LATE 1846, EARLY 1847 AT HOME
As the year 1846 faded into 1847, the mood of the American people toward the war with Mexico began to sour. The disenchantment had begun earlier—protest had, in fact, always existed—but now, some eight months since Polk’s first call for volunteers, disaffection was growing to the point where it might hinder the war effort.
The outburst of patriotism in response to Taylor’s perceived danger on the Rio Grande had lasted throughout the summer of 1846. The War Bill, which provided generously for the prosecution of the war, had passed overwhelmingly in both houses of Congress despite the refusal of John Quincy Adams and thirteen other die-hard abolitionist congressmen to make the vote unanimous. The Immortal Fourteen, as their admirers dubbed them, were generally regarded as irresponsible, and only Adams’s prestige as a former president saved him from being tarred with the same brush.
Though doubts about the war respected no geographical boundaries, serious protest was concentrated in New England. True, one of the leading abolitionist Whigs, second only to Adams, was Congressman Joshua Giddings, of Ohio. But the real hotbed was Massachusetts, the traditional spawning ground of radicalism from the days of the Boston Tea Party. There abolitionist literary figures resisted the war from the outset. One of them, a twenty-seven-year-old poet and literary critic named James Russell Lowell, wrote the first of his celebrated “Biglow Papers” when the ink was hardly dry on the War Bill.* And Henry David Thoreau, enraged over the Massachusetts governor’s call for volunteers, voluntarily went to jail for refusing to pay his state taxes. (He was bailed out by friends after one night.)
But these early protests were ineffective. The conservatives, the dominant wing of the Whig party, reasoned that their predecessors, the Federalists, had become extinct because of their refusal to support the War of 1812. Thus while Whig conservatives, such as Daniel Webster, roundly criticized Polk’s manipulative actions in bringing on the conflict, they still voted the means to support it. Whigs, as a whole, regarded Lowell as extreme; and even Ralph Waldo Emerson, despite his personal disapproval of the war, viewed Thoreau’s gesture as empty. After all, none of the taxes Thoreau refused to pay would have contributed, even indirectly, to financing the armies in Mexico.
The American people retained the patriotic fervor that had engulfed them in spring, 1846. Zachary Taylor’s early victories at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, after all, had been fought by regular troops from “somewhere else.” For some time the optimism prevalent in nearly all of the U.S. conflicts remained. The people believed that the war would be won quickly and cheaply.
As the summer of 1846 dragged on, however, impatience began to set in. After the first heady victories nothing more happened. Volunteers returned home without having seen battle; some died of disease and their bereaved loved ones were denied the satisfaction of knowing that they had met a heroic death. As discontent grew, some of the criticism was directed toward even Taylor himself, the public’s favorite.†
While the public was waiting for signs of action on the Rio Grande in the late summer of 1846 the link between the war with Mexico and the expansion of slavery came to the forefront in the Congress. Polk unwittingly triggered this development.
In early August, just as Congress was nearing adjournment, the President asked for an appropriation of $2 million, to be kept on hand for payment to any Mexican government that would sign a treaty. Such a payment Polk regarded as a sort of “earnest money,” an advance against whatever sum would be paid later for territorial concessions.
Polk’s thought, reasonable enough, was that such an amount of ready cash would ensure that the signatory Mexican government would survive long enough to allow for Senate ratification. But the request had far-reaching consequences, for it confirmed what many had suspected all along: that Polk intended to annex territory as a result of the war. In turn it directed the attention of Congress to the possible consequences of territorial expansion. Sectionalism was thus introduced as an issue in the Mexican War, and the two political parties were now, for the first time, broken into four: proslave and abolitionist Whigs; and proslave and abolitionist Democrats.
As this $2 million bill was being debated in Congress, a radical Democratic congressman from Pennsylvania introduced a critical amendment. David Wilmot, following the lead of New York representative Hugh White, introduced the famous Wilmot Proviso, which placed as a condition for approval of the $2 million bill a stipulation “that, as an express and fundamental condition to the acquisition of any territory from the Republic of Mexico by the United States … neither slavery nor involuntary servitude shall ever exist in any part of said territory.”1 The amendment, actually, was not a device to help secure passage of the bill: rather, it had the effect of defining the Whig opposition to it. So while the $2 million bill as amended passed the House by a narrow margin, it fell victim to a filibuster in the Senate. Polk received word of the outcome on August 10, 1846, and expressed disgust with both the rejection of the appropriation bill and the amendment—“mischievous” in his eyes—that had defeated it.2
On October 2, 1846, word reached Washington of Kearny’s capture of Santa Fe. Stockton’s occupation of California and Taylor’s victory at Monterrey became known soon thereafter. To most people these were good tidings, but to those who feared expansionism the actions of both Kearny and Stockton in proclaiming U.S. annexation of these territories were illegal. Polk astutely sidestepped these protests by passing the blame to the commanders themselves, and since Congress was in recess, the repercussions were minimal. But with the fall of Monterrey came the first substantial casualty lists. And worse, the public was now coming to realize that Santa Anna, whom Polk had permitted to run the blockade off Veracruz, had no intention of making peace.
Thus, by the third week of October 1846, while Polk and his cabinet were secretly discussing a campaign to bring the war to Veracruz,3 the public was becoming conscious that the war would be long and that more volunteers would have to be called up. This distressing situation was attributed almost universally to the “mendaciousness” of Polk. In the words of the Boston Atlas, the conflict had become “Mr. Polk’s War.”4
The growing mistrust of Polk was caused partly by the circumstances of his nomination and election, enhanced by outrage at his deft maneuvering the previous May. The airing of Polk’s orders to Kearny and Stockton added fuel to the fire. But the mistrust was directed basically toward the personality of Polk himself. He was viewed as a small-time Tennessee politician, a “cold, narrow, methodical, dogged, plodding, obstinate partisan, deeply convinced of his importance and responsibility, very wanting in humor, very wanting in ideality, very wanting in soulfulness, inclined to be sly, and quite incapable of seeing things in a great way.”5 But of all these faults, his lack of humor may have been his worst shortcoming, for without that weapon against calumny, he was vulnerable to the most unfair of the accusations that were brought against him.
Those accusations reached out to include his cabinet as well as himself. As the Washington correspondent of the Boston Atlas commented, they were the “little fellows,” and “were they all thrown in a bag together, it would make little difference which came out first.”6 Such attacks were important not for their truth, such as it was, but for the effect they had on people’s attitudes.
Polk responded to criticism of himself in the humorless manner that might be expected. He made no effort to develop himself into a more appealing, more effective politician. Instead he struck back, condemning his detractors. In his second State of the Union Message, delivered on December 8, 1846, he spent about eight thousand words dwelling on the rightness of every United States position vis-à-vis Mexico beginning as far back as 1819. Then, even in the face of the $2 million bill and his secret orders to Kearny and Stockton, he stuck to his claim that territorial gains were not the object of the war:
The war has not been waged with a view to conquest, but, having been commenced by Mexico, it has been carried into the enemy’s country and will be vigorously prosecuted there with a view to obtain an honorable peace, and thereby secure ample indemnity.…”7
And then he went on to condemn anyone who disagreed with him. The terms “unjust, unnecessary, and aggression,” he declaimed, were devised to “encourage the enemy and to protract the war.” Advocating and adhering to the Mexican cause would “give them ‘aid and comfort.’ ”8 In effect he declared it unpatriotic to criticize the justness of the war.
The second session of the Twenty-ninth Congress, which met in the late summer of 1846, would be responsible for the continued prosecution of the war. By the end of the session, the following March, the terms of service for the first volunteers would be nearly up, and more manpower would have to be raised and more funds appropriated. Fortunately, the peak of dissent had not yet been reached. Had Congress been faced with the same decisions only six months later, the outcome of the Mexican War might have been quite different. As it was, the fear of appearing unpatriotic still prevailed, and the President received most—if not all—of the support he requested.
In his State of the Union Message, Polk had asked for authority to float a $23 million twenty-year loan to cover rising governmental costs, a figure that could be reduced if he were given the authority to impose an additional revenue duty on certain articles, and if he could offer more attractive terms for sales of public lands. He also revived his request for a $2 million down payment for lands to be purchased from Mexico, which figure was soon raised to $3 million. This request, of course, had been frustrated the previous August.9 So much for the finances; he also needed troops.
Marcy’s report of December 5, 1846, had recommended the raising and organizing of ten new regiments of regulars (one of dragoons and nine of infantry). And while a request for this augmentation was not included in the President’s message, it was introduced in the House later that month. The authorization bill passed the House quickly, on January 11, 1847, prompted primarily by concern over Worth’s position at Saltillo, which was reportedly precarious.10 So far so good. But Polk stirred up the rancor of the Congress by pursuing his quixotic request to establish the new rank of lieutenant general in the army, still intending to bestow it on Senator Benton.11 Not only did this measure stand no chance, but it provided a rallying point on which Whigs and Calhoun Democrats (as well as those concerned with military competence) could agree.‡ It soon became apparent that Calhoun, controlling the votes of four loyal senators, held the balance of power between the thin Democratic majority and the united Whigs.
Calhoun, like the conservative Whigs, was disposed to be cautious when it came to obstructing measures needed to supply the armies; nevertheless he seemed to enjoy exercising his ability to make Polk worry. Using his voting bloc, he managed to delay passage of the Ten-Regiment Bill in the Senate; in fact, on the evening of Monday, February 8, Senator Lewis Cass came by the White House to tell Polk that the Senate had killed a compromise version between the two houses that would have provided those troops. Polk accurately blamed Calhoun. But the measure was not really dead. Two days later another compromise was found and the two houses passed it.12 And both the loan bill and the military appropriations bill passed with whopping majorities.§
On Saturday, April 10, 1847, President Polk made one of the truly important decisions of the war when he selected Nicholas P. Trist as emissary to negotiate a peace with Mexico. The decision was made quickly.
On that spring day a fast ship pulled into Baltimore harbor from Pensacola bringing the welcome news that Veracruz had surrendered to General Scott on March 27. The message was addressed to the Baltimore Sun, whose editors placed the happy tidings on the telegraph to Washington only after making use of it first. On receiving the word, though unofficially, Polk for once allowed himself to exult; “This was joyful news,” he wrote in his diary. Two hours later a detailed report arrived from Baltimore by train.13
Immediately Polk assembled his cabinet. The fall of Veracruz, he announced, called urgently for a commissioner vested with plenipotentiary powers. Such a man should be on hand at General Scott’s headquarters, “ready to take advantage of circumstances as they might arise to negotiate for peace.”14
The cabinet readily agreed to this principle, but the problem of selecting such a commissioner was not so easy; the prestige to be gained by negotiating a peace treaty would be an incalculable asset to any politician harboring presidential ambitions for 1848. And giving such a plum to one man would stir up sufficient jealousy among other Democratic senators as to jeopardize ratification of any treaty, regardless of its provisions.
Polk, in the final analysis, desired instinctively to keep control of the process himself. That consideration would point toward sending his own man, the secretary of state. Buchanan agreed, but argued, quite rightly, that he personally could not leave his position in Washington to cool his heels indefinitely at Scott’s headquarters in Mexico. However, he had been thinking about this problem, and he came up with a ready solution: to deputize the Chief Clerk of the State Department, Nicholas P. Trist, to go in his stead.
Trist possessed many qualifications for this responsibility. In the hierarchy of the time, he was the highest ranking professional officer in the State Department. He carried impressive credentials: he had studied law under Thomas Jefferson (to whom he was related by marriage), he had been a cadet at West Point, and he had been Andrew Jackson’s private secretary. He was fluent in Spanish and well acquainted with the ways of Latin Americans, having been the United States consul at Havana. He was dignified, intelligent, personable, and energetic. Trist seemed ideal, and Polk was taken with the idea of sending him.
Polk interviewed Trist that same afternoon, and without hesitation the latter agreed to sail immediately for Veracruz. During the conversation, Polk warned his new representative that the instructions to be issued him would be sealed, their contents highly secret and not to be divulged even to Scott. In fact, Polk even balked for a moment at allowing another State Department member to assist in preparing the instructions.
Trist understood; he would carry with him the draft of a treaty of peace—and the hope that the Mexican government would accept it.15
* Lowell’s first protest poem was published as early as June 17, 1846, in the Boston Courier. It was written in Yankee dialect, the first of a series later published as the Biglow Papers. After condemning war as murder, the poem labeled the war as a scheme of “them nigger-driven States”:
They may talk o’ Freedom’s airy
Tell they’s pupple in the face,—
It’s a grand gret cemetary
For the barthrights of our race;
They jest want this Californy
So’s to lug new slave-states in
To abuse ye, an’ to scorn ye,
And to plunder ye like sin.
James Russell Lowell, The Biglow Papers, Boston, 1848. Quoted in John H. Schroeder, Mr. Polk’s War, which has a complete treatment of dissent during the Mexican War.
† The resulting pressure made Taylor move prematurely to Monterrey.
‡ Benton’s hope to take command of the army in Mexico died hard. Even after the creation of a lieutenant generalcy was rejected in Congress, Benton and Senator Allen called on Polk in late January, Benton declaring that he would accept the command in Mexico at any rank, major general or lieutenant colonel. Later, in early March 1847, Polk actually commissioned Benton as a major general, but upon learning that Polk could not place him in command in Mexico without replacing Scott, Taylor, Butler, and Patterson, Benton declined. It is noteworthy that Sam Houston felt that the promotions should have been tendered to him rather than to Benton. Polk, Diary, January 23, 1847, pp. 190–91; March 3, 1847, p. 200; March 10, 1847, p. 202.
§ The loan bill passed the House 165 to 22; the Senate 43 to 2. The appropriations bill passed the House by 152 to 28; the Senate, by roll call. Journal of the House of Representatives, 29th Cong., 2d Sess.; Senate Journal, 29th Cong., 2d Sess. Quoted in John H. Schroeder, Mr. Polk’s War, p. 72.