“Expired at Washington on the 9th of February,” a pro-Jackson editor groused, “of poison administered by the assassin John Quincy Adams, the usurper, and Henry Clay, the virtue, the liberty and independence of the United States.” Losing the election of 1828 was one of the significant consequences of Adams’s Pyrrhic victory in the election of 1824. Rightly or wrongly, Andrew Jackson, embittered by what he believed to be Adams’s Machiavellian maneuver involving his ally Clay—the “corrupt bargain” of American political lore and perhaps a fiction adopted as truth—stormed back with a vengeance, this time to win clear margins in both the Electoral College and within the burgeoning popular vote. Given the vehemence behind Jackson’s resolve to dislodge Adams combined with a growing acceptance of the charge that the Adams administration had not played fairly in 1824, the notable election of 1828 had likely already been decided four years earlier.
Acrimony between individuals and their supporters intensified before and during the Campaign of 1828. The Adams-Clay alliance had stirred enemies even before the inauguration. Clay found himself dueling with Virginia senator John Randolph over a particularly cutting insult publicly cast by the latter from the Senate floor against the integrity of the administration. Incumbent vice president John Calhoun, still harboring his own designs on the presidency, abandoned the Adams ship almost immediately for the Jacksonians, and thus served for four years as the vice president to a president he did not support. Truth notwithstanding, the phrase “corrupt bargain” dominated rhetorical currency for the four years between the Campaigns of 1824 and 1828. Against this backdrop, the first enduring and extant modern American political party was formed—the party of Jackson, eventually to be called Democrats, a label that had been first used by Jackson supporters four years earlier during his campaign in western Pennsylvania.
The Era of Good Feelings, largely killed by the controversy of the previous election, and “King Caucus” were now both relics of the past. Evolving in their stead was a distinctly bipartisan dynamic that was no longer attached to the congressional caucus. This was the incubator of modern political parties in the United States. Thoroughly polarized around both personal allegiance and political vision, the new factions carried further the policy debate ongoing since Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson fixed the initial parameters as early as the administration of President Washington, now four decades in the past. Adams was affiliated with Henry Clay’s “American System,” a vision of active governmental policy that included federally funded public works, protective tariffs, a strong central government, and an established national bank—in a word, the latest edition of the Hamiltonian vision. For his part, Jackson was not a committed ideologue; rather, he sought moderate, case-by-case positions on many of the pressing issues of the time, his zealous and abiding contempt for the national bank an important exception. While not a Jeffersonian purist, Jackson nonetheless gravitated toward the ideal of an agrarian republic, as well as embracing the strict constructionist and states’ rights doctrines of the Old Republicans. The Old Republicans, or “Radicals,” represented the remnant of the party’s Jeffersonian origins—or at least Jefferson’s political attitudes prior to his election to the presidency, as his adoption of many of Hamilton’s attitudes during his tenure in the White House caused the Old Republicans to break from their founder from Monticello. In 1824, their champion had been Crawford, curiously in spite of his support of a national bank and his vacillation on the embargo controversy. After losing the election to Adams, Crawford had retired to Georgia in 1825, leaving leadership of the Radicals to his erstwhile supporter Martin Van Buren of New York, known as the “Little Magician” and the “Red Fox of Kinderhook.” As one of the keenest politicians of his age, Van Buren, an unlikely standard-bearer for the Radicals, assiduously avoided doctrinal zealotry—winning campaigns was his principal devotion.
Courting the popular Jackson thus became Van Buren’s priority, and through Van Buren’s efforts at adeptly exerting influence behind the scenes, Jackson’s renewed challenge was given coherence and direction. Van Buren effortlessly guaranteed a majority of electors in his home state of New York and held enough influence among his allies in Virginia to deliver all twenty-four electoral votes of the Old Dominion to Jackson. Additionally, Van Buren, owing to his former allegiances, could muster support from among Crawford’s base throughout a number of states. Van Buren was committed to the old North-South alliance, and in spite of his interest in votes above doctrine, he nonetheless adhered to a genuine desire to reanimate Jeffersonian principles against the Hamiltonian turn that had characterized public policy in recent years.
With the late Jefferson as their philosophical touchstone, Van Buren, Jackson, and Calhoun formed the leadership of what was now commonly known as the “Democratic-Republicans,” frequently referred to as the “Jackson Party” in deference to its currently most dominant figure. By 1832, this party would generally come to accept the simplified alternative name mentioned above; that is, the Democrats. Adams and Clay, by contrast, were referred to as “National Republicans” (also, “Coalitionists”), the closest heirs to Hamilton and the direct forerunners of the Whigs, and through them, they are partially and indirectly connected to the modern Republican Party that would first form in the Northwest during the mid-1850s. Following Hamilton’s political vision as reaffirmed through Clay’s “American System,” Adams and the National Republicans now clearly stood as a philosophical alternative to the Jackson/Calhoun/Van Buren faction. The National Republicans behind Adams also held strong sectional appeal, as they commanded the majority of their allegiance in New England and, to a lesser extent, New York, still the state with the most electoral votes. The South and West primarily leaned toward the Democratic-Republicans/Jacksonian Democrats. Additionally, two short-lived minor parties appeared at around this time. The Anti-Masonic Party suddenly materialized in response to an inflammatory wave of anti-Masonry that began with scandal and murder in New York. The Workingman’s Party organized in 1828 as an advocate for the cause of labor, the only American political party of any renown exclusively standing as representative of the working class. But these minor parties would soon experience the fate of all “third” or minor parties in American history and fade out; the political landscape in the United States was being shaped largely by two primary visions of democracy, the direct legacy of the Hamiltonian-Jeffersonian debate.
Jackson’s 1828 campaign ran throughout the duration of the Adams administration. As early as October 1825, only seven months after Adams’s inauguration, the Tennessee state legislature nominated Jackson for president. Jackson supporters began working on his election soon after. Jackson partisans in Congress caucused regularly throughout Adams’s term and worked as a coherent political faction. Jackson’s cohort successfully accumulated an unprecedented campaign fund. Liberal use of the franking privilege for political purposes among Jackson’s congressional supporters amplified the influence of the monies raised.
The role of money had expanded in proportion to the increase of eligible voters. With all states now having lifted property requirements attached to voting, and all but two states (Delaware and South Carolina) employing direct election of the Electoral College, democratization of American politics was accelerating. Creating partisans within such a large pool of new voters required money and organization, and the Jackson Party quickly mastered the necessary methods of obtaining funds and building a network of allied committees and clubs. “Hickory Clubs” sprouted throughout the various states—Jackson’s nickname “Old Hickory,” a reference to his straight and unbending character as well as to his practice as a military commander in resolutely sharing the burdens of his troops, providing the inspiration—working diligently at the local level to stage events, recruit supporters, and promote the cause. Hickory poles were raised in towns and cities nationwide as symbols of their man, and campaign workers distributed hickory paraphernalia in the form of hickory canes, sticks, and brooms, reminders of Jackson’s heroic stature. Thus, Jackson became more firmly planted as the political axis mundi of grassroots democracy. Rallies and barbecues, accompanied by songs of Jackson’s daring exploits, became commonplace events. The man who was increasingly called the “New Washington” had succeeded in stirring fervent support across the vast spaces of the new republic. Adams’s more subdued followers were perplexed at the hoopla and mockingly inquired about any connection between hickory trees and republican principles.
The president’s own efforts at reelection were quite another matter. The “American System” was continually emphasized—Adams and Clay choosing to focus on policy more than self-promotion. Adams, who lacked the personal warmth and social proclivities needed for the new style of campaigning, refused to engage in what he considered “vulgar politicking,” leaving the task of working the public largely to Clay, Pennsylvania’s Richard Rush, and other notables such as the young and eloquent Daniel Webster of Massachusetts, an important ally in the previous election. The National Republicans also held rallies and campaign events, but with less frequency and polish. The Nationals banked on Adams’s reputation as a statesman as well as a strong self-confidence in their policies, counting on the Electoral College to again assert itself and perform its proper function as the best buffer between good government and popular passions. But after the off-year election of 1826, wherein the Jackson Party captured both chambers of Congress, the momentum for General Jackson was too strong to effectively resist.
More than ever, newspapers provided a visible and ubiquitous service to political partisans. The Jacksonians enjoyed the support of an impressive network of newspapers throughout the country. This network successfully defined the campaign as a decisive and historic contest pitting humble, egalitarian democracy against haughty and reactionary aristocracy. Unfortunately, this was accomplished through a combination of Jackson hagiography and ad hominem mudslinging aimed at Adams, who really did not deserve the accusations of autocratic pretensions that were persistently made against him. In the press, General Jackson was the self-made hero of the people, Adams the effete scion of New England aristocrats. Adams was depicted in the pro-Jackson press as undemocratic, misanthropic, anti-immigrant, and anti-Catholic—a “Unitarian,” no less, an affiliation that more often than not was suspiciously perceived by the general public at that time as lacking piety and, even worse, as “atheistic.” Jackson was depicted as a true American democrat, friend of the common man, and devout Presbyterian. Jackson himself tried to downplay his church affiliations for fear of turning religion into a political lever, even to the point of intentionally reducing his attendance at church while he remained active in politics. In the end, it is doubtful that the religious beliefs of either candidate influenced the outcome, but it nonetheless serves as another example of the willingness of political rivals, then as now, to play this particular card.
More than anything, the ongoing allegation of the “corrupt bargain” was Jackson’s main weapon, as it was incessantly raised as proof of Adams’s disdain for fair and unbiased electoral politics as well as his overall contempt of popular government. It would indeed prove to be the most effective weapon in the Jackson Party’s arsenal, even though the truth of it remained unknown. Jackson’s wartime heroics were touted as reminders of his steadfast courage and impeccable patriotism, and he was constantly referred to as the “People’s Candidate,” the “Hero of New Orleans,” and the simple “Farmer from Tennessee.” Causing scandal, the Jacksonian press without grounds accused Adams of vicious acts such as procuring a young American girl for the ignoble intentions of the czar of Russia, using the White House as a gaming den, and practicing loose habits regarding his relations with women. Above all, the theme of Adams’s elitism was drummed throughout the campaign—the haughty “King John the Second” was no friend of the people and no choice for democracy, and the “corrupt bargain” was the one guiding note that sounded throughout the relentless attack on the president and his administration.
Not above responding in kind, partisan newspapers in support of Adams also joined in this untoward frenzy of mutual invective. Dragging the campaign further into the gutter, pro-Adams newspapers accused Jackson of murder, gambling, conspiracy with the disreputable Aaron Burr to commit treason, adultery, and bigamy—the latter charge being so vicious that it literally fractured the health of Jackson’s wife, Rachel. The old indictment alleging Jackson’s bloodthirsty murder of wrongly accused deserters in the 1813 Indian War was recycled. Philadelphia’s Democratic Press published a morbid oblong flyer, known as the “Coffin Handbill,” in an effort to expose the bloody incident. Nothing seemed beyond the pale; crossing yet another line separating decorum from opprobrium, even Jackson’s mother was callously defamed.
More ominously for the future of American politics as such, Congress had recently imposed new tariff policies under the Tariff Bill of 1828, signed into law by President Adams in May of that year. The increased tariffs that the legislation required were enacted for the benefit of budding American industry and commerce, concentrated primarily in the Northeast; but, due to the increased prices on popular imported goods, they were perceived as unfair to consumers and, in particular, to Southern farmers who were now constrained to purchase manufactured materials as well as raw materials from New England producers at higher prices. Southerners felt singled out by the legislation, and in other parts of the country, the tariff was also criticized as not producing the desired effects of domestic economic growth. Tariffs had for some time been a matter of growing controversy between sections; the Southern planters and farmers desired low tariffs so that they could be free to purchase cheaper goods from abroad and thus reduce their costs, while Northern manufacturing enterprises supported higher tariffs to even their chances against stiff foreign competition, particularly from Great Britain, which was at that time the leading industrial power in the world. American industry was beginning to grow at a more rapid pace, and the Adams administration was invested in its continued expansion; thus, protective tariffs were well in line with both Adams’s proclivities and Clay’s “American System” as endorsed by the National Republicans. Southerners were unconvinced and, led by Vice President Calhoun, would soon come to call the new measures the “Tariff of Abominations.” With the passage of this legislation, the debate over tariffs would begin to embitter the different sides against each other, and signs of an imminent constitutional crisis began to loom. When combined with the even more polarizing and acrimonious division over the slavery issue, the tariff issue would add still more volatility to sectional disputes. It was with the Tariff of Abominations that Calhoun, an old war hawk from his early days in Congress, would begin to abandon his erstwhile nationalism and assume the mantle as the most vigorous and preeminent defender of sectional interests and states’ rights.
President Adams supported the legislation in the full knowledge that it could be to his political detriment. Jackson was not universally loved in the South, but he cut a more appealing figure to many Southerners, and the president knew that any misstep would lessen his chances at reelection. Furthermore, New Englanders were surprisingly divided on the issue of the new tariff, and it turned out to be more of a boon to Western interests than Northeastern interests, causing further trouble for Adams’s efforts to retain the White House. Some argue that Jackson’s supporters in Congress drove the tariff issue as a maneuver to weaken Adams, but if that is the case, these same supporters unwittingly banked more trouble for the future president than they, or Jackson, could have anticipated at the time.
Given the storm and stress of the campaign, the actual election was anticlimactic. Jackson won impressively in the popular vote: between 642,000 and 647,000 (around 55%–56%) going for Jackson, with somewhere between 500,000 and 508,000 (43%–44%) votes for the incumbent president. Jackson’s margin of victory among the popular vote would stand as the highest in the nineteenth century. Reflecting the popular will, the Electoral College this time gave Jackson a decisive majority: 178 electoral votes to 83 (or 68% for Jackson to 32% for Adams). President Adams held all six New England states as anticipated and also won in New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland, the Maryland vote being nearly split—six to five in favor of Adams. Even though Adams lost in New York, he managed to pluck sixteen of the Empire State’s thirty-six electoral votes, Jackson still winning a majority of twenty. There was nothing left to question this time around; Andrew Jackson was decisively the president-elect. Three candidates received votes for vice president: the incumbent Calhoun, easily winning reelection with 171 votes and following the example of New York’s George Clinton by becoming, along with Clinton, historically one of two vice presidents to serve two different presidents (Clinton having served under both Jefferson and Madison). Adams’s secretary of the treasury, Richard Rush of Pennsylvania, received eighty-three vice presidential votes for the National Republicans, and William Smith of South Carolina won seven votes from the Georgia delegation as a protest against Calhoun’s mistreatment of native son William Crawford when the two men worked together in the Monroe administration. It would not be the first time that Calhoun was the object of personal retribution.
The election of 1828 is often regarded by historians, political scientists, and students of electoral politics as the watershed event in the democratizing of presidential selection. To an extent this is accurate, as the election was characterized by what was at the time unprecedented citizen participation. But it is also misleading to an extent, as presidential elections had been gradually and noticeably moving in this direction for two decades. Whether or not historians can arrive at a clear enough understanding of this era to satisfy all the angles, the election of Andrew Jackson to the presidency definitely pointed the country toward the formal institutionalization of the modern two-party system and helped to establish the shape of things to come. Furthermore, Jackson’s triumphs in 1828 and later in 1832 assembled and solidified a varied coalition within the Democratic Party that included the allegiance of aristocratic Southern planters (and thus slave owners), Western entrepreneurs, small farmers in the West as well as in the North, and diverse immigrants residing in larger numbers within the more heavily populated cities, particularly in the North. In a word, Jackson’s ascent relied upon the first of many coalitions that would help to define the Democratic Party throughout much of its history. For these and other reasons, President Jackson would greatly contribute to the formation of the American political system that we know today. Indeed, the fact that these events opened what is now universally called “the Age of Jackson” speaks volumes with regard to his pivotal role in American history. And indeed, in many ways it was indeed Jackson’s age, but it is only fair to remark that former president John Quincy Adams was not nearly finished with public life. President Adams may have left the executive branch under unfavorable conditions, but he would soon eagerly return to the public arena, serving with distinction in the House of Representatives—wherein his colleagues assigned him the nickname “Old Man Eloquent,” due largely to his speeches condemning slavery—and thereby earning a name as one of the preeminent American statesmen in any era. And President Jackson’s legend survived the mudslinging barrage of 1828 and continued to loom larger than life through the duration of his presidency and beyond.
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