CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

The Last Gamble MILK WAGON HORSES could never be retired and remain modes of conveyance. Even with their wagons unhitched, they would stubbornly follow their customary routes, pausing at each stop along the way, unable to break habits so deeply ingrained that they had become unconsciously natural. By the 1840s, Henry Clay was such an animal, retired from public life but persistently drawn to it. The quadrennial presidential contest was a scheduled stop along the route of his existence, and he would react accordingly, even if the Whig Party unhitched its wagon from him. could never be retired and remain modes of conveyance. Even with their wagons unhitched, they would stubbornly follow their customary routes, pausing at each stop along the way, unable to break habits so deeply ingrained that they had become unconsciously natural. By the 1840s, Henry Clay was such an animal, retired from public life but persistently drawn to it. The quadrennial presidential contest was a scheduled stop along the route of his existence, and he would react accordingly, even if the Whig Party unhitched its wagon from him.

The Whigs came out of the defeat of 1844 deeply divided and despondent. The party was a shattered machine, broken in spirit and falling apart. While some insisted that only a leader of Clay's stature could take the party to triumph, many were no longer sure. The 1844 results seemed to point to the hopelessness of a Clay candidacy. If he could not win at those odds, he could not win.1 Trounced in local elections, many Whigs became convinced that only an overwhelmingly popular candidate could save their political futures, someone able to draw in untethered voters and disaffected Democrats, an attitude that dimmed Clay's chances. Young Whigs were especially tired of disappointments and resolutely committed to such a strategy. This youthful movement in the party had a barely concealed contempt for the exhausted banners of Whigdom that proclaimed the Bank, the tariff, and the road and rail network as the reasons to hold office. Everybody who had come of age in the Jacksonian era knew that the reason to hold office was to dispense patronage, ensure incumbency, and build a movement with influence and interest. Upon such pillars, a party could enact its policies from positions of strength.

These hard-eyed, hardheaded young men with lean looks and keen aspirations were perfectly correct, of course. After 1844, they early committed to the principle of Anybody But Clay. At stake, as it turned out, was the soul of the party, its viability as a political creature, its very existence as a sustainable entity. The young Whigs were not going to let Clay ruin the party any longer. They were going to do that themselves.

The pull of practicality was almost irresistible for those Whigs who were tired of losing and eager to put their noses in the patronage trough. A considerable portion of the party, however, insisted that 1848 should again be a contest of principles, and their call was bolstered by Whig victories in the autumn elections of 1846, a reflection of discontent with Democratic economic policies. Suddenly the young Whigs' disenchantment with their party's credo seemed overwrought, even wrongheaded. Principles again held sway, and Clay was the one national figure of unquestioned fealty to Whig principles, his closest challenger in that regard being Webster, who was truly detested in the South. All else being equal and unchanged, Clay's political fortunes were ascendant, at least on the surface. At Ashland, the old dray horse put up his ears.2 Clay's interest in another run for the presidency had never really abated, despite his seeming farewell to the Kentucky electors in December 1844. Much of the Whig press did not long take seriously his declaration of final retirement either. One story told of his leaving the Lexington market on a Saturday evening in late 1845 when a stout stranger bluntly said, "This must be Henry Clay." The two shook hands as the stranger stared evenly at Clay and said, "I have never before seen you, sir, but I voted for you; and in '48 I shall shall vote for you again: my home is Indiana-God bless you, sir." vote for you again: my home is Indiana-God bless you, sir."3 Despite such encouragement, Clay remained guarded. He watched other aspirants carefully. In addition to Webster, a fixture in these quests, Ohio's Thomas E. Corwin rode a brief boomlet, and the transparently ambitious Associate Justice John McLean put out feelers and was considered a tempting alternative who could subordinate principles and broaden the party's appeal. Military heroes were also mentioned, especially Winfield Scott and Zachary Taylor.

Meanwhile, Clay criticized all talk of 1848 as premature. He chided Webster for proposing to lower the tariff, a criticism meant to appeal to Pennsylvania's manufacturing interests. Scott had a following (even Crittenden was leaning toward Scott in light of Clay's apparent indifference), and between him and Taylor, Clay judged Scott the more serious adversary and consequently described Taylor as the "most sincere and honest man." Clay, however, reflexively opposed a military-minded man's aspirations to civic office. He believed that Taylor was the most military-minded man ever considered for the presidency, more so than Jackson or Harrison, really politicians who had once been soldiers.4 Yet events upended Clay's cautious approach when suddenly in the spring of 1847 the Anybody But Clay movement received an unforeseen boost. Clay was correct about Winfield Scott's fading star, but he completely misjudged the explosive appeal of Zachary Taylor. In two early engagements of the Mexican War, Taylor had scored victories at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma that caught the country's notice. When he crossed the Rio Grande, he began to resemble a war hero on the order of Andrew Jackson. Leading Whigs began a courtship to deprive the Democrats of claiming this popular champion by branding him as one of their own. A political unknown, Taylor was nominally a Whig whose growing enthusiasm for the party stemmed from his anger at James K. Polk. But Taylor's ties to the Whigs were quite tenuous, and his popularity rested with the waning recollection of his early successes in Mexico, victories that were certain to be superseded by Scott's exploits on the march to Mexico City. By all the evidence, Zachary Taylor was a spent force in early 1847, his army dwindling as he fell further out of favor with his civilian superiors, men intent on diminishing if not wrecking his reputation. Then he won at Buena Vista and became a popular hero of startling power. "If truth, honesty, and tallents [sic] deserve to be honored," marveled one Whig, "God knows Taylor does."5 Buena Vista was the wild card, the unexpected and unforeseen event that elevated Taylor to become Henry Clay's principal rival for the Whig nomination-an irony in that it was the event that had killed Henry Clay's son. It immediately became clear as Whigs gravitated toward Taylor that Clay had seriously underestimated him.6 Worse were the even more telling signs that the party was slipping away from its Old Chieftain, despite his shrewd perception and sense of survival. Many people mirrored the attitude of the Alabama Whig who admitted that little was known about Taylor's principles and that "Mars was not competent to occupy Jupiter's place," but that Taylor was the most electable man. "It is with me a rule," he concluded, "ever if I can not get the best [to] take the next best I can get." Worse were the even more telling signs that the party was slipping away from its Old Chieftain, despite his shrewd perception and sense of survival. Many people mirrored the attitude of the Alabama Whig who admitted that little was known about Taylor's principles and that "Mars was not competent to occupy Jupiter's place," but that Taylor was the most electable man. "It is with me a rule," he concluded, "ever if I can not get the best [to] take the next best I can get."7 The Taylor boom was put together by seasoned professionals scarred by countless campaigns, and it was given energy by young men tired of losing elections. Handlers played up Taylor's strengths for southern Whigs by emphasizing his fealty to slavery. Taylor's ties to slavery were a weakness in the North, but supporters diminished the importance of that disadvantage by reminding northern Whigs that Clay was a three-time loser. Taylor was electable, they cooed, because he alone could unify the party and draw in enough non-Whig voters to ensure victory. Even in the absence of a rival like Taylor, with the laurels of Buena Vista on him, Whigs in the Senate had concluded that Clay was "out of the question." Instead, they believed that Clay should promptly support Taylor or face the prospect of looking small and petulant.8 Calls for uniting behind Taylor were quite seductive. In Kentucky, Clay's Whig enemies naturally embraced Taylor, but more ominous was the desertion of his friends. Such defections were understandable to a point, for Clay did not seem to be interested in the nomination, and his supporters consequently felt no disloyalty in supporting other candidates. Crittenden had taken Clay at his word about retirement and had become a Scott man, but like other Kentucky Whigs he began actively working for Taylor in early 1847. There were ties between the two beyond political affinity. Taylor had lived many years in Kentucky, Crittenden's first wife had been a relation, and his son was on Taylor's staff in Mexico.

Yet Crittenden was troubled by his central role in this episode. His coaxing and encouragement were the deciding factors in Taylor's resolve to seek the Whig nomination, and Crittenden's efforts for Taylor became so enthusiastic that he became the general's unofficial campaign manager. He was also drawn into close concert with Clay's enemies from the Tyler breach who were naturally supporting Taylor-men like John Pope, Tom Marshall, the Wickliffes, and Ben Hardin.9 Worse, Crittenden was furtive as he worked for Taylor's candidacy in Kentucky and beyond. It became a worrisome game of who knew what, who had revealed what they knew, and how much such disclosures exposed his desertion of Clay. "All I ever believed," a fellow Taylor supporter assured him, "was what you said without reserve. Not that you did not prefer Mr. Clay to all other men, but that you did not believe he could be elected, & you did believe Genl. Taylor could." With such ramblings of negatives piled upon negatives and twisted into soothing rationalizations, Taylor's men salved the qualms of their Brutus for a decision he had made long before. A higher duty to the party, they said, required disinterested action, and thus personal disloyalty to its aging chief was rationalized. They hoped that Crittenden and Robert P. Letcher, acting as Clay's friends, would persuade him to step aside for Taylor. Those who urged Clay to do otherwise were dismissed as "sycophants." Worse, Crittenden was furtive as he worked for Taylor's candidacy in Kentucky and beyond. It became a worrisome game of who knew what, who had revealed what they knew, and how much such disclosures exposed his desertion of Clay. "All I ever believed," a fellow Taylor supporter assured him, "was what you said without reserve. Not that you did not prefer Mr. Clay to all other men, but that you did not believe he could be elected, & you did believe Genl. Taylor could." With such ramblings of negatives piled upon negatives and twisted into soothing rationalizations, Taylor's men salved the qualms of their Brutus for a decision he had made long before. A higher duty to the party, they said, required disinterested action, and thus personal disloyalty to its aging chief was rationalized. They hoped that Crittenden and Robert P. Letcher, acting as Clay's friends, would persuade him to step aside for Taylor. Those who urged Clay to do otherwise were dismissed as "sycophants."10 Clay did not know for many months that his closest friend was covertly working with his bitterest enemies, that he was leading other friends into alliances whose secrecy would, when revealed, make them look treacherous and stain their architect with the appearance of betrayal.11 Clay was aware of the Taylor boom taking shape in Kentucky, a movement that understandably caused him "some mortification," but he did not have any hard evidence of Crittenden's role in it until returning to Ashland from a northern trip in September 1847. He received a letter from a New York acquaintance named Joseph L. White who had become aware of disquieting, possibly even treacherous deeds by Clay's friends. White was especially disappointed by Crittenden's labors for Taylor, and he asked if Crittenden were acting with Clay's approval. Clay was aware of the Taylor boom taking shape in Kentucky, a movement that understandably caused him "some mortification," but he did not have any hard evidence of Crittenden's role in it until returning to Ashland from a northern trip in September 1847. He received a letter from a New York acquaintance named Joseph L. White who had become aware of disquieting, possibly even treacherous deeds by Clay's friends. White was especially disappointed by Crittenden's labors for Taylor, and he asked if Crittenden were acting with Clay's approval.12 Clay later claimed, given his own prolonged uncertainty about his candidacy, that he could not blame any of his friends for throwing in with Taylor, but the news about Crittenden was different. At first, he answered White to defend his old friend: "I am not aware that Mr. Crittenden has done any thing inconsistent with his friendship for me," Clay flatly declared. Clay later claimed, given his own prolonged uncertainty about his candidacy, that he could not blame any of his friends for throwing in with Taylor, but the news about Crittenden was different. At first, he answered White to defend his old friend: "I am not aware that Mr. Crittenden has done any thing inconsistent with his friendship for me," Clay flatly declared.13 But the very next day, Clay also wrote to Crittenden about White's letter, which he enclosed, suggesting that it probably should be given no more weight than the unfounded rumor it was. "I think it due to our mutual friendship & the candour & confidence which have existed between us," Clay said, "that it should afford you an opportunity of perusing the enclosed letter." But the very next day, Clay also wrote to Crittenden about White's letter, which he enclosed, suggesting that it probably should be given no more weight than the unfounded rumor it was. "I think it due to our mutual friendship & the candour & confidence which have existed between us," Clay said, "that it should afford you an opportunity of perusing the enclosed letter."14 Crittenden's response is lost to us-Clay sent it to White, who apparently did not keep it-but his old friend evidently confirmed his loyalty for Clay who assured Crittenden that "I thought I understood you." He added with relief, "I find I did." Crittenden's response is lost to us-Clay sent it to White, who apparently did not keep it-but his old friend evidently confirmed his loyalty for Clay who assured Crittenden that "I thought I understood you." He added with relief, "I find I did."15 But Clay did not understand Crittenden at all. Crittenden had every right to support Taylor, of course, and even had good reason to judge Taylor as more electable than Clay, but given the opportunity to reveal those opinions, he flinched.16 Clay's maneuvers to secure the Whig nomination would not have been fundamentally altered had he known about Crittenden's actual attitude, but at least he would have known that the long friendship and the personal assurances of a man he counted as unswerving were meaningless. He would have known that Crittenden was in fact going into the camp of the enemy, playing Brutus to Wickliffe's Cassius, and he would have been spared the foolish gesture of defending his friend to a New York correspondent. Being duped by someone he implicitly trusted most wounded him. When Crittenden's behavior finally revealed his actual sentiments, Clay's true friends were dismayed. Leslie Combs bluntly told Crittenden, "I am very- Clay's maneuvers to secure the Whig nomination would not have been fundamentally altered had he known about Crittenden's actual attitude, but at least he would have known that the long friendship and the personal assurances of a man he counted as unswerving were meaningless. He would have known that Crittenden was in fact going into the camp of the enemy, playing Brutus to Wickliffe's Cassius, and he would have been spared the foolish gesture of defending his friend to a New York correspondent. Being duped by someone he implicitly trusted most wounded him. When Crittenden's behavior finally revealed his actual sentiments, Clay's true friends were dismayed. Leslie Combs bluntly told Crittenden, "I am very-very sorry for your course." sorry for your course."17 ASTUTE OBSERVERS, ESPECIALLY Clay's foes, began speculating about his intentions as soon as the election of 1844 was over. John Tyler marveled as early as the summer of 1845, "Can it be that he looks to '48[?] Is the fire of ambition never to be extinguished[?]" Clay's foes, began speculating about his intentions as soon as the election of 1844 was over. John Tyler marveled as early as the summer of 1845, "Can it be that he looks to '48[?] Is the fire of ambition never to be extinguished[?]"18 A year later, Clay's purpose had become even more obvious, if not overt, and the Wickliffes were certain that "the old hoss A year later, Clay's purpose had become even more obvious, if not overt, and the Wickliffes were certain that "the old hoss Hal Hal is for the Presidency & no mistake." They scoffed at what they perceived as calculated tactics to improve his image with the voters. Wickliffe dismissed Clay's entering the Episcopal communion as "his infant Baptism," and the abolitionist press reckoned it to be a cynical move to dispel "those ugly qualms" about his character. is for the Presidency & no mistake." They scoffed at what they perceived as calculated tactics to improve his image with the voters. Wickliffe dismissed Clay's entering the Episcopal communion as "his infant Baptism," and the abolitionist press reckoned it to be a cynical move to dispel "those ugly qualms" about his character.19 Yet Clay remained noncommittal, always insisting that he would be a candidate only if the Whigs united behind him (a caveat made somewhat doubtful by Taylor's popularity) and if his health remained sound. Even more than Taylor's high status with Whigs, the question of Clay's health was a paramount obstacle he had to overcome if he hoped to attract reluctant Whigs as well as convince his friends he was up to the demands of a campaign and of the presidency that would follow. The reality of the matter partially absolved those friends who doubted his viability, for Clay was not altogether candid about the state of his health as 1848 loomed.

His physical condition was sure to be an issue if only because of his advanced age. Wide reports of his lack of stamina during the latter part of the 1844 campaign worked against him. Many people recollected him as aged and stooped, a tired old man who lost elections. "How does Mr. Clay bear his defeat?" asked one concerned Whig. "It was rumored the very day of the decisive bad news was received that he was very ill with scarlet fever. But I am in hopes that it was a mistake."20 It was an erroneous report, but Clay actually had something else wrong with him. Much of his political effort during the months that followed his defeat in 1844 was devoted to concealing this fact. In that effort, he was remarkably successful, and even careful biographers have been inclined to marvel at the extraordinary, if brief, Indian summer Henry Clay enjoyed in his autumn years. He toured extensively, not just to indulge his love of travel, but to keep himself in the public eye and generate reports in friendly Whig newspapers that described him as the picture of youth and vitality. "Time has laid but a sparing hand upon the great American statesman," observed one account. "I never saw him look better or happier, his step is elastic, his faculties appear fresh and vigorous, and the chances are that he will live to witness the election of several Presidents." It was an erroneous report, but Clay actually had something else wrong with him. Much of his political effort during the months that followed his defeat in 1844 was devoted to concealing this fact. In that effort, he was remarkably successful, and even careful biographers have been inclined to marvel at the extraordinary, if brief, Indian summer Henry Clay enjoyed in his autumn years. He toured extensively, not just to indulge his love of travel, but to keep himself in the public eye and generate reports in friendly Whig newspapers that described him as the picture of youth and vitality. "Time has laid but a sparing hand upon the great American statesman," observed one account. "I never saw him look better or happier, his step is elastic, his faculties appear fresh and vigorous, and the chances are that he will live to witness the election of several Presidents."21 His journey to White Sulphur Springs and then to Cape May in the summer of 1847 took him through Baltimore and Philadelphia, where he repeatedly insisted that he only wanted to escape the painful reminders at Ashland of Henry Jr. and that this was not a political trip, but he attracted large crowds nonetheless and was occasionally induced to speak.22 The newspapers talked of his bounding energy that would be the envy of a man decades younger, and at Cape May he conspicuously took sea baths amid pretty girls who begged for kisses and giggled as though he were a dashing beau instead of a wizened grandpa. "There is a deep feeling still abiding towards me," he proudly reported to Lucretia, "and a hope in regard to the future, in which I do not allow myself much to indulge." The newspapers talked of his bounding energy that would be the envy of a man decades younger, and at Cape May he conspicuously took sea baths amid pretty girls who begged for kisses and giggled as though he were a dashing beau instead of a wizened grandpa. "There is a deep feeling still abiding towards me," he proudly reported to Lucretia, "and a hope in regard to the future, in which I do not allow myself much to indulge."23 This gadding about created the impression that Clay's seventy years were of no consequence and hid that he was ill beyond the chronic complaints that had bothered him for years. His dental problems and dyspepsia, even his tendency for nagging respiratory infections like bad colds and bronchitis, differed from what was happening to him now, and he must have known that, for there were glimpses of his real condition scattered among the radiant reports. At White Sulphur Springs in the summer of 1845, John Tyler thought that Clay was "much changed, I think, since I saw him. He is as old as his gait indicates."24 While traveling the following winter, Clay had a bad cold that was still troubling him more than two months later. During his stay in New Orleans that winter, he tried to book passage to Cuba but was prevented from making the trip because the steamboat was no longer running. Grandson Martin Duralde was at that very instant in Cuba because the warm climate was thought to relieve symptoms of tuberculosis. While traveling the following winter, Clay had a bad cold that was still troubling him more than two months later. During his stay in New Orleans that winter, he tried to book passage to Cuba but was prevented from making the trip because the steamboat was no longer running. Grandson Martin Duralde was at that very instant in Cuba because the warm climate was thought to relieve symptoms of tuberculosis.25 It is difficult to know with certainty just how sick Clay was during these years, for he took considerable pains to conceal his true condition from his family and friends as well as the public. When he traveled to New Orleans that winter of 184647, he insisted that it was not to regain his health "but to retain what I have," which he said was excellent. In the meantime, Clay did not travel to Mobile as he planned, apparently because he did not feel up to it.26 When he dictated a letter, he defensively explained that the handwriting was his son John's but quickly added that he was not using him as an amanuensis because of ill health. When he dictated a letter, he defensively explained that the handwriting was his son John's but quickly added that he was not using him as an amanuensis because of ill health.27 He went to Cape May "where I desire to enjoy a Sea bath, which I have never in my life before had the opportunity of doing." But again he was quick to explain, "you must not however infer that my health is bad. It is on the contrary very good." He went to Cape May "where I desire to enjoy a Sea bath, which I have never in my life before had the opportunity of doing." But again he was quick to explain, "you must not however infer that my health is bad. It is on the contrary very good."28 His repeated avowals of good health were, in short, a case of protesting too much. His repeated avowals of good health were, in short, a case of protesting too much.

The people of Clay's time called tuberculosis "consumption" because of its wasting assault on the body. By any name the disease was still the same slow but relentless killer, so contagious at certain stages of infection that it was the stuff of epidemics, so lethal as to be the primary cause of death in Europe and North America throughout the nineteenth century. Tuberculosis made no distinctions of age or gender and was just as likely to ravage upper-class households as dreary tenements. It killed Keats, Goethe, and Chopin, and it moved through the Bronte family like a scythe. It would fell John C. Calhoun and is strongly suspected of killing John Breckinridge, Clay's early Kentucky mentor. Kit Hughes's wife died of tuberculosis. It tortured and then took off Martin Duralde, who was at Ashland possibly at the height of his contagiousness, though it is impossible to know whether Martin infected his grandfather. Indeed, Clay might already have had the disease, for it was feasible to carry it in a dormant state for years before it began its attack on the body in earnest. As early as the 1830s, he found night sessions in the Senate disagreeable because the lamps fouled the air and made it difficult for him to breathe. He could have contracted it from anyone at any time during his long public career and many associations, for the bacillus was everywhere, an extraordinarily robust organism able to defy all but the most determined disinfection. People in Clay's time did not know any of this, of course, and only a few eccentrics even speculated that consumption might be contagious. The prevailing opinion placed its cause as heredity or dissolute habits. Clay, for example, had doubted Martin's initial diagnosis because there was no family history of adult consumption.29 Infection occurred when a victim coughed or sneezed, launching tubercle bacilli into the air where healthy people inhaled them. Usually nothing happened. Healthy people's immune cells quickly isolated the bacilli by encasing them into hard little knots. Yet some people, compromised by some other illness or simply too young or too old to put up an effective fight, were not so lucky. In these people the bacilli multiplied, as they were only partially encased by immune cells. Respiratory function gradually ebbed, a development that accelerated in the final stages of the disease. Tuberculosis victims lost weight, suffered from increasing exhaustion, and were plagued by a racking cough that eventually brought up blood as well as sputum, evidence that open lesions were forming. In time those lesions promoted infection, high fevers, and soaking perspiration, especially at night, ruining any chance for sleep. Finally, breathing became labored, and exhaustion levied its own physical tax, often the concluding one. The best that could be done in those hopeless final days was to make the patient as comfortable as possible, usually with liberal doses of opiates.

As Clay ended the presidential campaign of 1844, it is probable that he was in an early stage of tuberculosis, either from a recent contraction or from a flare-up of a dormant strain he had previously contracted, possibly years earlier. On occasion he could still summon remarkable reserves of energy, but his bad days would begin to rival in number the good ones, and his already fragile health was bent, not yet to the point of breaking, but to points where rebounds were less heartening and thorough. He knew the symptoms-everyone did-and knew the fate they foretold. He watched Martin suffer and wander, establishing a family history to explain for Clay his own plight, and Martin's wretched chronicle foreshadowed Clay's own end, one approaching in only a handful of years at best. Confronting that reality with characteristic optimism, Henry Clay, like Martin, bought a sort of lottery ticket of his own.30 It was his bid for the presidency, one last time. It was his bid for the presidency, one last time.

AFTER BUENA VISTA, Taylor's popularity gave him an aura of political invincibility, but his boosters actually had their work cut out for them. As "Old Rough and Ready"-the gruff no-nonsense general loved by his troops for his frank, uncomplicated manner-Zachary Taylor was likable. Henry Jr. had found him engaging, even inspiring, during the long weeks at Agua Nueva, but he had also noted Taylor's ambition regarding the presidency. Taylor's popularity gave him an aura of political invincibility, but his boosters actually had their work cut out for them. As "Old Rough and Ready"-the gruff no-nonsense general loved by his troops for his frank, uncomplicated manner-Zachary Taylor was likable. Henry Jr. had found him engaging, even inspiring, during the long weeks at Agua Nueva, but he had also noted Taylor's ambition regarding the presidency.31 Neither Henry nor his father knew that those ambitions were being stoked by Crittenden and others, and nobody knew that those efforts would summon forth the least attractive aspects of Taylor's personality. Neither Henry nor his father knew that those ambitions were being stoked by Crittenden and others, and nobody knew that those efforts would summon forth the least attractive aspects of Taylor's personality.

What emerged was a man both egotistical and obtuse. Although he claimed no capacity for politics and repeatedly insisted that he was not interested in the presidency, that he did "not care a fig about the office," he nevertheless believed promoters who hailed his sagacity and wisdom.32 Worse, he took to posturing in letters meant to display that sagacity and wisdom for the country. In the weeks following Buena Vista, these letters from Mexico rattled Whigs and nearly ruined Taylor's political career before it got started. Most disturbing were his declarations that he was above the squabbles of party, that he was neither Whig nor Democrat, and that he had no firm commitments regarding political issues except to serve the American people. The meaning of such muddleheaded statements was anybody's guess, but Whigs were understandably troubled. "If Taylor keeps writing letters," one drily observed, "Clay will be nominated." Worse, he took to posturing in letters meant to display that sagacity and wisdom for the country. In the weeks following Buena Vista, these letters from Mexico rattled Whigs and nearly ruined Taylor's political career before it got started. Most disturbing were his declarations that he was above the squabbles of party, that he was neither Whig nor Democrat, and that he had no firm commitments regarding political issues except to serve the American people. The meaning of such muddleheaded statements was anybody's guess, but Whigs were understandably troubled. "If Taylor keeps writing letters," one drily observed, "Clay will be nominated."33 Taylor's newly found conviction that he best understood the real workings of politics and how to manage them coincided with his inflated belief that his principles were superior to those of a corrupt political cohort in both the Whig and Democratic parties. He relied on his military service to establish his patriotic bona fides and bristled when anyone scrutinized or questioned his positions or motives. He had a tin ear, was both opinionated and instinctively wrong, and tended to make the worst political decisions with a certainty that increasingly exasperated the men who were trying to put him over. His core supporters embraced him because they thought he could win, not because he shared their political philosophy, for he was essentially uninterested in promoting specific programs, Whig or otherwise. He accordingly suspected that their good wishes only masked a nefarious plan to keep him away from the Democrats until they could dump him for Clay.34 "I think it impossible that the General should maintain silence as to his principles," Clay said in early August 1847. "He must make some public avowal of them, in other words he must say whether he is a Whig or Democrat."35 In late September, Clay told Crittenden that he wanted no conflict between his and Taylor's supporters. Clay said that if such a thing occurred, "it will not be my fault." In late September, Clay told Crittenden that he wanted no conflict between his and Taylor's supporters. Clay said that if such a thing occurred, "it will not be my fault."36 The following day he wrote to Taylor, who was still in Mexico, to say as much as well as to inquire directly about the general's plans. Meanwhile, Clay's friends worked to correct the impression that Taylor had the unqualified support of Kentucky's Whigs. In October, a committee headed by George Robertson and including Leslie Combs drafted a confidential letter to circulate among Whig organizations throughout the country. The circular declared that the Taylor movement in Kentucky did not represent the state's actual Whig sentiment. The following day he wrote to Taylor, who was still in Mexico, to say as much as well as to inquire directly about the general's plans. Meanwhile, Clay's friends worked to correct the impression that Taylor had the unqualified support of Kentucky's Whigs. In October, a committee headed by George Robertson and including Leslie Combs drafted a confidential letter to circulate among Whig organizations throughout the country. The circular declared that the Taylor movement in Kentucky did not represent the state's actual Whig sentiment.37 This letter did not remain confidential for long, of course, and Taylor men were livid over it. Told by Crittenden and Letcher that Clay would not stand in their way, Taylor's supporters now had evidence very much to the contrary. Indeed, Crittenden's problems were complicated by the possibility that Clay was in the hunt, and he sought to counteract the baleful effect of the circular by arranging a deal with Taylor men in Kentucky to prevent overt displays of support such as an endorsement of Taylor by the legislature or even his nomination by the state Whig convention. Crittenden insisted that such restraint was necessary to avoid embarrassing Clay; it also would keep masked Crittenden's involvement with the Taylor movement, possibly until Clay had in fact decided to withdraw. This letter did not remain confidential for long, of course, and Taylor men were livid over it. Told by Crittenden and Letcher that Clay would not stand in their way, Taylor's supporters now had evidence very much to the contrary. Indeed, Crittenden's problems were complicated by the possibility that Clay was in the hunt, and he sought to counteract the baleful effect of the circular by arranging a deal with Taylor men in Kentucky to prevent overt displays of support such as an endorsement of Taylor by the legislature or even his nomination by the state Whig convention. Crittenden insisted that such restraint was necessary to avoid embarrassing Clay; it also would keep masked Crittenden's involvement with the Taylor movement, possibly until Clay had in fact decided to withdraw.38 In the ensuing months, however, reining in the Taylor movement became increasingly difficult, especially after November 13, 1847, when Clay went far in removing doubts about his pursuit of the nomination. On that day, he delivered a major policy speech in Lexington in which he registered his strongest opposition yet to the Mexican War and flatly rejected the possibility of gaining territory from it. His opening was dramatic, a lament about the gloomy day that he said reflected the condition of the country as it was saddled with an illegitimate war of aggression, a product of Polk's dishonesty and the imprudent annexation of Texas. Clay proposed solutions for the resultant problems confronting the country, the most important being his recommendations that Congress take an active role in setting the war's aim and manner of its prosecution, that the government establish a proper boundary for Texas, and that the administration pledge not to acquire any territory to expand slavery.39 Although Clay remained noncommittal about being a candidate, the Lexington speech was the all but formal launch of his campaign for the nomination and the initiation of a drive to bolster the Whig Party for the expected battles over the expansion of slavery. "Party lines are broken down," one Whig had exulted upon the emergence of the seemingly apolitical Zachary Taylor, "and the distinction between Wiggery [sic] and democracy confounded."40 Yet even Taylor realized the deep differences that separated Whigs and Democrats on the usual issues of "Banks, Tariffs, internal improvements, Wilmot Proviso ... to raise up some, & break down others." Yet even Taylor realized the deep differences that separated Whigs and Democrats on the usual issues of "Banks, Tariffs, internal improvements, Wilmot Proviso ... to raise up some, & break down others."41 The most profound difference, though, concerned what to do with any Mexican territory gained during the war. In this, the contrast between Whigs and Democrats was stark: expansionist Democrats wanted all the land they could get-some even wanted all of Mexico-and Whigs did not want any land at all. The Democrats said a Mexican cession would compensate the country for the expense of the war. Whigs viewed the war as a tainted project, an act of naked aggression against a weak neighbor undertaken precisely to effect a land grab. The most profound difference, though, concerned what to do with any Mexican territory gained during the war. In this, the contrast between Whigs and Democrats was stark: expansionist Democrats wanted all the land they could get-some even wanted all of Mexico-and Whigs did not want any land at all. The Democrats said a Mexican cession would compensate the country for the expense of the war. Whigs viewed the war as a tainted project, an act of naked aggression against a weak neighbor undertaken precisely to effect a land grab.42 They adopted a position succinctly articulated as "No Territory." They adopted a position succinctly articulated as "No Territory."

The Whig position was most striking because it allowed southerners and northerners to avoid arguing about slavery, and at this point in the controversy, simply not talking about slavery was the best way to promote sectional harmony. If there was no territory to squabble over, its status as slave or free became irrelevant. In addition to taking the threat of slave expansion off the table for edgy northerners, the "No Territory" stance removed for southerners the specter that the deserts of New Mexico, so obviously inhospitable to slavery, would tilt the slave-free sectional imbalance further in the North's favor.

Yet if Whigs had stumbled on the best way to steer clear of disruptive slavery debates, the country was not so fortunate. Polk's primary purpose in going to war was to acquire the Pacific coast and the Southwest, a goal that necessarily meant the Democratic Party was committed to obtaining new lands. This coincided with the reality that of all the issues that threatened to disrupt politics in the election of 1848, slavery loomed largest, even worse than in 1844 when the Texas question had become so contentious. Certainly slavery made earlier arguments over the national bank, trade, and federally funded roads seem mild disagreements in comparison. This was particularly evident in the prolonged and angry quarrels over Representative David Wilmot's proposal regarding any territory that might be gained from Mexico. Shortly after the war started in 1846, President Polk asked Congress to appropriate $2 million in the hope that he could use it to persuade Mexico to sell its western provinces and prevent any additional hostilities. Wilmot, a Pennsylvania Democrat, tried to tie the money to a pledge that slavery would never exist in any territory taken from Mexico. Angry southerners doggedly fought the measure, but it twice passed the House. Although southerners were able to block the Wilmot Proviso in the Senate, they soon discovered that it had become an unrelenting antislavery position taken up by an increasing number of northerners. The proviso assumed a life of its own, a talismanic symbol for antislavery men, a menacing insult to southerners. An open sore in political debates resulted, and one's position on the proviso became a test of sectional loyalty. All but one free state legislature endorsed it, and southern states passionately condemned it. Worse, it undeniably blurred party lines and truly confounded the differences between Whigs and Democrats, a development that was hardly the stuff of glad tidings, for it forced the sections into politically untenable and inflexible unity regardless of party. As the proviso threatened to collapse parties as national organizations, compromise became less likely and violent overreaction became more probable.

The speech in Lexington was Clay's overt bid for northern support in the coming contest, a staking of the ground that separated his declared position on the Wilmot Proviso from that of the ambiguous General Taylor. Careful that everything he said would be accurately reported, he asked the journalists not to take notes at the event, promising instead to provide them with a written version. He told Horace Greeley that he expected the speech to establish him "as a Western man (I protest against being considered as a Southern Southern man) with Northern principles." man) with Northern principles."43 It certainly seemed to persuade Greeley that Clay was the best candidate. The eccentric editor of the New York It certainly seemed to persuade Greeley that Clay was the best candidate. The eccentric editor of the New York Tribune Tribune had been inclining to Corwin, but by the end of the month, he was giving Clay advice and chortling over plans by Whigs in New York City "to hold a great public demonstration in response to your Lexington Speech." had been inclining to Corwin, but by the end of the month, he was giving Clay advice and chortling over plans by Whigs in New York City "to hold a great public demonstration in response to your Lexington Speech."44 This relationship with Greeley was natural in a way, for they shared the same vision for the Whig Party, and the editor soon became Clay's unofficial eastern campaign manager. This relationship with Greeley was natural in a way, for they shared the same vision for the Whig Party, and the editor soon became Clay's unofficial eastern campaign manager.

Yet Greeley's loyalty to Clay has been questioned, if for no other reason than he was a member of Thurlow Weed's faction of New York politics, the so-called junior partner in the triumvirate that included Weed and Seward, men who were at best lukewarm and occasionally hostile to a Clay candidacy. Greeley pushed Clay to choose Seward as his vice president, and his other activities, especially late in the day, suggested other goals. Possibly his maneuvers were calculated to dim the chances of the leading candidate, whoever that was at any given time, to keep a deft balance between all rivals, deadlock a convention, and have Seward emerge as the Whig dark horse in the manner of the Democrat Polk in 1844.45 In that estimation, Clay was a way to stop Taylor, nothing more. Possibly that was the way it was-a game within a game, a snarl of complexities in which nothing was really as it seemed, and nobody said what was true, whether Crittenden or Letcher or Greeley. In that estimation, Clay was a way to stop Taylor, nothing more. Possibly that was the way it was-a game within a game, a snarl of complexities in which nothing was really as it seemed, and nobody said what was true, whether Crittenden or Letcher or Greeley.

Or Zachary Taylor, for that matter. In early November, Taylor responded to Clay's September 27 letter with an answer that on its face was more than cordial and perfectly candid. Nothing could come between him and Clay, he said, and most important, he declared that he had recently told a mutual friend about his willingness "to stand aside, if you or any other whig were the choice of the party."46 The mutual friend was Crittenden, and what Taylor told Clay was true: he had told Crittenden he would defer to Clay. But he had also told Crittenden that numerous correspondents were telling him that the Whig Party would never support Clay's candidacy. The mutual friend was Crittenden, and what Taylor told Clay was true: he had told Crittenden he would defer to Clay. But he had also told Crittenden that numerous correspondents were telling him that the Whig Party would never support Clay's candidacy.47 That bit of intelligence Old Rough and Ready chose to keep from the Old Chieftain. That bit of intelligence Old Rough and Ready chose to keep from the Old Chieftain.

If Taylor's willingness in November to stand down in deference to Clay was sincere at the time, it became less so as time wore on. From his home in Baton Rouge, he again assured Clay of his friendship, but he declined an invitation to visit Ashland and ominously declared that letters from Kentucky "intended to produce unkind feelings on my part towards you" had failed to do so.48 Clay surely wondered, What letters? What Kentuckians? Only a few days later, Taylor told Crittenden that he had no intention of formally withdrawing from the presidential contest. Clay surely wondered, What letters? What Kentuckians? Only a few days later, Taylor told Crittenden that he had no intention of formally withdrawing from the presidential contest.49 That much, at least, was true. By the spring of 1848, Taylor had convinced himself and was busily convincing others that he had never promised Clay he would step aside. "I did not then, nor do I now believe, that Mr. Clay could be elected if he was the only Whig candidate in the field," Taylor said, adding that Clay had obviously misunderstood him. That much, at least, was true. By the spring of 1848, Taylor had convinced himself and was busily convincing others that he had never promised Clay he would step aside. "I did not then, nor do I now believe, that Mr. Clay could be elected if he was the only Whig candidate in the field," Taylor said, adding that Clay had obviously misunderstood him.50 Crittenden was in hot water with Taylor's Louisiana supporters, who were angry about the confidential circular letter and displeased by reports that Crittenden had guaranteed Clay his loyalty. "I have no recollection of saying to Mr. Clay what he supposed me to have said, and what I think I did not say," Crittenden assured wealthy New Orleans businessman Albert T. Burnley in a letter that Crittenden told him to keep secret. Burnley was among those Taylor men who wanted the Clay matter settled once and for all, but Crittenden could only offer what he described as a "true and candid statement" of the situation: Clay was on his way to Washington, Crittenden said, where nobody "would desire and advise him to become a candidate under present circumstances."51 Clearly Crittenden wanted everyone to wait just a while longer and was praying that Clay's reception in Washington would finally convince him to retire to Ashland. Clearly Crittenden wanted everyone to wait just a while longer and was praying that Clay's reception in Washington would finally convince him to retire to Ashland.52 THE MORE WHIGS got to know Taylor, the less they liked him. The memory of the pluperfect mess John Tyler had created was still fresh, and Taylor's reputation noticeably dimmed in the North. "Taylor seems still to be declining," John McLean observed in Ohio, and Thurlow Weed believed that Old Rough and Ready was finished in New York. Weed even predicted that Clay would be the nominee with William Seward as his running mate. got to know Taylor, the less they liked him. The memory of the pluperfect mess John Tyler had created was still fresh, and Taylor's reputation noticeably dimmed in the North. "Taylor seems still to be declining," John McLean observed in Ohio, and Thurlow Weed believed that Old Rough and Ready was finished in New York. Weed even predicted that Clay would be the nominee with William Seward as his running mate.53 All was not well with Clay, however. His Lexington speech had produced mixed results at best. Because American soldiers were still in the field, its emphatic denunciation of the war struck some people as vaguely unpatriotic. There was nothing vague about its reception in the South, though, where it alienated many Whigs and spurred Democrats to proclaim that Clay would sell them all out to northern abolitionists.54 Clay had not endorsed the Wilmot Proviso, but he had essentially adopted its spirit by vowing to resist slavery expansion in the West, and too many southerners regarded that position as rank apostasy. Northern Whigs responded more positively, but it remained to be seen if their enthusiasm would overcome their reservations about Clay's age, his awful record as a presidential contender, and his uncanny ability to unify otherwise discordant Democrats against him. Clay himself was disappointed, for the varied reactions were definitely not the groundswell of support he had always said was necessary to justify another run for the presidency. Clay had not endorsed the Wilmot Proviso, but he had essentially adopted its spirit by vowing to resist slavery expansion in the West, and too many southerners regarded that position as rank apostasy. Northern Whigs responded more positively, but it remained to be seen if their enthusiasm would overcome their reservations about Clay's age, his awful record as a presidential contender, and his uncanny ability to unify otherwise discordant Democrats against him. Clay himself was disappointed, for the varied reactions were definitely not the groundswell of support he had always said was necessary to justify another run for the presidency.

In any case, his efforts left many establishment Whigs unmoved. In Congress, Taylor picked up enough support to merit the formation of an official organization that arose from a core of seven Whig junior congressmen picturesquely labeled the "Young Indians." They were indeed relatively youthful. One of them was Abraham Lincoln, who was just turning forty. Lincoln, who had been in Lexington visiting his in-laws, the Todds, had heard Clay's November 13 speech and apparently liked its message, considering his resolute opposition to the war. Clay had always been Lincoln's ideal as a statesman, but he became a Young Indian nonetheless, a sign of Clay's limited appeal in the North. Most of the Young Indians were southerners, but their commitment to Taylor emerged before Clay's Lexington speech and had less to do with slavery than with their desire to discard old men who specialized in losing elections. They were just as averse to Webster as to Clay. The Virginians in their ranks actually wanted to reshape the Whig Party on a nostalgic model drawn from James Monroe's time, one presumably without partisan rancor, a new coalition that would partner issueless Whigs and disaffected Democrats to rid the government of corrupt patronage and inaugurate a new era of patrician republicanism.55 Taylor's talk of soaring above party politics and governing as an American made him seem just the man to accomplish that goal, and Virginia's Young Indians warmed to their work of getting him nominated by state conventions rather than taking their chances at a national one that was likely to fall under the influence of the old guard-or, as Taylor called them, the "wire pullers." "General Taylor Taylor's talk of soaring above party politics and governing as an American made him seem just the man to accomplish that goal, and Virginia's Young Indians warmed to their work of getting him nominated by state conventions rather than taking their chances at a national one that was likely to fall under the influence of the old guard-or, as Taylor called them, the "wire pullers." "General Taylor cannot be nominated in a Whig National Convention, cannot be nominated in a Whig National Convention," Greeley emphatically predicted. Worse, a national convention was likely to do something foolish like declare a set of principles and thus push away wavering Democrats necessary for victory in the general election.56 This situation presented Clay with a clear imperative. He knew after the Lexington speech that many state conventions in the South would likely be unfriendly to him, and he was alarmed that in the absence of a national convention the Whig Party might make its bid for the presidency by jettisoning its principles, or more precisely, by nominating a man who had no demonstrable Whig principles at all. He recognized at last that the party was drifting from him at its political hub in Washington, whence congressional Whigs radiated spokes of influence to the courthouses and crossroads of the country. As much as he moved decisively on anything during these months of pondering and hesitancy, he moved decisively on this front.

It was brutally cold in Kentucky that December, and foot-deep snow blanketed the ground as Clay left Ashland for Washington the day after Christmas. He was "to attend to some professional engagement," it was said (he actually planned to argue cases before the Supreme Court), but the sagacious suspected he was going to take "a survey of the ground," after which "he will no doubt be better prepared to decide upon his future course."57 Clay arrived in Washington on January 10, when mounting northern anger over southern ultimatums concerning Taylor was reaching its peak. Clay arrived in Washington on January 10, when mounting northern anger over southern ultimatums concerning Taylor was reaching its peak.

The capital, despite being cold and dreary, worked its old magic on him as always, and Clay began returning the favor, to the amazement of his friends and consternation of his enemies. Charming, vigorous, and clever, he appeared at parties to enchant stout matrons and nubile girls, who, regardless of age, giggled at his jests and blushed when he winked. The matrons prized his gloves as keepsakes, the girls greeted him with kisses, and Crittenden and Clayton were "in great distress." For Clay did more than grace social salons. He quietly visited the lodgings of influential Whig leaders, always "calm, & in the best temper & frame of mind," to speak of Whig programs and Whig honor, to ask after wives and children, to remind men of venerable friendships, to tell jokes and reminisce about past campaigns, to speak of future hopes. He ranged from the capital on a couple of long weekends to visit friends in Baltimore, and he spent a week in Berkeley County, Virginia. He was an honored guest at the marriage of Thomas Hart Benton's daughter to Susan Jacob Clay's brother, and the next day he marched into the House chamber, which had been temporarily turned over to the American Colonization Society, to deliver a lengthy speech as its president, an event that highlighted for northerners his lifelong commitment to gradual emancipation. The Benton affair had the side effect of proving he could be on civil terms with Democrats, as did a couple of visits to James and Sarah Polk at the White House where he traded quips with Mrs. Polk. She was no more immune to Clay's charm than the other ladies of Washington: in a large company, she told him that if a Whig were destined to succeed her husband, she would prefer it to be Clay.58 William Seward watched all of this with a mixture of fascination and disgust. Clay, incredibly, single-handedly, was turning back the Taylor tide, achieving in only days for himself what a legion of operatives had labored for months to accomplish for Old Rough and Ready. Meanwhile, Clay found it increasingly difficult to resist the coaxing of friends who were themselves enthralled by this remarkably sleek political animal, social lion, tireless promoter of Whig principles, and real danger to Democrat aspirations. Taylor men continued to grumble that Clay could not win, but as January gave way to February, they were shaken and showed it.59 Clay supporters, gloomy for so long, were suddenly energized by the Old Chieftain, and they now told him that he was the only man standing between Taylor and the presidency, the only man who could sustain Whig principles. Friends noted that he was "apparently in fine & vigorous health, feeling beyond all doubt that he is quite able to take upon himself the burthens of office." Clay supporters, gloomy for so long, were suddenly energized by the Old Chieftain, and they now told him that he was the only man standing between Taylor and the presidency, the only man who could sustain Whig principles. Friends noted that he was "apparently in fine & vigorous health, feeling beyond all doubt that he is quite able to take upon himself the burthens of office."60 If we are to believe his frequently repeated statements to family and friends, Clay had left Ashland determined to announce that he would not seek the presidency, but possibly that was just a way for him to avoid the embarrassment of being cast aside. After a few weeks in Washington, however, he decided not to decide, at least not right away. He had always maintained that he would not make a definitive announcement until the spring, and now he resolved not to make any statement of his intentions until he returned home.61 After all, his being cast aside appeared less likely as northern Whigs transformed caution over Taylor into outright anger over aggressive plans to make him the nominee with southern state endorsements. Finally those northerners had had enough and emphatically insisted that the Whig candidate would have to be the product of a national convention. Taylor men tried to get their way by threatening to support him even if the Whigs nominated someone else, but they seriously overestimated their strength and their man's appeal. A few wary southerners joined northern Whigs in Congress to demand a national convention. It was scheduled for June 7 in Philadelphia. After all, his being cast aside appeared less likely as northern Whigs transformed caution over Taylor into outright anger over aggressive plans to make him the nominee with southern state endorsements. Finally those northerners had had enough and emphatically insisted that the Whig candidate would have to be the product of a national convention. Taylor men tried to get their way by threatening to support him even if the Whigs nominated someone else, but they seriously overestimated their strength and their man's appeal. A few wary southerners joined northern Whigs in Congress to demand a national convention. It was scheduled for June 7 in Philadelphia.62 Even the Young Indians, with all their pretensions to savvy political maneuvering and claims of knowledge about how best to win elections, had to admit that it had been a remarkable couple of months, for them a sobering lesson in the power of personality and the art of professional politicking. There was, after all, a reason he was called the Old Coon, the Old Chieftain, Prince Hal, Great Harry of the West, the Sage of Ashland. Those nicknames marked identities created over a lifetime of achievements and disappointments. All were melded into Mr. Clay, who returned to Washington in early 1848 and showed the town how politics was done.63 ON FEBRUARY 21, 1848, John Quincy Adams suffered a massive stroke and collapsed on the floor of the House of Representatives. He died two days later. Clay was still in Washington when Adams was stricken, but by the time Adams died, Clay had left for Philadelphia. The departure had been long scheduled, but it made Clay appear indifferent to Adams's fate and disrespectful of his memory, and his enemies made as much as they could of it. Worse, his itinerary roughly coincided with that of Adams's funeral cortege as it proceeded through Philadelphia on its way to Massachusetts, suggesting that Clay was persisting in a tasteless disregard for the former president. Clay had been loyal to Adams while serving as his secretary of state, and he had occasionally tried to sustain friendly contact with "Old Man Eloquent," but he had never really liked the prickly New Englander. Now that Adams was dead, Clay made clear that he intended no impertinence. In Philadelphia he appeared in Independence Hall on February 26 to deliver a short eulogy in which he described Adams as "a great patriot." He did not hide from close friends, however, a fatalistic resignation that indicated he was essentially unmoved by the old man's passing. Clay was an old man himself. "So we go!" he told Kit Hughes, another old man who had been with Adams and Clay at Ghent more than forty years earlier. 1848, John Quincy Adams suffered a massive stroke and collapsed on the floor of the House of Representatives. He died two days later. Clay was still in Washington when Adams was stricken, but by the time Adams died, Clay had left for Philadelphia. The departure had been long scheduled, but it made Clay appear indifferent to Adams's fate and disrespectful of his memory, and his enemies made as much as they could of it. Worse, his itinerary roughly coincided with that of Adams's funeral cortege as it proceeded through Philadelphia on its way to Massachusetts, suggesting that Clay was persisting in a tasteless disregard for the former president. Clay had been loyal to Adams while serving as his secretary of state, and he had occasionally tried to sustain friendly contact with "Old Man Eloquent," but he had never really liked the prickly New Englander. Now that Adams was dead, Clay made clear that he intended no impertinence. In Philadelphia he appeared in Independence Hall on February 26 to deliver a short eulogy in which he described Adams as "a great patriot." He did not hide from close friends, however, a fatalistic resignation that indicated he was essentially unmoved by the old man's passing. Clay was an old man himself. "So we go!" he told Kit Hughes, another old man who had been with Adams and Clay at Ghent more than forty years earlier.64 The criticisms of his behavior were bitter in some quarters, but they did him no lasting harm. If anything, he seemed to be leading a charmed life. While staying at Mayor John Swift's residence, Clay went to bed as his servant, unaccustomed to the gas lighting, simply blew out the flame without turning off the jet. Swift awoke just before dawn to the strong odor of gas. He rushed to Clay's bedroom, opened the door, and was almost knocked down by the fumes. As Swift frantically raised a window, he looked with terror at the bed, almost certain that his guest had been asphyxiated. "Mr. Clay," he called out, "Mr. Clay, are you alive?" The bedclothes stirred. "Never felt better," said Clay.65 He left Philadelphia on March 7 bound for New York City, where enormous crowds heard him speak at Castle Garden. Several weeks earlier, a huge meeting had attracted some ten thousand cheering supporters and was matched by a statement of support from the Whig caucus in Albany. Clay met with Martin Van Buren, building speculation that his and the Little Magician's friends would be collaborating in the state. He also met with Albert Gallatin, effecting a reconciliation with the old man, now in his late eighties and still lively but with only a year and a half to live. In some of this, Clay was likely just mending fences and tidying up personal loose ends, but these travels and speeches and meetings struck many as having much deeper meanings.66 By the time Clay reached Ashland on March 30, he had every reason to feel a high sense of accomplishment. However, the success of his trip was already fleeting. While Clay received the acclaim of northern crowds, events moved decisively against him. As he left Washington, the Polk administration received a treaty ending the war with Mexico and detailing a massive cession of Mexican territory to the United States, including California and all the territory to its east stretching to Texas. On March 10, the Senate ratified the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The three months between the treaty's ratification and the meeting of the Whig convention in Philadelphia obscured the towering impact of this event on Clay's candidacy, but it would be revealed in due course.67 More immediately evident was a setback he suffered in late February at the Virginia Whig convention. Whig meetings were also held in Kentucky and North Carolina on the same day as Virginia's, February 22, which coincidentally happened to be both George Washington's birthday and the first anniversary of Taylor's triumph at Buena Vista. The outcome in Kentucky was of considerable importance to both Clay and Taylor, but the event itself greatly troubled those of Clay's former friends who faced the prospect of at last revealing where they stood. For months Crittenden and Letcher had sustained an uneasy truce with Taylor men that had kept Kentucky from endorsing either the general or Clay. As the convention loomed, the plan to have it adjourn without pledging delegates to anyone was the best they could do for Clay, and they salved their consciences by insisting it was really a kindness to shield him from a humiliating defeat by Taylor, or to save him from the physical ordeal of a campaign, which they were sure would mean defeat for the Whigs in November.

Taylor's supporters had been bristling over stories about Clay's triumphant trip to Washington, and as the local convention neared, they suspected that the agreement to send uncommitted delegates to Philadelphia was a trick. They threatened to cancel the arrangement. "If the Ball opens with an angry discussion," warned Letcher, "the fat is in the fire." Clay's former friends frantically tried to keep that from happening. They put in writing assurances that he would eventually withdraw. "Great Gd," wailed Black Bob, "if he could have foreseen the predicament in which he had placed us friends and his party in this country [Kentucky], it [sic] could not have hesitated a moment about declining."68 Clay's former friends were only just barely able to persuade the Kentucky Whig convention in Frankfort on February 22 to stick to the arrangement and send uncommitted delegates to the national convention. That very result, however, had the ironic consequence of making the pledge of his withdrawal less valid, because true Clay supporters believed his position was growing stronger. Clay's former friends were only just barely able to persuade the Kentucky Whig convention in Frankfort on February 22 to stick to the arrangement and send uncommitted delegates to the national convention. That very result, however, had the ironic consequence of making the pledge of his withdrawal less valid, because true Clay supporters believed his position was growing stronger.

Furious Taylor men promptly strode into a Taylor rally already under way in Frankfort to join in an endorsement of Old Zach. Telegraph dispatches from Frankfort did not distinguish the regular Whig state convention from the Taylor rally, and Whigs across the country mistakenly concluded that the latter reflected the will of the state party. Later that very day at a crucial point in the Virginia Whig convention, Taylor men used that confusion to announce that the telegraph had brought news that Kentucky had nominated their candidate. The report caused the Virginians to pause, and all it then took to shove them over to Taylor was an outright lie: North Carolina had endorsed Taylor as well, Old Zach's supporters proclaimed. Virginia followed suit. Everyone had counted Virginia in Clay's column, and with good reason. Only through confusion and misrepresentation was the Old Dominion handed to Taylor, because North Carolina, like Kentucky, had not pledged its delegates to anyone. Clay, not Taylor, was the favorite of North Carolina Whigs, but the convention that met in Raleigh that same Tuesday was not certain about the Old Chieftain's intentions and had decided to keep its delegates uncommitted.69 Despite this good fortune, Taylor seemed bent on self-destruction. In the first weeks of 1848, he slipped his letter writing leash and sent out a series of rambling communications that revived the worst of Whig fears. Stubbornly cultivating his image as a man beholden to no party, he accepted any nomination that came his way, including those of the Native American Party and the People's Party. Taylor boasted about his independence and basked in his broad appeal, but Whigs were worried that he was risking the election, not to mention what his attitudes might mean regarding distributing patronage. The publication of Taylor's views, starting in February 1848 when his supporters were laboring mightily for him in the state conventions, finally drove party leaders to reconsider their allegiance to a man with no apparent allegiance to them. Unwavering Taylor supporters strained to repair the damage by begging him to declare his fidelity to Whig principles, but he mulishly refused and made matters worse by again depicting himself as above politics. He even said that if the Whigs did not nominate him, he would run as an independent.70 Taylor's missteps obscured the injury done to Clay by the state conventions in late February, and Clay still could hear the gushing praise of friends and the cheering of crowds as he finally decided not to withdraw. Virginia was not his any longer, but Kentucky and North Carolina were uncommitted. He received good reports from Georgia, and even glimmers of encouragement from Louisiana, Taylor's home state, where Clay could possibly return the favor done to him by Old Zach's Kentucky operatives. Clay's northern support seemed stronger than ever, and Ohio governor William Bebb finally gave up on Tom Corwin and all but promised Clay that the Ohio delegation would be his in Philadelphia.71 Clay's decision came late and after months of his former friends' whispered promises that he would not run. Despite their better judgment, Taylor men had believed that Clay was on the verge of declaring that he would be content to retire forever to Ashland.72 To stop that speculation, he issued a formal statement announcing his intention to place his name before the convention in Philadelphia. Dated April 10, Clay's statement appeared in the Lexington press on April 12, his seventy-first birthday, and was nationally published in the days that followed. To stop that speculation, he issued a formal statement announcing his intention to place his name before the convention in Philadelphia. Dated April 10, Clay's statement appeared in the Lexington press on April 12, his seventy-first birthday, and was nationally published in the days that followed.73 Considering the need to quell false tales about his withdrawal, the announcement was an understandable gesture, but it was also a serious mistake. It shattered a venerated tradition of American presidential politics. Candidates were not supposed to be striving politicians but reluctant recruits finally answering the people's call. Clay's announcement was unprecedented, and it alienated many Whigs because they thought it haughty and presumptuous. In New York, upstate Whig Washington Hunt called the announcement "a clear case" of political suicide. Clay had "evidently treasured up all the clever things said to him by flatterers and parasites during his recent tour," grumbled Hunt. "I consider him out of the question."74 Yet others thought "it was high time" Clay made his intentions known and were delighted that he had.75 The Whig establishment might have been outraged, but the people did not seem to have found his gesture irredeemably offensive. "Mr. Clay has not five friends of his nomination in both branches of Congress," observed the Georgia Whig Robert Toombs, "but eight-tenths of them are afraid to open their lips upon the subject to the public." The Whig establishment might have been outraged, but the people did not seem to have found his gesture irredeemably offensive. "Mr. Clay has not five friends of his nomination in both branches of Congress," observed the Georgia Whig Robert Toombs, "but eight-tenths of them are afraid to open their lips upon the subject to the public."76 Nevertheless, Clay was surprised by the reaction to his announcement, and he resolved to keep quiet in the weeks after it. When he was told that only his clear opposition to slavery expansion would ensure Ohio for him, he insisted that he had said all he intended to say about the matter. He was determined to adhere to a promise he had made to Greeley months before to keep mum. Nevertheless, Clay was surprised by the reaction to his announcement, and he resolved to keep quiet in the weeks after it. When he was told that only his clear opposition to slavery expansion would ensure Ohio for him, he insisted that he had said all he intended to say about the matter. He was determined to adhere to a promise he had made to Greeley months before to keep mum.77 The Old Chieftain was now on record as wanting the nomination, an intention that at last exposed for Clay the true sentiments of John J. Crittenden. On the day he drafted his announcement, Clay sent Crittenden a copy of it, with the aim of enlisting him in his effort. Crittenden responded in early May. "I hope it may turn out for the best," was all Crittenden could offer Henry Clay. He insisted that Clay had known all along his "opinions & apprehensions on the subject," which were, Crittenden said, that Clay could not be elected and thus should not be put forward as a candidate. Crittenden rather helplessly observed that the presidential election was "becoming more & more perplexed."78 Clay now knew that Crittenden had deserted him. Clay did not respond. Crittenden would never write to him again.

Now that Clay had declared, all of Taylor's pompous talk about being above politics and his practice of accepting nominations from other parties had to not only come to a stop but be disavowed. In Washington, even before he had responded to Clay's April 10 announcement, John J. Crittenden consulted with his fellow lodgers Alexander Stephens and Robert Toombs and drafted a letter for Taylor's signature that would unequivocally vow allegiance to Whig principles. Some have claimed that after Clay's April announcement, Crittenden stopped working for Taylor, but that was not true. Crittenden took a central role in saving Taylor's candidacy well after Clay's statement of intent.79 In the letter-he was working on it two weeks after Clay had declared himself-Crittenden sought to have it appear that Taylor plainly endorsed the idea of a passive executive and that he would be respectful of the congressional agenda on tariffs, the economy, and internal improvements. Crittenden took a swipe at "ultra" Whigs (meaning Clay, a particularly nasty touch coming from Crittenden's pen), but he also had Taylor promise that he would use the veto only to strike down clearly unconstitutional legislation, a jab at the veto-happy Tyler. In the letter-he was working on it two weeks after Clay had declared himself-Crittenden sought to have it appear that Taylor plainly endorsed the idea of a passive executive and that he would be respectful of the congressional agenda on tariffs, the economy, and internal improvements. Crittenden took a swipe at "ultra" Whigs (meaning Clay, a particularly nasty touch coming from Crittenden's pen), but he also had Taylor promise that he would use the veto only to strike down clearly unconstitutional legislation, a jab at the veto-happy Tyler.80 Crittenden and his colleagues hoped that this statement would repair all the damage Taylor had been doing to himself-never mind that much in the letter would be as much a surprise to Zachary Taylor as it would be soothing to Whig sensibilities. Crittenden and his colleagues hoped that this statement would repair all the damage Taylor had been doing to himself-never mind that much in the letter would be as much a surprise to Zachary Taylor as it would be soothing to Whig sensibilities.

In fact, saving Taylor from himself made for a considerable amount of heavy political lifting. Even as Crittenden was crafting his letter, Taylor was reacting to Clay's announcement by writing a letter of his own. Dated April 20, 1848, the letter went to the Richmond Whig Whig and declared that he would accept the Whig nomination only if the convention did not bind him with pledges. Worse, he claimed he had always intended to be a candidate for the presidency regardless of what the Whigs or the Democrats did. These statements were completely at variance with those Crittenden had devised for him. When Crittenden's creation arrived in Baton Rouge, Taylor's handlers promptly sat him down to transcribe it, sign it, and immediately send it to his brother-in-law John S. Allison. Soon to be known as "the Allison Letter," it went to the Baton Rouge newspapers on April 22. The telegraph transmitted it across the nation. Taylor's supporters, Crittenden foremost among them, hoped with all their hearts that the Allison letter would at least cancel out the potentially lethal effect of Taylor's Richmond and declared that he would accept the Whig nomination only if the convention did not bind him with pledges. Worse, he claimed he had always intended to be a candidate for the presidency regardless of what the Whigs or the Democrats did. These statements were completely at variance with those Crittenden had devised for him. When Crittenden's creation arrived in Baton Rouge, Taylor's handlers promptly sat him down to transcribe it, sign it, and immediately send it to his brother-in-law John S. Allison. Soon to be known as "the Allison Letter," it went to the Baton Rouge newspapers on April 22. The telegraph transmitted it across the nation. Taylor's supporters, Crittenden foremost among them, hoped with all their hearts that the Allison letter would at least cancel out the potentially lethal effect of Taylor's Richmond Whig Whig blunder. blunder.

At the end of April, Zachary Taylor wrote Clay a sugared letter oozing with false modesty (Clay possibly knew more about the mood of the people, Taylor said), false flattery ("you were my first choice," Taylor said), and false statements (he never wanted to be president, he said). But mainly Taylor dealt with the problem of his promise in November 1847 to step aside if Clay wanted to run. Taylor had actually stated the pledge to Crittenden as well as Clay, and the general was at first under the impression that it had come to light because of Crittenden. In late March, Taylor told Crittenden that he could not remember ever having written to him about the matter.81 After Clay's April 10 announcement, Taylor concluded that his withdrawal promise had been exposed by his November 4, 1847, letter to Clay. He now told Clay that the matter was in the hands of the people, who had registered their preference in several state conventions. Taylor said he could not in good conscience now withdraw after receiving such sincere demonstrations of esteem. After Clay's April 10 announcement, Taylor concluded that his withdrawal promise had been exposed by his November 4, 1847, letter to Clay. He now told Clay that the matter was in the hands of the people, who had registered their preference in several state conventions. Taylor said he could not in good conscience now withdraw after receiving such sincere demonstrations of esteem.82 Clay was not overly troubled by any of these developments. After the revelations about Crittenden, nothing could surprise him, and if anything, he became even more hopeful that his supporters could deliver him the nomination in Philadelphia.83 Several weeks would pass before Whig delegates assembled in Philadelphia to choose the candidate, plenty of time for Taylor to write more letters. Several weeks would pass before Whig delegates assembled in Philadelphia to choose the candidate, plenty of time for Taylor to write more letters.

It was Taylor's turn, though, to lead the charmed life. Whigs did not care that he obviously had not written the Allison letter, because "fools build houses-& wise men live in 'em."84 Most important was that the letter went far in calming Taylor's shaken supporters. Most important was that the letter went far in calming Taylor's shaken supporters.85 But something had already happened that was far more damaging to Clay's chances than any of Taylor's impolitic letters were to his, even if Old Zach continued to write foolish things to the newspapers. The early opposition of important Whig groups such as the Young Indians and the desertion of his own friends certainly dimmed Clay's chances in 1848, but his bid for the nomination fell victim to forces beyond his control. Beginning with his Lexington speech of November 1847, Clay staked everything on opposing the Mexican War. From that position, he sought to placate northern hostility to slavery expansion and soothe southern honor by flatly rejecting any potential territorial gains from the war. Thus he could make the Wilmot Proviso both unnecessary and irrelevant. But something had already happened that was far more damaging to Clay's chances than any of Taylor's impolitic letters were to his, even if Old Zach continued to write foolish things to the newspapers. The early opposition of important Whig groups such as the Young Indians and the desertion of his own friends certainly dimmed Clay's chances in 1848, but his bid for the nomination fell victim to forces beyond his control. Beginning with his Lexington speech of November 1847, Clay staked everything on opposing the Mexican War. From that position, he sought to placate northern hostility to slavery expansion and soothe southern honor by flatly rejecting any potential territorial gains from the war. Thus he could make the Wilmot Proviso both unnecessary and irrelevant.

After the Senate ratified the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo on March 10, however, there was no war to oppose, and the territorial gains were an accomplished fact. A month before he made his formal declaration and long before the Philadelphia convention, Clay and the Whigs who supported him lost the only issue that made him an appealing candidate, someone other than an establishment figure who lost elections. The end of the war created a new set of circumstances that gradually made his positions disagreeable both to the North and to the South. The question of whether the new western territories would be slave or free revived the Wilmot Proviso as a northern cause. It also renewed it as a threat to the South. Because he would not support Wilmot, Clay disappointed northern Whigs indispensable to his candidacy, hence the pleas from Ohio for him to make a plain declaration about the matter. Clay would not; he could not without completely losing the South. The consequences in the North were not clear until everyone gathered in Philadelphia, but northern Whigs had been quietly looking for alternatives to Clay for weeks. Winfield Scott was often suggested. Ultimately, however, they resigned themselves to Old Zach's nomination. Taylor's role in the Mexican War became less objectionable to them because the war was over, and his purported electability tipped the balance for those eager to drink from patronage troughs. On the other hand, Clay's Lexington speech opposing slavery expansion in the West made him unacceptable to southern Whigs and cemented their initial inclination to become Taylor men.86 The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo smashed every reason that the Whig Party had, other than sentiment, to make Henry Clay its presidential candidate. He sat at Ashland counting the days until the Philadelphia convention, but his numbers in this last lottery had already come up weeks before. They were losers.

THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY'S convention met in Baltimore on May 27, also with the chore of addressing the changed situation regarding the Mexican Cession. Democrats were just as divided as Whigs over slavery in the new territories, and an outright endorsement of the Wilmot Proviso promised to alienate the southern wing of the party. Consequently, Democrats adopted a policy they called popular sovereignty, which had all the political advantages of seeming to do something while actually doing nothing at all. Under popular sovereignty, the inhabitants of the territory would decide whether they were to have slavery or not, a gesture that the Democrats saw as perfectly compatible with their notions of decentralized, limited government, in essence the ultimate expression of Jacksonian states' rights. As in everything, popular sovereignty's devil was in the details, such as when exactly the settlers would make their fateful decision, which was vitally important since the presence of even a single slave made less likely the exclusion of slavery as an institution. But addressing specifics ruined the beauty of popular sovereignty's indecisive ambiguity, the very feature that made it a workable dodge of the slavery issue. No specifics were therefore confronted. Instead, Democrats nominated Lewis Cass, an old Michigan moderate with a distinguished record and a reputation for deliberation so ingrained that Lincoln likened him to an ox-what Clay called "irresolution and want of decision." But at the time, bovine apathy seemed precisely the way to deal with the difficult sectional problem of slavery. The Whigs had lost their No Territory policy when the Mexican War ended to include an enormous western land cession. The Democrats adopted a No Decision policy in its stead. convention met in Baltimore on May 27, also with the chore of addressing the changed situation regarding the Mexican Cession. Democrats were just as divided as Whigs over slavery in the new territories, and an outright endorsement of the Wilmot Proviso promised to alienate the southern wing of the party. Consequently, Democrats adopted a policy they called popular sovereignty, which had all the political advantages of seeming to do something while actually doing nothing at all. Under popular sovereignty, the inhabitants of the territory would decide whether they were to have slavery or not, a gesture that the Democrats saw as perfectly compatible with their notions of decentralized, limited government, in essence the ultimate expression of Jacksonian states' rights. As in everything, popular sovereignty's devil was in the details, such as when exactly the settlers would make their fateful decision, which was vitally important since the presence of even a single slave made less likely the exclusion of slavery as an institution. But addressing specifics ruined the beauty of popular sovereignty's indecisive ambiguity, the very feature that made it a workable dodge of the slavery issue. No specifics were therefore confronted. Instead, Democrats nominated Lewis Cass, an old Michigan moderate with a distinguished record and a reputation for deliberation so ingrained that Lincoln likened him to an ox-what Clay called "irresolution and want of decision." But at the time, bovine apathy seemed precisely the way to deal with the difficult sectional problem of slavery. The Whigs had lost their No Territory policy when the Mexican War ended to include an enormous western land cession. The Democrats adopted a No Decision policy in its stead.87 Whig delegates assembled in Philadelphia during the first week of June. Northerners were fragmented, and southerners insisted that nominating Taylor was absolutely necessary, both bad signs for Clay. Taylor's forces were extremely well organized, having expanded the Young Indians into a much larger Palo Alto Club to include growing numbers of Whig congressmen. As delegates bound for Philadelphia paused in Washington, Palo Alto members buttonholed them on train station platforms to persuade them that only Taylor could win in November. Leading Clay supporters, including Greeley, were exceedingly despondent but soldiered on.88 They set up Clay's headquarters at Mayor Swift's office and held nightly meetings in which Greeley, Leslie Combs, and John Minor Botts planned strategy. Surveying the dismal prospects, they concluded that Winfield Scott as a running mate for Clay was their best hope of stemming the Taylor tide. Scott had a deadly habit of writing letters even more foolish than Taylor's, and he had sunk his own candidacy as a result, but teamed with Clay he could possibly help unify northern delegates and stop the southern momentum for Taylor. Scott, as it happened, was agreeable to the idea and was apparently approached by Clay operatives. Yet for some reason, Scott's availability as well as his willingness to go on the ticket with Clay was never revealed to the delegates at Philadelphia. In addition, he was bedridden with severe diarrhea (a souvenir of his Mexican campaign) and could not contact the convention personally. Instead, rumors exaggerated his illness to make him unappealing as a candidate of any kind, and Taylor forces were able to suppress Clay's last best chance to overtake their man. They set up Clay's headquarters at Mayor Swift's office and held nightly meetings in which Greeley, Leslie Combs, and John Minor Botts planned strategy. Surveying the dismal prospects, they concluded that Winfield Scott as a running mate for Clay was their best hope of stemming the Taylor tide. Scott had a deadly habit of writing letters even more foolish than Taylor's, and he had sunk his own candidacy as a result, but teamed with Clay he could possibly help unify northern delegates and stop the southern momentum for Taylor. Scott, as it happened, was agreeable to the idea and was apparently approached by Clay operatives. Yet for some reason, Scott's availability as well as his willingness to go on the ticket with Clay was never revealed to the delegates at Philadelphia. In addition, he was bedridden with severe diarrhea (a souvenir of his Mexican campaign) and could not contact the convention personally. Instead, rumors exaggerated his illness to make him unappealing as a candidate of any kind, and Taylor forces were able to suppress Clay's last best chance to overtake their man.89 On Thursday, June 8, Zachary Taylor, Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Winfield Scott, John Clayton, and John McLean (whose support was so paltry his friends promptly withdrew him) were placed in nomination. Everyone expected Clay to lead on the first ballot, but everyone knew that he would also fall short of the 140 votes required to secure the nomination. His managers, in fact, had estimated his first ballot total would be 115 votes, and from that figure they hoped to consolidate with Scott's supporters to attract the little more than two dozen delegates necessary for the prize.

When the balloting ended, however, the convention was shocked by the result. Taylor, not Clay, led with 111 votes, and Clay had fallen far short of his benchmark with only 97. Just one Ohio delegate voted for him, revealing a serious disintegration of northern opposition to Taylor, but Kentucky's delegation was the momentum shifter that broke Clay's back. Only 5 of his own state's 12 delegates remained loyal to the Old Chieftain.90 Clay's candidacy never recovered. In two subsequent ballots that evening he continued to lose ground, and even a recess could not stem the tide. The next day, June 9, the dam broke on the fourth ballot. Taylor's total climbed to 171 votes, well beyond the number necessary to win, while Clay sank to a dismal 35, falling to third place behind Winfield Scott. Only James Harlan of the Kentucky delegation had remained steadfast until the end. It was over. Henry Clay would never become president of the United States.

The convention nominated Millard Fillmore as Taylor's running mate, something of an olive branch extended to the Clay wing. Clay liked Fillmore, and he was a rival of Seward's, but his selection was clearly a sop, and the party adjourned to do battle with the Democrats amid considerable self-congratulation that was all the more hearty because the convention had elected not to adopt a platform of any kind. The Democrats had decided with popular sovereignty to let sleeping dogs lie, but the Whigs had spinelessly resolved not to get a dog at all.

Despite his insistence otherwise, the Whigs' rebuke embittered Clay, and as he gave the matter more thought, the behavior of his "friends" enraged him. According to family tradition, he went so far as to draft an angry narrative that described Crittenden's treachery, excoriating him and the Kentucky delegation for their betrayal. James, however, persuaded him not to publish it until he had taken time to reflect. Clay cooled down and was said to have torn the letter to pieces, but James's wife, Susan (the keeper of the documents), gathered up the pieces and put them away. They were last seen-or at least their contents were last heard-when read to a historian of the Whig Party in 1920 by Susan's son George H. Clay. The document afterward vanished.91 That is the family tradition, and as far as it goes, it corroborates Clay's apparent decision to keep his own counsel regarding Crittenden. He did not utter a word about Crittenden's candidacy for Kentucky governor, which in a way spoke volumes as a refusal to endorse the person who had been his closest friend. In fact, it was reported that James was the Clay in eruption, not his father. It was also said that the Crittendens had no compunction about speaking ill of Henry Clay.92 For his part, Crittenden did not write to Clay after the convention, nor did he try to call when he visited Lexington during the summer of 1848. What Clay thought of all this can only be conjectured. Observers insisted that he never discussed his friend's disloyalty, even within his own family. Indeed, as Whig divisions had mounted during the spring and early summer of 1848, to the extent that they threatened to lose the election in the fall, Crittenden had been mentioned as a compromise candidate to supplant both Clay and Taylor. Clay, it was later said, had not objected.93 In the wake of the disappointment, he simply retreated to Ashland, and his loyal friends brooded.94 Clay never again felt any great affection for the Whig Party. Three years after these events, he had resigned himself to all that had happened-at least, he said so. He evinced little interest in hearing additional details about double-dealing in Philadelphia, and he claimed that Taylor's nomination had "now no other than an historical interest" for him. "The thing is passed," he said, "and no one has more quietly submitted to the event than I have." Clay never again felt any great affection for the Whig Party. Three years after these events, he had resigned himself to all that had happened-at least, he said so. He evinced little interest in hearing additional details about double-dealing in Philadelphia, and he claimed that Taylor's nomination had "now no other than an historical interest" for him. "The thing is passed," he said, "and no one has more quietly submitted to the event than I have."95 EVEN THOUGH HE was now armed with the Whig nomination, Taylor again began insisting that he was above party. The attitude exasperated Whigs and delighted Democrats, who lampooned Taylor as a political Hamlet soliloquizing, "Independent or a Whig-that is the question. Whether 'tis better for my chance to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Clayites or to come forth at once a thorough Whig and by surrendering end them." was now armed with the Whig nomination, Taylor again began insisting that he was above party. The attitude exasperated Whigs and delighted Democrats, who lampooned Taylor as a political Hamlet soliloquizing, "Independent or a Whig-that is the question. Whether 'tis better for my chance to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous Clayites or to come forth at once a thorough Whig and by surrendering end them."96 The parody was too close to the truth for Whigs.97 A serious move materialized to challenge Taylor, and in the first week of September a mass meeting in New York City's Vauxhall Garden actually named Clay-Fillmore electors. Clay quashed this spontaneous, quixotic, and tardy show of support, however, by emphatically repeating to numerous correspondents and to the newspapers that he would not run as an independent. A serious move materialized to challenge Taylor, and in the first week of September a mass meeting in New York City's Vauxhall Garden actually named Clay-Fillmore electors. Clay quashed this spontaneous, quixotic, and tardy show of support, however, by emphatically repeating to numerous correspondents and to the newspapers that he would not run as an independent.98 Ironically it was Cass who suffered the consequences of a splintered party when the Democrats' "No Decision" dodge of popular sovereignty alienated antislavery elements of the party. During the summer, New York Barnburners joined with remnants of the old Liberty Party to establish a national organization based on the alliterative exhortation, "Free Soil, Free Speech, Free Labor, and Free Men." The Free-Soil Party held its convention in August 1848 in Buffalo, New York, and became a haven for disaffected antislavery Whigs as well as Democrats, nominating Martin Van Buren with Charles Francis Adams as his running mate. The Van Buren candidacy pulled just enough votes away from Cass to give Taylor the victory in November.99 By then, Taylor had been firmly brought to heel by Whig leaders weary of his disastrous letters and political pretentiousness. In September, they forced him to sign yet another Allison letter that even more firmly stated his allegiance to Whig principles. By then, Taylor had been firmly brought to heel by Whig leaders weary of his disastrous letters and political pretentiousness. In September, they forced him to sign yet another Allison letter that even more firmly stated his allegiance to Whig principles.

Whigs tried to use Clay as an example of party unity, but the effect was at best mixed. Much was made of the fact that Clay voted a straight Whig ticket in the Kentucky state elections that August, in which he had even cast a ballot for Crittenden as governor.100 But Clay would not give Taylor his blessing. Instead he privately castigated Taylor and provided correspondents with warnings about why they should not support him. But Clay would not give Taylor his blessing. Instead he privately castigated Taylor and provided correspondents with warnings about why they should not support him.101 In November, he simply did not vote. He was ill, it was reported, and confined to his bed, which evidently was true. It spared him a difficult decision. In November, he simply did not vote. He was ill, it was reported, and confined to his bed, which evidently was true. It spared him a difficult decision.102 The outcome of the November election "was the triumph of General Taylor, not our principles," Horace Greeley later observed. "It showed that a majority preferred General Taylor to General Cass for President: that was all." Clay agreed that the contest was one of men, not ideas, and he greatly lamented its course and its outcome, which was the essential end of the Whig program for which he had labored most of his life. "At once triumphant and undone," Greeley sighed.103 And as far as Henry Clay knew, it was also the end of him as a public figure. During the summer, Governor William Owsley had offered to appoint him to fill Crittenden's vacated Senate post, but Clay declined.104 He suspected it to be nothing more than an empty gesture, an attempt to soften the party's rebuke, only a little less meaningless than placing Fillmore on the ticket. And yet Owsley had said, "A patriot is never discharged but by death," words that gained a bit more resonance as the weeks wore on: the Free-Soilers met in Buffalo, the major parties put their heads in the sand, and the sections snarled and snapped at each other over the prize of the western territories. Clay gradually became aware of the changing mood of the country, a mood he found increasingly disturbing, even alarming. By the fall, he was restless and worried. The collapse of the Whigs as a coherent engine of change and improvement was disappointing, but the possibility that the Union could shatter was terrifying. A visitor to Lexington that October noted that a great many people expected Clay to be elected to the Senate over the winter. "It is confidently believed he will accept." He suspected it to be nothing more than an empty gesture, an attempt to soften the party's rebuke, only a little less meaningless than placing Fillmore on the ticket. And yet Owsley had said, "A patriot is never discharged but by death," words that gained a bit more resonance as the weeks wore on: the Free-Soilers met in Buffalo, the major parties put their heads in the sand, and the sections snarled and snapped at each other over the prize of the western territories. Clay gradually became aware of the changing mood of the country, a mood he found increasingly disturbing, even alarming. By the fall, he was restless and worried. The collapse of the Whigs as a coherent engine of change and improvement was disappointing, but the possibility that the Union could shatter was terrifying. A visitor to Lexington that October noted that a great many people expected Clay to be elected to the Senate over the winter. "It is confidently believed he will accept."105

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"What Prodigies Arise"

A VISITOR TO VISITOR TO Ashland in the fall of 1845 went out of his way to describe the plantation's slave quarters and their inhabitants in bright terms. The "negro cottages are exceedingly comfortable," he said, "all white-washed, clean and well furnished, and plenty of flowers in the windows and about the dwellings." Ashland's slaves, he observed, "possess more comforts of life, have better dwellings, are better clothed, and work less than a large majority of the day laborers of the North." Ashland in the fall of 1845 went out of his way to describe the plantation's slave quarters and their inhabitants in bright terms. The "negro cottages are exceedingly comfortable," he said, "all white-washed, clean and well furnished, and plenty of flowers in the windows and about the dwellings." Ashland's slaves, he observed, "possess more comforts of life, have better dwellings, are better clothed, and work less than a large majority of the day laborers of the North."1 Yet contradicting this glowing picture were other descriptions depicting Ashland as a place of brutal punishments where the purportedly compassionate master winked at a cruel overseer. Just months after newspaper accounts of Henry Clay's farm as a slave's Eden, the abolitionist press carried lurid stories about an escaped slave from Ashland named Lewis Richardson who claimed he had been viciously whipped at Clay's direction for a minor offense. According to Richardson, who told his story after reaching Canada, a total of 150 lashes had laid his back open after he had been suspended from a beam in one of Ashland's barns for almost an hour on a frigid December day. Richardson had run away after the whipping to tell this tale, one that was eagerly taken up by abolitionists to highlight not only Clay's depravity but to strip away the mask of benevolence he had affected with high talk of hating slavery while owning slaves.2 Yet the tale of Louis Richardson was not true, at least to the extent of Clay's involvement. In fact, Clay, who was on his way to New Orleans, did not know that a whipping had occurred. Richardson had received sixteen lashes, not 150, and according to Andrew Barnett, Clay's overseer, it was because of his frequent drunkenness, a circumstance attested to by reputable witnesses when Barnett defended himself against the charge of cruelty and vindicated his employer's reputation for kindness. Certainly it would have been out of character for Henry Clay to behave so cruelly, and under the weight of proof, even abolitionists let the matter fade away, especially when it was revealed that Clay made no effort to pursue or reclaim Richardson when he fled.3 As a young man just starting out in Kentucky, Henry Clay had urged the state constitutional convention of 1799 to adopt gradual emancipation, but in the years that followed he became a Kentucky planter who purchased slaves to work a growing farm. In doing this he essentially surrendered to circumstance and ambition. The circumstance was the world as he found it, first in Virginia and then in Kentucky. Slavery had always been part of that world, and though men he admired, such as George Wythe, had shown that it did not have to be that way, the life Clay chose pointed him in different, less admirable directions. After 1799, he gradually succumbed to the vice of slavery, a conclusion wrought by his ambition for status and local political prominence. Clay's behavior in all this was hypocritical, to be sure, and for that alone he merited at least a measure of the denunciation heaped on him by abolitionists.

He was in many ways a typical planter, and the claims of some friendly writers that Clay never sold a slave are false.4 And yet in many ways he was not typical at all. While he did occasionally sell slaves, he also freed them, as in the case of Lottie Dupuy as well as her daughter Mary Ann and son Charles. Sometimes his purchases were made to unite families, and he was willing to help speed slaves to freedom when requested to by others. He was remarkably indifferent about recovering runaways. When a young slave named Levi disappeared while accompanying him during his travels in 1849, Clay casually remarked "that in a reversal of our conditions I would have done the same thing" and simply provided money to help Levi return to Ashland should he wish to, which he did. After Kentucky authorities arrested Vermont abolitionist Delia Webster in 1844 for inciting slaves to run away, Clay offered to defend her. Responding to defenders of slavery who hinted at reviving the African slave trade, he was unequivocal in condemning it as deserving the "detestation of mankind." He remained active in the American Colonization Society and served as its president from 1836 until his death. And yet in many ways he was not typical at all. While he did occasionally sell slaves, he also freed them, as in the case of Lottie Dupuy as well as her daughter Mary Ann and son Charles. Sometimes his purchases were made to unite families, and he was willing to help speed slaves to freedom when requested to by others. He was remarkably indifferent about recovering runaways. When a young slave named Levi disappeared while accompanying him during his travels in 1849, Clay casually remarked "that in a reversal of our conditions I would have done the same thing" and simply provided money to help Levi return to Ashland should he wish to, which he did. After Kentucky authorities arrested Vermont abolitionist Delia Webster in 1844 for inciting slaves to run away, Clay offered to defend her. Responding to defenders of slavery who hinted at reviving the African slave trade, he was unequivocal in condemning it as deserving the "detestation of mankind." He remained active in the American Colonization Society and served as its president from 1836 until his death.5 Clay believed that emancipated slaves could only prosper someplace other than America. In part that belief was born of the prejudices of his time, which he repeated in public and private statements: blacks were inferior, he felt, because of their race. But Clay also qualified the observation with caveats that slavery itself and the unrelenting prejudice of whites most thoroughly contributed to the degradation of blacks, a belief shared by Abraham Lincoln.6 Clay insisted that whites would fare no better if made into slaves, and he rejected the argument that black inferiority justified black enslavement. That attitude, he said, was a spurious rationalization that could be insidiously used to justify the subjugation of anyone, given the right circumstances. Clay insisted that whites would fare no better if made into slaves, and he rejected the argument that black inferiority justified black enslavement. That attitude, he said, was a spurious rationalization that could be insidiously used to justify the subjugation of anyone, given the right circumstances.7 Clay consistently denounced slavery as wrong, lamented its existence, and wished that it had never been established.8 He would not consent to its extension, and where it did exist, he was eager to see it extinguished if that could be accomplished without undue injury to owners and excessive burdens placed on freed slaves. His embrace of gradual emancipation remained a constant throughout his life, despite his vagueness about methods and timetables. Gradualism would allow owners to absorb the economic shock of losing so great a capital investment. It would benefit slaves slated for freedom by giving them time to learn trades and gather the money necessary to go home, a place defined for Clay as that whence they had originated as a race, namely, Africa. The American Colonization Society for decades had been the vehicle to accomplish that objective, and Clay was among many important men who belonged to it, held high offices in it, contributed money to it, and lobbied for state and federal subsidization. By the 1840s, the idea had grown rather threadbare, although the organization still attracted new members. Nobody thought, however, that it would ever possess the financial means or political reach necessary for significant success, and in many respects it was always meant to be an example as well as an experiment. He would not consent to its extension, and where it did exist, he was eager to see it extinguished if that could be accomplished without undue injury to owners and excessive burdens placed on freed slaves. His embrace of gradual emancipation remained a constant throughout his life, despite his vagueness about methods and timetables. Gradualism would allow owners to absorb the economic shock of losing so great a capital investment. It would benefit slaves slated for freedom by giving them time to learn trades and gather the money necessary to go home, a place defined for Clay as that whence they had originated as a race, namely, Africa. The American Colonization Society for decades had been the vehicle to accomplish that objective, and Clay was among many important men who belonged to it, held high offices in it, contributed money to it, and lobbied for state and federal subsidization. By the 1840s, the idea had grown rather threadbare, although the organization still attracted new members. Nobody thought, however, that it would ever possess the financial means or political reach necessary for significant success, and in many respects it was always meant to be an example as well as an experiment.

Abolitionists grew to despise it. They castigated it for disguising overt racism behind a veil of humanitarianism. As slaveholders adopted a positive defense of slavery, they too attacked colonization and prevailed on state legislatures to outlaw practices friendly to it, such as bequests of slaves to the society with instructions for their transport to Africa. The American Colonization Society could have better countered these charges and stopped these attacks with evidence that its example was persuasive and the experiment was working, but proof on both counts was quite thin. Instances of emancipation remained rare, and many freed slaves showed no desire to go to Africa.9 In any case, Clay insisted that only slave owners could deal with the problem as it currently existed. He continued to oppose abolitionists because he thought that their radicalism damaged the cause of emancipation. Abolitionists not only hardened slaveholders' resolve to resist all solutions, even reasonable ones, they also goaded slaveholders into insisting that slavery was not a predicament at all and that it actually benefited slaves. Clay always branded this proslavery defense as odious and corrosive. People who defended slavery as a positive good undermined the very idea of freedom and endangered everyone's liberty, regardless of caste or color.10 As the years went by and attitudes on both sides became more inflexible, Clay grew increasingly exasperated. Abolitionists moved in ways that entrenched slavery. Proslavery activists inched toward destroying the Union. As the years went by and attitudes on both sides became more inflexible, Clay grew increasingly exasperated. Abolitionists moved in ways that entrenched slavery. Proslavery activists inched toward destroying the Union.

Meanwhile, he cried out that time was reason's greatest ally. Given enough time, a growing population would supply enough labor to make slavery obsolete, and it would then disappear.11 He often made this prediction to abolitionists, but they did not believe him. Moreover, they opposed uncertain remedies and elastic schedules. He often made this prediction to abolitionists, but they did not believe him. Moreover, they opposed uncertain remedies and elastic schedules.

Abolitionists who genuinely admired him, believing that they could appeal to the better man in Henry Clay, urged him to free his slaves and set an example for his neighbors.12 But slavery continued at Ashland. He was a benevolent master-too kind and lax, according to slave-owning neighbors-who by all objective accounts fed and clothed and lodged his slaves well. His slaves were allowed remarkable levels of liberty, allowed to come and go from Ashland as they wished to visit family on other plantations or in Lexington, often to stay overnight. Yet the fact remained that no matter how healthy and autonomous they were, they were still slaves, the property of Henry Clay. They had to eat and wear what was given to them, had to live where they were told to, always had to return to Ashland sooner rather than later from visits elsewhere. But slavery continued at Ashland. He was a benevolent master-too kind and lax, according to slave-owning neighbors-who by all objective accounts fed and clothed and lodged his slaves well. His slaves were allowed remarkable levels of liberty, allowed to come and go from Ashland as they wished to visit family on other plantations or in Lexington, often to stay overnight. Yet the fact remained that no matter how healthy and autonomous they were, they were still slaves, the property of Henry Clay. They had to eat and wear what was given to them, had to live where they were told to, always had to return to Ashland sooner rather than later from visits elsewhere.

At Ashland, Clay told his critics, one would find slaves in comfort from cradle to grave, which was as physically true as he could manage, and the paternalism soothed a kindhearted man who could boast that his elderly and infirm slaves were cosseted in their last years, not cast off to fend for themselves as were the "wage slaves" of the North. Yet such paternalism was part of the problem of slavery. The underlying consequences of paternalism were not as appalling or as emotionally evocative as the stories of brutal beatings and fractured families and violated women clutching mulatto children. Rather, the consequences of benevolent paternalism were insidious precisely because of their banality.

What happened at Ashland that December day in 1845 exposed the limits of benevolent paternalism. Clay was away, but the whipping happened. It mattered little that the punishment was "only" sixteen blows rather than 150. It had happened. The system allowed it to happen no matter what Henry Clay said or did, and that reality emphasized the immorality of slavery more than scandalous fabrications that played upon melodrama for sensational effect. That Henry Clay continued to own slaves while condemning slavery was nothing short of tragic, a fundamental flaw in an otherwise good and decent man.

THERE WERE FEW heroes in this predicament. As it did on the national scale, slavery jumbled Bluegrass political affiliations and tested class loyalties. Standing to the left of Henry Clay but to the right of radical abolitionists was Clay's second cousin, Cassius Marcellus Clay ("Cash" to those who knew him), son of the wealthy planter and slaveholder Green Clay. Cash was reckless with often toxic prose. A venomous pen was his first weapon of choice, a bowie knife his second, and because he was so effective with the one, he found it wise to have the other handy. heroes in this predicament. As it did on the national scale, slavery jumbled Bluegrass political affiliations and tested class loyalties. Standing to the left of Henry Clay but to the right of radical abolitionists was Clay's second cousin, Cassius Marcellus Clay ("Cash" to those who knew him), son of the wealthy planter and slaveholder Green Clay. Cash was reckless with often toxic prose. A venomous pen was his first weapon of choice, a bowie knife his second, and because he was so effective with the one, he found it wise to have the other handy.

During his initial sojourn in the North while attending Yale and in his later travels in the North, Cash was impressed by the relative scarcity of poverty in the free states. Returning to Kentucky, he was ashamed to look on the lower-class southern whites who lived in filthy shacks and took pride in refusing to do work they perceived as suited only for slaves. Cash began emancipating those slaves he could, his authority over some being restricted by the laws of inheritance, and exhorted his fellow Kentuckians to follow his example. Such pronouncements made him many enemies, most notably the powerful Wickliffes, the state's wealthiest slaveholders. The feud with the Wickliffes produced at least one duel as well as a brawl during which Cash gouged out a man's eye and used his knife to slice off an ear. His famous cousin defended Cash in the ensuing trial.13 Cash's increasing activism with regard to slavery in Kentucky gradually estranged the two cousins, Henry Clay clinging to the idea that gradual emancipation presented the most realistic solution while Cash urged a firm date for Kentucky emancipation that would coerce slaveholders into cutting their eventual losses by selling their slaves to out-of-state buyers. Cash did not much worry about the fate of the slaves themselves, in whom he had little interest. Rather, he viewed emancipation as the best way to promote economic progress and white advancement. When a mob (James Clay included) disassembled the printing press of Cash's abolitionist newspaper, he blamed his older cousin, completing their estrangement.14 The Wickliffes and many other slave owners had long been obsessed with repealing the state's 1833 law banning the importation of slaves, a statute that had been widely violated but did have the salutary effect of keeping Kentucky's slave population relatively low. Intense lobbying and threats of political reprisals finally convinced the legislature to repeal the law in 1849. It was a major setback for antislavery advocates, one matched by their failure to control the constitutional convention of that same year. The central issue of the convention clearly would be the future of slavery in Kentucky.

In February, Henry Clay wrote a letter to provide a definitive statement of his views on this issue. Although addressed to his brother-in-law Richard Pindell, the letter was meant for publication and caused a stir.15 In addition to repeating the claim that colonization was the most sensible way to effect emancipation, Clay lamented the failure of the state to address the problem fifty years earlier in its 1799 constitutional convention. Now a new opportunity was at hand, and he urged his fellow Kentuckians to adopt gradual emancipation as well as to fund colonization. Failing to act decisively this time could have terrible consequences, he said, for both Kentucky and the Union. In addition to repeating the claim that colonization was the most sensible way to effect emancipation, Clay lamented the failure of the state to address the problem fifty years earlier in its 1799 constitutional convention. Now a new opportunity was at hand, and he urged his fellow Kentuckians to adopt gradual emancipation as well as to fund colonization. Failing to act decisively this time could have terrible consequences, he said, for both Kentucky and the Union.16 "At no moment of Henry Clay's long and glorious career," proclaimed the Louisville Courier, Courier, "have we ever felt prouder of him." "have we ever felt prouder of him."17 Yet Clay correctly predicted that the Pindell letter would "bring on me some odium" in the South. Proslavery southerners saw Kentucky's convention as a bellwether for the fate of slavery in the Upper South, and Clay's statement confirmed their worst suspicions about his reliability on the subject. "Mr. Clay's name is no longer all powerful even in Kentucky," was a typical observation. "This letter completes his prostration with the masses." Yet Clay correctly predicted that the Pindell letter would "bring on me some odium" in the South. Proslavery southerners saw Kentucky's convention as a bellwether for the fate of slavery in the Upper South, and Clay's statement confirmed their worst suspicions about his reliability on the subject. "Mr. Clay's name is no longer all powerful even in Kentucky," was a typical observation. "This letter completes his prostration with the masses."18 Abolitionists were no happier. William Lloyd Garrison berated Clay's Pindell letter as "remorseless in purpose, cruel in spirit, delusive in expectation, sophistical in reasoning, tyrannous in principle." Yet Clay did not regret his statements. "I could not, towards the close of my life," he explained, "relinquish the inestimable privilege of freely expressing my sentiments on a great public matter, however they might be received by the public." Abolitionists were no happier. William Lloyd Garrison berated Clay's Pindell letter as "remorseless in purpose, cruel in spirit, delusive in expectation, sophistical in reasoning, tyrannous in principle." Yet Clay did not regret his statements. "I could not, towards the close of my life," he explained, "relinquish the inestimable privilege of freely expressing my sentiments on a great public matter, however they might be received by the public."19 In such an atmosphere, the campaign for the constitutional convention started in simmering rage and became ugly early. In one of its calmer and more decorous moments, Henry Clay presided over a meeting in Frankfort to promote emancipationist candidates, but other settings were freighted with the potential for violence as men went to meetings armed and angry.20 Judge James Campbell shot Benedict Austin dead after a debate in Paducah. In June, tensions mounted in Madison County as Cash Clay aggressively spoke at public meetings for the emancipationist candidate and squared off against Squire Turner's family, who supported their patriarch's proslavery candidacy with snarls and threats. "It was now evident," said a newspaper account, "that there was some unpleasant feeling between them." Judge James Campbell shot Benedict Austin dead after a debate in Paducah. In June, tensions mounted in Madison County as Cash Clay aggressively spoke at public meetings for the emancipationist candidate and squared off against Squire Turner's family, who supported their patriarch's proslavery candidacy with snarls and threats. "It was now evident," said a newspaper account, "that there was some unpleasant feeling between them."21 That observation was an incredible understatement. At a public meeting in Foxtown, the Turners set upon Cassius Clay with cudgels and knives. He was stabbed from behind. Thomas Turner pressed a revolver to Cash's head and pulled the trigger. The cap fired but not the chamber. Turner frantically pulled the trigger three more times without discharging a single shot. Cash ended the fracas by gutting Cyrus Turner with a bowie knife, a mortal wound. Everyone thought Cash Clay would die as well, but he again proved too stubborn to kill. As long as there was slavery, Cash's guardian angel would have his hands full. That observation was an incredible understatement. At a public meeting in Foxtown, the Turners set upon Cassius Clay with cudgels and knives. He was stabbed from behind. Thomas Turner pressed a revolver to Cash's head and pulled the trigger. The cap fired but not the chamber. Turner frantically pulled the trigger three more times without discharging a single shot. Cash ended the fracas by gutting Cyrus Turner with a bowie knife, a mortal wound. Everyone thought Cash Clay would die as well, but he again proved too stubborn to kill. As long as there was slavery, Cash's guardian angel would have his hands full.22 Kentucky showed the rest of the country that there would be slavery in the Bluegrass State, presumably forever. Although emancipationists ran in twenty-nine counties, not a single one was elected, an ominous portent for the course of the constitutional convention. Proslavery Kentuckians marshaled forces to control every aspect of the meeting, adopting a constitution that not only endorsed slavery but bolstered it with protections that surpassed those of every other slave state's constitution.23 The emancipationist cause in Kentucky was dead, and Clay was disheartened. In a few months, he was able to consider the matter philosophically. He was sure that slavery was destined for extinction, despite Kentucky's rejection of gradual emancipation. It would happen either "legally or naturally," he predicted with extraordinary foresight. "The chief difference in the two modes is that, according to the first, we should take hold of the Institution intelligently and dispose of it cautiously and safely." The alternative was to have slavery "some day or other take hold of us, and constrain us, in some manner or other, to get rid of it." The emancipationist cause in Kentucky was dead, and Clay was disheartened. In a few months, he was able to consider the matter philosophically. He was sure that slavery was destined for extinction, despite Kentucky's rejection of gradual emancipation. It would happen either "legally or naturally," he predicted with extraordinary foresight. "The chief difference in the two modes is that, according to the first, we should take hold of the Institution intelligently and dispose of it cautiously and safely." The alternative was to have slavery "some day or other take hold of us, and constrain us, in some manner or other, to get rid of it."24 In his Pindell letter, Clay had voiced a grim warning: "in the event of a civil war breaking out ... Kentucky would become the theater and bear the brunt" of it. In his Pindell letter, Clay had voiced a grim warning: "in the event of a civil war breaking out ... Kentucky would become the theater and bear the brunt" of it.25 The question raised by those realities was how to gauge the number of years the country had left to control its own destiny, how long before the blight of slavery exerted its own dismal control. The question raised by those realities was how to gauge the number of years the country had left to control its own destiny, how long before the blight of slavery exerted its own dismal control.

As for himself, he made arrangements in his will to emancipate Ashland's slaves. All males born after January 1, 1850, were to be freed at age twenty-eight; all females born after that date, freed at twenty-five. Taking into account the possibility that financial necessity would require the sale of some slaves before their emancipation, he legally bound new owners to honor the schedule stipulated in his will. In any case, families subject to any sale were to be kept together. Only by their own consent could they be separated.26 As he laid these plans in 1851, he forlornly weighed the deteriorating status of free blacks. In that same year, Indiana adopted a constitution that prohibited free blacks from entering the state and contemplated the eviction of those in residence. Certain that other "free" states would eventually do the same, Henry Clay was heartsick. He therefore directed that his slaves be prepared for their freedom by receiving wages for their labor during the final three years of servitude. The money was to help them learn a trade and defray the cost of their transit to Africa. Furthermore, any children born to female slaves slated for freedom were to be free at birth, apprenticed to learn a trade, and taught reading, writing, and arithmetic.

In the end, he thought it was both the least and the best he could do. He had always hated slavery, had always lived with it as with a slumbering monster, vile in his eyes and disgraced by the considered judgment of enlightened men, but he had never hated the people who happened to be slaves, had never said of them, as had Cassius Clay, that "God has made them for the sun and the banana."27 Now, in places like Indiana, men and women who had so long been victims of slavery were to be made casualties of freedom. "What is to become of these poor creatures?" he cried. "In the name of humanity, I ask what is to become of them-where are they to go?" Now, in places like Indiana, men and women who had so long been victims of slavery were to be made casualties of freedom. "What is to become of these poor creatures?" he cried. "In the name of humanity, I ask what is to become of them-where are they to go?"28 IN LATE OCTOBER, just before the election of 1848, Clay invited Zachary Taylor to Ashland. Taylor declined but said he wanted to meet during Clay's visit to New Orleans that winter. Moreover, the president-elect claimed to lament some people's efforts to generate bad feelings between them-the tireless Burnley, sworn enemy of Clay, was still much in Taylor's confidence-and rejoiced that the attempts to poison their friendship had failed. That remained to be seen. Clay had hopes for better times ahead with a Whig in the White House, and he wanted to meet Taylor "to form an opinion whether that hope will be realized or not." He left Ashland on December 20 for New Orleans and briefly ran into Taylor on the last leg of the journey, an accidental encounter too brief for anything but idle pleasantries. The planned lengthier meeting in New Orleans never took place. A cholera outbreak in the city was blamed, but other reasons kept them apart. Clay claimed to bear Taylor no ill will over the events of 1848, but Taylor's victory convinced Clay that he would have won had he been nominated. That made his rejection by the Whigs even more disillusioning. Yet any lingering disappointment, said Clay, "should not affect our desire that the new administration may honorably aquit [ just before the election of 1848, Clay invited Zachary Taylor to Ashland. Taylor declined but said he wanted to meet during Clay's visit to New Orleans that winter. Moreover, the president-elect claimed to lament some people's efforts to generate bad feelings between them-the tireless Burnley, sworn enemy of Clay, was still much in Taylor's confidence-and rejoiced that the attempts to poison their friendship had failed. That remained to be seen. Clay had hopes for better times ahead with a Whig in the White House, and he wanted to meet Taylor "to form an opinion whether that hope will be realized or not." He left Ashland on December 20 for New Orleans and briefly ran into Taylor on the last leg of the journey, an accidental encounter too brief for anything but idle pleasantries. The planned lengthier meeting in New Orleans never took place. A cholera outbreak in the city was blamed, but other reasons kept them apart. Clay claimed to bear Taylor no ill will over the events of 1848, but Taylor's victory convinced Clay that he would have won had he been nominated. That made his rejection by the Whigs even more disillusioning. Yet any lingering disappointment, said Clay, "should not affect our desire that the new administration may honorably aquit [sic] itself, and for the advantage of our Country."29 On January 20, Clay had a bad fall in New Orleans "while carelessly descending a flight of stairs" and had to cancel a side trip to Mobile as a result. The accident left him lame and his hands badly bruised. Such mishaps marked a growing clumsiness as his gait grew uncertain and his balance shaky, a normal consequence of age, but his halting step and chronic cough were worrisome. "The fall was a service to me," Clay joked to his old friend Kit Hughes, claiming that it had awakened "some of my sleeping interior organs ... to the performance of their duties." But he also wryly observed, "In youth our topics of correspondence are our pleasures, in age our pains."30 The whimsy disguised gloomier reflections that clouded his days. He and Lucretia had started alone, he recalled, and now, after eleven children, seven of them in their graves, only the youngest, John, lived with them. Clay became increasingly pensive, and every new loss pushed him in the conflicting directions of calm acceptance and mild alarm. In one moment he was resigned to his own death, but in the next he worried that he might not live to see distant loved ones again. He worried when friends fell silent, thinking the worst. Clay suspected something was amiss when Kit Hughes stopped answering letters in the summer of 1849. Hughes had stayed forever young to Clay, after all these years still the punster who had traveled mountainous seas on the The whimsy disguised gloomier reflections that clouded his days. He and Lucretia had started alone, he recalled, and now, after eleven children, seven of them in their graves, only the youngest, John, lived with them. Clay became increasingly pensive, and every new loss pushed him in the conflicting directions of calm acceptance and mild alarm. In one moment he was resigned to his own death, but in the next he worried that he might not live to see distant loved ones again. He worried when friends fell silent, thinking the worst. Clay suspected something was amiss when Kit Hughes stopped answering letters in the summer of 1849. Hughes had stayed forever young to Clay, after all these years still the punster who had traveled mountainous seas on the John Adams John Adams thirty-five years earlier with him and Jonathan Russell, now dead for seventeen years. "If it be so ordered that we shall never see each other here below," Clay told Hughes, "I hope that we shall meet in the realms of bliss above." thirty-five years earlier with him and Jonathan Russell, now dead for seventeen years. "If it be so ordered that we shall never see each other here below," Clay told Hughes, "I hope that we shall meet in the realms of bliss above."31 Hughes died on September 18, 1849, making Henry Clay the sole survivor of the Ghent delegation. It was "a solemn warning that I too must soon follow them." Hughes died on September 18, 1849, making Henry Clay the sole survivor of the Ghent delegation. It was "a solemn warning that I too must soon follow them."32 Clay had always dreaded receiving bad news about those he loved, but in these final years the blows were more telling and his spirits less resilient. An amplified religiosity colored much of his temperament. When he learned of his brother Porter's death in early 1850, Clay's "greatest consolation" was that Porter "had long been a sincere, pious, and zealous Christian."33 But sometimes even deep faith could not blunt his grief. In the summer of 1850, he heard that Anna Mercer, his dear friend William Mercer's daughter, was ill. He immediately wrote Mercer asking for a report, avowing trust in "an Allwise and Merciful God." He recalled how much Anna had suffered once when she wore tight shoes to a ball, and he mildly admonished her to "dance less, go to fewer parties, and avoid all excesses in your amusements." But Anna's health was delicate, for she too had tuberculosis. As the Mercers traveled abroad in 1851, she became ill again. That fall a letter told him that Anna had died three weeks earlier in Liverpool. He was as devastated as Mercer. It was as though his own girls were instantly gone all over again, a flood of grief over each one made newly raw by the thought of poor little Anna gone as well, never again to dance laughing and tender-footed at a Newport fancy ball. But sometimes even deep faith could not blunt his grief. In the summer of 1850, he heard that Anna Mercer, his dear friend William Mercer's daughter, was ill. He immediately wrote Mercer asking for a report, avowing trust in "an Allwise and Merciful God." He recalled how much Anna had suffered once when she wore tight shoes to a ball, and he mildly admonished her to "dance less, go to fewer parties, and avoid all excesses in your amusements." But Anna's health was delicate, for she too had tuberculosis. As the Mercers traveled abroad in 1851, she became ill again. That fall a letter told him that Anna had died three weeks earlier in Liverpool. He was as devastated as Mercer. It was as though his own girls were instantly gone all over again, a flood of grief over each one made newly raw by the thought of poor little Anna gone as well, never again to dance laughing and tender-footed at a Newport fancy ball.34 GOVERNOR OWSLEY HAD wanted to send Clay to the Senate when Crittenden resigned in the summer of 1848, but Clay had declined. Clay's friends soon revived the idea, but for a lengthy period at the end of the year he resisted. He had been quite ill that fall, and he was not convinced that his service would be of any use in the country's current situation. Friends holding up the example of John Quincy Adams left Clay unimpressed. Old Man Eloquent's stint in Congress, Clay thought, "had the tendency to diminish instead of augmenting his reputation." wanted to send Clay to the Senate when Crittenden resigned in the summer of 1848, but Clay had declined. Clay's friends soon revived the idea, but for a lengthy period at the end of the year he resisted. He had been quite ill that fall, and he was not convinced that his service would be of any use in the country's current situation. Friends holding up the example of John Quincy Adams left Clay unimpressed. Old Man Eloquent's stint in Congress, Clay thought, "had the tendency to diminish instead of augmenting his reputation."35 Besides, he heard from Greeley, who was filling an unexpired congressional term at the end of the Thirtieth Congress, that the problems with the Mexican Cession would be settled soon by admitting the entire region as one or two states. There wouldn't be much point in Clay's going to Washington if that were the case. Late in the year, he thought it unlikely the Kentucky legislature would consider him, and he did not want his friends to press his candidacy. As usual, he feared it would be unseemly to appear to seek the office. Besides, he heard from Greeley, who was filling an unexpired congressional term at the end of the Thirtieth Congress, that the problems with the Mexican Cession would be settled soon by admitting the entire region as one or two states. There wouldn't be much point in Clay's going to Washington if that were the case. Late in the year, he thought it unlikely the Kentucky legislature would consider him, and he did not want his friends to press his candidacy. As usual, he feared it would be unseemly to appear to seek the office.36 Clay changed his mind, though. By January he no longer felt he could decline, because Greeley's cheerful forecast about the territorial question now appeared doubtful. Bills to admit California and New Mexico as one state never even came to a vote. Some, however, suspected Clay was acting from the worst motives. Did he harbor resentments that would prompt him to sabotage the administration? Bailie Peyton thought so and said Clay would "play hell." He recommended that Clay be frozen out, but Peyton was hardly an objective observer. Not only was he a staunch Taylor Whig, he had once been embarrassed by owing Clay money he could not repay.37 People other than resentful debtors, however, perceived in Clay a man bitter over his treatment in 1848 and inclined to do something about it. James Buchanan predicted Clay "will raise the d[evi]l there" as a "dying gladiator." People other than resentful debtors, however, perceived in Clay a man bitter over his treatment in 1848 and inclined to do something about it. James Buchanan predicted Clay "will raise the d[evi]l there" as a "dying gladiator."38 Such expectations prompted Taylor's supporters to oppose Clay's return to Washington, but through Bob Letcher, Clay let it be known that he bore no ill will to anyone, and the pledge of benevolence persuaded Governor Crittenden to support him. On February 1, Whig majorities in both houses of the Kentucky legislature gave him an easy victory over Democrat Richard M. Johnson.39 Combs chuckled that Clay's return to the Senate would resemble "the sudden entrance of an old tom cat into a room of cheese-stealing mice & rats." Combs chuckled that Clay's return to the Senate would resemble "the sudden entrance of an old tom cat into a room of cheese-stealing mice & rats."40 Democrats even happily anticipated the prospect of Clay's making trouble, though a clash with Taylor was less likely, friends said, because Clay's ambition was "now rounded and smoothed by the corrections of time and religion." Buchanan was counting on age to restrain the formerly impulsive Harry of the West. "Clay may regain his influence," he mused, "but a man of seventy-three probably cannot do much." Democrats even happily anticipated the prospect of Clay's making trouble, though a clash with Taylor was less likely, friends said, because Clay's ambition was "now rounded and smoothed by the corrections of time and religion." Buchanan was counting on age to restrain the formerly impulsive Harry of the West. "Clay may regain his influence," he mused, "but a man of seventy-three probably cannot do much."41 Clay jokingly admitted as much himself. He felt like "the day laborer ... who having worked all day by sun shine, is sent again at night into the fields to work by moon light." He noted that he did "not apprehend any danger from lunacy," however.42 Just how much work he intended to do, mischievous or otherwise, remained uncertain in any case. He did not attend the brief Senate session in March that confirmed Taylor's appointments. When he went to the capital at the end 1849, he said he would "take no leading part, either in support of, or in opposition to the Administration." Instead, he merely wanted "to be a calm and quiet looker on, occasionally offering a word of advice or pouring a little oil on the tempestuous billows." Just how much work he intended to do, mischievous or otherwise, remained uncertain in any case. He did not attend the brief Senate session in March that confirmed Taylor's appointments. When he went to the capital at the end 1849, he said he would "take no leading part, either in support of, or in opposition to the Administration." Instead, he merely wanted "to be a calm and quiet looker on, occasionally offering a word of advice or pouring a little oil on the tempestuous billows."43 Neither foe nor friend thought that likely. Buchanan gazed on with grudging admiration tinged with cynicism: "In life's last stage," he misquoted Samuel Johnson, "what prodigies arise."44 WARM WEATHER BROUGHT cholera to Lexington that summer, and Clay was reported to have died from it, a rumor that persisted until July 10. cholera to Lexington that summer, and Clay was reported to have died from it, a rumor that persisted until July 10.45 He chose not to press his luck. The extended illness the previous fall, the accident in New Orleans early in the year, and the chronic cough that was now his constant companion persuaded him to head north. On July 24, he left Ashland with James and his family for a month-and-a-half journey through Ohio to Upstate New York and Newport, Rhode Island. James, Susan, and the children enjoyed this brief holiday before leaving for Europe, James having received an appointment as charge d'affaires to Portugal. Clay was gratified by the exuberant, occasionally adulatory treatment he received along the way. Crowds flocked to train platforms to catch a glimpse of him through the window of his car as locomotives took on water and wood. Sometimes he spoke, but he was more often so weak that he remained seated and merely waved. He chose not to press his luck. The extended illness the previous fall, the accident in New Orleans early in the year, and the chronic cough that was now his constant companion persuaded him to head north. On July 24, he left Ashland with James and his family for a month-and-a-half journey through Ohio to Upstate New York and Newport, Rhode Island. James, Susan, and the children enjoyed this brief holiday before leaving for Europe, James having received an appointment as charge d'affaires to Portugal. Clay was gratified by the exuberant, occasionally adulatory treatment he received along the way. Crowds flocked to train platforms to catch a glimpse of him through the window of his car as locomotives took on water and wood. Sometimes he spoke, but he was more often so weak that he remained seated and merely waved.46 In New York, he visited Martin Van Buren at his home, "Lindenwald." The two had a grand time, sitting down one afternoon to feast on "cruellers, olecocks, suckettush, owgreet cheese," and a large tureen of sauerkraut. Clay did not much care for the sauerkraut. With his handkerchief to his nose, he said, "Van, I've lived long, and encountered as strong opposition as strong opposition as any other man, but, to be frank with you, I have never encountered anything as any other man, but, to be frank with you, I have never encountered anything quite so strong as this. quite so strong as this." At least, that was what the newspapers reported.47 Only a few weeks later, he was back at Ashland. The trip had started precariously and was mottled by ill health, but the crowds had been heartening, and Clay felt better. His cough would not go away, though. He began to suspect that it never would.48 WHILE CLAY TRAVELED, Taylor was bungling his first job as president, which was dispensing the patronage to solidify support for his administration and its programs. Immediately after the election, Whigs had clung to the hope that Taylor would sweep away the corruptions of "loco-foco misrule" to place "Departments ... into new hands, and good, and things will go on more smoothly." Whigs could hardly wait for March and inauguration day. "Hurra for the Old Hero!" they cheered. Taylor was bungling his first job as president, which was dispensing the patronage to solidify support for his administration and its programs. Immediately after the election, Whigs had clung to the hope that Taylor would sweep away the corruptions of "loco-foco misrule" to place "Departments ... into new hands, and good, and things will go on more smoothly." Whigs could hardly wait for March and inauguration day. "Hurra for the Old Hero!" they cheered.49 But Taylor's decisions, beginning with his cabinet, were disappointing. Nine months passed between his inauguration in March and the opening of the Thirty-first Congress in December, and during that time Taylor went on something of a rampage, making appointments that made little sense. Gradually deemed incompetent, he was compared to a "half cooked mutton chop" that had been hurried too quickly to the table. Even before he left for Washington, Clay was convinced that Taylor would be a one-term president.50 Taylor's clumsy use of the patronage squandered the momentum of 1848, depriving the administration of the necessary clout to push through its program. Some appointments clearly should have been made. Crittenden was the logical choice for attorney general, and many expected it to be offered to him, but he was not asked and remained offstage in the governor's chair at Frankfort rather than in Washington, where he could have helped Taylor with the country's crises. Possibly Taylor was fearful that a Crittenden appointment would invite charges of a new "corrupt bargain," but that does not account for the trouble that Crittenden had in securing places for his friends. Such treatment by the Taylor administration verged on truculence.51 Another appointment that directly concerned Clay illustrated Taylor's public relations problem. Shortly after Taylor's inauguration, Clay asked him to appoint James to a diplomatic post, a request Clay felt was justified to balance John Tyler's spiteful refusal to honor William Henry Harrison's pledge to Henry Jr. eight years earlier. Taylor obliged by making James charge d'affaires to Portugal. As the matter stood, it was so far so good, and had it been allowed to stand at that, it would have been the sort of gracious gesture that could heal breaches and salve wounds. Yet all the goodwill was lost when Taylor's supporters complained that the president was toadying to Clay, and Taylor defensively revealed that Clay had asked for the appointment. The administration thus countered the impression that Taylor had bargained for Clay's support by encouraging the perception that Clay's support could be purchased with a patronage appointment. John Clayton and Reverdy Johnson made gloating remarks that painted Henry Clay as just another office seeker grubbing for a place at the trough.52 Of all Taylor's mistakes with the patronage, this was among the most dreadful. The post itself-charge to Portugal-was hardly a munificent boon, and Clay was mortified at being treated so gracelessly.53 In Frankfort, John J. Crittenden was dismayed by the talk of Clay's supplication. Those who were saying this were "thoughtless or intemperate," he told John Clayton. Their remarks would "take off all the good & grace of the act, &, perhaps, make things worse." Crittenden said that Clay wanted to be Taylor's friend. "Little sparks," he warned, "are constantly falling around us that unless timely put out, might kindle a great fire." In Frankfort, John J. Crittenden was dismayed by the talk of Clay's supplication. Those who were saying this were "thoughtless or intemperate," he told John Clayton. Their remarks would "take off all the good & grace of the act, &, perhaps, make things worse." Crittenden said that Clay wanted to be Taylor's friend. "Little sparks," he warned, "are constantly falling around us that unless timely put out, might kindle a great fire."54 THE COUNTRY WAS in serious trouble when Zachary Taylor became president. Sectional harmony staggered under the weight of several controversies, some of long-standing and others of recent vintage. Northern agitation was on the rise to end slave trading in the District of Columbia, a national embarrassment for years. In earlier days, even southerners had found the trudging, forlorn coffles discomfiting. John Randolph one afternoon watched a lady making garments to send to Greek freedom fighters-a fashionable cause in the early 1820s-and motioned toward a group of young slaves in rags while acidly remarking: "Madam, the Greeks are at your door." in serious trouble when Zachary Taylor became president. Sectional harmony staggered under the weight of several controversies, some of long-standing and others of recent vintage. Northern agitation was on the rise to end slave trading in the District of Columbia, a national embarrassment for years. In earlier days, even southerners had found the trudging, forlorn coffles discomfiting. John Randolph one afternoon watched a lady making garments to send to Greek freedom fighters-a fashionable cause in the early 1820s-and motioned toward a group of young slaves in rags while acidly remarking: "Madam, the Greeks are at your door."55 In 1849, Randolph's "Greeks" were still being bought and sold in the nation's capital, but southern uneasiness over it had all but vanished. Many southerners would not tolerate any position that challenged their insistence that all aspects of slavery were beneficial. In 1849, Randolph's "Greeks" were still being bought and sold in the nation's capital, but southern uneasiness over it had all but vanished. Many southerners would not tolerate any position that challenged their insistence that all aspects of slavery were beneficial.

When the House of Representatives considered resolutions banning the D.C. slave trade, southerners came together as never before. In December 1848, a caucus of senators and representatives from the slave states watched John C. Calhoun's thundering rage over the growing assault on slavery. A committee drafted a Southern Address. Mostly Calhoun's creation, it was such a belligerent statement that southern Whigs and quite a few Democrats refused to sign it, but in the coming weeks, events eroded that restraint.56 Southern slaveholders brooded over the abolitionists' Underground Railroad, a supposedly vast network of safe houses that helped ferry fugitive slaves to freedom in Canada. The Underground Railroad was more menacing in the southern imagination than it was in fact, and even the incidence of runaway slaves was more exaggerated in lore than in reality. Southerners nevertheless demanded a more rigorous fugitive slave law, insisting that the federal government not only help reclaim fugitives but compel the northern states to do so as well. Virginia's James Mason was drafting a bill to accomplish this, and it was certain to unite the North in opposition.

Out west, Texas had a complaint of its own. As it had before the Mexican War, the Lone Star State still claimed that the enormous expanse east of the Rio Grande and north to the 42nd parallel was part of Texas. President Polk had supported the Texan position as one of the pretexts to provoke Mexico to war, but the federal government was determined to prevent Texas from expropriating half of provincial New Mexico. Quick-tempered Texans threatened to march on Santa Fe if necessary and take the disputed territory by force. The U.S. army was in Santa Fe. Texas did not care.

It was only one of the grave controversies involving the fate of the Mexican Cession. Early in 1848, even as Taylor's supporters were jockeying to secure his nomination, the discovery of gold in California and the rush of adventurers that followed created a completely unexpected state of affairs. The sudden influx of tens of thousands of people overwhelmed what passed for government in previously sleepy California. Little law and less order prevailed as prospectors came with shady pasts. Shady women quickly followed, and soon life in the goldfields was a dangerous mix of prostitution, thievery, claim jumping, murder, and vigilante justice. Upright and peaceable Californians, yearning for shelter from this human storm, tackled the task of erecting a government, a project surreptitiously supported by President Taylor. A convention drafted a constitution and audaciously proposed skipping the territorial stage by applying immediately to Congress for admission as a state. Clay wryly observed that northern Democrats like Senator Stephen A. Douglas should be pleased because Taylor had "produced a Democratic Child," but both Whigs and Democrats in the South were alarmed as they read California's proposed constitution. It excluded slavery.57 Under the weight of these controversies, the Union verged on disaster. Whig and Democrat differences crumbled in the South, and sectional unity to protect slavery at all costs took shape. As Clay prepared to head for Washington in October 1849, a bipartisan meeting in Mississippi called for a southern convention to assemble in Nashville the following June, its aim clearly to establish southern concord for action. The only question was how drastic that action would be.

WHEN CLAY ARRIVED in Washington, the news from home was troubling as winter raged in Kentucky. Eight inches of snow lay on the ground, and smallpox gripped Lexington. While the town set up hospitals and imposed quarantines, Clay tore into letters from Ashland, where a slave was ill and the family at risk. "John is lazy," Clay complained, "and his mother never writes." He felt guilty about leaving Lucretia, especially in the worst winter he could recall. He implored Thomas and Mary to look after her and hoped that duty and affection would make John attentive to her. "I do not think," he said, "I will leave her again another winter." in Washington, the news from home was troubling as winter raged in Kentucky. Eight inches of snow lay on the ground, and smallpox gripped Lexington. While the town set up hospitals and imposed quarantines, Clay tore into letters from Ashland, where a slave was ill and the family at risk. "John is lazy," Clay complained, "and his mother never writes." He felt guilty about leaving Lucretia, especially in the worst winter he could recall. He implored Thomas and Mary to look after her and hoped that duty and affection would make John attentive to her. "I do not think," he said, "I will leave her again another winter."58 He moved into Room 32, a bedchamber with an adjoining parlor at the National Hotel. Sir Henry L. Bulwer, British minister to the United States, and his wife, niece of the Duke of Wellington, were neighbors. Clay did not bring a slave to Washington but hired a free black named James Marshall. Clay grew fond of Marshall and was generous in large and little ways toward him, often giving him time off to visit his family in Virginia. Soon Clay had settled into a pleasant routine that included socializing with the Bulwers, though he usually stayed in at night and retired early.59 The mood in Washington disturbed him, and he feared that the anger of southern politicians would produce an "inflamed and perverted" response by the southern people. In mid-December, the House of Representatives struggled to elect a Speaker and fell into a round of coarse name-calling that degenerated into catcalls urging antagonists to "shoot" and jeering "Where is your bowie knife?" Clay watched from the gallery with Joshua Giddings. They were a study in contrasts. Several years of seeing such behavior had made Giddings numb to it, and he thought the scene in the House amusing. Clay looked "sober and grave." He soon urged his friends in Kentucky and New York to arrange public meetings supporting the Union and denouncing secession.60 He kept to his pledge to stay above the fray, requesting as the Senate organized committees that he not be appointed to any. The Senate chamber itself was comforting and familiar despite his long absence, still covered in the dark red carpet, its desks arranged in four tiers with galleries above. Before the renovation of 1835, only a bar behind the outermost desks separated the floor from the galleries, but now visitors were relegated to elevated seating that could accommodate about five hundred people and frequently did, many of them ladies eager to see political celebrities in action.61 Senators prided themselves on keeping that action deliberative, dressing for the part with morning clothes their usual attire. Members had access to two large snuffboxes on Millard Fillmore's dais as well as wine and spirits, a custom retained from earlier days. That much was in Clay's recollection, but many of the people he was to serve with were new to him, known only by reputation if at all, and a casual survey of the semicircled desks revealed another sobering change that was startling: over half the Democrats were under fifty; all but five Whigs were older than that. Senators prided themselves on keeping that action deliberative, dressing for the part with morning clothes their usual attire. Members had access to two large snuffboxes on Millard Fillmore's dais as well as wine and spirits, a custom retained from earlier days. That much was in Clay's recollection, but many of the people he was to serve with were new to him, known only by reputation if at all, and a casual survey of the semicircled desks revealed another sobering change that was startling: over half the Democrats were under fifty; all but five Whigs were older than that.62 Clay's reputation preceded him, and his return aroused curiosity among members and guests alike, eager to hear him speak but uneasy over the possibility that his mental as well as physical powers were fading. He looked old and feeble, and he paused often to bend under the rattling cough, but his wit was still sharp and spontaneous, his timing impeccable, and his audience responsive. When the Senate discussed an appropriation to repair a dam on the Ohio River, Clay related how he had once been near it while traveling on Old Hickory, Old Hickory, "a steamboat bearing a name rather ominous, I confess." And in early December, one James Robertson appeared in the Senate gallery to announce that he intended to kill Henry Clay. The sergeant-at-arms took the man seriously and told Vice President Fillmore, who had Robertson arrested. Held for two weeks, he was clearly insane, and Clay judged him harmless as well. Upon his release, Robertson petitioned Congress for compensation, and Clay supported it in such a lighthearted way as to draw laughter and persuade Congress to give the man $100. "a steamboat bearing a name rather ominous, I confess." And in early December, one James Robertson appeared in the Senate gallery to announce that he intended to kill Henry Clay. The sergeant-at-arms took the man seriously and told Vice President Fillmore, who had Robertson arrested. Held for two weeks, he was clearly insane, and Clay judged him harmless as well. Upon his release, Robertson petitioned Congress for compensation, and Clay supported it in such a lighthearted way as to draw laughter and persuade Congress to give the man $100.63 He was soon as popular as ever, and even political opponents on Capitol Hill were deferential, which was fortunate because he would need every shred of goodwill he could muster for the work ahead. But his popularity was also a problem on the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue, where Zachary Taylor suspiciously watched the man his advisers were accusing of trying to reclaim the Whig Party. The relations between Clay and the administration were amiable in Clay's view, despite Taylor's never consulting him about anything. But the amiability was brittle. Clay declined to have dinner with Clayton and Reverdy Johnson, blaming his "cold." But he was still angry over Johnson's churlish remarks about James's appointment, and a visit to Clayton's office turned interminable when Clayton would not let him go, telling him about his official chores and many troubles. Not even brittle amiability described Clay's relationship with Taylor, and there were warning signs early. Clay was irked that Taylor had now invented another story about the contents of the November 1847 letter in which Taylor had promised to step aside for Clay. In a political sense, this was ancient history, but Clay bristled. He knew exactly where that letter was-tucked among a bundle of papers tied up in a pasteboard container in his upstairs office at Ashland-and he had Thomas send it to him.64 Letting the matter go would have been wise, but getting along with the president became increasingly difficult as Taylor nursed an exaggerated sensitivity. Clay took halting walks on the streets around the National Hotel, but he early discovered that if he made eye contact with anyone, he invited extended idle chatter. He was weary enough without the distractions. Taylor passed Clay one morning on Pennsylvania Avenue, concluded he had been snubbed, and was chilly when Clay called at the White House to assure him that nothing of the sort had been intended. Personalities and egos can pose petty obstacles to meaningful action, and the president was increasingly difficult to get along with.65 THE CALIFORNIA QUESTION rapidly became a crisis of the first order. Despite the South's dominance of national councils that included a slave-owning Louisiana planter in the White House, a preponderance in the cabinet, and a majority on the Supreme Court, the South was outnumbered in the House of Representatives, a result of the North's faster-growing population. rapidly became a crisis of the first order. Despite the South's dominance of national councils that included a slave-owning Louisiana planter in the White House, a preponderance in the cabinet, and a majority on the Supreme Court, the South was outnumbered in the House of Representatives, a result of the North's faster-growing population.66 Only by sustaining equality in the Senate could it continue to block injurious schemes such as the Wilmot Proviso and protect its "peculiar institution." Southerners were deeply worried that California's admission would destroy the fragile balance of fifteen slave states and fifteen free states in the Senate. Likely avenues of slavery expansion were vanishing as well, making improbable the reestablishment of senatorial sectional balance. Campaigns were already under way in the rest of the Mexican Cession to sustain the Mexican law abolishing slavery, and southerners were angry that California's destiny, if unchecked, would go far to establish the pattern of free soil in a region obtained largely with the blood of southern soldiers. Only by sustaining equality in the Senate could it continue to block injurious schemes such as the Wilmot Proviso and protect its "peculiar institution." Southerners were deeply worried that California's admission would destroy the fragile balance of fifteen slave states and fifteen free states in the Senate. Likely avenues of slavery expansion were vanishing as well, making improbable the reestablishment of senatorial sectional balance. Campaigns were already under way in the rest of the Mexican Cession to sustain the Mexican law abolishing slavery, and southerners were angry that California's destiny, if unchecked, would go far to establish the pattern of free soil in a region obtained largely with the blood of southern soldiers.

The political problem within this otherwise complicated issue was itself simple. Northern Whigs wanted slavery barred from the western territories. Applying the Wilmot Proviso was an unlikely solution because southerners, whether Whig or Democrat, would not consent to it. The government could claim that because Mexico had abolished slavery in the region, it should not be reintroduced, hence doing nothing. Or the government could take California as the model to admit the entire Mexican Cession to the Union as a single state or multiple ones, bypassing territorial organization in order to absolve Congress of any responsibility for the region's slave or free status. Southern Whigs, if not southern Democrats, seemed willing to tolerate the prohibition of slavery as a function of extant Mexican law rather than as a new policy from Washington. The Taylor administration consequently pursued a policy of "non-action" to avoid riling southerners. It embraced immediate admission to preempt congressional debates sure to destroy the little sectional accord remaining.

Like the patronage plan, however, Taylor's approach to the western territories was better in theory than in practice. The political complexion of the Thirty-first Congress was a significant obstacle to the twin policies of non-action and admission. For one thing, Democrats were the majority in both houses and had to placate their powerful southern wing. Conversely, Whigs had to fashion a policy acceptable to their northern wing. Taylor did not help matters when special messages to both houses of Congress in late January revealed that he believed Congress possessed the authority to exclude slavery from the Mexican Cession. That admission gave northerners an opening, which frightened and angered southerners. Southern Whigs were especially troubled by indications that the president would not veto the Wilmot Proviso.67 After these revelations, Taylor's non-action plan was essentially dead on arrival. Southern Whigs began thinking about how they could use California's admission to bargain for concessions in the rest of the Mexican Cession. Ideally they could kill the Wilmot Proviso and give Texas its extension to the Rio Grande. In January 1850, Clay was rumored to have contrived a remedy that sought to accomplish these very goals. His enemies reacted by presuming that anything from his pen had the primary purpose of showing up Taylor in order to supplant him as the head of the party.68 In short, it was to be the Old Chieftain versus Captain Tyler all over again, only this time with Old Zach-the same old story, just a different antagonist. Clay's motives for returning to Washington, however, were grounded more in patriotism than pride, for the vehemence of this new sectional dispute truly alarmed him. Possibly he was eager to rescue the Whig Party from Zachary Taylor, but the Union was foremost in his mind and saving the country was his primary goal. He started by going to the home of an old rival on a frigid, rainy January night. In short, it was to be the Old Chieftain versus Captain Tyler all over again, only this time with Old Zach-the same old story, just a different antagonist. Clay's motives for returning to Washington, however, were grounded more in patriotism than pride, for the vehemence of this new sectional dispute truly alarmed him. Possibly he was eager to rescue the Whig Party from Zachary Taylor, but the Union was foremost in his mind and saving the country was his primary goal. He started by going to the home of an old rival on a frigid, rainy January night.

It was January 21, the day the House received Taylor's troubling special message. That evening at seven o'clock, Clay's tall, gaunt form came haltingly to Daniel Webster's door on Louisiana Avenue, just blocks from Clay's rooms at the National Hotel. Clay did not have an appointment, but Webster instantly agreed to see him. They spent an hour together, Webster listening intently as Clay described his plan to resolve the crisis over the territories. Webster nodded and observed that Clay's ideas might well satisfy the North and reasonable southerners. Clay rose to leave, content at least that Webster would likely help him and certainly at this point not oppose him. Webster, in fact, was not so sure, but the visit touched and saddened him. His visitor had not been able to stop coughing, and only an hour's conversation had exhausted him. As he watched the faltering, sunken figure leave, Webster was certain of one thing if nothing else: Henry Clay was dying.69 Eight days later, on January 29, Clay stood on the Senate floor amid high expectations. "I hold in my hand," he said, "a series of resolutions I desire to submit to the consideration of this body." And thus it began. The relatively brief speech that followed outlined eight proposals that Clay hoped would be "an amicable arrangement of all questions in controversy between the free and slave states." He resorted to the most dramatic devices he could summon, even brandishing a fragment of Washington's coffin to goad those forgetful of the Union's glory.70 With this appearance Clay began his last grand legislative endeavor. From January 29 through August 1, he would be on his feet in debate no fewer than seventy times. Not every instance marked a major speech, but many of his remarks were extensive arguments and defenses of his proposals.71 It was a killing pace for a man in his condition. Yet if sheer will could accomplish anything, he was determined to save his country. Webster knew that too-that at least Henry Clay would die trying. It was a killing pace for a man in his condition. Yet if sheer will could accomplish anything, he was determined to save his country. Webster knew that too-that at least Henry Clay would die trying.

CLAY'S JANUARY 29 speech was a brief preliminary to the major address concerning his proposal that he delivered a week later. People came from as far away as Boston to hear him. By midmorning on February 5, the Capitol was brimming with spectators so numerous they were blocking access to the Senate chamber. Galleries, cloakrooms, and corridors were jammed with people. The Rotunda overflowed, as did the library, and even the galleries of the House of Representatives sagged under the weight of a crowd that began emptying out toward the Senate as the time for Clay's speech neared. speech was a brief preliminary to the major address concerning his proposal that he delivered a week later. People came from as far away as Boston to hear him. By midmorning on February 5, the Capitol was brimming with spectators so numerous they were blocking access to the Senate chamber. Galleries, cloakrooms, and corridors were jammed with people. The Rotunda overflowed, as did the library, and even the galleries of the House of Representatives sagged under the weight of a crowd that began emptying out toward the Senate as the time for Clay's speech neared.

Clay was sick, but he came up Pennsylvania Avenue from the National Hotel with a purpose. His cough forced him to stop more than once as he hung on the arms of companions. He steeled himself as the crowd parted to let him enter the Senate. Spectators broke into applause. For the rest of the morning, the Senate's routine business merely heightened anticipation. Finally, at one o'clock, Clay stopped writing and carefully put away his papers. As always, he spoke without notes. He stood slowly, partly from frailty, partly from habit. Ohio representative Salmon Chase's daughter, Kate, would later remark that Clay was so tall "he had to unwind himself to get up."72 The galleries again broke into spontaneous applause. The throng outside realized he was about to begin and raised a prolonged cheer. Clay had to wait for the sergeant-at-arms to restore order. For the rest of the afternoon, his performance was so focused that he did not even go to his snuffbox. After more than two hours, he was spent but not done, and he concluded his address with another two-hour performance the next day. The galleries again broke into spontaneous applause. The throng outside realized he was about to begin and raised a prolonged cheer. Clay had to wait for the sergeant-at-arms to restore order. For the rest of the afternoon, his performance was so focused that he did not even go to his snuffbox. After more than two hours, he was spent but not done, and he concluded his address with another two-hour performance the next day.73 Clay tilted toward the North with his first four resolutions, which dealt with the Mexican Cession. Instead of making unpopulated expanses into states, as Taylor wanted, Clay relied on the fact that Mexican law had already excluded slavery in the region. He sought to satisfy southern demands that Texas have the Rio Grande boundary, but he wanted to lop off a considerable portion of northern Texas by running a new boundary from El Paso to the Sabine River. Everything north of that line would become part of the Mexican Cession. By virtue of Mexican law, Clay's new northern boundary for Texas would abolish slavery in a considerable portion of the state as it currently existed. Slave owners in Dallas and the surrounding regions would be forced to move south or lose their property. Moreover, the number of slaves that this plan would free was staggering-about twenty thousand-making Clay's initial proposal the most sweeping bid for mass emancipation until President Abraham Lincoln issued his proclamation twelve years later. Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation occurred during the Civil War and had the force of arms behind it. Clay's proposal was a desperate attempt to prevent a civil war and had nothing other than the prescience of his contemporaries to recommend it. The idea did not stand a chance.

Clay tried to make the proffer more palatable to Texas with the federal treasury. From the start of the controversy, Clay had always believed that Texas would prove the most difficult problem to solve.74 Too much pride was in play, and too much territory was at stake. Yet he thought he had hit on a workable solution. Texas was financially strapped and deeply in debt. Investors across the country who had purchased Texas bonds had a stake in preserving peace in the Southwest. Clay's friend Leslie Combs was a Texas bondholder, as was journalist Francis Grund. Clay hoped the bondholders would exert pressure for his boundary settlement in order to protect their interests. Grund, for one, had ties to William W. Corcoran, of the powerful bank Corcoran & Riggs, which would be brought into play in significant ways, such as canceling a large note it held from Daniel Webster. Clay reported that his neighbor Grund had taken "a wonderful liking" to him. Too much pride was in play, and too much territory was at stake. Yet he thought he had hit on a workable solution. Texas was financially strapped and deeply in debt. Investors across the country who had purchased Texas bonds had a stake in preserving peace in the Southwest. Clay's friend Leslie Combs was a Texas bondholder, as was journalist Francis Grund. Clay hoped the bondholders would exert pressure for his boundary settlement in order to protect their interests. Grund, for one, had ties to William W. Corcoran, of the powerful bank Corcoran & Riggs, which would be brought into play in significant ways, such as canceling a large note it held from Daniel Webster. Clay reported that his neighbor Grund had taken "a wonderful liking" to him.75 Clay knew that wide support for this crucial part of the compromise was most likely to be garnered with a pledge to pay Texas bondholders with federal dollars. Southerners opposed to the compromise sourly agreed.76 Clay's final resolutions, however, attempted to conciliate the South. He softened his call to abolish the slave trade in the District of Columbia by declaring that slavery itself should not be abolished in the District without Maryland and Virginia's consent. He recommended the adoption of a new fugitive slave law and stated that Congress had no authority to obstruct the slave trade between slave states. Clay's final resolutions, however, attempted to conciliate the South. He softened his call to abolish the slave trade in the District of Columbia by declaring that slavery itself should not be abolished in the District without Maryland and Virginia's consent. He recommended the adoption of a new fugitive slave law and stated that Congress had no authority to obstruct the slave trade between slave states.77 When he was done, he had spoken for almost five hours over the span of two days to deliver one of the finest, most masterful orations of his career. Despite its flawed endorsement of maintaining slavery-an obvious pander to the implacable South-there was much good in the speech. There was also a prophetic warning in its stirring conclusion. He described the horrors of the war that was certain to follow secession. Eleven years later, Abraham Lincoln would consult Clay's speech when framing his first inaugural address.78 The immediate response was mixed at best. Northerners had suspected that Clay's return to Washington was a plan to hoodwink them with a "second edition of the Missouri Compromise, and thus cheat the North again" by saving Taylor the trouble of vetoing the Wilmot Proviso.79 "We think it would have been better for himself and his country, if he had remained at Ashland," complained one Ohio editorial. "We think it would have been better for himself and his country, if he had remained at Ashland," complained one Ohio editorial.80 Many southerners were no happier, and some were livid. Clay had firmly rejected the proposal of southern moderates to extend the Missouri Compromise line to the Pacific. "No earthly power," he said, "could induce me to vote for a specific measure for the introduction of slavery where it had not before existed, either south or north of that line." Many southerners were no happier, and some were livid. Clay had firmly rejected the proposal of southern moderates to extend the Missouri Compromise line to the Pacific. "No earthly power," he said, "could induce me to vote for a specific measure for the introduction of slavery where it had not before existed, either south or north of that line."81 The sentiment, along with his reliance on Mexican law, was simply a way to implement the Wilmot Proviso without invoking its name. Virginia radical Beverley Tucker was blunt: Clay was a "humbug" and "charlatan." Southern Democrats resolved to pick apart Clay's proposals even before formal debate on them began on February 11. The sentiment, along with his reliance on Mexican law, was simply a way to implement the Wilmot Proviso without invoking its name. Virginia radical Beverley Tucker was blunt: Clay was a "humbug" and "charlatan." Southern Democrats resolved to pick apart Clay's proposals even before formal debate on them began on February 11.82 The attacks by northern and southern extremists were to be expected. Clay was hoping to mobilize the center of both sections among the general population and in Congress by rousing what Lincoln would later call "the mystic chords of memory," the ardent attachment to the idea of the Union. Again, he foreshadowed Lincoln when he extemporaneously commented to the Senate: "I consider us all as one family, all as friends, all as brethren. I consider us all as united in one common destiny, and those efforts which I shall continue to employ will be to keep us together as one family, in concord and harmony; and above all, to avoid that direful day when one part of the Union can speak of the other as an enemy."83 In 1850, Clay prayed that the center was still large and strong enough to hold firm the bonds of Union, to embrace his words as worth living by. Lincoln too would speak eloquently of the sections being not "enemies, but friends," but by his time-just ten short years later-the center had crumbled away, and the words, while similar, had assumed an entirely different meaning. They had become worth dying for.

THE TAYLOR ADMINISTRATION rejected Clay's plan, but even with northern Whigs joining forces with Free-Soilers, the president did not have the votes to pass his own. Nevertheless, Taylor was confident, as he told Massachusetts congressman Horace Mann, that he could "save the Union without shedding a drop of blood." Mann also opposed Clay's proposals but thought overt northern resistance would only unite the South behind them. "If we from the North are still," predicted Mann, "it will be defeated by Southern votes and declamation." rejected Clay's plan, but even with northern Whigs joining forces with Free-Soilers, the president did not have the votes to pass his own. Nevertheless, Taylor was confident, as he told Massachusetts congressman Horace Mann, that he could "save the Union without shedding a drop of blood." Mann also opposed Clay's proposals but thought overt northern resistance would only unite the South behind them. "If we from the North are still," predicted Mann, "it will be defeated by Southern votes and declamation."84 The crisis stalled into a tense stalemate. Southern Whigs like Alexander Stephens and Robert Toombs became adamant about the right to expand slavery into the Mexican Cession in exchange for California's admission as a free state. As far as Zachary Taylor was concerned, that was out of the question. Clay, as it turned out, was more flexible precisely because he had to secure the center. In the days after his speech of February 5 and 6, he realized his stand on sustaining Mexican law in New Mexico and Utah was alienating southern Unionists, a crucial part of that center. Thomas Ritchie exemplified that opposition. Friends during their youth in Richmond, the two had shared a few moments of pleasant conversation before Van Buren's inauguration in 1837, but mostly they had been estranged since Ritchie's condemnation of the "Corrupt Bargain" in 1825. Now, with the Union in jeopardy, they concluded it was time to put the past behind them.

Their reconciliation was a delicate matter that had to be accomplished quietly to avoid irritating their respective supporters, so long at odds. A mutual friend named James Simonton arranged a meeting, and late on the Sunday afternoon of February 10, while Washington drowsed, Ritchie and Virginia congressman Thomas Bayly came to Clay's rooms at the National Hotel. For the first time in years, the two old men sat across from each other and talked, at first reminiscing agreeably about their youthful days in Richmond. Clay said he always read the Enquirer Enquirer and had followed Ritchie's career with friendly interest. They then moved to the reason for their meeting, a frank discussion of Clay's proposal. Ritchie had already suggested through Mississippi senator Henry S. Foote that Clay's plan should be referred to a select committee for formal presentation to the Senate as a package, and he repeated that suggestion with the stipulation that Clay drop his insistence on preserving the Mexican law that abolished slavery. That way, the South could be assured that the North would not admit a free California and then renege on opening the rest of the cession to slavery. and had followed Ritchie's career with friendly interest. They then moved to the reason for their meeting, a frank discussion of Clay's proposal. Ritchie had already suggested through Mississippi senator Henry S. Foote that Clay's plan should be referred to a select committee for formal presentation to the Senate as a package, and he repeated that suggestion with the stipulation that Clay drop his insistence on preserving the Mexican law that abolished slavery. That way, the South could be assured that the North would not admit a free California and then renege on opening the rest of the cession to slavery.

Clay pondered his options. He decided to give way on Mexican law. He agreed to push for territorial organization on the basis of popular sovereignty as a way to avoid making what was likely an unnecessary decision. Clay believed the region was unsuited to slavery in any case, and embracing popular sovereignty had the salutary effect of removing Ritchie's opposition to his plan. Clay remained firm, however, in resisting the formation of a committee to bundle his proposals. As he told the Senate four days later, he believed Foote's plan was "utterly impossible" as a way to settle the difficulties. In this regard, he was correct, for making one proposal reliant on all the others was bound to create more opposition in sum than the separate resolutions would provoke individually.

The old Whig and the aging Democrat parted amicably that Sunday evening, and Ritchie became a staunch ally in rallying moderate southern Democrats to the cause. Their rekindled friendship was soon common knowledge in Washington as Clay and Ritchie bantered at social events. Then one evening as he was seated across from Clay at a dinner, Ritchie jokingly referred to the Corrupt Bargain, and the table went as silent as it would have had Ritchie mentioned rope to a man on the eve of his hanging. "Shut your mouth, Tom Ritchie," Clay chuckled. "You know perfectly well that there never was a word of truth in that charge." Everyone laughed in relief. If Clay could save the Union, said Tom Ritchie, he would plant laurels on his grave. The old Whig and the aging Democrat understood each other at last.85 Northern Whigs and President Taylor were quite another matter, however, as were the angry Democrats of the South led by John C. Calhoun. Indeed, Calhoun, Webster, and Clay-the three leading lights of the Senate, dubbed the Great Triumvirate by contemporaries-could all have assumed sectional identities as the crises of 1850 evolved. Yet Clay, the slave-owning westerner, insisted on a national solution to the sectional problems menacing the Union.

Thus the formal debate on Clay's resolutions that commenced on February 11 became a prelude to what the other two members of the Great Triumvirate would have to say, and they did not weigh in until the first week of March. Calhoun on the fourth delivered-or rather, had delivered for him, because he was now so feeble that he could barely stand, let alone speak at length-a speech condemning northern political aggression and vowing resistance to requests for additional southern concessions on slavery. Few doubted that this definitive statement of the inflexible southern position was Calhoun's swan song, but they were less certain of its effectiveness. Had it preceded Clay's February address, it might have been more disruptive, but coming a month afterward it seemed oddly out of place and vaguely irrelevant.

That became more apparent three days later. Daniel Webster countered the blatant sectionalism of Calhoun's speech. In an address spanning three hours, Webster lauded the idea of the Union, denounced fire-eating secessionists, condemned rabble-rousing abolitionists, and made a shocking bid to appease southerners by promising to support a fugitive slave bill.86 While some northern moderates, including many Boston merchants, appreciated Webster's attempt to restore sectional harmony, his pledge was unforgivable for most in the North and was especially appalling to New Englanders. Abolitionists denounced him outright. Zachary Taylor, for his own reasons, railed about Webster's rank disloyalty to the administration. Generally, though, Webster's tribute to the Union awakened the same sort of patriotic impulses stirred by Clay's brandishing of the splinter from Washington's coffin. Even better, Webster's demonstration of flexibility on a thoroughly southern issue halted secessionist momentum as it headed toward the Nashville convention. While some northern moderates, including many Boston merchants, appreciated Webster's attempt to restore sectional harmony, his pledge was unforgivable for most in the North and was especially appalling to New Englanders. Abolitionists denounced him outright. Zachary Taylor, for his own reasons, railed about Webster's rank disloyalty to the administration. Generally, though, Webster's tribute to the Union awakened the same sort of patriotic impulses stirred by Clay's brandishing of the splinter from Washington's coffin. Even better, Webster's demonstration of flexibility on a thoroughly southern issue halted secessionist momentum as it headed toward the Nashville convention.87 But what Webster did not do was also significant. He did not explicitly endorse Clay's compromise, and consequently did not rally northern Whigs behind it. From that perspective, the speech calmed passions without clarifying problems, and, upon reflection, disappointed those it did not offend. Taylor was not given much to reflection in the best of times, but he could take some comfort in the fact that Webster had not embraced Clay. The president now expected his advocate in the Senate, William Seward, to unite Whigs behind the administration's plan.

In the course of the year since Taylor's inauguration, Seward had emerged as the president's most influential adviser, which some Whigs found unfortunate. Webster thought Seward both "subtle and unscrupulous," and many suspected that the New Yorker was committed only to his own advancement. He was no friend of Clay's, and the administration expected him to demolish the Great Compromiser's scheme with a major address, Seward's first formal speech to the Senate. Seward had an arresting look about him-his gray-streaked red hair and aquiline nose made him look like an aging rooster-and though his voice tended to be droning rather than dramatic, he could say the most provocative things with an easy self-confidence that made men listen.88 On March 11, Seward spoke to rows of empty Senate desks, although the few men present were important. Webster was there, as were Thomas Hart Benton and Tom Corwin. Clay sat in a remote section of the empty chamber, but he soon rose to come nearer, troubled by Seward's words. As the New Yorker criticized compromises in general and Clay's in particular, it became clear that his speech would be the inflexible northern response to Calhoun's southern position. Any concessions to the South, Seward said, would endorse the idea that southerners had as much constitutional claim on the western territories as did northerners. Seward disagreed by citing what he called "a higher law than the Constitution," a phrase so provocative that it became emblematic of the speech and its most memorable (and, in the view of many, regrettable) contribution to the debate.89 Aside from trying to spike sectional reconciliation, Seward's speech did nothing to advance any solution, including Taylor's. Seward's failure to promote the president's plan dismayed even the New Yorker's friends. After March 11, Taylor was angrier with Seward than with Webster or, if possible, even Clay, because Seward had grievously wounded the administration by alienating southern Whigs. Clay noted how Seward's "late Abolition Speech" had estranged him not just from the White House but everyone else as well. As for Taylor's presidency, Clay marveled that he had "never before seen such an Administration" that never consulted with Congress nor took a single prominent Whig into its confidence. Aside from trying to spike sectional reconciliation, Seward's speech did nothing to advance any solution, including Taylor's. Seward's failure to promote the president's plan dismayed even the New Yorker's friends. After March 11, Taylor was angrier with Seward than with Webster or, if possible, even Clay, because Seward had grievously wounded the administration by alienating southern Whigs. Clay noted how Seward's "late Abolition Speech" had estranged him not just from the White House but everyone else as well. As for Taylor's presidency, Clay marveled that he had "never before seen such an Administration" that never consulted with Congress nor took a single prominent Whig into its confidence.90 As the end of March drew near, Clay judged events as cumulatively disastrous. John Bell introduced yet another compromise plan, and Stephen Douglas's Committee on Territories reported bills admitting California to the Union and organizing New Mexico and Utah as territories. Congressmen on opposing sides of these issues fell to fighting like common brawlers when they encountered one another on the streets and in taverns.

JOHN C. CALHOUN was dying. He had appeared only twice in the Senate since his March 4 address, once to hear Webster and finally to repeat briefly his opposition to any compromise that required the slightest southern concession. He was then confined to his rooms, weak but still alert. Clay wanted to see him. Hardly any but harsh words had passed between them for a quarter century, but Calhoun said to come ahead. Clay appeared for the appointment smiling and solicitous, but Calhoun's nature would not allow him to shed his animosity, not even for an hour. Calhoun's fellow South Carolinian Andrew Pickens Butler stood at the edge of the room and watched the two men, Clay with a kind smile murmuring idle pleasantries and Calhoun with a distant stare, giants in the twilight. was dying. He had appeared only twice in the Senate since his March 4 address, once to hear Webster and finally to repeat briefly his opposition to any compromise that required the slightest southern concession. He was then confined to his rooms, weak but still alert. Clay wanted to see him. Hardly any but harsh words had passed between them for a quarter century, but Calhoun said to come ahead. Clay appeared for the appointment smiling and solicitous, but Calhoun's nature would not allow him to shed his animosity, not even for an hour. Calhoun's fellow South Carolinian Andrew Pickens Butler stood at the edge of the room and watched the two men, Clay with a kind smile murmuring idle pleasantries and Calhoun with a distant stare, giants in the twilight.91 Calhoun died on March 31, a Sunday. The Great Triumvirate was no more. "From the old heroic race to which Webster and Clay and Calhoun belonged," New Yorker George Templeton Strong would lament, "down to the rising race of Sewards and Douglases and [Hamilton] Fishes is a dismal descent."92 Both North and South saw giants in the twilight, passing. Both North and South saw giants in the twilight, passing.

Calhoun's death had the immediate effect of bringing the Senate to a standstill on the sectional controversy while it eulogized him on April 2 and then on April 22 sent the customary delegation of six senators to Charleston to attend his funeral. During those three weeks, Clay reassessed the fate of his proposals. Whigs in both sections were not likely to support either his or Taylor's plan, and Clay had already abandoned sustaining Mexican law to support popular sovereignty, a shift that essentially placed him in the moderate Democrat camp, or at least part of it. As the stalemate lengthened, it became difficult to trace traditional alignments. Party labels blurred. Democrat Thomas Hart Benton supported Taylor and opposed fellow Democrat Henry Foote, who continued to urge the creation of a committee to consider all proposals as one. Clay had long rejected what he derided as the Omnibus Plan, but he gradually realized that a broad range of political opinion wanted a comprehensive settlement. Moderate southerners had always been the key to a successful compromise, and they would not agree to a piecemeal arrangement that potentially had them giving up California without receiving any concessions.93 For these reasons, Clay finally consented to Foote's proposal to form a select committee. Almost everyone has judged Clay's decision to support the Omnibus as a mistake, but he could see no other way to attract moderate southerners. Tempers were frayed by mid-April as the capital mourned Calhoun and suffered through "cold, damp, and rainy" weather.94 The House was often in tumult, and finally the Senate too witnessed a shocking confrontation in which Henry Foote pulled a pistol on Thomas Hart Benton. After the pandemonium subsided, Clay wanted the two men to swear before a D.C. magistrate that they would not continue the quarrel, but Benton refused, insisting that he had done nothing wrong. Clay believed the country was running out of time. The House was often in tumult, and finally the Senate too witnessed a shocking confrontation in which Henry Foote pulled a pistol on Thomas Hart Benton. After the pandemonium subsided, Clay wanted the two men to swear before a D.C. magistrate that they would not continue the quarrel, but Benton refused, insisting that he had done nothing wrong. Clay believed the country was running out of time.95 On April 18, the day after the Foote-Benton fracas, the Senate approved the creation of a Committee of Thirteen to consist of six free state and six slave state senators with Clay as the chairman. The committee was moderate and generally procompromise with members such as Cass, Jesse Bright, Webster, and John Bell. The only radicals were abolitionist Samuel Phelps of Vermont and James Mason of Virginia, the author of the Fugitive Slave Bill. Yet none of that mattered, for the committee never met as a group. Clay in fact was the committee, and Washington emptied out as he worked to draft a report, only occasionally consulting with the others about its particulars. At the end of April, he completed his labors at "Riverdale," Charles Calvert's home near Bladensburg.96 On May 8, Clay presented the report to the Senate. It revealed a remarkable change in his position. He detailed three bills with a lengthy justification. The first was Mason's Fugitive Slave Bill with a couple of amendments added, and the second was the elimination of the D.C. slave market. But it was the third bill, an enormous contrivance that would be called Clay's Compromise as well as the Omnibus Bill, that bundled together all the bills from the Committee on Territories organizing the Mexican Cession. Those proposals admitted a free California, established New Mexico and Utah territories on the basis of popular sovereignty, and adjusted the Texas boundary by having the state relinquish the Rio Grande for a payment of ten million dollars. He implored the Senate to enact these three bills, a plea he repeated on May 13.97 Clay's work was masterful in a way, a tribute to the classic political technique of reconciling diverse political interests without favoring any one of them to the extent of alienating the others. Southern Whigs found much to like in the plan, and Clay's proposal to deprive Texas of New Mexican land was meant to placate northern Whigs. In both of his speeches advocating acceptance of his report, he held out an olive branch to the Taylor administration by praising it for patriotically forming its own plan, one that had made sense in January, he said, but had now become outmoded by the welter of events.

The Taylor presidency was actually in no position to cavil over anything in Congress at just that moment. A scandal involving influence peddling within Taylor's cabinet led to a congressional investigation that tarnished the administration. "It is said that the President told the Cabinet that he liked them very much," Clay noted, "and they told him that they liked him very much, and so they agreed that they would not dissolve that union."98 Even though the cabinet was exonerated of intentional wrongdoing, Taylor nevertheless lost the initiative in the compromise debates, leaving control of events to Henry Clay. Even though the cabinet was exonerated of intentional wrongdoing, Taylor nevertheless lost the initiative in the compromise debates, leaving control of events to Henry Clay.

Taylor's intention to veto anything that included concessions for California's admission seemingly doomed Clay's efforts, though, and the Great Compromiser decided enough was enough. He appeared before the Senate on May 21 to deliver a response to the administration's obstruction and Zachary Taylor's obtuseness. Most accounts of Clay's May 21 speech describe it as a blistering denunciation of Taylor that surprised Whigs at first and then left them mildly angry because it seemed as though Clay did not care if he destroyed the party.99 Yet the transcript of Clay's remarks does not warrant the venom that would be directed at him in the columns of the administration press. Clay was forceful but not vicious, and he was well into his remarks by the time he began parsing Taylor's plan, a task he described as a "painful duty." Clay said, "Let us here, and not in the columns of newspapers, have a fair, full, and manly interchange of argument and opinion." Yet the transcript of Clay's remarks does not warrant the venom that would be directed at him in the columns of the administration press. Clay was forceful but not vicious, and he was well into his remarks by the time he began parsing Taylor's plan, a task he described as a "painful duty." Clay said, "Let us here, and not in the columns of newspapers, have a fair, full, and manly interchange of argument and opinion."100 More memorable than anything Clay said about Taylor, though, was his characterization of the stalled crisis over California, Texas, territorial organization, D.C. slave markets, and fugitive slaves as "five bleeding wounds" that would cause the death of the country if left untended. Taylor's shortsighted plan only partially treated one of these hemorrhaging problems, leaving the others to do their harm. More memorable than anything Clay said about Taylor, though, was his characterization of the stalled crisis over California, Texas, territorial organization, D.C. slave markets, and fugitive slaves as "five bleeding wounds" that would cause the death of the country if left untended. Taylor's shortsighted plan only partially treated one of these hemorrhaging problems, leaving the others to do their harm.101 Clay knew at last that trying to woo northern Whigs away from the president was a futile task, and he moved closer to a greater reliance on northern Democrats along with a smattering of procompromise Whigs to push through the Omnibus, if it were possible to enact it at all. Success appeared unlikely. Nothing had advanced a particle from the situation as it had existed in December, and the stalemate continued into June with Clay exhibiting diminishing patience and increasing anxiety. Friends and foes of his plan meanwhile quarreled day in and day out, tweaking his proposals with amendments, amending those amendments, adjusting changes with provisos, scrambling with stipulations to seize slight advantages. Meanwhile, Rome burned.102 Most depressing for Clay was a determined southern effort to extend slavery into the New Mexico and Utah territories. Southerners also adjusted his recommended Texas borders to give the Lone Star State more land, and lobbyists for Texas bondholders plied Congress to enhance the payout. These actions hurt the proposal by eroding its already reluctant northern support. The only cheerful news in an otherwise dreary June was that the radical plan to mount a secession movement had suffered a setback when the menacing Nashville convention sputtered to a tame conclusion. Yet any relief that that development afforded was soon dimmed by alarming news from Texas and New Mexico, where mounting Texas anger over the border and the presence of federal troops in Santa Fe moved the region closer to armed conflict. Indeed, as Congress drowned in words and floundered in parliamentary maneuver, the country confronted the sobering potential for civil war to break out in the arid Southwest. If many southerners were to be believed, it would spread eastward as Dixie drew daggers to defend the section's property and honor.

As alarming as the prospect was, it left Taylor unmoved and unfazed. Southern Whigs trooped into the White House to warn him of dire consequences, but such visits just left him more irritated and inflexible. When the Georgian George W. Crawford refused as secretary of war to sign orders sending additional troops to New Mexico, fearing it was striking a flint at a powder keg, Taylor reportedly said he would sign the orders himself. If Taylor sent additional soldiers to Santa Fe, Alexander Stephens declared after a stormy final interview, he would personally begin impeachment proceedings in the House.

Clay's count of votes for the compromise left him discouraged. The plan would fail unless he could muster more votes, especially with defections on the rise, the most disappointing one being that of Georgian John Berrien. Clay anxiously urged Willie Mangum to rush from North Carolina for the final contest at the end of the July.103 Meanwhile, he kept up a facade of calm confidence. On the day before the Fourth of July recess, John Bell said Clay's refusal to meet Taylor halfway was "an exercise of his moral despotism" and cried out in exasperation to ask if "Mahomet will go to the mountain, or the mountain shall come to Mahomet." Clay spoke up: "I only wanted the mountain to let me alone." The Senate and galleries laughed. Meanwhile, he kept up a facade of calm confidence. On the day before the Fourth of July recess, John Bell said Clay's refusal to meet Taylor halfway was "an exercise of his moral despotism" and cried out in exasperation to ask if "Mahomet will go to the mountain, or the mountain shall come to Mahomet." Clay spoke up: "I only wanted the mountain to let me alone." The Senate and galleries laughed.104 And there matters teetered as Washington sweltered. Zachary Taylor performed ceremonial duties of his office on an exceedingly hot and muggy Fourth. The event at the partially finished obelisk that would become the Washington Monument dragged on for hours under a blazing sun, and Taylor was parched and light-headed when he returned to the White House. He downed several glasses of iced milk and devoured bowls of fruits and vegetables. By that evening he was feeling poorly, his stomach cramping, and though he was intermittently at his desk during the next two days, the cramps and diarrhea drove him to his sickbed for good on July 7. The doctors then were able to work with a will at the business of killing him with cures. They dosed him with quinine and calomel, the latter a medicine laced with mercury, which might have been marginally effective for "cholera morbus," which the doctors had diagnosed. But it was lethal in treating gastroenteritis, which Taylor likely had. On June 9, he died. Just like the first Whig president nine years earlier, the second one died in office.105 Millard Fillmore became president amid a grave crisis. The new president could match anyone as to humble origins, for his youth was framed in want, hard men, and harder circumstances, exploited by an apprenticeship that worked him like a dog at the hands of masters intent upon keeping him ignorant and dependent. He rose above it with almost superhuman resolve to acquire an education in the law and to establish himself in politics, first in New York and then in Washington, gaining a reputation as a reliable worker and an unquestionably honest man. Along the way he acquired habits and manners that would have made him celebrated for sophistication had he not been so resolutely self-effacing. His manner in fact convinced many that he was a plodding, timid intellect, but not everyone fell into the trap of thinking simplicity equated with simpleness. Clay did not.106 Although retrospective accounts would claim that Fillmore's clear support for compromise immediately calmed the tense situation, actually nobody at the time was certain where the new president stood on the compromise. Fillmore knew that the country was in trouble and that the government stood amid a dozen deadly snares, each easily triggered by the slightest misstep. Clay at least thought the compromise had a much better chance of passage without the threat of a presidential veto hobbling it.107 Fillmore moved deliberately, beginning with the formation of a new cabinet, correcting Taylor's bungling by making selections in consultation with Webster and Clay, with whom he established "intimate and confidential" relations. Fillmore moved deliberately, beginning with the formation of a new cabinet, correcting Taylor's bungling by making selections in consultation with Webster and Clay, with whom he established "intimate and confidential" relations.108 Webster replaced John Clayton at the State Department with Clay's blessing. Fillmore very much wanted Crittenden for attorney general, but tapping him was a touchy business lest his estrangement from Clay spill over to the new administration. Clay, however, assured Fillmore that he would not mind seeing Crittenden go into the cabinet. Taking Clay's gracious gesture as an opening, mutual friends tried to reconcile him and Crittenden and restore "the pleasant days of old," but the effort failed. Webster replaced John Clayton at the State Department with Clay's blessing. Fillmore very much wanted Crittenden for attorney general, but tapping him was a touchy business lest his estrangement from Clay spill over to the new administration. Clay, however, assured Fillmore that he would not mind seeing Crittenden go into the cabinet. Taking Clay's gracious gesture as an opening, mutual friends tried to reconcile him and Crittenden and restore "the pleasant days of old," but the effort failed.109 Fillmore reckoned the rising tensions in Texas and New Mexico as the most urgent crisis. A deadline of sorts prodded the administration to immediate action because a special session of the Texas legislature was scheduled for August 12 and everyone expected it to be belligerent, possibly even to act impulsively. In the latter part of July, Webster came out strongly in support of the Omnibus Bill with the clear intimation that Fillmore would sign it into law, and the Senate went into frenzied contortions to end its extended stalemate. On July 22, Clay delivered to the Senate what turned out to be his last major address in the national legislature. He was exhausted but spoke at considerable length, and fatigue with spontaneity resulted in a wandering speech that nevertheless flashed with passionate eloquence. When James Mason tried to interrupt him, Clay hurled back a thunderous verbal assault that brought the galleries to their feet. He scoffed at the prospect of a Southern Confederacy: "I say in my place never! Never! NEVER will we who occupy the broad waters of the Mississippi and its tributaries consent that any foreign flag shall float ... upon the turrets of the Crescent City-never-never!" And he minced no words in condemning disunionists as traitors who deserved the fate of traitors. The galleries again exploded into such whistling, stamping, raucous cheers, and applause that David Rice Atchison nearly snapped his gavel and went hoarse repeatedly shouting "Order!" "Order!" at the wall of noise. at the wall of noise.110 In the wake of Clay's speech, a baffling maze of attempts to tack on amendments and counteramendments to the Texas boundary adjustment consumed day after day. Clay's report had established that boundary on May 8, and it had gradually emerged as the principal stumbling block. All efforts to adjust it had failed, and it had remained unchanged for almost three months, until July 30.

On that day, Maine's James Bradbury, a Democrat, came up with the idea of postponing the decision about the border by authorizing a commission of Texans and federal officials to hammer out a resolution. Putting off the thorny problem would allow the rest of the compromise to become law. Bradbury's modification set off another dispiriting flood of amendments seeking to adjust it, but it was Georgia's William Dawson, a Whig, who successfully proposed that the New Mexico Territory not include the region east of the Rio Grande claimed by Texas until the commission fixed a boundary. Dawson's narrowly approved proviso was immediately and correctly perceived as a way to give Texas de facto authority over the disputed area, a backdoor way of making it more difficult to establish a border favorable to New Mexico. The fact that only one northern Whig supported Dawson's amendment revealed a surprising level of discontent and united sectional opposition.111 For weeks, Omnibus opponents from both North and South had been buoyant, confident that the bill would never be steered safely through the rocky shoals of Taylor's threatened veto and the clashing sectional currents of proslavery and antislavery.112 Yet by the last day of July, these same men had become quite gloomy. Clay's adroit parliamentary skills, his tireless labors, his cajoling and coaxing, all seemed likely to accomplish the impossible: almost everyone suspected that he finally had the votes for Senate approval of the Omnibus. Clay himself was not absolutely certain of success, but he had reason to be more positive than at any time in the previous two months. As the Senate took up the legislation on July 31, though, Maryland Whig James A. Pearce gained the floor and objected to Dawson's proviso. Leaving Texas in control of the disputed region, he said, was clearly prejudicial to any claim New Mexico could subsequently lodge, and he moved to strike the portions that established the New Mexico Territory from the bill. Yet by the last day of July, these same men had become quite gloomy. Clay's adroit parliamentary skills, his tireless labors, his cajoling and coaxing, all seemed likely to accomplish the impossible: almost everyone suspected that he finally had the votes for Senate approval of the Omnibus. Clay himself was not absolutely certain of success, but he had reason to be more positive than at any time in the previous two months. As the Senate took up the legislation on July 31, though, Maryland Whig James A. Pearce gained the floor and objected to Dawson's proviso. Leaving Texas in control of the disputed region, he said, was clearly prejudicial to any claim New Mexico could subsequently lodge, and he moved to strike the portions that established the New Mexico Territory from the bill.113 Clay was stunned. Pearce had been on board for this compromise solution ever since Clay had reported it on May 8, and it was unthinkable that he could not have understood how fragile and precarious a structure it was. As with a house of cards, removing any one of them would collapse the whole. Some have suggested that Pearce was doing Fillmore's bidding, that the president and the Marylander had concocted this strategy with the aim of mollifying northern Whigs.114 Pearce intended to remove New Mexico, thinking that he could quickly cleanse it of Dawson's distasteful amendment and then just as quickly reinsert New Mexico with no harm done and in fact everything much improved. Pearce intended to remove New Mexico, thinking that he could quickly cleanse it of Dawson's distasteful amendment and then just as quickly reinsert New Mexico with no harm done and in fact everything much improved.

He was, of course, dead wrong, as Clay knew all too well. Opponents were all too willing-eager, in fact-to remove New Mexico from the bill, a move that put settling the Texas boundary in jeopardy. Now Clay's foes from both North and South saw their opening and lunged at it. Florida Democrat David Yulee led the successful effort to remove all provisions relating to Texas as well, an excision that knocked out every brace of support shoring up grudging southern acceptance of California's admission. Consequently, provisions relating to California were removed too, the final nudge to the rapidly collapsing house of cards that represented six months of grueling labor. All of Clay's bargaining, negotiating, conceding, maneuvering-all was shattered in the space of minutes. Clay and his supporters sat as if poleaxed while the Omnibus collapsed. As the roll calls progressed, Clay finally could stand it no longer. He slowly rose and pulled his withered frame down the aisle and out of the chamber. He looked a hundred years old. When it was over, his followers sat staring into the distance as their triumphant foes broke into strident celebrations, dancing in the Senate's aisles, slapping backs, and laughing wildly as if they were as smashed as Clay's work. Seward, more roosterlike than ever, almost crowed. They had beaten the man Benton acknowledged was one of the "best skilled parliamentarians ... in America or Europe."115 All that remained of the Omnibus was the Utah Territorial Bill, which easily passed 31 to 18 on the following day. When the news was reported to the House of Representatives, it was greeted with loud, derisory laughter.116 Clay was mentally and physically exhausted. With Washington bathed in steaming temperatures, he came back into the Senate on August 1, primarily to vent his rage at a defensive James Pearce for ruining his work.117 The discharge left Clay spent, and his heart and soul were drained, useless for any more toil on this thankless, futile task. He left the capital for the cooler ocean breezes of Newport. The Union remained in peril, but for the first time in his life, Henry Clay was too tired to care. The discharge left Clay spent, and his heart and soul were drained, useless for any more toil on this thankless, futile task. He left the capital for the cooler ocean breezes of Newport. The Union remained in peril, but for the first time in his life, Henry Clay was too tired to care.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

"The Best & Almost Only True Friend"

CLAY LEFT WASHINGTON on August 5 and that evening arrived in Philadelphia, where citizens "shouted him, hurrahed him, and made him address the multitude, sorely against his inclination." on August 5 and that evening arrived in Philadelphia, where citizens "shouted him, hurrahed him, and made him address the multitude, sorely against his inclination."1 Two days later he was on his way to Newport via steamboat. A large, cheering crowd greeted his arrival in New York City, and as he tried to board the Two days later he was on his way to Newport via steamboat. A large, cheering crowd greeted his arrival in New York City, and as he tried to board the Empire State Empire State at Pier 3, authorities had to control the surging multitude before he could reach his stateroom. Late that night, he arrived in Newport, and the next day he was honored at a reception in Bellevue House. The journey had the look of a triumphal tour. Clearly nobody blamed Clay for the failure of the Omnibus. "Clay has come out more nobly than ever," Robert C. Winthrop, who had filled Webster's Senate seat, observed, "and has evidently proved that his courage is of the sort that mounts with the occasion." at Pier 3, authorities had to control the surging multitude before he could reach his stateroom. Late that night, he arrived in Newport, and the next day he was honored at a reception in Bellevue House. The journey had the look of a triumphal tour. Clearly nobody blamed Clay for the failure of the Omnibus. "Clay has come out more nobly than ever," Robert C. Winthrop, who had filled Webster's Senate seat, observed, "and has evidently proved that his courage is of the sort that mounts with the occasion."2 Because Clay remained in Newport for most of August, it was easy to conclude that he had nothing to do with the ultimate success of the Compromise of 1850.3 True enough, during Clay's absence from Washington, Democrats led by Stephen A. Douglas broke the Omnibus into its separate parts and relied on shifting majorities to pass the individual bills. True enough, during Clay's absence from Washington, Democrats led by Stephen A. Douglas broke the Omnibus into its separate parts and relied on shifting majorities to pass the individual bills.4 And it was also true that the bills Clay cobbled together during the spring and early summer had already been formulated by Douglas's Committee on Territories. In addition, by making the passage of one dependent on the passage of all, Clay had simply adopted Foote's plan. He abandoned his earlier insistence on Mexican law and agreed to popular sovereignty, a Democrat prescription for nonintervention. Taken in sum, such an evaluation reduces Clay's role to a secondary one at best; and considering the apparent mistake of pushing the Omnibus, which failed, rather than pursuing Douglas's successful strategy of securing its components' individual passage, Clay actually posed an obstacle to resolving the crisis. From that perspective, Clay failed to grasp the situation because he was too old or too ambitious or too egotistical or too out of touch. Worse, he was too stubborn to admit it. And it was also true that the bills Clay cobbled together during the spring and early summer had already been formulated by Douglas's Committee on Territories. In addition, by making the passage of one dependent on the passage of all, Clay had simply adopted Foote's plan. He abandoned his earlier insistence on Mexican law and agreed to popular sovereignty, a Democrat prescription for nonintervention. Taken in sum, such an evaluation reduces Clay's role to a secondary one at best; and considering the apparent mistake of pushing the Omnibus, which failed, rather than pursuing Douglas's successful strategy of securing its components' individual passage, Clay actually posed an obstacle to resolving the crisis. From that perspective, Clay failed to grasp the situation because he was too old or too ambitious or too egotistical or too out of touch. Worse, he was too stubborn to admit it.5 But all such criticisms stem from hindsight and treat the tactics that were ultimately successful as part of an obvious strategy. Those criticisms ignore the paralysis that greeted Douglas's initial attempts to bring his bills to a vote in the previous Congress. They ignore the passions that turned debates into shouting matches, impeded the election of a Speaker, and increasingly isolated the president from his own party. When Clay visited Webster and then introduced his resolutions at the start of 1850, Congress was adrift. Clay gave it direction. For the next six months, his speeches on the floor and his careful maneuvers between hostile camps and seemingly irreconcilable factions kept the idea of compromise alive during dark days that saw an elder statesman's death, a pistol drawn in the Senate chamber, and a dagger pointed at the heart of the Union. Clay's Omnibus failed, but Clay's idea of compromise did not. He was persuasive in ways that others could never match.

An incident in New York illustrated the unique power of his personality. The celebrated Mathew Brady asked him to sit for a photograph. Clay found this new, fascinating method of portraiture so much more convenient than tediously posing for a painter that he readily agreed. But he was in a hurry, and special arrangements had to be made to accommodate his schedule. The sitting was to take place during a break at a public reception in City Hall. The chief of police gained permission to tack up curtains in the Governor's Room, and the photographer set up his bulky camera. Because he was about to receive a delegation of ladies, Clay was well dressed in a satin stock and standing collar, and he was pleased that the room was quiet, for the corridors were packed with noisy crowds. Just as he prepared to pose, however, a throng of officials bustled into the room for their lunch break. The hubbub that arose when they spotted the famous visitor created a distraction sure to ruin the photograph. Suddenly, Clay raised his hand. The room immediately fell silent. He then rested his clasped hands in his lap and stared into the camera's uncovered lens. The seconds ticked by as the crowd remained perfectly still. As soon as the lens was covered and Clay stood, everyone broke into prolonged applause, a tribute to the man who could command instant silence with a wave of his hand.6 The people of Clay's time knew the truth of it back then. When news of the breakthrough on the compromise reached Newport, it only increased his celebrity. He attracted crowds on the beach when he ventured into the surf, and his walks on the resort's streets were met with spontaneous applause peppered with shouted hurrahs. He came back to Washington on August 27 to an enthusiastic greeting from fellow senators.7 Stephen Douglas perceived what had happened through a partisan lens. "I must say," he noted, "that if Mr Clays name had not been associated with the Bills they would have passed long ago." He thought that Taylor had been jealous of Clay and that some Democrats did not want Clay to receive credit for the compromise. A contrasting figure in every way physically, Douglas stood almost a foot shorter than the old man; he was swarthy to Clay's gray pallor, and stout to Clay's slimness. Douglas was already "the Little Giant" to supporters, and his ego could match any man's, including Henry Clay's. But he gave the Whig devil his due: "let it always be said of old Hal that he fought a glorious and patriotic battle. No man was ever governed by higher & purer motives." Stephen Douglas perceived what had happened through a partisan lens. "I must say," he noted, "that if Mr Clays name had not been associated with the Bills they would have passed long ago." He thought that Taylor had been jealous of Clay and that some Democrats did not want Clay to receive credit for the compromise. A contrasting figure in every way physically, Douglas stood almost a foot shorter than the old man; he was swarthy to Clay's gray pallor, and stout to Clay's slimness. Douglas was already "the Little Giant" to supporters, and his ego could match any man's, including Henry Clay's. But he gave the Whig devil his due: "let it always be said of old Hal that he fought a glorious and patriotic battle. No man was ever governed by higher & purer motives."8 Everyone's vision was limited in the gathering night of America's struggle over slavery. The compromise that passed in 1850 was deeply flawed in many ways. It did not accomplish a single one of its objectives except for admitting a free California. Slaves continued to be bought and sold in the capital because of loopholes. The complicated $10 million payoff to Texas to adjust the New Mexican border was never delivered to the state in a meaningful way. New Mexico and Utah's organization under popular sovereignty did not benefit the South. And the Fugitive Slave Law proved impossible to enforce as northern states thwarted it with personal liberty laws.

Just how blind the politicians of 1850 were to the real mood of the North was made most apparent by the Fugitive Slave Law. They had never thought it was anything more than a sop to southern extremists. The law, however, became the compromise's linchpin as southerners insisted that its enforcement was crucial to their continuance in the Union. Northern objections to it consequently raised anew the specter of southern secession, and Clay joined others in signing a congressional petition calling for its enforcement, in itself a gesture that highlighted the law's futility.9 Any sense of political finality for this overarching moral controversy was illusory. Stephen Douglas informed the Senate just before Christmas that he had "determined never to make another speech on the slavery question," as though ignoring it would quiet the clamor. Such an attitude raised the question of just who was really blind to reality as the American dream gradually edged toward nightmare. Any sense of political finality for this overarching moral controversy was illusory. Stephen Douglas informed the Senate just before Christmas that he had "determined never to make another speech on the slavery question," as though ignoring it would quiet the clamor. Such an attitude raised the question of just who was really blind to reality as the American dream gradually edged toward nightmare.10 By the time the Little Giant uttered his absurd statement, Clay had gone home. He had been heartened during the summer to hear that Lucretia was healthy and "enjoying more of society than she had been accustomed to."11 He was eager to see her. When he arrived in Lexington on October 22, a large crowd escorted him to the Phoenix Hotel. What had once been Postlethwaite's Tavern was the site of many triumphant returns to Kentucky for Clay over the years, and the assembled citizens intended to make it yet another in gratitude for Clay's saving the country. His speech was brief, though, and after he assured the gathering that the Union was safe, he cut short his remarks. He stretched his hand toward Ashland. "But there lives an old lady about a mile and a half from here," he said, "whom I would rather see than any of you." He was eager to see her. When he arrived in Lexington on October 22, a large crowd escorted him to the Phoenix Hotel. What had once been Postlethwaite's Tavern was the site of many triumphant returns to Kentucky for Clay over the years, and the assembled citizens intended to make it yet another in gratitude for Clay's saving the country. His speech was brief, though, and after he assured the gathering that the Union was safe, he cut short his remarks. He stretched his hand toward Ashland. "But there lives an old lady about a mile and a half from here," he said, "whom I would rather see than any of you."12 Everyone laughed. Henry Clay was not joking.

CLAY WAS VERY proud of James, although his son's diplomatic mission to Portugal had ended in failure. Taylor's secretary of state, John Clayton, had sent the young man on the impossible errand of resolving a quarrel with the Portuguese that had been in dispute since the War of 1812. The disagreement had perplexed more experienced men than James, and Clay fretted, when he was not popping vest buttons with pride, hopeful that James had at last found his way. He hovered too, admonishing James to master French and scrutinizing his dispatches, which Clayton obligingly made available. Clay corrected their grammar and recommended that James soften their tone. Susan was receptive to the advice, even enrolling herself and the children in the French lessons along with James and dutifully reporting on everyone's progress. But James soon bristled. He was trying very hard to follow Clayton's instructions and live up to his father's expectations, but he found the Portuguese rude and dismissive. He thought that Clayton was behaving "as though cracked or drunk" and that his father was meddling-which he was, even covertly negotiating with the Portuguese consul general in Washington and asking British minister Henry Bulwer to lend assistance as well. proud of James, although his son's diplomatic mission to Portugal had ended in failure. Taylor's secretary of state, John Clayton, had sent the young man on the impossible errand of resolving a quarrel with the Portuguese that had been in dispute since the War of 1812. The disagreement had perplexed more experienced men than James, and Clay fretted, when he was not popping vest buttons with pride, hopeful that James had at last found his way. He hovered too, admonishing James to master French and scrutinizing his dispatches, which Clayton obligingly made available. Clay corrected their grammar and recommended that James soften their tone. Susan was receptive to the advice, even enrolling herself and the children in the French lessons along with James and dutifully reporting on everyone's progress. But James soon bristled. He was trying very hard to follow Clayton's instructions and live up to his father's expectations, but he found the Portuguese rude and dismissive. He thought that Clayton was behaving "as though cracked or drunk" and that his father was meddling-which he was, even covertly negotiating with the Portuguese consul general in Washington and asking British minister Henry Bulwer to lend assistance as well.13 Clayton had told James to take a threatening tone in order to break the deadlock with the Portuguese, and by the spring of 1850 a naval vessel was on the way to Lisbon to collect him. His instructions were to demand a final answer and if disappointed to ask for his passport.14 All of this was unfolding as Clay labored to maintain good relations with the Taylor administration while preparing his committee's compromise report, and some have suggested that only after it was apparent that James's mission had failed did Clay break with the administration. There is, however, no evidence for this conclusion, and the concurrence of the two events was apparently coincidental. All of this was unfolding as Clay labored to maintain good relations with the Taylor administration while preparing his committee's compromise report, and some have suggested that only after it was apparent that James's mission had failed did Clay break with the administration. There is, however, no evidence for this conclusion, and the concurrence of the two events was apparently coincidental.15 James was defensive about how things had played out in Lisbon. By the time Taylor died and Webster replaced Clayton at State, James and his family were heading home by way of London. Fillmore and Webster had nothing but praise for him, and Clay tried to help bring about a successful close of the Portuguese claims that could include James, even considering the possibility of his son's negotiating an agreement upon his return to Washington. Despite the peculiarity of someone other than the secretary of state concluding a diplomatic convention on American soil, Webster was not opposed to the idea, though Clay insisted that both his and James's wishes should be "entirely subordinate to convenience, and the public interest."16 Time and distance thwarted Clay's plan and Webster's gesture, however, and James was not back in time to participate in the resolution of the dispute. Time and distance thwarted Clay's plan and Webster's gesture, however, and James was not back in time to participate in the resolution of the dispute.

Clay meant well, but his constant suggestions, guidance, and tendency to hover irritated James in Lisbon just as they had in Lexington. As his son returned to America, Clay tried to help yet again, this time by selling James's house and finding him a better place to live. He conducted the transaction with James's consent, but the sale of the house was bungled to James's financial disadvantage, and Clay could not find a suitable replacement. He considered selling Ashland to James, but timing and finances quashed those plans. James moved his family to Missouri in 1851, settling near St. Louis, where he reported to his father that Thomas Hart Benton was befriending him. The information mildly wounded Clay, the implication being that Benton was a more competent mentor, and he warned that unless James became a Benton supporter, the young man and Old Bullion would not long be friends.17 Possibly James wanted to wound his father, but in only months, the young man's real sentiments were revealed when it became apparent that Clay was dying. James wrote to his mother a heartfelt admission: "He has been to me the best of fathers, and in losing him, I shall also lose the best & almost only true friend I have ever had."18 AFTER HIS STRENUOUS labors of the previous month, Clay was so persistently ill in the fall of 1850 that he feared death was near. labors of the previous month, Clay was so persistently ill in the fall of 1850 that he feared death was near.19 The weeks at Newport had not restored him as before, and he returned to Ashland exhausted and worried. Little rest awaited him in the days that followed, for Kentucky intended to celebrate his role in the compromise. Even before he left Washington, Lexington was planning a barbecue, and Clay supplied a list of dignitaries as well as all the state's representatives and senators to invite. The weeks at Newport had not restored him as before, and he returned to Ashland exhausted and worried. Little rest awaited him in the days that followed, for Kentucky intended to celebrate his role in the compromise. Even before he left Washington, Lexington was planning a barbecue, and Clay supplied a list of dignitaries as well as all the state's representatives and senators to invite.20 On the appointed day, an enormous crowd gathered at the fairgrounds to listen to speeches and feast on succulent meats that had turned for hours over glowing pits. On the appointed day, an enormous crowd gathered at the fairgrounds to listen to speeches and feast on succulent meats that had turned for hours over glowing pits.

When Clay arrived, a great cheer erupted, and everyone flocked to the stand to hear him, but it appeared that the weather was going to disappoint everyone as inky clouds darkened the scene. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled louder as the storm let loose a downpour. Not a soul moved. They all stood in the drenching rain, staring at the speaker's stand, and when Clay finally mounted it, their cheers mingled with the booming thunder. Holding an umbrella over Clay, Governor Thomas Metcalfe stood uncovered, his long white hair tousled by wind and matted by rain. Clay tried to stop after fifteen minutes but gave in to cries of "Go on! Go on!" When he shouted, "If you can stand it, God knows that I can," the cheer that rose in response was so deafening it bested the thunder. And by the time Clay finished forty-five minutes later, the sun was out. As the crowd headed to the pulled pork, everyone realized that they had seen something remarkable and heard in that voice itself something memorable, regardless of its message or meaning. The message now was always the same: Union forever, the country saved by reason and conciliation, and both abolitionism and secession condemned.21 Great anticipation surrounded Clay's appearance before the Kentucky legislature on November 15. Almost a half century had passed since he first entered that body as a freshman legislator to begin his public career, and its invitation touched him as much as any tribute ever had. He spoke at length about the state of the country and expressed optimism that the cooperation between Democrats and Whigs in the recent crisis marked a trend rather than a temporary circumstance. The speech revealed profound changes in Clay's political sentiments about the place of party in the country's increasingly fragile scheme of things. He evinced little affection for the Whigs, and praised the Democrats for behaving with high patriotism in the recent crisis. He plainly announced that the moment the Whig Party took up abolitionism, he would cease to be affiliated with it. Alarmed by agitation over the Fugitive Slave Law, he believed that it could lead only to the creation of two parties, one for the Union and one against it. He would cast his lot with the Union Party.22 For his entire career, Clay had worked to earn the respect of his colleagues, but at the end of it, he was more interested in their affection. All ambition, he declared, all aspiration was in his past. "I want no place whatever," he said, and then paused. "I beg pardon, sir, there is one place only which I desire, and that is a warm place in your hearts."23 He finally had that wish granted, even among long-standing foes, at least for that afternoon. The members on the floor and the spectators in the galleries were on their feet applauding. Women wept. Men did too.

CLAY RETURNED TO Washington at the end of 1850 in time to attend Jenny Lind's capital concert on December 16. The renowned "Swedish Nightingale" had charmed audiences in the Northeast. Her tour was sponsored by the tireless promoter and occasional humbug artist Phineas T. Barnum, but everything about Miss Lind was genuine, especially her talent. Clay sat with Webster at the performance, and though Webster afterward met the singer with an elaborate show of gallantry, it was Clay she wanted to see. She arranged to hear him argue a case before the Supreme Court and found his voice in speech as captivating as the world found hers in song. Clay called on her to pay his respects, and the newspapers delighted in the fact that the celebrities had been in the same room, a mutual admiration society of two. Washington at the end of 1850 in time to attend Jenny Lind's capital concert on December 16. The renowned "Swedish Nightingale" had charmed audiences in the Northeast. Her tour was sponsored by the tireless promoter and occasional humbug artist Phineas T. Barnum, but everything about Miss Lind was genuine, especially her talent. Clay sat with Webster at the performance, and though Webster afterward met the singer with an elaborate show of gallantry, it was Clay she wanted to see. She arranged to hear him argue a case before the Supreme Court and found his voice in speech as captivating as the world found hers in song. Clay called on her to pay his respects, and the newspapers delighted in the fact that the celebrities had been in the same room, a mutual admiration society of two.24 Within weeks of his return, though, these happy scenes gave way to increasing concerns about his declining health. The "perpetual cold" had become more than an irritation. It was alarming. He coughed all the time, suffering especially violent fits at night. "Expectoration is tough and difficult," he complained, "and what distresses me is that Nature seems less & less competent to carry them off, or to resist them."25 Then an incident in the Senate suggested that impaired respiratory function was beginning to affect his mind. On February 11, a bill to help states care for the indigent insane was under discussion. The proposal was to grant a portion of the public lands to fund asylums. Clay praised the benevolent purpose but was concerned, he said, about placing so much of the public domain in the hands of one person. The remark caused everyone to pause, first in bewilderment and then in uncomfortable embarrassment. Either Clay had not read the bill or he had misunderstood its details. James Pearce patiently explained that the states, not a cabinet secretary, would be responsible for the grants, and Clay fumbled over a confession that he had not studied the matter carefully and would like to do so. It was more than awkward. For one thing, everyone knew about Theodore. And for another, it was obvious that Clay had slipped a mental cog over the simplest of proposals. Then an incident in the Senate suggested that impaired respiratory function was beginning to affect his mind. On February 11, a bill to help states care for the indigent insane was under discussion. The proposal was to grant a portion of the public lands to fund asylums. Clay praised the benevolent purpose but was concerned, he said, about placing so much of the public domain in the hands of one person. The remark caused everyone to pause, first in bewilderment and then in uncomfortable embarrassment. Either Clay had not read the bill or he had misunderstood its details. James Pearce patiently explained that the states, not a cabinet secretary, would be responsible for the grants, and Clay fumbled over a confession that he had not studied the matter carefully and would like to do so. It was more than awkward. For one thing, everyone knew about Theodore. And for another, it was obvious that Clay had slipped a mental cog over the simplest of proposals.26 Clay was also more impatient with adversaries about petty as well as significant matters. Regarding the latter, it became increasingly apparent to him that sustaining the Fugitive Slave Law was crucial to harmony in the Union, and he was irritated by those who treated southern anger about the issue casually. When New England caviled over the law, and it was suggested in the Senate that its modification or even its repeal should be debated, he exploded. Congress had debated and deliberated and decided this question just months before, he cried, and it was absurd to reopen it now under the threat of violent resistance to the law's enforcement.27 He was just as vehement in his denunciation of southern hotheads. "Secession is treason," he said plainly. It should not, could not, be tolerated. He was adamant that if South Carolina seceded for any reason, the state should be quickly brought to heel. Only through such decisive action could the country survive. He was just as vehement in his denunciation of southern hotheads. "Secession is treason," he said plainly. It should not, could not, be tolerated. He was adamant that if South Carolina seceded for any reason, the state should be quickly brought to heel. Only through such decisive action could the country survive.28 Colleagues who had noticed Clay's worsening health finally approached him. George W. Jones of Iowa later claimed to have suggested a trip to Cuba to relieve Clay's respiratory symptoms, but Clay had tried to go to Cuba five years earlier, possibly when he detected the first signs of tuberculosis, to follow close upon the example of his consumptive grandson Martin Duralde. That trip had not worked out, and it is evidence of Clay's growing alarm over his condition that he resolved to visit Cuba now, if for no other reason than to go home by way of the Caribbean and avoid mountains and rivers in a raw March. It would delay his return to Lucretia at Ashland, but that could not be helped.29 As February gave way to March, though, Fillmore called an extra session of the Senate to confirm his appointments and attend to other executive matters. Clay expected that the boat bound for Cuba would leave New York before adjournment. "It is perhaps of not much importance," he concluded, "as in any event, I cannot live a great deal longer."30 He and his servant, James Marshall, took the trouble to acquire a passport, though, in those days simply a letter describing its bearer and including an official signature. Clay was thus marked as seventy-three years old, six feet tall, with a "high" forehead, blue eyes, a large nose, a wide mouth, his hair "grey," his complexion "fair." Secretary of State Daniel Webster signed the document. He and his servant, James Marshall, took the trouble to acquire a passport, though, in those days simply a letter describing its bearer and including an official signature. Clay was thus marked as seventy-three years old, six feet tall, with a "high" forehead, blue eyes, a large nose, a wide mouth, his hair "grey," his complexion "fair." Secretary of State Daniel Webster signed the document.31 Clay hurried to New York and was happy to discover that the Cuba packet had not yet steamed after all. Following a farewell dinner and a ball at the recently rebuilt Niblo's Garden near Prince Street on Broadway, he left on the Georgia Georgia to arrive in Havana on March 17. The next day he wrote to Lucretia, "I have not yet seen much of this island, but enough to see that it is different from any thing I had ever before seen," and for the next three weeks, he enjoyed himself as much as his health would allow and saw as much as his waning stamina permitted. to arrive in Havana on March 17. The next day he wrote to Lucretia, "I have not yet seen much of this island, but enough to see that it is different from any thing I had ever before seen," and for the next three weeks, he enjoyed himself as much as his health would allow and saw as much as his waning stamina permitted.32 But the Cuban sojourn did him little physical good and, if anything, made him the worse for wear. When he arrived in New Orleans from Havana on April 5, he went into virtual seclusion at William Mercer's house on Canal Street. He declined to attend a public meeting in his honor, and friends had to disperse a crowd that gathered outside Mercer's expecting Clay to speak. On April 11, he left for Louisville, "very anxious once more to be at home," and arrived at Ashland on April 20, exhausted. "I think I shall not be tempted to leave it again," he said. At least the journey had been inexpensive. Clay had reached such a level of fame that people no longer let him pay for things.33 In fact, when he looked into purchasing a cemetery plot that spring, John Lutz, the mathematics professor at Transylvania University who laid out Lexington Cemetery, arranged to assign him lots 37, 38, 54, and 55 in Section I. Lutz would take no money. They were a gift. In fact, when he looked into purchasing a cemetery plot that spring, John Lutz, the mathematics professor at Transylvania University who laid out Lexington Cemetery, arranged to assign him lots 37, 38, 54, and 55 in Section I. Lutz would take no money. They were a gift.34 In the weeks that followed, the simplest exertions, even writing letters, fatigued him.35 On May 9, he began a letter to James but could manage only a few lines before putting down his pen and resorting to dictation. He always complained now about the debilitating cough. His physician, Benjamin W. Dudley, was either incompetent or an artful liar, for he told Clay that the cough was the result of a digestive disorder and that his lungs were not affected. "Be that as it may," Clay said, "I must get rid of the cough or it will dispose of me." On May 9, he began a letter to James but could manage only a few lines before putting down his pen and resorting to dictation. He always complained now about the debilitating cough. His physician, Benjamin W. Dudley, was either incompetent or an artful liar, for he told Clay that the cough was the result of a digestive disorder and that his lungs were not affected. "Be that as it may," Clay said, "I must get rid of the cough or it will dispose of me."36 Lucretia and John encouraged him to go on little outings, thinking that the time on horseback would be good exercise, and though the trips tired him, he did as they wished. Old memories beckoned, and he fought back weariness to visit nearby places he held in fond recollection. In May he returned to Peyton Short's old home, "Greenfield," where years earlier he and Short had regularly talked into the wee hours over libations after spending the day in the Versailles court. Short had been dead for a quarter century, and Clay found nothing of Greenfield remaining from the old days. He was unsentimental about such things and rejected the idea of properties becoming shrines to dead former owners.37 In the second week of July, Clay made arrangements to dispose of his property as he drafted his last will and testament. In addition to arranging for the gradual emancipation of his slaves, he provided for the distribution of his possessions and the care of his family. He left almost everything to Lucretia and instructed that her wants as well as needs were to be fulfilled, either at Ashland or elsewhere, at her wish. He was generous with his sons as well as the grandchildren. He gave to his son "the Mansfield house" that he had built for Thomas and Mary and forgave his considerable debts while leaving him $5,000. He gave John two hundred prime acres of Ashland, an interest in the horses, and several slaves. He provided for Theodore's maintenance with $600 per year, and stipulated that if Theodore ever recovered his senses, he was to receive $10,000 from the sale of Ashland after Lucretia's death. He set up a trust for Thomas and James, and bequeathed $7,500 to the Erwin children and an equal amount to Henry Jr.'s children. He distributed small but important mementoes: a pin containing a lock of Henry Jr.'s hair went to Henry III, William Mercer was to receive a snuffbox that had belonged to Peter the Great, a ring containing the famous splinter from George Washington's coffin went to a friend, and Lucy would be given a gold and diamond ring.38 Accomplishing the task marked an important admission, but he had always been careful to keep his affairs tidy. With the will drafted and his burial place settled, everything at last seemed in order. Yet that fall, Clay thought of something else. He had his mother's body moved from Woodford County, where she had been buried since her death in 1829. Her new grave was one of the gift lots, 38 in Section I, in Lexington Cemetery, and Clay had a marker erected that paid "tribute to her many domestic virtues," a gesture "prompted by the filial affection and veneration of one of her grateful sons-H. Clay."39 Friends surveyed the political landscape of the upcoming presidential election and talked of another Clay candidacy, but he was frank and resolute. He was old, he said, and he now freely admitted that his health was quite bad. Not only was the matter simply out of the question, the prospect held no appeal for him. He was certain it would be the Democrats' year, and he preferred Lewis Cass over Buchanan, who was neither honest nor sincere, in Clay's opinion. Webster was in the running for the Whigs, of course, but Winfield Scott seemed the favorite, another military man, and Clay preferred Cass over Scott as well.40 He would never run again, Clay said, making clear at last that he really meant it. "I have not time, nor is it of any consequence," he wearily told one unflagging supporter, "to enter into a consideration of what has brought me to this conclusion." He would never run again, Clay said, making clear at last that he really meant it. "I have not time, nor is it of any consequence," he wearily told one unflagging supporter, "to enter into a consideration of what has brought me to this conclusion."41 Clay informed his old friend William Mercer that he was trying "all the old womens [sic] remedies," but he was realistic. "My feelings indicate that the machine is nearly worn out," he said, "and that not one screw but several are out of place." Consumption still carried a stigma, and Clay was careful to say that his lungs were sound, but anyone who heard his cough and breathless wheezing had to doubt that. His enjoyments had fallen away one by one, his appetites were mainly memories, and his ties to life were all but broken. Neither he nor his friends could doubt that he had only a few more months. They indulged his little fictions.42 The horseback rides came to a stop, another of his pleasures passing away. James was sorry "to hear that Pa has got no better," for he had hoped that riding would improve things.43 As fall came and October passed, the routines of the farm and household continued apace. The weather stayed warm enough to delay hog killing and required Ashland to buy extra bacon. Mary Watkins, Clay's niece by his half brother John, arrived for an extended visit, but despite the bustle of the impending harvest and the cheerful company in the house, he grew restless. He had forced himself to be sensible, but something in the air, something in the smell of autumn compelled him to defy the dwindling days and lengthening shadows. "My political life is ended," he conceded, "but I wish once more, and for the last time, to visit Washington." He weighed his time in that warm autumn and wondered, As fall came and October passed, the routines of the farm and household continued apace. The weather stayed warm enough to delay hog killing and required Ashland to buy extra bacon. Mary Watkins, Clay's niece by his half brother John, arrived for an extended visit, but despite the bustle of the impending harvest and the cheerful company in the house, he grew restless. He had forced himself to be sensible, but something in the air, something in the smell of autumn compelled him to defy the dwindling days and lengthening shadows. "My political life is ended," he conceded, "but I wish once more, and for the last time, to visit Washington." He weighed his time in that warm autumn and wondered, How long? How long? "I hesitate," he said, "for I do not like to go there to be "I hesitate," he said, "for I do not like to go there to be brought brought back!" back!"44 Finally he decided to risk it, a decision that prompted criticism then and since for the seeming desertion of his aged wife during what he must have known were his final days. Soon after Clay's departure, Susan worried about her mother-in-law and wistfully contemplated her as lonely and neglected by her children. "They will never fully appreciate her goodness," she confided to her sister-in-law Mary. At least, not until her kind heart stopped and finally revealed, in absence, the great void it had filled for all of them. Susan paused over the possibility of vexing Thomas, but she spoke her mind anyway: all of the boys had always been "spoiled children." "spoiled children."45 Although later observers would attribute his return to Washington to unstinting egotism, unabated ambition, and a desire to die on the national stage in order to become the center of the spectacle sure to ensue, nobody in the family seems to have objected to Clay's decision to leave Ashland that last November of his life. "We all ought to try and make him as happy as we can" was James's sentiment, one shared by everyone close to Henry Clay.46 In addition, he was still a member of the Senate and wished "to exert any possible usefulness left to him." In addition, he was still a member of the Senate and wished "to exert any possible usefulness left to him."47 He also had a commission to argue cases before the Supreme Court in the January 1852 session, a task that could fatten the estate's coffers with handsome fees. He also had a commission to argue cases before the Supreme Court in the January 1852 session, a task that could fatten the estate's coffers with handsome fees.

Clay left Ashland on November 15 accompanied by a slave (possibly a servant) named Thornton, whom Clay sent home after boarding the Allegheny Belle Allegheny Belle at Maysville. As the sternwheeler churned toward Pittsburgh, Clay met a young New Yorker named Edwin Bryant who cheerfully took upon himself the task of looking after his famous but feeble traveling companion. Clay welcomed the help. Nothing ever dimmed his persistent faith in the goodness of people. He never ceased to believe that given the chance, people were inclined to behave decently. at Maysville. As the sternwheeler churned toward Pittsburgh, Clay met a young New Yorker named Edwin Bryant who cheerfully took upon himself the task of looking after his famous but feeble traveling companion. Clay welcomed the help. Nothing ever dimmed his persistent faith in the goodness of people. He never ceased to believe that given the chance, people were inclined to behave decently.48 Bryant was genuinely friendly, and a good thing that he was too, for Clay began coughing up a good deal of blood while vainly dosing himself with alum water. Clay reported his progress to Lucretia and aimed to put her at ease with the description of young Bryant as "very kind and attentive." Bryant was genuinely friendly, and a good thing that he was too, for Clay began coughing up a good deal of blood while vainly dosing himself with alum water. Clay reported his progress to Lucretia and aimed to put her at ease with the description of young Bryant as "very kind and attentive."49 It was snowing on them as they rattled toward Maryland through the mountains, and a hard chill had settled in on the capital when they arrived there on November 23. Clay croaked his farewells to Bryant, who left for New York on his way to California, and settled into his old rooms at the National Hotel. It was snowing on them as they rattled toward Maryland through the mountains, and a hard chill had settled in on the capital when they arrived there on November 23. Clay croaked his farewells to Bryant, who left for New York on his way to California, and settled into his old rooms at the National Hotel.50 On December 1, Clay limped into the Senate chamber, a shocking, frail ghost, and tried to participate in a dispute between Stephen Mallory and David Yulee about whose credentials were legitimate for Florida's Senate seat. Clay took Mallory's part in a short speech often interrupted by his racking cough, and he was near collapse when he finished. He made his way back to his rooms and wrote to Lucretia that he had attended the Senate, the beginning of his valiant but transparent effort to portray his circumstances in the best light possible.51 It had not gone well at all, though. Clay fully intended to return to the Senate, but he never did. He blamed the blustery weather for keeping him in his rooms, and then he simply ceased mentioning the Senate altogether. It had not gone well at all, though. Clay fully intended to return to the Senate, but he never did. He blamed the blustery weather for keeping him in his rooms, and then he simply ceased mentioning the Senate altogether.52 Webster came to see him and was solicitous, taking special pains to praise James for his work in Portugal. President Fillmore sent an invitation for a private dinner at the White House, but Clay apologized that he was too weak to make the short trip up Pennsylvania Avenue. Fillmore refused to stand on ceremony. He came to see Clay right away and made a point of visiting him when he could, obviously a gesture of veneration but also because quiet, unassuming Millard Fillmore knew what it was like to be alone and cheerless.53 Clay's weight loss was now rapid and alarming. He had no appetite, and he confided that he very much regretted leaving Ashland. "My utmost wish," he said, "is to live to return."54 To that end, he called in the best medical talent available. Dr. William W. Hall, a young specialist in throat and lung diseases, was soon joined by Dr. Samuel Jackson of Philadelphia, who observed Clay for two days. After poking, prodding, and consulting, they made their diagnosis, which Clay reported to Lucretia as acute bronchitis. Yet such a conclusion was highly unlikely, and Clay was evidently telling a soothing lie to his wife while keeping the grave confirmation of his actual illness to himself. Even years later, the Clay family would embrace this false information as fact, which attests to the continuing shame of tuberculosis as a presumed consequence of dissolute living. On the letter to Lucretia, someone (possibly Susan) later wrote, "it was bronchitis, not consumption." To that end, he called in the best medical talent available. Dr. William W. Hall, a young specialist in throat and lung diseases, was soon joined by Dr. Samuel Jackson of Philadelphia, who observed Clay for two days. After poking, prodding, and consulting, they made their diagnosis, which Clay reported to Lucretia as acute bronchitis. Yet such a conclusion was highly unlikely, and Clay was evidently telling a soothing lie to his wife while keeping the grave confirmation of his actual illness to himself. Even years later, the Clay family would embrace this false information as fact, which attests to the continuing shame of tuberculosis as a presumed consequence of dissolute living. On the letter to Lucretia, someone (possibly Susan) later wrote, "it was bronchitis, not consumption."55 Clay knew much more than what he revealed to family at Ashland. On December 17, 1851, he resigned from the Senate effective the first Monday of September 1852.56 Also, he told the artist John Neagle that his unsuccessful efforts to sell his full-length portrait of Clay to the Kentucky legislature would likely have a better prospect "when an event shall occur in regard to myself which cannot be very distant." Also, he told the artist John Neagle that his unsuccessful efforts to sell his full-length portrait of Clay to the Kentucky legislature would likely have a better prospect "when an event shall occur in regard to myself which cannot be very distant."57 Family in Kentucky knew he was gravely ill and were understandably worried. Thomas and Mary said they would come to Washington to look after him, but Clay continued to insist that it was unnecessary. He gave the same response to nearby friends, as when the novelist and Whig politician John P. Kennedy offered him a room in his home in Baltimore.58 CHRISTMAS AND NEW Year's came, and Clay planned to venture from his rooms for the first time in weeks. If he could argue at least two cases before the Supreme Court, he would receive his fees, but in the first week of January he was too ill to appear and had to secure the services of other lawyers, splitting the fees with them. Year's came, and Clay planned to venture from his rooms for the first time in weeks. If he could argue at least two cases before the Supreme Court, he would receive his fees, but in the first week of January he was too ill to appear and had to secure the services of other lawyers, splitting the fees with them.59 Despite his fatigue, he agreed to meet the Hungarian separatist Louis Kossuth, who had come to the United States in an American frigate as an exile and commenced a tour to plead his country's case for independence from Austria. Regular Americans and government officials showered him with acclaim, treating him to banquets and turning out in droves to hear him speak. Kossuth was impressed by Clay's reputation as a champion of Latin American and Greek independence so many years before, and he seems to have been under the impression that Clay's influence could further his country's cause with Americans. He had been angling for an interview for weeks. The meeting finally took place in the early afternoon of January 9 in Clay's rooms. Clay was quite feeble, but he had dressed for the occasion and rose haltingly to greet his visitor, who arrived with an escort that included Lewis Cass and Thomas Ewing. Clay spoke admiringly of Kossuth and expressed sympathy with the troubles of his country, especially its victimization by Austrian oppression and Russian intervention, but he also insisted that neutrality was and always should be the bulwark of U.S. foreign policy.60 Clay was distressed by press accounts that described his health as rapidly failing and asserted "that one lung is almost entirely destroyed by rapidly progressing abscesses, and the other already gives indication of the incipient states of the disease."61 He had explicitly stated to Lucretia and Mary that the family was not to believe newspaper reports about his condition, and in the wake of these latest stories, he took the time to write a fairly lengthy description of his circumstances with the best gloss he could manage. "If there be any change," he lied, "perhaps it is for the better." He had explicitly stated to Lucretia and Mary that the family was not to believe newspaper reports about his condition, and in the wake of these latest stories, he took the time to write a fairly lengthy description of his circumstances with the best gloss he could manage. "If there be any change," he lied, "perhaps it is for the better."62 Meanwhile, a special tribute arranged by Whigs in New York helped alleviate winter's gloom. They were having a large gold medal cast in Clay's honor. Made from the purest California ore and mounted in a silver case, the medal featured his profile on its face and a list of his major accomplishments on its obverse. He was deeply touched and had provided the milestones: his first Speakership, the War of 1812, the Ghent peace, Missouri, the distribution of the public domain, preserving peace with France in 1835, and the Compromise of 1850.63 Clay wryly noted that he had nearly "emptied an apothecary's shop," but even a nightly opiate did not bring sleep. He spent his days in his rooms reading and occasionally answering letters, almost always now through dictation. When the cold abated a bit in February, he ventured out, but only a couple of times. Climbing the stairs to his upper-floor suite after a ride in a closed carriage so wore him out that he abandoned that pastime as well and thereafter never again left his rooms. In bed by eight, he did not rise until ten. His doctor came every day and streams of visitors appeared, but most were turned away. He could sit up only about seven hours a day.64 Clay hoped to gain enough strength to return to Ashland in late May or early June. When the time came, he planned to send for Thomas to accompany him. In late April, he told his son it would be best for him to leave for Washington in a few weeks.65 In the days that followed, however, Clay's strength swiftly ebbed, and he became alarmed enough to amend his instructions to Thomas by telegram, a sure sign of urgency, calling for him to come as soon as he could. In the days that followed, however, Clay's strength swiftly ebbed, and he became alarmed enough to amend his instructions to Thomas by telegram, a sure sign of urgency, calling for him to come as soon as he could.66 "I write to nobody in my hand writing, but to you," he told Lucretia. It must have taken him a long time to write this letter, for it was a laborious effort that produced his characteristically firm penmanship. The letter in its physical appearance gave no evidence that anything was wrong, but it was the last one he wrote to his wife of fifty-three years, a whispered promise that she alone at the end merited the immense effort of his pen touching paper, and in that respect it was a love letter.67 At Ashland, as Thomas left for the capital, Lucretia retreated more into herself. She had to dismiss her gardener for drunkenness and did not replace him, as an economy, and Clay worried that she was overworking herself and scrimping on her needs. At Ashland, as Thomas left for the capital, Lucretia retreated more into herself. She had to dismiss her gardener for drunkenness and did not replace him, as an economy, and Clay worried that she was overworking herself and scrimping on her needs.68 James and Susan worried about her as well. "We wish you would make some one write to us occasionally about yourself," James entreated her from Missouri. "Months pass without our hearing of you & we think of you very often." James and Susan worried about her as well. "We wish you would make some one write to us occasionally about yourself," James entreated her from Missouri. "Months pass without our hearing of you & we think of you very often."69 When Thomas arrived in Washington on May 5, his father's appearance shocked him. The day before, Clay had experienced a crisis so serious that Senate chaplain Charles M. Butler had administered the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. Clay was extremely weak but alert enough to press his hands together in prayer and spread them in supplication. James Marshall was convinced that his employer was dying, but Butler's service seemed to revive him. Nonetheless, Thomas noted that his father was no longer merely gaunt but had become a wraith. He could speak for only a few minutes before the effort left him spent. The cough that had interrupted his sentences now disrupted words by the syllable. He no longer had the strength to walk and had to be carried from his bed to the couch in the parlor. Yet Thomas's arrival was a tonic, and for a few days Clay rallied. The opiates began to work, giving him a few comfortable nights, and Thomas even became cautiously optimistic. His father was "very feeble," he admitted, "but is not so much reduced in flesh as I had supposed before I came on here." Thomas added hopefully, "His lungs are not at all affected."70 Visitors continued to come to the National Hotel, but only a select few friends entered Room 32 in those dwindling days. There had been a few touching reconciliations. Francis Preston Blair had made his peace with Clay, and along with Martin Van Buren he helped to smooth the progress of an understanding between Thomas Hart Benton and Clay. Van Buren sent Blair a portion of Benton's memoir, Thirty Years' View, Thirty Years' View, which discounted entirely the idea of the Corrupt Bargain ever having occurred. The admission, coming after all these years, was significant, and Blair told Clay about it "with the warm feelings of earlier days." The long shadow finally lifted. "Mr. Clay was deeply moved," Van Buren recalled. which discounted entirely the idea of the Corrupt Bargain ever having occurred. The admission, coming after all these years, was significant, and Blair told Clay about it "with the warm feelings of earlier days." The long shadow finally lifted. "Mr. Clay was deeply moved," Van Buren recalled.71 He was similarly touched by a gesture from Blair's wife, who had been slower to forgive Clay for breaking with her husband so many years before, even snubbing him on the floor of the Senate just months earlier. As the seriousness of his illness became apparent, Eliza Blair organized and led a circle of ladies to keep him company and attend to his wants during the final days. The soft voices and attentive care meant a lot to him, and Mrs. Blair's offer of a room at her house on Pennsylvania Avenue where she could administer nonstop "Kentucky nursing" made him cry.72 And then there was John J. Crittenden. For several years, friends had tried to restore the good feelings of old, but the bitterness persisted. Clay suspected that Crittenden had continued to block his patronage recommendations, and Kentucky factions attached to the two remained wary of each other. The previous year, Washington hostess Julia Tayloe had invited Crittenden to dine with Clay at her house by playfully quoting Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona: Two Gentlemen of Verona: "Oh Heaven! were man but constant, he were perfect; that one error Fills him with faults." But the invitation came when Clay was already on his way to New York to catch the packet to Cuba. Crittenden also might have noted what was surely unintended irony in Mrs. Tayloe's dispatching her message on March 15, the Ides. "Oh Heaven! were man but constant, he were perfect; that one error Fills him with faults." But the invitation came when Clay was already on his way to New York to catch the packet to Cuba. Crittenden also might have noted what was surely unintended irony in Mrs. Tayloe's dispatching her message on March 15, the Ides.73 Thomas said that in the first week of that last June, his father asked to see Crittenden. Their subsequent visit on June 6 presumably allowed them to settle their differences, as just days later, Clay referred to Crittenden and himself as "cordial friends." Thomas, however, noticed that Clay was "much depressed." Yet his father also told him that everyone had been mistaken, that Crittenden had not behaved dishonorably in 1848. Thomas said Clay implored him not to hold anything against his old, newfound friend. There was certainly a visit-Thomas was there to witness it-and evidence surfaced years later that suggested Clay had heard defenses of Crittenden and had mellowed about their differences as early as 1850.74 Yet James always doubted that his father ever forgave John J. Crittenden. After Clay's death, James arrived at Ashland to await the arrival of the funeral party and found on Clay's desk a copy of the angry letter he had persuaded his father not to publish in 1848. Clay had apparently been reviewing it just before leaving for Washington in November, suggesting to James that the wounds from Crittenden's betrayal had not healed and were in fact still fresh. Possibly both James and Thomas were correct: Clay might have been assessing this enormously important event of his life as he prepared for his journey. Yet once in Washington and aware of his rapidly approaching end, perhaps he decided it was pointless to leave the breach unmended. The former feeling would have been perfectly natural for any deeply wronged man, and the latter action would have been perfectly in character for Henry Clay. Yet James always doubted that his father ever forgave John J. Crittenden. After Clay's death, James arrived at Ashland to await the arrival of the funeral party and found on Clay's desk a copy of the angry letter he had persuaded his father not to publish in 1848. Clay had apparently been reviewing it just before leaving for Washington in November, suggesting to James that the wounds from Crittenden's betrayal had not healed and were in fact still fresh. Possibly both James and Thomas were correct: Clay might have been assessing this enormously important event of his life as he prepared for his journey. Yet once in Washington and aware of his rapidly approaching end, perhaps he decided it was pointless to leave the breach unmended. The former feeling would have been perfectly natural for any deeply wronged man, and the latter action would have been perfectly in character for Henry Clay.

When he found the letter at Ashland, James saw little point in its message. He burned it.75 BY THE TIME of Crittenden's visit, Thomas's optimism was ebbing. In only a few days, it vanished. Those allowed into the rooms found Henry Clay to be slowly disappearing, his deep voice reduced to a raspy whisper, the volume and violence of the cough terrifying. The entire city of Washington listened for news, expecting at any time to hear the worst. One of his congressional colleagues wrote to a friend that they all knew that Clay would die soon and lamented, "oh what a man will fall, when he falls," and observed that now that he was almost dead, "all men of all parties speak of him as 'the noblest Roman of them all.'" of Crittenden's visit, Thomas's optimism was ebbing. In only a few days, it vanished. Those allowed into the rooms found Henry Clay to be slowly disappearing, his deep voice reduced to a raspy whisper, the volume and violence of the cough terrifying. The entire city of Washington listened for news, expecting at any time to hear the worst. One of his congressional colleagues wrote to a friend that they all knew that Clay would die soon and lamented, "oh what a man will fall, when he falls," and observed that now that he was almost dead, "all men of all parties speak of him as 'the noblest Roman of them all.'"76 Strangers continued to send him gifts or to bring them in person to leave at the hotel desk. These were often luscious treats for which he had no appetite. Yet it was truly the thought behind these presents that counted for Clay. He always said to Thomas when a new package arrived, "Was there ever a man who had such friends?" And he made certain that Thomas sent thank-you notes to everyone for even the slightest remembrance. "In the letter be kind," he instructed, "be very kind." Strangers continued to send him gifts or to bring them in person to leave at the hotel desk. These were often luscious treats for which he had no appetite. Yet it was truly the thought behind these presents that counted for Clay. He always said to Thomas when a new package arrived, "Was there ever a man who had such friends?" And he made certain that Thomas sent thank-you notes to everyone for even the slightest remembrance. "In the letter be kind," he instructed, "be very kind."77 The thermometer rose into the nineties, and the humidity rising from Washington's surrounding swamps made it seem even hotter. By mid-June, Clay was in a very bad way, profusely perspiring from the heat as well as his fever. His doctor rubbed him down from head to toe with brandy and alum. He pulled Thomas aside and told him that his father could not last much longer. "He now never gets out of bed," Thomas recorded in his diary.78 One of his last acts, and evidently the last document signed by Henry Clay, was to tie up a final loose end. James Marshall had given him a deed for a lot in Detroit as security for endorsing a note. Clay now noted that Marshall had paid everything he owed. He had overpaid, in fact, by two dollars. Clay wanted to make sure that the deed, which he had placed in a little trunk in Lucretia's room at Ashland, would be handed over to his servant, who as his companion had become his friend.79 The doctor tried to alleviate his patient's growing distress with larger doses of the opiate, and in late June, Clay began to hallucinate. He saw his mother. He saw Lucretia. "My dear wife," he murmured.80 Finally he stopped eating altogether, and Thomas sadly noted that "taking even a single swallow of water is painful to him." Finally he stopped eating altogether, and Thomas sadly noted that "taking even a single swallow of water is painful to him."81 On the morning of June 29, Clay asked James Marshall to shave him, but it was not long before something had clearly changed. James summoned Thomas. Clay looked up through watery eyes. "Sit near me, my dear son," he said. Thomas placed a chair next to the bed. "I do not wish you to leave me for any time today," his father whispered.

At ten o'clock, he asked Thomas for some cool water, but as he drank, his mind wandered. The silver tube he used for a straw remained dangling in his lips when the cup was taken away, and he had trouble swallowing. "I believe, my son, I am going," he mumbled. Thomas watched his father labor for breath. Clay whispered a request for Thomas to "button his shirt collar." He always liked things neat.

Thomas buttoned the collar, but as he withdrew his hand, Clay shakily grasped it and silently held it. Thomas sent for Senator James C. Jones, who had a room just above, and he soon joined Thomas and James at the bedside. Clay's eyes were closed, and his grip on Thomas's hand gradually relaxed. It was seventeen minutes past eleven.82 Before the clocks struck noon, Washington's church bells began to toll, a signal to the capital that it was over. The telegraph sent the news across the country, and soon the bells began to ring in cities and towns from the Atlantic coast to the deep interior. Thomas sent one of those first telegrams to Lexington: "My father is no more. He has passed without pain into eternity."83 At Ashland, Lucretia received the hard news she had been expecting for months. At Ashland, Lucretia received the hard news she had been expecting for months.

The bells in Lexington were already ringing.

AcknowledgmentsWE ARE INDEBTED to countless people who helped us in our research to realize Henry Clay. The staffs of repositories across the country were often as enthusiastic as we were about our work and were unfailingly cheerful in assisting us to complete it, pointing us to undiscovered treasures and facilitating our investigation of them. We shrink from saying that Sarah Hartwell at Dartmouth's Rauner Special Collections Library or Christine M. Beauregard at the New York State Library or Eira Tansey at Tulane's Howard-Tilton Library is "typical" in any way, but they do exemplify the best of those who maintain the annals of the past and make them readily available to the people who try to understand that past. Eleanor Mills and Elizabeth Dunn at Duke University's Rare Book, Manuscript, and Special Collections Library, and Nelson Griffin and Matthew Turi at the Southern Historical Collection were more than accommodating during our visits. In fact, the kind people at all the archives we list in our bibliography have earned our respect and admiration, and on more than a few occasions have acted in a manner that could only be described as that of friends. to countless people who helped us in our research to realize Henry Clay. The staffs of repositories across the country were often as enthusiastic as we were about our work and were unfailingly cheerful in assisting us to complete it, pointing us to undiscovered treasures and facilitating our investigation of them. We shrink from saying that Sarah Hartwell at Dartmouth's Rauner Special Collections Library or Christine M. Beauregard at the New York State Library or Eira Tansey at Tulane's Howard-Tilton Library is "typical" in any way, but they do exemplify the best of those who maintain the annals of the past and make them readily available to the people who try to understand that past. Eleanor Mills and Elizabeth Dunn at Duke University's Rare Book, Manuscript, and Special Collections Library, and Nelson Griffin and Matthew Turi at the Southern Historical Collection were more than accommodating during our visits. In fact, the kind people at all the archives we list in our bibliography have earned our respect and admiration, and on more than a few occasions have acted in a manner that could only be described as that of friends.This was never more evident than at the Filson Historical Society in Louisville, Kentucky, where the Curator of Special Collections, James Holmberg, made sure that we had everything we needed, and an extraordinary group of people retrieved collections with such speed that during several days of labor we were never idle at our desks. Mike Veach not only found obscure items in a flash, he made flawless restaurant recommendations for both cuisine and soothing drink (what else but bourbon, naturally, of which Mike is a peerless connoisseur) that made our evenings restorative. Suzanne Maggard, Robin Wallace, and Sarah-Jane Poindexter were swift, thorough, and pleasant; and Jacob Lee took time from his chores calendaring important collections to advise us months after our departure about new and pertinent material he was running across. "Research" is not the term to describe working at the Filson: something more like "adventure framed in conviviality" comes closer to the mark.Simply matchless as well are the extraordinary people at Ashland, the Henry Clay Estate, in Lexington. From our visit at the start of our labors through the conclusion of them, they have stood at our shoulders with encouraging words, indispensable advice, and a wealth of information, gently correcting our errors and making it possible for us to know Henry Clay as a husband, father, and friend in ways that would have certainly eluded us otherwise. While doing their outstanding and taxing work of presenting the home of the Clays to a grateful public, Anne Hagan-Michel, Eric Brooks, Sue Andrew, and Wendy Bright read our manuscript, in parts or in its entirety, sometimes repeatedly, and have been so generous with their time that our statement of thanks can be only a poor measure of our gratitude and an insufficient acknowledgment of our indebtedness. Wendy Bright allowed us to see her excellent master's thesis on Ashland just as it was being completed, and Sue Andrew provided a priceless trove of insights about Lucretia and the housekeeper Sarah Hall that would otherwise have remained tucked from our sight. Eric Brooks, the head curator at Ashland, served as liaison in correspondence that provided us with his and his colleagues' many suggestions and helpful queries, and he labored to make available for publication graphic materials ranging from portraits to photographs of artifacts. Some of the images that appear between these covers become accessible to a wide audience for the first time thanks to Eric Brooks. Though they are hardly special pleaders for their famous host, and indeed do not shrink from criticizing him when merited, we think that neither Henry Clay nor we ever had better friends. We also think that he would doubtless agree.Many other friends have read the manuscript and have invariably found ways to improve it. We especially thank David Sckolnik, for our work on this biography likely would not have happened in his absence. Our agent, Geri Thoma, not only introduced us to the good people at Random House but also reviewed the work in progress, sometimes to give a gentle tug at the reins but mostly to hearten when we flagged and cheer when we could report progress. Jeanne's mother, Sarah, proved particularly strong-hearted in this regard, reading the manuscript and listening without complaint as we droned on about the minutiae of the early nineteenth century. At Random House, our editor, Jonathan Jao, first suggested we undertake this biography and upon its delivery applied a deft editorial hand with such surgical precision that virtually all of his recommendations have made it better. Emily DeHuff copyedited the manuscript with just the right mixture of insistence on proper forms and tolerance of our stylistic idiosyncrasies. We need not say, of course, that all slips of tongue and any errors of fact are our own, either because of our obstinacy about style or because it is inevitable that mistakes will mar any human endeavor.Finally, our hats are off to the little lion who now forever sleeps, our constant companion through so much scribbling, so many books.

Notes.