfather's heart, and he was always eager to pet and spoil his brave little Lucy. He often picked and peeled figs for her breakfast, arranging them on a tray with a freshly cut rose. only one source of family trouble for the Clays during these years. James and Susan's little girl was born in 1844 with a spinal defect so severe that everyone feared she would die, or at least be unable to walk. Lucy survived and turned out to be a cheerful child despite the chronic problems that filled her life with doctors and painful braces. It hurt her grandfather's heart, and he was always eager to pet and spoil his brave little Lucy. He often picked and peeled figs for her breakfast, arranging them on a tray with a freshly cut rose.58 Contemplating the situation of his beloved Anne's children also made Clay sad. Anne's widowed husband, James Erwin, remarried in 1843, taking as his second wife Mary Margaret Johnson, niece of Clay's old friend and nemesis Richard M. Johnson. When he married, Erwin left behind a trail of financial irregularities in New Orleans. He died in 1851, having had two more children with his second wife. He also left no will. The picture of James Erwin that afterward emerged was indistinct but unsettling. He had pretended affluence or poverty for best effect, depending on the situation. Family had served as particularly easy marks. Anne's nephews, the Duralde boys, were left flat broke by Erwin's frauds.59 It was cold comfort that Erwin had treated his and Anne's children just as shabbily. He had squandered their share of Anne's inheritance and died owing them $37,000, not counting years of interest-money that none of them would see, since the second Mrs. Erwin proved tenacious in claiming her and her children's share of the meager leavings.60 Under these shadows, the Erwin children remained a troubled lot. James Erwin, Jr., died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in New Orleans. Henry Clay Erwin died in 1859 at the Galt House in Louisville of tuberculosis. Andrew Eugene, always "Eugene" to the family, was placed in a mercantile house in New York by his grandfather, but the work did not agree with the boy, and he soon went to California. He did well there and married Josephine Russell, whose widowhood would later throw her together with Eugene's uncle John. More or less cast adrift by her brothers and father, Lucretia Clay Erwin married Frederick Cowles, a "very poor, altho' a very good person," according to her grandfather.61 In similar fashion, the Duralde grandchildren presented an unbroken chronicle of misfortune. Martin and Henry Clay Duralde seemed to enjoy visiting Lexington, but as he grew older, Henry Clay Duralde bounced from one private academy to another before retreating to his native New Orleans. He emptied his already meager purse and neglected his family, including his grandfather, whom he ignored during Clay's visits to the city. Finally Henry Duralde fled to California on the St. Mary, St. Mary, a schooner that rounded Cape Horn and paused at Valparaiso, where he wrote his grandfather a long apology confessing his profligacy and vowing to turn over a new leaf once he reached the West. In less than a year Clay received word that his grandson had drowned in the Sacramento River. a schooner that rounded Cape Horn and paused at Valparaiso, where he wrote his grandfather a long apology confessing his profligacy and vowing to turn over a new leaf once he reached the West. In less than a year Clay received word that his grandson had drowned in the Sacramento River.62 And then there was Martin, the little boy who had come wide-eyed to Lexington after his mother's death, able to speak only a few words of English. Martin became a midshipman in the navy and in spring 1839 was slated to sail on the Constitution Constitution to the Pacific. He was ill, however, and the navy was wary about sending him. Martin's complaint was respiratory and real, but Clay wondered if the illness was actually the result of Martin's reluctance to go so far from home. After all, said Clay, his grandson had no ancestral history of consumption. And with this first mention of that time's dreaded word for tuberculosis, Clay acknowledged the possibility that something might be irremediably wrong with his grandson. Clay suggested another ship to a more salubrious destination, perhaps the Mediterranean, and Martin did eventually sail on the to the Pacific. He was ill, however, and the navy was wary about sending him. Martin's complaint was respiratory and real, but Clay wondered if the illness was actually the result of Martin's reluctance to go so far from home. After all, said Clay, his grandson had no ancestral history of consumption. And with this first mention of that time's dreaded word for tuberculosis, Clay acknowledged the possibility that something might be irremediably wrong with his grandson. Clay suggested another ship to a more salubrious destination, perhaps the Mediterranean, and Martin did eventually sail on the Brandywine Brandywine to that duty station. But the signs were on him, and soon there was no denying that he was very ill. to that duty station. But the signs were on him, and soon there was no denying that he was very ill.63 Returning to the States, Martin was clearly unable to continue in the navy. In late 1844 he suffered a serious hemorrhage and began a sad descent, wandering in search of a place to breathe better and cough less. He went to Cuba before returning to Ashland in early 1846, but soon he left for the sulphur springs in Virginia that summer. In early July 1846 he paused at Blue Sulphur Springs, which catered to consumptive invalids. By this time, the stout boy whom Clay had once helped outfit with a new wardrobe was almost a skeleton. Martin tried to ride in the mornings before breakfast and said hopefully that the waters were helping.64 His optimism was fleeting. He moved to Red Sulphur Springs, but upon reflection, he judged it as only a place where consumptives came to die. On July 18, he left for the resort spa at White Sulphur Springs, not to take the waters-he was finally convinced they did no good-but to find a more cheerful setting to "let Nature pursue its own course." Martin told his grandfather, "I have become a confirmed case of consumption and can only hope to linger out a life of much suffering."65 And suffer he did. Seeking warmth, he moved through Richmond on his way to Old Point Comfort in Hampton, Virginia. He told his grandfather that he would continue to write as long as he could, but there were only a few more letters from him, and then nothing until word came from a doctor in Philadelphia. Martin, he said, had died on September 17, 1846, at the Columbia Hotel. His possessions included a pocket watch and a trunk with some clothes. His wallet contained $143 in southern banknotes, a deposit slip for $1,300 on a New Orleans bank, and a lottery ticket. Clay asked that the money be used to bury Martin and pledged to supply any additional funds that were necessary. "Death, ruthless death," he bitterly mourned, " ... has now commenced his work of destruction, with my descendants, in the second generation."66 Clay had not even known that Martin was in Philadelphia. He had wanted the boy to return to Ashland for his last days, but Martin had declined. So Susan's boy, aged twenty-three years, died in a hotel room surrounded by strangers and flanked by his small possessions. He had hoped even at the end that his luck could still change. He had bought a lottery ticket.

"YOU ASK ME if I am happy?" Clay wrote a friend in the months after the election of 1844. "Ah! my dear friend, who on earth is happy? Very few, I apprehend, if any." if I am happy?" Clay wrote a friend in the months after the election of 1844. "Ah! my dear friend, who on earth is happy? Very few, I apprehend, if any."67 Certainly he had reason to be discouraged by the course the Polk administration had pledged to plot in both domestic and foreign policy, but in the meantime he watched the closing days of the Tyler presidency with growing dismay. The annexation of Texas had become an obsession for John Tyler, and his efforts to accomplish it remained stalled by the impasse of slavery. The annexation forces simply did not have the two-thirds majority in the Senate to ratify a treaty with Texas, but Tyler and Secretary of State John C. Calhoun contrived the idea of bypassing that constitutional procedure with a joint congressional resolution, which required only simple majorities in both houses. Clay was bitterly amused by these doctrinaire interpreters of strict constitutional construction essentially disregarding constitutional rules. When the House of Representatives fell in line with Tyler to give his resolution a 22-vote majority, Clay cried, "God save the Commonwealth!" Certainly he had reason to be discouraged by the course the Polk administration had pledged to plot in both domestic and foreign policy, but in the meantime he watched the closing days of the Tyler presidency with growing dismay. The annexation of Texas had become an obsession for John Tyler, and his efforts to accomplish it remained stalled by the impasse of slavery. The annexation forces simply did not have the two-thirds majority in the Senate to ratify a treaty with Texas, but Tyler and Secretary of State John C. Calhoun contrived the idea of bypassing that constitutional procedure with a joint congressional resolution, which required only simple majorities in both houses. Clay was bitterly amused by these doctrinaire interpreters of strict constitutional construction essentially disregarding constitutional rules. When the House of Representatives fell in line with Tyler to give his resolution a 22-vote majority, Clay cried, "God save the Commonwealth!"68 The Senate was not quite as pliable, but the unrelenting persistence of annexationists finally delivered the goods in that chamber too. The clock was ticking away the final hours of Tyler's presidency when he finally signed the resolution annexing Texas, but sign it he did, the crowning achievement, in his estimation, of an otherwise failed administration. The Senate was not quite as pliable, but the unrelenting persistence of annexationists finally delivered the goods in that chamber too. The clock was ticking away the final hours of Tyler's presidency when he finally signed the resolution annexing Texas, but sign it he did, the crowning achievement, in his estimation, of an otherwise failed administration.69 It was, in a way, a gift to the incoming Polk administration. It at least spared Polk the political brawl that annexation threatened, which would have been a blemish on the traditional honeymoon with the legislature. But the gesture hardly guided Polk out of the territorial woods, and in some respects it blocked his path even more. The Mexican government, livid about what it described as the simple theft of its property, broke off diplomatic relations. Furthermore, Texas had never established its southern border with Mexico, claiming it to be the Rio Grande, while Mexico insisted it was fifty miles farther north, on the Nueces River, which had been the provincial Texan border when it was indisputably Mexican territory. The Rio Grande/Nueces disagreement made slight difference on its eastern end, but the western portion was quite another matter. There, as the Rio Grande snaked northward a good five hundred miles farther to the west, it would give a considerable part of New Mexico to Texas, and there Mexico drew the line-or more accurately, Mexico refused to let Texas draw any such line. Polk supported Texas's claim and thus created yet another point of contention with Mexico City.

Polk also inherited another territorial dispute that the Tyler administration had not been able to resolve in the slightest, and it had the potential to be very serious because it put the United States at odds with Great Britain, which many correctly noted was definitely not Mexico in terms of military power and international influence. The argument was over the vast Oregon country, a region in the Pacific Northwest that dwarfed even Texas in its expansive potential. Polk came into office, of course, saddled with a Democrat expansionist impulse that would find expression in the absurdly belligerent slogan "Fifty-four Forty or Fight," a fetchingly alliterative phrase fraught with grave diplomatic consequences. Would James K. Polk really clench the country's fists to secure the bulk of western Canada, despite Britain's impeccable territorial claims to much of the region? Antislavery advocates certainly wanted him to, for a larger (free) Oregon coming to the United States served as a counterweight to (slave) Texas, and Polk found himself caught between angry abolitionists who did not trust him and the thigh-thumping, gallus-popping expansionists who formed the core of his political support. Watching all this unfold from Ashland, Clay was more alarmed for the country than amused by Polk's dilemma. The former War Hawk now judged the prospect of hostilities with Britain a "calamity"; the erstwhile expansionist who had eyed the plum of eastern Canada now deemed its western regions "a territory so distant from them both [America and Britain], and at present so unimportant to either."70 Efforts to negotiate an Oregon boundary proved fruitless, and when Polk gave the required one-year notice that he intended to end the Anglo-American joint tenancy arrangement in the Oregon country, a pact in force since 1818, Clay was dismayed.71 Yet he should not have been. Irresistible forces fated the peaceful resolution of the Oregon controversy. "I do not think," predicted a sagacious observer, "nor have I thought from the first that we will have war with England." Yet he should not have been. Irresistible forces fated the peaceful resolution of the Oregon controversy. "I do not think," predicted a sagacious observer, "nor have I thought from the first that we will have war with England."72 Fighting was in neither country's best interest, and a treaty ultimately settled the boundary at the 49th parallel, considerably south of the 54 purportedly worth fighting for-an American concession, but far enough north to give the United States possession of the Columbia River, a British compromise of some note. Fighting was in neither country's best interest, and a treaty ultimately settled the boundary at the 49th parallel, considerably south of the 54 purportedly worth fighting for-an American concession, but far enough north to give the United States possession of the Columbia River, a British compromise of some note.

Antislavery men howled over the perceived surrender, but Polk had good reason to embrace the arrangement. Great Britain, after all, was not Mexico. The latter was a much more attractive and likely prospect for a war of conquest, which by the time the Oregon Treaty was signed had already started.

Polk wanted the grand bay at San Francisco in order to promote American interests in the Pacific, and a considerable number of Americans imbued with a sense of "Manifest Destiny" felt foreordained to extend their dominion from sea to shining sea. To that end, Polk tried to compel Mexico to negotiate by making the border dispute with Texas the center of all controversies. He ordered General Zachary Taylor to march south of the Nueces River and plant the flag in the disputed region, and he sent an envoy to Mexico City to purchase California. Taylor's move was provocative, the envoy's cause was hopeless, and the Mexican government was provoked by the one and intractable with the other. Inevitably there was an incident on the border, and Polk used it to ask Congress for war. Hectored and goaded by the administration's claims that American blood had been spilled by an invader on American soil, Congress agreed on May 11, 1846, to make war on Mexico. Fourteen Whigs in the House voted against the declaration of war. Eventually they would be lionized as "the Immortal Fourteen."

Congress called for fifty thousand volunteers to join Taylor's forces, and the country responded. Within a week a mass meeting in Lexington produced two organized companies of mounted infantry, and Governor William Owsley's May 17 proclamation exhorting Kentuckians to form volunteer companies drew responses from all over the state, including the Louisville Legion, which became the 1st Kentucky volunteer infantry. Private citizens were already doing their part. Henry Clay, Jr., cheered the Louisville Courier, Courier, "can raise in an hour as noble and brave a band as ever shouldered a musket or thrashed an enemy." "can raise in an hour as noble and brave a band as ever shouldered a musket or thrashed an enemy."73 In only five days, Kentucky had filled its requisition of troops. Everyone's blood was up regardless of political affiliation or partisan policies. Daniel Webster's youngest son, Edward, helped to raise a regiment in Boston. And Henry Clay's namesake became second-in-command of the 2nd Kentucky volunteer infantry. In only five days, Kentucky had filled its requisition of troops. Everyone's blood was up regardless of political affiliation or partisan policies. Daniel Webster's youngest son, Edward, helped to raise a regiment in Boston. And Henry Clay's namesake became second-in-command of the 2nd Kentucky volunteer infantry.74 Clay did not want his son to go to war in Mexico. His opposition was not because the duty was sure to be dangerous; he regretted that the war itself was not "more reconcilable with the dictates of conscience."75 Clay's was a widespread Whig sentiment. "Who would be glad at this time," asked the Lexington Clay's was a widespread Whig sentiment. "Who would be glad at this time," asked the Lexington Virginian, Virginian, "when the war clouds are gathering around the horizon, to see "when the war clouds are gathering around the horizon, to see HENRY CLAY HENRY CLAY at the head of affairs?" at the head of affairs?"76 Meanwhile, Henry Clay, Jr., helped to drill his regiment in Louisville. His decision to join the fight in Mexico was complicated, but it essentially distilled to several essential and inescapable motives. He had lacked purpose ever since Julia's death, and his return to his military commission at this moment offered not only direction but meaning to what had become an aimless life unfulfilled by legal briefs, unsuccessful runs for Congress, or dithering about in the state legislature at Frankfort. True enough, he volunteered in defiance of his father's wishes-the only time he had ever disregarded his father's wishes about an important matter-but in that defiance he was ironically adhering to the most basic lesson learned from his father: the love of country expressed not just in words but deeds. So he donned a uniform and spent the scant days before he and his men left for Zachary Taylor's army teaching them the rudiments of army life. He showed them how to fight as a unit and how to behave like soldiers, things he had learned at West Point years earlier but had never practiced himself in the field.

In June, the Kentucky volunteers began departing from Louisville by steamboat, first to Memphis, then overland to Little Rock, Arkansas, and on from there through Texas to the Rio Grande. They followed Taylor's tracks into Mexico to swell his army along with the legions of volunteers from other states.77 Henry managed to write often because Taylor's invasion was uneventful after a victory at Monterrey in September, a fight the Kentucky volunteers had missed while making their way overland. By early 1847, Taylor had moved his army farther south from Monterrey, camping it some twenty miles south of Saltillo at Agua Nueva, about a hundred miles from the Rio Grande. There it had little to do but drill and get into trouble, the small number of regulars doing most of the former and the volunteers almost all of the latter. Henry assured his father that reports about undisciplined antics by the 2nd Kentucky, especially its unbridled drunkenness, were exaggerated. It was true, he admitted, that his immediate superior, Colonel William R. McKee, could be lax with the men and drank himself, sometimes to excess. But everyone was bored, and Henry found himself in the unenviable position of taking up the slack with the regiment. He longed for the carefree life of a private, but mostly "for a battle that it may have an end." Henry managed to write often because Taylor's invasion was uneventful after a victory at Monterrey in September, a fight the Kentucky volunteers had missed while making their way overland. By early 1847, Taylor had moved his army farther south from Monterrey, camping it some twenty miles south of Saltillo at Agua Nueva, about a hundred miles from the Rio Grande. There it had little to do but drill and get into trouble, the small number of regulars doing most of the former and the volunteers almost all of the latter. Henry assured his father that reports about undisciplined antics by the 2nd Kentucky, especially its unbridled drunkenness, were exaggerated. It was true, he admitted, that his immediate superior, Colonel William R. McKee, could be lax with the men and drank himself, sometimes to excess. But everyone was bored, and Henry found himself in the unenviable position of taking up the slack with the regiment. He longed for the carefree life of a private, but mostly "for a battle that it may have an end."78 The prospect for a decisive engagement seemed less likely because Taylor's army was shrinking. In fact, it was already a greatly changed force by the time the Kentucky volunteers joined it. President Polk was angry about Taylor's handling of the victory at Monterrey-the general had made a bargain that allowed defeated Mexican forces to retreat unmolested-and he was troubled that Taylor's growing popularity would make him a political enemy with influence. The president decided to redirect operations in Mexico by stopping Taylor's campaign and promoting another invasion led by Winfield Scott, who would land at Vera Cruz and march from there on Mexico City. Scott's operation drew off all available men, including those in Taylor's army, who were being sent to join the new American force assembling at Tampico. "Taylor is very sore about late proceedings in Washington," Henry observed at Agua Nueva. "He was not mentioned in the President's message and has been supplanted in command by Scott in a very cavalier manner." Furthermore, Henry confided to his father, Taylor "was not free from ambition" regarding the presidency.79 Taylor was, however, lacking a force of regulars. He sat exposed in a forward position with a diminished army composed almost exclusively of untested volunteer regiments. He brooded over slights and prepared to do whatever was necessary to save a reputation obviously under attack by political forces at home. When newspapers reported that he had quarreled with his staff at Monterrey, he worked to counter the rumors, young Clay joining the effort to declare that "none but the most amiable relations have existed" between the general and his subordinates.80 Young Henry was "in bad spirits" at Agua Nueva, his father told the family, "owing to his having no prospect of active service." Young Henry was "in bad spirits" at Agua Nueva, his father told the family, "owing to his having no prospect of active service."81 The absence of the prospect suited the elder Clay just fine. Shortly after arriving in Mexico, Henry had injured his right arm, either by dislocating or breaking it, according to various accounts, and had been assigned to Taylor's staff while on the mend. The news was mixed when Henry told them his health was fine and he was returning to the 2nd Kentucky, his arm still in a sling. Then in mid-February, one of his letters casually mentioned in a postscript that Santa Anna was rumored to be approaching their position with twenty thousand men. The absence of the prospect suited the elder Clay just fine. Shortly after arriving in Mexico, Henry had injured his right arm, either by dislocating or breaking it, according to various accounts, and had been assigned to Taylor's staff while on the mend. The news was mixed when Henry told them his health was fine and he was returning to the 2nd Kentucky, his arm still in a sling. Then in mid-February, one of his letters casually mentioned in a postscript that Santa Anna was rumored to be approaching their position with twenty thousand men.82 For a time, particularly as his son marched to join Taylor, Clay was caught up in the patriotic fervor of the war himself. On an extended visit to New Orleans at the end of 1846, he dined with the New England Society of Louisiana, where some members were preparing to embark for Scott's expedition. "I felt half inclined to ask for some little nook or corner in the army," Clay told the gathering, "in which I might serve in avenging the wrongs to my country." Perhaps it was the wine that made him say this. Possibly the burst of enthusiastic applause that greeted this incredible statement prompted Clay to go on: "I have thought that I might yet be able to capture or to slay a Mexican," he said to another appreciative ovation. The assembly loved the sentiments, and Clay basked in his customary ability to say just the right thing to the right group. His old friend Christopher Hughes, however, read about Clay's remarks and cringed.83 HENRY JR. LEFT his two youngest children in place at Nanette Smith's home in Lexington, but he deposited his oldest, Henry III, with James and Susan Clay, who had trouble with the boy from the start. This youngest Henry Clay had concerned his father for a long time. He took his mother's death understandably hard and developed a withdrawn and sullen attitude that was simultaneously passive and defiant. Modern adolescents have perfected to a near science the art of facing the world with a mixture of contempt and indifference, but such behavior was novel for Henry Clay III's time, and though everyone could understand its likely cause, everyone found it increasingly tedious. His father had tried to offer guidance, but he inevitably slipped into the habits of his own father in doing so, his words framing lectures and his approach chiding. his two youngest children in place at Nanette Smith's home in Lexington, but he deposited his oldest, Henry III, with James and Susan Clay, who had trouble with the boy from the start. This youngest Henry Clay had concerned his father for a long time. He took his mother's death understandably hard and developed a withdrawn and sullen attitude that was simultaneously passive and defiant. Modern adolescents have perfected to a near science the art of facing the world with a mixture of contempt and indifference, but such behavior was novel for Henry Clay III's time, and though everyone could understand its likely cause, everyone found it increasingly tedious. His father had tried to offer guidance, but he inevitably slipped into the habits of his own father in doing so, his words framing lectures and his approach chiding.84 Away in Mexico, he continued his efforts. "Nothing gives me more pleasure than to learn that my children are happy," he wrote young Henry from the camp at Agua Nueva. "True happiness consists not a little in the discharge of duties." Away in Mexico, he continued his efforts. "Nothing gives me more pleasure than to learn that my children are happy," he wrote young Henry from the camp at Agua Nueva. "True happiness consists not a little in the discharge of duties."85 The boy's grandpapa would not have said it any differently. The boy's grandpapa would not have said it any differently.

Henry III was under gentle but firm instructions to mind his Uncle James and Aunt Susan, but they had their hands full with their difficult, insolent charge. "The faults which Henry Clay displays with you, he had developed at Ashland," Clay explained to his daughter-in-law. After Julia's death it had been impossible to take a firm hand with the grieving boy, and the result was now plainly unfortunate. Clay regretted it. "We must do the best we can with him ... until his father returns, which I suppose will be next summer, when I hope he will take some decisive course with him."86 Clay commiserated with Susan from New Orleans, where he was visiting with William Mercer, as was his custom during the winter, and this first one of the war was no different.87 He was preparing to return to Ashland when he heard that Zachary Taylor had fought a large battle and suffered heavy losses. Some reports had the casualty figures as high as two thousand men, but Clay hastened to reassure Lucretia that he doubted the fight was as big as that. He was preparing to return to Ashland when he heard that Zachary Taylor had fought a large battle and suffered heavy losses. Some reports had the casualty figures as high as two thousand men, but Clay hastened to reassure Lucretia that he doubted the fight was as big as that.88 He did have to assume, however, that whatever had taken place near Agua Nueva that February had involved Henry. There was his son's troubling postscript, after all, about Santa Anna and tens of thousands of men. He did have to assume, however, that whatever had taken place near Agua Nueva that February had involved Henry. There was his son's troubling postscript, after all, about Santa Anna and tens of thousands of men.

On March 29, Clay returned to Ashland and found the farm running smoothly, in better shape actually than he had expected it to be. The weather was glorious with the air full of lovely fragrances and warmed by a soft spring sun. It was good to be home, and Clay spent the next day settling back into his routine. At midafternoon, the families gathered in Ashland's dining room for a welcome home dinner, chattering and laughing, the children eager to hear of Grandpapa's adventures on his trip. James entered the room, and everyone paused because he had a peculiar, drawn look. He told them the news.89 IT WOULD BE hailed as a great victory and its author, Zachary Taylor, would be lauded as a staunch patriot and stalwart soldier, the man who had faced incredible odds to hand Americans a victory as unlikely and as significant as Andrew Jackson's at New Orleans. It would instantly make Taylor a national champion and a political prospect of the first order. Yet the fight at the hacienda of Buena Vista was a meaningless battle that Taylor had recklessly invited to happen and had bungled at its start by depending on terrain to make up for his paltry numbers. The Mexican army commanded by Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna numbered at least twenty thousand men, likely more. Zachary Taylor did not have five thousand men. He had only one organized brigade and a motley collection of untested volunteer units. Taylor's withdrawal to Buena Vista as the Mexicans entered Agua Nueva puzzled Santa Anna, who finally concluded that Taylor was in panicked retreat and decided to attack with his vastly superior numbers despite their fatigue from a forced march. Taylor was not in retreat. He wanted this fight to reclaim his reputation. He had deployed his men on a series of fingerlike plateaus that extended from a steep mountain face. The fifty-foot-deep arroyos that separated these plateaus made it hard for the Mexicans to mount an attack. They also made it nearly impossible for the forward units of Taylor's army to execute a retreat. hailed as a great victory and its author, Zachary Taylor, would be lauded as a staunch patriot and stalwart soldier, the man who had faced incredible odds to hand Americans a victory as unlikely and as significant as Andrew Jackson's at New Orleans. It would instantly make Taylor a national champion and a political prospect of the first order. Yet the fight at the hacienda of Buena Vista was a meaningless battle that Taylor had recklessly invited to happen and had bungled at its start by depending on terrain to make up for his paltry numbers. The Mexican army commanded by Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna numbered at least twenty thousand men, likely more. Zachary Taylor did not have five thousand men. He had only one organized brigade and a motley collection of untested volunteer units. Taylor's withdrawal to Buena Vista as the Mexicans entered Agua Nueva puzzled Santa Anna, who finally concluded that Taylor was in panicked retreat and decided to attack with his vastly superior numbers despite their fatigue from a forced march. Taylor was not in retreat. He wanted this fight to reclaim his reputation. He had deployed his men on a series of fingerlike plateaus that extended from a steep mountain face. The fifty-foot-deep arroyos that separated these plateaus made it hard for the Mexicans to mount an attack. They also made it nearly impossible for the forward units of Taylor's army to execute a retreat.90 Lieutenant Colonel Henry Clay, Jr., and the 2nd Kentucky volunteer infantry were part of these forward positions, and when the Mexican attack began in earnest on February 23, they bore the full force of it. The fighting became confused and vicious, "the hardest fight that has been fought in Mexico," according to one soldier. "We lost a great many officers."91 The 2nd Kentucky soon found itself isolated when other regiments began retreating. As some four thousand Mexican lancers hurtled toward them to cut off any additional escape, the Kentuckians plunged into "a deep ravine ... with rugged banks to climb." The 2nd Kentucky soon found itself isolated when other regiments began retreating. As some four thousand Mexican lancers hurtled toward them to cut off any additional escape, the Kentuckians plunged into "a deep ravine ... with rugged banks to climb."92 Trapped, they suffered terrible casualties as Mexican artillery winnowed their ranks. Colonel McKee staggered to the ground where Mexican bayonets would finish him. Lieutenant Colonel Clay hit the ground with a serious wound too, but his men appeared out of the smoke and whistling shells to bear him up and carry him to the rear. They had gone only a short distance before a burst of Mexican grapeshot knocked three of them down dead and tore additional wounds in Henry. The noise was horrible, deafening, confusing, concussive, but Henry was shouting at his men and managed to raise his voice above the din, commanding them to leave him and save themselves. They looked at his broken body. They ran. Shortly the Mexican assault reached where he lay, and Santa Anna's soldiers repeatedly speared him with their lances until he was lifeless. Trapped, they suffered terrible casualties as Mexican artillery winnowed their ranks. Colonel McKee staggered to the ground where Mexican bayonets would finish him. Lieutenant Colonel Clay hit the ground with a serious wound too, but his men appeared out of the smoke and whistling shells to bear him up and carry him to the rear. They had gone only a short distance before a burst of Mexican grapeshot knocked three of them down dead and tore additional wounds in Henry. The noise was horrible, deafening, confusing, concussive, but Henry was shouting at his men and managed to raise his voice above the din, commanding them to leave him and save themselves. They looked at his broken body. They ran. Shortly the Mexican assault reached where he lay, and Santa Anna's soldiers repeatedly speared him with their lances until he was lifeless.93 Americans deeper in the rear, near Buena Vista, finally stood firm, and upon them the Mexican army broke its will. As Santa Anna retreated toward Agua Nueva and from there to Mexico City, Taylor's army gathered its dead from the barren countryside. There were no trees, so burial parties broke up wagons for makeshift coffins and crude grave markers. The Kentucky dead, Henry Clay, Jr., among them, were buried near Saltillo. One of Henry's comrades snipped a lock of his hair and sent it to Ashland with the assurance that Henry would not be left in Mexico. When the war was over, he would be brought home for burial.94 It was only one of many letters that began to arrive at Ashland "from every quarter, in every form, and in the most touching and feeling manner," Zachary Taylor wrote from Agua Nueva.95 "He gave every assurance that in the hour of need I could lean with confidence upon his support," he said, professing that "to your son I felt bound by the strongest ties of private regard." "He gave every assurance that in the hour of need I could lean with confidence upon his support," he said, professing that "to your son I felt bound by the strongest ties of private regard."96 The many expressions of sympathy helped a bit, but not much, especially when detailed reports of Henry's last minutes reached Ashland. "We have been tortured," Clay said, "by account after account, coming to us, as to the manner of his death, and the possible outrages committed upon his body, by the enemy, whilst he had temporary possession of it." The many expressions of sympathy helped a bit, but not much, especially when detailed reports of Henry's last minutes reached Ashland. "We have been tortured," Clay said, "by account after account, coming to us, as to the manner of his death, and the possible outrages committed upon his body, by the enemy, whilst he had temporary possession of it."97 In the weeks that followed, Clay pondered the solace that Lucretia found in her faith. The compassionate attention from the Christ Church congregation and the kind words of the Reverend Berkeley were surely supportive, as were the comforting rituals of worship. But for Lucretia there was obviously more to it than that. She was both devastated and at peace, blasted by grief and placidly reconciled to it, salved by a spiritual grace that was mysterious and appealing, a fortress of faith, a gift. For years Clay had wondered at Lucretia's resilience as it was repeatedly tested by tragedy, but after this latest calamity he suddenly wanted sanctuary in that fortress too. From within it he might better bear the memories of the dead daughters, the slain son, even see without tears the crooked back and awkward gait of brave little Lucy, her twisted spine no longer a mockery but part of a meaningful plan in which suffering and sorrow cloaked something else, something glorious, everlasting.

Clay had never been irreligious, but he had avoided joining a church, even Lucretia's, which he had helped found forty years earlier. Yet he had always believed in a higher power, and he often explained times of baffling hardship as the work of a benign Providence. Confronting tragedy or disappointment, he sought solace and meaning by studying theological works and occasionally queried clerics about sin and salvation. A prominent Methodist minister recalled that Clay had been "a good deal concerned on the subject of personal, experimental experimental religion." religion."98 Besides the fact that Clay was nearing the end of his life, Henry's death gave him even greater reason to see meaning and comfort in a formal declaration of faith. Sincerity was crucial to his entering any church. Clay was raised in a Baptist home, his father a preacher and his mother devout, and a staple of their religious belief was that an insincere conversion was a grievous sin. It stained with pretense a powerfully private matter between God and man, usually for base public effect. Clay could have joined a church dozens of times over the years when it would have done him political good, but he could never bring himself to wear in his soul that stain. His actions after Henry's death were heartfelt in the truest sense, and even writers inclined to view his behavior with skepticism do not think his embrace of Christ Church at this critical moment in his life was anything but genuine. Besides the fact that Clay was nearing the end of his life, Henry's death gave him even greater reason to see meaning and comfort in a formal declaration of faith. Sincerity was crucial to his entering any church. Clay was raised in a Baptist home, his father a preacher and his mother devout, and a staple of their religious belief was that an insincere conversion was a grievous sin. It stained with pretense a powerfully private matter between God and man, usually for base public effect. Clay could have joined a church dozens of times over the years when it would have done him political good, but he could never bring himself to wear in his soul that stain. His actions after Henry's death were heartfelt in the truest sense, and even writers inclined to view his behavior with skepticism do not think his embrace of Christ Church at this critical moment in his life was anything but genuine.99 On June 22, 1847, the Reverend Berkeley read the ritual of baptism in the parlor at Ashland, dipping his hands into an enormous cut-glass vase to flick the consecrated water onto Henry Clay's brow.100 Lucretia looked on as her husband laid aside the prayer book to respond to the ritual from memory-he had been studying. Mary Mentelle Clay and her children joined him in receiving the sacrament, their knees also bent and bodies bowed, the huge portrait of Washington and his family forming the backdrop for Clay and his family as they entered the community of Christ. Two weeks later, Clay received communion at the Chapel of Transylvania University for the first time, Lucretia with him, her mighty fortress large enough to shelter all the world, but for now enough to shelter her family, particularly for her two Henrys, for the son who had perished so far from home and for the husband next to her, a gift. Lucretia looked on as her husband laid aside the prayer book to respond to the ritual from memory-he had been studying. Mary Mentelle Clay and her children joined him in receiving the sacrament, their knees also bent and bodies bowed, the huge portrait of Washington and his family forming the backdrop for Clay and his family as they entered the community of Christ. Two weeks later, Clay received communion at the Chapel of Transylvania University for the first time, Lucretia with him, her mighty fortress large enough to shelter all the world, but for now enough to shelter her family, particularly for her two Henrys, for the son who had perished so far from home and for the husband next to her, a gift.101 On Tuesday, July 20, Clay took Henry III, Nannie, and Tommy to Frankfort to join the twenty thousand people who had gathered for the burial of Kentucky's fallen heroes, among them his son, their father, who had all been brought home by Kentucky's emissaries. The ceremonies included a speech by John C. Breckinridge, a service by the Reverend John H. Brown, a 21-gun salute, and an impressive tribute by the Masons. But all of this was eclipsed by what happened after the caskets were lowered into the ground. The surviving Kentucky volunteers formed behind Colonel Humphrey Marshall and marched slowly by the graves, not to a dirge or a muffled drum, but in absolute, mesmerizing silence, an unplanned, impulsive, unexpected homage. Inspired by the scene, twenty-seven-year-old Theodore O'Hara, himself among those volunteers, penned a requiem he entitled "The Bivouac of the Dead," a poem that achieved such widespread fame that it would be etched into monuments years later to honor the dead of another war, one that Henry Clay dreaded as much as he loathed the one that had killed his boy.102 Despite the comfort of his faith, Clay remained bitter about a war he excoriated as "calamitous, as well as unjust and unnecessary."103 And despite his firm belief that God could heal the wound of his loss, he suddenly found Ashland's blossoming glories profoundly depressing. Everything about it was "associated with the memory of the lost one. The very trees which his hands assisted me to plant, served to remind me of my loss." And despite his firm belief that God could heal the wound of his loss, he suddenly found Ashland's blossoming glories profoundly depressing. Everything about it was "associated with the memory of the lost one. The very trees which his hands assisted me to plant, served to remind me of my loss."104 He could not bear it. Four days after the funeral in Frankfort, he fled his home for White Sulphur Springs with plans to travel on to Cape May with William Mercer. He could not bear it. Four days after the funeral in Frankfort, he fled his home for White Sulphur Springs with plans to travel on to Cape May with William Mercer.105 Lucretia remained at Ashland, of course, as did his other sons and their families. Clay salved his wound with prayer, but he ultimately resorted to his habit of travel as therapy. Lucretia remained at Ashland, of course, as did his other sons and their families. Clay salved his wound with prayer, but he ultimately resorted to his habit of travel as therapy.

His poor troubled grandchildren had suffered terrible, indescribable tragedies in the deaths of their mother and now their father. Under the terms of Henry Jr.'s will, which he had prudently drafted just weeks after leaving Louisville on the way to Mexico, he made official and permanent his informal arrangements for those children: Nannie and Tommy remained with Nanette Smith, in whom he reposed "much confidence and love" with good reason, for the two Clay children embraced this kind, smiling guardian and called her mother; James was to raise Henry III.106 Nannie wept over her father's memory and explained best how they could all make their way. "Yes we have lost our dear Father," she told her brother. "Now we are poor little orphans indeed and must love one another with all our hearts." Nannie wept over her father's memory and explained best how they could all make their way. "Yes we have lost our dear Father," she told her brother. "Now we are poor little orphans indeed and must love one another with all our hearts."107 Nannie was only nine. Her grandpapa at seventy would not have said it any differently. Nannie was only nine. Her grandpapa at seventy would not have said it any differently.