Between 1816 and 1824, the Jeffersonian Republican Party achieved the zenith of national preeminence and thus set the political tone for what would become known as the Era of Good Feelings, a period marked by what was virtually a one-party government and a political consensus unparalleled in American history (excepting the state of national unity achieved during World War II). But as late as 1814, this national unity was not a foregone conclusion. Two years into the war, many observers saw the American effort as ineffective. The war hawks’ ambition to acquire Canada was thwarted by a combination of British strength and American ineptitude in the conduct of the war at the northern border. The city of Washington, DC, had been captured in the summer of 1814, the White House had been torched, and American troops in the field were desperate for reinforcements, in dire need of more and better supplies, and wanting able leadership. Adding insult to injury, the smuggling trade by American citizens with the enemy abroad could not be stopped or even blunted. The American forces in the field did not completely collapse; they fought valiantly, but they could not gain ground, and indeed, the failure to protect the capital only punctuated the deterioration of the war effort. With the exception of a surprisingly decent showing by the American navy against the British, who at that time deployed the world’s greatest maritime fleet, the execution of the war was checkered with blunder, low morale, and stalemate.
The war’s setbacks led to attenuated public support and thereby stimulated a brief but rapid resurgence of the political fortunes of the dissenting Federalists, who had gone on record as critics of “Mr. Madison’s War.” Owing to this state of affairs, the Federalists in 1814 were in their best position in twenty years to regain a broader support within the electorate, and even possibly political power; meanwhile, the Republicans were more divided and vulnerable than ever. Federalists had made gains in the off-year elections at both the state and federal levels, and the Republican war hawks in particular had suffered losses at the polls. Majorities were regained in states such as Maryland and Delaware, and minorities strengthened elsewhere; even in the southern Republican strongholds of Virginia and North Carolina, the renewed strength of the Federalist minority waxed significantly. Previous Republican advances into New England were reversed, and the Federalists seemed once more invincible in that part of the country. As a result of the war, the small Federalist gains that faintly glimmered in the election year of 1812 were now accelerating, fueled by disenchantment with a war that seemed to many a futile and costly adventure.
More zealous New England Federalists, political heirs of the Essex Junto, felt their complaint credible enough to strike hard against the current government. Delegates from five states (Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Vermont, New Hampshire—the delegates from the latter two states somewhat cautiously—and the host state, Connecticut) met in Hartford to discuss and propose constitutional amendments designed to protect the interests of the whole of New England against the encroaching power of the rest of the nation, and in particular, the South. The Hartford Convention has been construed by many historians as an early effort toward secession, but no secession plan was actually adopted, at least not publicly. The Hartford Convention did publish proposals that were not unlike the Kentucky and Virginia resolutions of 1798 (in this instance written by Southern Republicans Thomas Jefferson and James Madison) aimed at strengthening state sovereignty against the growing power of the central government. Among its many proposals, the convention called for the prohibition of any trade embargo exceeding sixty days and for a two-thirds vote in Congress before any interdiction in foreign trade could be executed, as well as a two-thirds congressional vote to declare an “offensive war.” The convention also insisted on removing the “three fifths of all other persons” electoral advantage that was held by the South, as many northerners felt that the ongoing southern dominance in past elections was the direct result of counting the larger portion of the (nonvoting) slave population in the assignment of Electoral College votes and the apportionment of congressional seats. Finally, the convention wanted to impose a one-year term limit on the presidency and, more importantly, stipulate that a candidate for president cannot be elected from the home state of the incumbent—two measures that were designed to break the “Virginia dynasty.” Even though secession was not officially proposed at this time, many “Blue Light Federalists”—a term originally used to describe Connecticut Federalists who allegedly abetted the enemy through the use of “blue lights” to signal British warships in an effort to help them avoid the American naval blockade, but now applied in general to any Federalist presumed to be friendly to the British—and associates of the Essex Junto had desired this measure since at least 1804, so it was not unlikely that at least some of the delegates at Hartford were seriously thinking along these lines.
Unfolding events, however, quickly overtook the Federalists. Even as the Hartford Convention, buoyed by a rush of confidence in their cause, sent a delegation to Washington, DC, to assert their position, the nature and meaning of the war were thoroughly recast by two astonishing American victories. The U.S. Navy, under the command of Master Commandant Thomas Macdonough, soundly defeated the British Royal Navy on the waters of Lake Champlain and effectively secured the northern states against what had been a very real threat of British invasion from Canada. This was followed by the extraordinarily lopsided victory won outside of New Orleans by American forces under the command of General Andrew Jackson over a powerful contingent of the British army. As it would turn out, the latter land battle had absolutely no bearing on the outcome of the war—the Treaty of Ghent that formally ended the war had already been successfully negotiated and signed prior to the battle’s first shot. But the combatants in Louisiana were oblivious to the peace that had just been settled by diplomats in Flanders, and thus in following their duty, the two armies joined battle in what would soon prove to be the decisive American land victory of the war. While the treaty rendered the battle technically needless, the battle’s outcome made all the difference to the morale of the American public and, consequently, the political fortunes of the Republicans. The American triumph reconfigured overnight national attitudes regarding the war and, in the fascinating figure of the courageous and charismatic General Jackson, gave the country its biggest war hero since Washington himself.
In the short term, these two battles destroyed the Federalist Party. Their long-standing criticism of the war was now widely seen as wrongheaded and, in some quarters, regarded as blatantly unpatriotic, perhaps even treasonous. The actions of the Hartford Convention were henceforth sternly condemned. In matter of fact, the actual outcome of the war was inconclusive, but Macdonough and Jackson had delivered the end-game blows needed to alter the mood of an entire nation. The war, at one time controversial, was now almost universally deemed a “second war for independence,” with the “new Washington,” General Jackson, elevated as the exemplar of American resolve, resilience, and frontier virtue. After its fortuitous revival, enjoyed throughout the better part of 1814, the Federalist Party abruptly spun into a tailspin from which there was no escape, no pulling out. Before the victory on Lake Champlain in mid-September, the Federalists had enjoyed their strongest position within the public since before the death of Alexander Hamilton a decade prior. After Lake Champlain and then the triumph in New Orleans in early January 1815, the Federalists were utterly spent as a political force.
Additionally, President Madison’s postwar programs actually implemented traditional Federalist principles such as the creation of a second national bank (anathema to the Republicans’ Jeffersonian purists), the imposition of a protective tariff aimed at fortifying domestic industry and agriculture, and federally funded construction for turnpikes and canals to improve transportation infrastructure and thereby again boost the interests of commerce and industry. In effect, Hamilton’s party had been absorbed into Jefferson’s; there now appeared little reason to seek alternatives. In a way, it was now the remnants of the Federalist minority who became the advocates of decentralized power and limited government while the Jeffersonian Republicans were the party of centralization, nationalism, and active government, a reversal of polarity that would not be the last in the story of American political parties. The venerable John Adams, irretrievably retired from national politics but still an esteemed voice of political judgment, remarked in 1813, “Our two great parties have crossed over the valley and taken possession of each other’s mountain.” Adams himself had by this time thoroughly reconciled with his old friend and rival Thomas Jefferson, both recognizing a friendship larger than political differences, and a common experience formed in revolution far stronger than any divisions opened by those differences.
And so followed the campaign of 1816, one that Paul Boller has described as “dull as dishwater”—perhaps a slight exaggeration but, when contrasted to the previous four elections, perhaps a credible assessment. Even given the unprecedented strength of the Republicans, the political process still needed to play itself through. The emergence of a big-tent Republican Party did not mean a consensus existed on whom Republicans should nominate as president. James Monroe, an experienced public servant and a close friend of Thomas Jefferson, was the obvious heir. Monroe, who in spite of a former association with renegade senator John Randolph that prompted his Quidite challenge to Madison for the nomination in 1808, had been appointed by President Madison to serve as secretary of state in 1811, a position that had been particularly distinguished by its previous occupants, Jefferson (under President Washington) and Madison (under President Jefferson) themselves. (Other significant statesmen to hold that post within the first four administrations are John Jay, Edmund Randolph, and John Marshall.) To this point, two vice presidents—Adams and Jefferson—and two secretaries of state—Jefferson and Madison—had been elected to the presidency (Washington, as the first president, being the only one who was neither); hence both offices appeared to be effective staging areas for future presidents. Monroe had only one problem: He was from Virginia, and there was a growing discomfort from several quarters in response to the quasi-dynastic habit of relying too readily on the Old Dominion for presidential leadership. Popular New York governor Daniel Tompkins and the recently appointed secretary of war, William H. Crawford of Georgia, both challenged Monroe’s candidacy. Tompkins’s popularity did not cross state lines, and his hopes quickly faded, but for a brief moment, Crawford’s candidacy mounted a viable challenge.
Monroe enjoyed a wider base of support throughout the party than Crawford, but his position was still vulnerable; hence his supporters vigorously lobbied Crawford to withdraw, implicitly suggesting the possible reward of future political support for high office. Crawford initially responded favorably to these overtures and graciously yielded to Monroe’s claim. However, the anti-Virginia sentiment gained strength throughout several states, causing Crawford to reverse his position and work for the nomination. Growing opposition in New York (which now held twenty-nine Electoral College votes, the most of any state) to anyone from Virginia further tempted Crawford with the possibility of challenging Monroe at the Congressional Caucus. The ongoing criticism of the caucus system was increasing owing to a trend that with each election, more presidential electors were now being chosen by popular vote; but it still was a requisite factor in the nomination process, and New York delegates to the caucus sought to use this to their advantage. Monroe legitimately feared he might lose in the caucus, as there seemed to be considerable support for Secretary Crawford within Congress. But in reality, Monroe was more popular and better known among their constituents; and it would soon become clear to many that the move against him appeared to be coming primarily from “anti-Virginia” party organizers rather than from the electorate.
On February 24, anti-Virginia delegates met independently to consider their strategies. Both Tompkins and Crawford were supported as candidates, but both also met with enough opposition to cast some doubt on their ability to gain broader appeal. Now that Tompkins had also just been nominated for reelection as governor of New York, the New York delegates endorsed Crawford as their choice to challenge Monroe. Events began to displease Monroe and his supporters, who boycotted a March 12 caucus that they considered to be dominated by the anti-Virginia forces. The tactic worked, as only fifty-eight Republicans convened, well under the requisite number to nominate a candidate for president. As a result, the following March 16 caucus resulted in much greater participation, with 118 Republican congressmen (including several proxies) and the territorial delegate from Indiana also in attendance. Shortly thereafter, Republicans convened their official congressional nominating caucus. Monroe was favored to win, but Crawford was far from eliminated, as he still drew noticeable support. Interestingly and perhaps fatefully, Crawford’s home state delegation, consisting of eleven delegates, had been instructed to attend the caucus and, at Crawford’s request, formally defer to Monroe. But inexplicably, the eleven Georgia delegates simply decided not to attend. Once the final votes were counted, Crawford’s real strength was revealed; somewhat to the surprise of the party leadership, Monroe won the nomination by only nine votes. Had the absent Georgia contingent attended, and had they rejected their nonbinding commission in light of circumstances and cast their votes for their own native son, William Crawford would have narrowly won the Republican nomination, and with the Federalist Party fast becoming an irrelevancy, Crawford assuredly would have become the nation’s fifth president. So go the vicissitudes of history.
The weak and waning Federalist Party did not formally nominate a candidate. There was no consensus on a party champion among Federalist newspapers, and there seems to have been no effort on the part of congressional Federalists to forward an official nominee. Senator Rufus King of New York, the former Federalist candidate for vice president (1808) and an early opponent of slavery, somehow managed to receive a total of thirty-four electoral votes drawn from Massachusetts (22), Connecticut (9), and Delaware (3); but by some accounts, King might not have even been aware that he was a candidate for president until after the Electoral College had cast their votes. Four Federalists received votes for the vice presidency: John Howard of Maryland (22), James Ross of Pennsylvania (5), the venerable John Marshall of Virginia (4), and Robert Harper of Maryland (3). Resigned to defeat, the Federalist Party did not actively challenge Monroe’s candidacy in Vermont, Ohio, New Jersey, or throughout the entire South. In Ohio, a Federalist editor candidly allowed that it was now “high time for the Federalists to give up an opposition which only serves to heighten the asperities of party spirit, and exhibit the thinness of their ranks.” With no formal campaign to promote his candidacy, Rufus King would be the last person under the Federalist banner to receive any votes for president of the United States.
Monroe won 183 electoral votes in 1816—a new Electoral College record for total votes—carrying sixteen of nineteen states. Monroe’s 84 percent of the Electoral College vote was exceeded only by Washington (1789 and 1792) and Jefferson (1804). For the sake of party unity, New York governor Tompkins stood as Monroe’s running mate, once again duplicating the now seemingly obligatory North-South strategy that had marked every successful candidacy since Washington’s first election. In James Monroe, the Virginia dynasty was to persist another eight years, marking a period of comparative political unity decidedly unusual within the more common American experience of competitive partisanship.
Boller, Paul F., Jr. Presidential Campaigns. New York: Oxford University Press, 1984.
Brown, Roger Hamilton, and William G. Morgan. “The Congressional Nominating Caucus of 1816: The Struggle against the Virginia Dynasty.” Virginia Magazine of History and Biography 80, no. 4 (October 1972): 461–475.
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Cunningham, Noble. The Presidency of James Monroe. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1996.
Turner, Lynn W. “Election of 1816.” In Arthur M. Schlesinger, Fred Israel, and William P. Hansen, eds. History of American Presidential Elections, 1789–1968, vol. 1. New York: Chelsea House, 1985.