NOVEMBER 1844
It was getting dark, but General Robert Armstrong decided to remain in his office a little past closing time that evening of Friday, November 15, 1844. Armstrong was postmaster of Nashville, Tennessee, and he usually made his way home by 6 P.M. This evening, however, he had a special reason to stay a little late: a courier just might be coming in with the latest news of the presidential election.
Armstrong was in a gloomy mood. A veteran of the War of 1812, a close friend and protégé of General Andrew Jackson, he had not yet digested the fact that Tennessee had just repudiated Jackson’s favored presidential candidate, Democrat James K. Polk. This rebuff was a special blow, for Polk’s candidacy held a special meaning for Old Hickory—Polk had always been a Jackson stalwart. Throughout his public life, during which he had been Speaker of the U.S. House of Representatives and governor of Tennessee, he had consistently been such a dedicated Jackson man that he was often referred to as “Young Hickory.”
The disappointment from Polk’s defeat in Tennessee was made more acute by the fact that the voting margin in Tennessee had been excruciatingly close, only 113 votes. But there would be no recount; Jackson, the “Old Hero,” would never live to see another election; an aged man, growing weaker daily at the Hermitage a dozen miles east of Nashville, he would die with his beloved Tennessee fallen from the graces of the Democratic party.
But the loss of Tennessee did not in itself decide the outcome of the election, close as it was. The results from nearly all the other states had come in, and the tally had been so evenly balanced between Polk and Whig candidate Henry Clay that the entire contest now hinged upon the voting in New York.
Armstrong’s patience was rewarded. Just as he began to give up, he heard the clatter of hooves outside, and a messenger entered the room with a packet of mail. Soon Armstrong found what he wanted, and on opening the envelope he jumped jubilantly. Within minutes another horseman was thundering down the forty-mile road to Columbia, where Polk himself waited.
At dawn the Democratic nominee answered the door to receive the message: “Glorious News! New York is yours!” Polk put the message away, and walked about town all day without disclosing to a soul that he had been elected president of the United States.
The 1844 election had a special importance: it represented more than a choice of one candidate over another because it was also a referendum on the question of whether or not the Republic of Texas, which had seceded from Mexico eight years before, should be annexed to the United States. Taken one step further, the mandate for annexation assured serious trouble with Mexico.
As the voters of the United States were ushering James Polk into office, Antonio López de Santa Anna, president of Mexico, archenemy of Texas, rode unhappily into Mexico City, his mind beset by many problems. The Mexican people, even his own political backers, had become fed up with him; and now, at the end of the third year of his second term in office, he was about to be ousted once more. As was his wont when in power, Santa Anna had assumed increasing authority, indulging in excessively expensive ceremony, pursuing a hopeless war to regain the lost state of Texas, and otherwise generally neglecting his duties.
But extravagance, poor judgment, and laxity were not unusual in Santa Anna’s conduct of affairs. His tenure of office was now in jeopardy because he had committed two unpardonable sins: he had failed to take care of the men who had put him in power and, more heinous in Mexican eyes, he had shown disrespect for the memory of his wife, Doña Inez de Santa Anna, who was much loved by the people. Doña Inez had died of pneumonia the previous August, and during her lingering illness, Santa Anna had selected her replacement, fifteen-year-old Doña Maria Dolores de Tosta. The people were infuriated because Santa Anna had married Doña Maria only six weeks after Inez’s death.
As he arrived now in Mexico City, Santa Anna found the political situation even more serious than he had imagined. General Mariano Paredes, alternately an ally and a rival, had recently decided to defy Santa Anna and had marched with four thousand troops to Querétaro, in the mountains northwest of Mexico City. Santa Anna, still underestimating his political problems despite the signs about him, decided to deal with Paredes by force. He left the capital on November 22, leaving his acting president, Valentín Canalizo, to deal with the political opposition.
Things went from bad to worse. Unable to corner Parades, Santa Anna now learned that his position in Mexico City had collapsed. The troops in the city rebelled against him, and soon impoverished mobs rose in wrath. They tore down a statue that Santa Anna had erected to himself and then broke into the Santa Anna Theater, causing the director hastily to rename it in order to save it. As a final insult, they broke into the sepulcher where Santa Anna had enshrined his amputated leg and dragged this honored part of his anatomy through the streets. Finally Congress deposed both Canalizo and Santa Anna, appointing the chief of council, General José Joaquín de Herrera, as acting president.
In early January 1845 Santa Anna, admitting defeat, decided to abandon his army and advised its members to submit to Herrera:
Companions in arms! With pride I sustained the loss of an important member of my body, lost gloriously in the service of our Native Land, as some of you bore witness; but that pride has turned to grief, sadness, and desperation. You should know that these mortal remains have been violently torn from the funeral urn, which was broken, and dragged through the public streets to make sport of them.… I know your astonishment and that you will be ashamed; you are right, such excesses were unknown among us. My friends! I am going to leave, obeying destiny. There in foreign lands I shall remember you. May you always be the support and ornament of our nation.… God be with you!1
But Santa Anna still had hope of personal freedom. He set out with a small cavalry escort along the National Highway, hoping to make it safely to Veracruz, on the Gulf of Mexico, thence to exile. Soon, however, he concluded that his small bodyguard would never be able to protect him from the fury of the people, so as a last resort he disguised himself as a muleteer, keeping with him only three aides. Suspicious Indians appeared, and the aides disappeared in the woods. Santa Anna’s wooden leg not only prevented his following them but also betrayed his identity. His life was saved only when the local priest began ringing the church bell. Religious devotions pacified the Indians, and they turned their prize over to the proper authorities.2
By mid-January 1845 Santa Anna had begun a period of imprisonment in the Castle of Perote, petitioning an unsympathetic Congress while being beset on all sides by creditors. Time calmed emotions back in Mexico City, however, and on June 3, 1845, the former dictator, accompanied by his distraught young wife and a small entourage, was allowed to sail from Veracruz to Havana, banished for life.
The sworn enemy of the annexation of Texas to the United States was gone. Santa Anna would no longer dictate Mexican policy.
