Number 13: Millard Fillmore

Years in office: 1850-1853
Pre-service occupations: vice president, lawyer, congressman
Key events during his administration: Compromise of 1850, California admitted to the Union (1850), Fugitive Slave Act (1850), dispatch of Matthew Perry to Japan, Uncle Tom’s Cabin published (1852)

Presidential rating: Successful and somewhat popular

ESSAY

Millard Fillmore was quite possibly the most extraordinary man who’s ever been president. He fought at the Alamo. He discovered gold in California. He ran the Underground Railroad. He wrestled with the emperor of Japan. He even prevented the assassination of Andrew Jackson.

OK, before you scramble for supporting links or simply click away in disbelief, yes, it’s all hooey. Fillmore, of course, never did any of those things; they come from the fertile mind of George Pendle, who this year published the satirical The Remarkable Millard Fillmore: The Unbelievable Life of a Forgotten President. Pendle takes many incidents that happened during Fillmore’s life and makes the New Yorker out to be a Woody Allen-type hero who always managed to be at the right place at the right time.

And such is the latest popular thinking of the 13th president of the United States, a man usually considered a presidential failure—if he’s ever thought of at all. Aside from having one of the more unusual presidential names (Millard? but not Mallard) Fillmore bears the distinction of having been the second vice president to assume the presidency after his predecessor died in office. Fillmore is one of the many “forgotten” presidents. He’s like Van Buren, Tyler, Taylor, Pierce and Buchanan, and the presidents of the late 1870s-1890s that people can’t quite place in the right order—if they even remember their names.

But like many of the forgotten presidents, and many of the so-called failures, Fillmore has gotten a raw deal from history. Although he served 2½ years and his party would not re-nominate him—and he would sink to obscurity following a second failed presidential attempt—Fillmore definitely deserves far better than he’s been treated.

A skilled lawyer and a man initially hungry for political power, Fillmore had the seemingly unfortunate luck to become vice president under Zachary Taylor then be shoved aside as almost a non-entity for 16 months. When he suddenly gained the high office, it was to be the leader of a disintegrating party and a country that was picking sides. Fillmore would do his best, but to history, it just wasn’t enough. And that’s what’s really strange, because in those 2½ years, Millard Fillmore served remarkably well. He was a strong president who used the weight of the office to enforce the law—and suffered for it.

History has largely forgotten Millard Fillmore, a “wrong” that a couple of modern historians would like to see corrected.

The lawyer-politician
Millard Fillmore was born in a log cabin, one of the truly authentic “log cabin presidents.” Reared in an extremely poor family, he struggled at an early age to get a decent education, eventually moving to Buffalo to read law. (Back then, you literally read law cases at a firm that was often own by a family member or family friend, and did minor chores and duties until you eventually became a lawyer in your own right by taking the bar exams.) Fillmore was admitted to the New York bar in 1823.

He married Abigail Powers in 1826. Like Taylor’s wife, Abigail would be too ill to serve as White House hostess, so one of his two daughters, Mary, served in that function.

Fillmore and his friend Nathan K. Hall formed a Buffalo law partnership in 1834, later adding Solomon Haven. The firm of Fillmore, Hall and Haven eventually became one of the most prestigious in New York—at one time including among its lawyers another future president, Grover Cleveland—and survives to this day as Hodgson Russ LLP. (No other law firm can boast having two future presidents on its rolls.)

In the 1820s, Fillmore entered the world of politics, serving first in the New York assembly and then the U.S. Congress. At the time, his political mentor was Thurlow Weed, who we’ll meet again. Fillmore served in the House from 1833 to 1843—establishing solid Whig credentials—when he left for an unsuccessful bid for governor of New York. He settled for state comptroller, where his revisions of the state banking system served as a national model.

By 1848, Fillmore was well-respected in New York’s Whig party, although on the national level, no one knew him. He was selected to be Taylor’s running mate specifically because he was from New York, an unknown and seemed like a good balance to the slave-owner Taylor. He also wasn’t a more “dangerous” party broker like Weed or another fellow-New Yorker, William Seward.

Fillmore soon came to regret his role.

A frustrated vice president
Fillmore hated being vice president. True, not many men relished the job. But Fillmore apparently hated it more because he wanted to be president and because his suggestions on New York appointments were being ignored. Why was Fillmore shut out, and essentially regulated to his duties in the Senate? Fillmore was in complete harmony with Taylor and the rest of the administration on its public views. He announced he would support the compromise if it came down to a split vote in the Senate and his vote would be needed to break the tie.

Fillmore’s problem was that he was in the way. His political enemies in New York—Thurlow Weed and William Seward—were more influential with Taylor (especially Seward). Power-broker Weed particularly wanted to destroy Fillmore, because Seward “needed” to become president. Add to that the fact that Taylor struck up a good friendship with Seward, and you have the makings of a non-entity of a vice president. And that made the 16 months of the Taylor presidency quite frustrating for Millard Fillmore.

In the Senate, he presided over the rancorous debates of Henry Clay’s omnibus bill, which became the Compromise of 1850 after he became president. His duty there was mainly to keep the peace. After Taylor’s death, he still found himself in the peacekeeper’s role, but on a much larger scale.

Now, Mr. President—completing the compromise
Quite unlike the death of Harrison nine years earlier, Taylor’s death didn’t bring the country to a confused, panicky halt. Within days of the hero president’s mourning and burial, work resumed in the nation’s capital on the excitingly divisive and politically charged Henry Clay omnibus bill.

(See the entry on Taylor for the full story. To review: the omnibus bill would eventually become the Compromise of 1850, and would include, among other things, boundaries for Texas and the New Mexico territory, compensation for Texas, the end of the slave trade in D.C., and, in a separate bill, the Fugitive Slave Law. The entire compromise story and battle would take far too much space to relate, but it was a rancorous affair that makes the congressional battles over Iraq or illegal immigration look downright pleasant by comparison.)

Fillmore let it be known that Taylor’s position was his position, too. He was in favor of compromise, but above all else, Texas must stay out of New Mexico. Fillmore told the governor of Texas that New Mexico was now a territory of the United States, with boundaries established even before the treaty with Mexico. At the same time, on Aug. 6, 1850, Fillmore sent a strongly-worded letter to the House and Senate that mirrored Taylor’s stated (and often heated) expressions upholding United States law, especially concerning Texas and New Mexico. He wrote (with his secretary of state’s assistance):

“If the laws of the United States are opposed or obstructed in any State or Territory by combinations too powerful to be suppressed by the judicial or civil authorities, … it is the duty of the President either to call out the militia or to employ the military and naval force of the United States or to do both if it is in his judgment the exigency of the occasion shall so require…

If Texas militia, therefore, march into any of the other States or into any territory of the United States, there to execute or enforce any law of Texas, they have become at that moment trespassers; they are no longer under the protection of any lawful authority, and are to be regarded merely as intruders; and if within such State or Territory they obstruct any law of the United States, whether by power of arms or mere power of numbers … the President of the United States is bound to obey the solemn injunction of the Constitution and exercise the high powers invested in him by that instrument and by the acts of Congress.” (Elbert B. Smith, p181)

In short, Fillmore, as did his late boss, said that if Texas tried to take New Mexico, he would hit Texas hard with the full force of the military and government behind him. More on that sentiment later. To back up his words, the president ordered 750 troops to New Mexico.

Fillmore’s New Mexico stance proved crucial, and helped Northern Whigs accept the compromise. In the end, most sections of the country proved happy with the compromise, except for the deep South fire-eaters, for whom any compromise over anything was an insult to honor, sanity and grounds for secession.

Unionist sentiment reigned throughout the nation and through the next several election cycles, even in deep-South states.

Fillmore was the hero of the hour, and enjoyed a high popularity. It wouldn’t last.

Cleaning house
While the battle over the compromise continued into the fall—Fillmore would sign the bill on Sept. 20—the president began his administration with an entirely new cabinet. He dismissed all of Taylor’s officers and brought in a little star power. Daniel Webster once again assumed the title of secretary of state, bringing some much-needed Whig heft to the Taylor-Fillmore administration. Among his other cabinet officials were his law partner Nathan K. Hall as postmaster general, and from the South, Thomas Corwin as secretary of war and Taylor’s old mentor-friend John Crittenden as attorney general.

His deep South cabinet members are important, because the president, when touring the Northern states months after the Compromise’s passage, took those members along as a sign of unity: administration and national unity.

The president did not, however, seek petty revenge against political enemies Weed and Seward by way of removing their appointments. He kept them on as a gesture of goodwill. But Weed would still prove himself an enemy out to bring down the president, so despite numerous olive branches and attempts at peace within the Whig party, Fillmore had enough and removed Weed’s friends and cronies from federal offices. It would hurt him later on.

The strong Unionist president
Millard Fillmore, having just scored a major political victory, now had to deal with one very unpleasant aspect of that very victory. The Fugitive Slave Law was a sop to the fire-eaters in the South, and the only real win they got from the compromise. As Elbert Smith explains, the law caused far more angst and aroused more passions than the number of occasions where it was actually enforced.

The Fugitive Slave Law was far stronger and sweeping than any previous one had been. In essence, the act ordered federal marshals or anyone so deputized to assist slave-owners in capturing runaway slaves anywhere in the country. Failure to comply meant a $1,000 fine. What the new law did was made everyone liable for capturing runaway slaves. Regardless if one was an abolitionist, free black, northerner who had never even seen a black, a mountain southerner who never owned slaves and never would, a Northern city-dweller who didn’t care for blacks on way or another—whoever!—all were now responsible. The trouble was, in the deep South escape was nearly impossible, and in the far North, few runaways were ever seen (except New England). But in those areas, passions over the new law were hottest. On the border states, where escape was most likely, sentiments were fairly quiet. Deep South slavers jealously guarded the act, even though the likelihood of one of their slaves escaping north was small; far Northerners, such as people from Michigan, Ohio, Wisconsin and Maine, where blacks were rare and fugitives rarer still, damned the law.

The unintended consequence of the law for the North is that it strengthened the anti-slavery position by forcing people to get involved.

The Fugitive Slave Law presented a terrible quandary for the president. He did not care for slavery, believed it was an obstacle to the nation’s unity and wanted it to die. On the one hand, Fillmore was a New York Whig, where anti-slavery feelings ran hot. On the other hand, he had campaigned hard to gain acceptance for the compromise. He wanted that compromise to stick.

Fillmore was, above all else, a Unionist—a man who believed in the nation. Like Taylor, Tyler and Jackson before him, Fillmore saw his duty as president to rise above sectional and party differences and govern according to the Constitution. Just as he vowed to defend United States territory against the aggressions of another state, President Fillmore would “let he Constitution be [his] guide” and enforce the new law—as distasteful as it was.

He said of slavery (and the fugitive law),

“God knows that I detest slavery, but it is an existing evil, for which we are not responsible, and we must endure it, and give it such protection as guaranteed by the Constitution, till we can get rid of it without destroying the last hope of free government in the world.” (Robert J. Scarry, p.181)

Slavery out in the open
Unfortunately for Fillmore and the nation, the Fugitive Slave Law, as stated, wound up making slavery a personal issue for the many millions of Americans who had no financial or emotional interest in slavery. For the average American, it was no longer just a Southern issue, with hard-nosed supporters screaming for their rights, or something those wild-eyed, crazy abolitionists preached about. It was no longer just something the planter class clung to as their base of power. It was becoming a true diving line between the North and the South.

President Fillmore looked to the compromise and the Constitution as ways to hold the country together: satisfy the extremes on both sides and appeal to union. But when necessary, strike down those who threatened disunion.

But Fillmore and the clever men in Washington, as well-intentioned as they were, could not contain the deep passions that they stirred. The compromise itself would prove to be a mere cease-fire for four years until Stephen A. Douglas, one of the compromise’s final architects, destroyed the peace with his popular sovereignty and the Kansas-Nebraska Act. Earlier, however, two years after the compromise’s passage, came a different sort of thunderclap: the publication of a novel that did more to advance the cause of abolitionism than a thousand speeches and rallies combined.

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin went into print early in 1852 (after being serialized in 1851). Though the publication didn’t much affect the president nor his popularity, it caused outrage throughout the South, where the book was banned. Stowe’s novel centered on the immorality of slavery and proved to be a great boon to the abolitionist cause throughout the North.

The story behind the novel is itself fascinating, but for the purposes of this study, it’s enough to say that Uncle Tom’s Cabin was more powerful as a wedge between North and South than the compromise was as a glue holding them together.

Secession crisis
But even though the president saw to it that the law was enforced during the occasions when it was used—and mildly so—concerning the Fugitive Slave Law, there were still some fire-eaters courting secession. A “Nashville Convention” was called to discuss secession, but unionist sentiment won out—except in South Carolina. In November 1850, the president learned that there were plans to seize the federal forts in Charleston in preparations for the state’s secession.

Several federal officials resigned in South Carolina, effectively rendering the administration temporarily blind. Fillmore had General Scott sit on cabinet meetings (Scott, as the Army’s c-in-c, was also serving as a forerunner of the chief of staff). Scott recommended reinforcing Charleston, which was done. Fillmore also sent more troops to both Carolinas.

When South Carolina’s governor asked the president what in the world was going on, Fillmore simply responded that it was within his purview as president to send the military anywhere he saw fit for the public good. The crisis abated, and whether the secession conspiracy was real or heated talk that got out of control is beside the point.

Fillmore biographer Robert Scarry makes an excellent observation when he writes:

“This was the second time that Fillmore used commendable courage and his power as commander in chief of the armed forces of the United States. Troops were sent into New Mexico, South Carolina, and parts of the South. Also, he threatened to use troops, if necessary, to enforce the Fugitive Slave Act.

“Yet, it has caused hardly a ripple among historians. Andrew Jackson, who threatened the use of troops in South Carolina, is given wide coverage. In recent years, Zachary Taylor has been credited for his threat in the Texas-New Mexico crisis.

“The common appraisal is that except for the Mexican War, the presidents between Jackson and Lincoln did nothing. Even a historian who wrote a book on the president as commander in chief does not give Fillmore any credit for use of this power." (Scarry, pp.183-184, emphasis in original)

Indeed. Old Hickory gets lots of praise for preparing to slap down the secession crisis of 1831-32. Why does Fillmore get no credit for actually putting troops in place in New Mexico, South Carolina, etc., to stand ready against real threats as well?

Texans were going to take New Mexico. Taylor threatened to stop them, and told them exactly what he would do. Fillmore said as much, then sent troops to prove he wasn’t just talking. And when he got concrete intelligence of a dangerous plot to seize federal forts to start a secession, he acted immediately, and got soldiers and ships in place to counter the move.

Fillmore was a lot stronger a president than “history” says, because he used the might of his office to back up his words.

Foreign policy: neutrality
On the foreign relations front, Millard Fillmore proved to be quite deft. Daniel Webster was less involved as head of State for Fillmore than he was for Tyler, as illness and age were finally catching him. The president, therefore, often took the lead himself.

First up was a revolution in Hungary, which was fighting to win independence from Austria. In late 1850, Lajos Kossuth, the leader of the failed revolution, arrived in New York City and was hailed as a conquering hero with throngs of well-wishers, bands, cannon salutes and massive political fawning. Kossuth and his admirers—and politicians who should have known better, like Seward—wanted the United States to intervene and help Hungary win independence.

But the president, while sympatizing, said he would not chang United Stats policy of non-intervention in foreign affairs, which had stood since George Washington’s time. Even though he was on firm footing, Fillmore lost support of many German and Hungarian immigrants.

Cuba
Another unwelcome foreign crisis was an actual “American” invasion of Cuba.

Southern slavers had long eyed Cuba and thought it would be a welcome extension of the slave empire, even though Cuban slavery and American slavery were quite different—and the former was disappearing fast. Nevertheless, hundreds of Southern aristocrats—including the nephew of Attorney General Crittenden—joined Narciso Lopez on his third attempt to take over Cuba in August 1851.

Knowing of the plot, President Fillmore issued a proclamation saying that any American who joined Lopez’s plot would be on his own and no longer under the protection of United States law. The Spanish garrisons were ready and easily stopped the “invasion.” Many were hanged or executed by firing squad, including Crittenden. Another 160 were taken to Spain to work in penal mines. The deaths shocked the American public, some even wanted war with Spain, and rioters in New Orleans—where Lopez’s army left—sacked a Spanish newspaper and the Spanish consulate.

Secretary Webster, on Fillmore’s orders, issued formal apologies to the Spanish government for the treatment of the consulate and promised proper treatment for the consul’s replacement. This action probably secured the release of the 160 prisoners, and it was the diplomatic thing to do, but it didn’t do Fillmore any favors. Even though the aristocrats had done this on their own and against the warning from the president, and the administration prevented the crisis from turning into a war with Spain, Fillmore took the heat and lost some support in the South.

Fillmore had no problem with obtaining Cuba should Spain decide to sell it or cede it. But take it by force? No—and definitely not through nonsensical “invasions” such as the Lopez plot.

Japan
Probably the one event that modern Americans remember from Millard Fillmore’s presidency is his sending Commodore Matthew Perry to “open” Japan. Credit is sometimes weirdly given to Franklin Pierce, but he doesn’t deserve it, because the mission was conceived and authorized by Fillmore, Webster and Webster’s successor, Edward Everett.

The mission, which included a letter from Fillmore, was designed to force Japan to open trade with the West. Perry was authorized to go to guns if Japanese representatives refused to let him present his letter to the emperor.

Why the bullying? “Opening” Japan was part of the larger game in the Pacific played with the European powers for trade with China, control over Hawaii (which the United States continued to protect and guarantee independence) and more. Forcing Japan to end its isolation was a trade coup, to be sure. But to what end? I actually consider that to be not one of our more shining moments.

Whigs without a party
From a popularity standpoint, Fillmore was probably the best Whig to seek the nomination in 1852. However, Fillmore didn’t want the job.

As Elbert Smith explains, the presidency in those days was quite different than today. A president back then did much of the things himself that today’s massive White House staff handles for the president: everything from researching issues to arranging his calendar to answering his mail to selecting appointments to office to handing diplomatic crisis top dealing with job seekers and even crank letters threatening his life. It was utterly exhausting. Presidents in the 1800s had a private secretary or two and that was it. The presidency wrecked Polk’s health and it probably contributed to Taylor’s early death; now, Fillmore was just plain worn out.
However, the Whig party was in poor shape. It was badly divided into factions and needed a leader. Fillmore could have filled that role, but he was exhausted. He had let it be known he was not a candidate, but by the summer of 1852, he agreed to be one for the sake of party unity. Daniel Webster was running (he would die in October), and so was Winfield Scott, the latter being the choice of the anti-slavery Seward faction of the party. Simply put, there was no candidate who would satisfy the whole party. At the convention, Fillmore and Webster supporters held the lead through dozens of ballots, but Fillmore written instructions that his candidacy was to be withdrawn when the moment was right. It didn’t happen, and Winfield Scott got the nomination on the 53rd ballot.

Although Southerners didn’t have anything per-say against the general, he was too cozy with Seward, which, according to the politics of the day, was a figurative kiss of death. It meant Scott was unelectable in the South.

The party fractured permanently, and the Whig candidate carried only four states against the Democrats’ unity candidate, Franklin Pierce.

The Whigs never again ran a national campaign, and disappeared forever after the 1856 election.

Know-Nothing and retirement
President Fillmore left the White House in March 1853 in good spirits. He believed he had done a good job and stuck faithfully to the Constitution. He left knowing that his successor had pledged to uphold the compromise.

But his good spirits wouldn’t last. His wife, Abigail, died that spring, devastating the family and leaving it, Smith writes, “without its anchor.” The following year, his favorite daughter, Mary, who had served as White House hostess, also died.

The grieving Fillmore went abroad for a year then came back and fell in with a dubious crowd. The Native American party, also known as the American Party, was the political arm of the Know-Nothing movement. Know-Nothings were anti-Catholic and anti-immigration bigots, but Fillmore was neither of those. He joined the party and became their standard-bearer in 1856 for two reasons.

First, he would not join the new Republican party, where many of his former Whig associates had gone, because it was strictly a sectional party and the election of its candidate, John C. Fremont, would mean secession of the South. He was absolutely right, but four years off. Second, he would not support the Democrat candidate, James Buchanan, because Fillmore was still a Whig at heart, not a Democrat, and Buchanan offered more of the same sectional division, as did Fremont (even though Buchanan was from Pennsylvania).

Fillmore believed he, as a third-party candidate, offered the only real option for national unity. But more people believed that Buchanan was that option, and chose the Democrat over the other two. Fillmore actually won one state—Maryland, with its 8 electoral votes—and took almost 29% of the vote (better than Ross Perot in 1992), but that was all. Fillmore bowed out of politics for good.

Fillmore turned to philanthropy, and during the Civil War, he supported the Union cause by organizing older men to encourage younger men to enlist. He died in 1874.

Final Assessment

Millard Fillmore is, next to Ulysses S. Grant, the most wrongly treated American president. There really is nothing in his record that justifies his treatment as a failure or his regulation to the bottom of the heap. Like Zachary Taylor, it is a mystery.

Let’s look at a couple of facts:

• Fillmore acted entirely within Constitutional boundaries. He didn’t stretch it, but he not only threatened to enforce it militarily, he actually did it three times! He was not selective in that enforcement, either. He sent troops to New Mexico, South Carolina and other parts South, and stood ready to use federal troops should it have become necessary with the Fugitive Slave Law—regardless of his personal feelings.


• Fillmore worked to solve problems instead of passing them to the next administration.


• He was willing to, and did, put country above party.


• He was skillful with foreign relations, demonstrating a depth of knowledge of the issues, an understanding of international law and an eye for the future—most notably the refusal to interfere in Hungary and sending Perry to Japan.


• The economy, one of the modern gauges of the successful presidency, was excellent during Fillmore’s 2½ years.

So why is Fillmore so vilified and ridiculed and treated, as Harry Truman did, as someone who merely twiddled his thumbs in office? One reason is that Fillmore sought compromise and union instead of the destruction of slavery, which is a skewed and twisted interpretation viewed through the modern lens and treats the Civil War as inevitable. (But it wasn’t inevitable in 1850, now, was it!)

His seeking compromise and Union by enforcing the law, instead of destroying slavery, is seen as a black mark. But I consider that akin to a Christian conservative president enforcing federal laws concerning abortion, regardless of his personal feelings.

Perhaps it was how the compromise divided the Whigs, but that would ignore the fact that the Whigs were already dividing between North and South.

Another reason is the supposed 180-degree shift between the Taylor and Fillmore administrations—which is totally wrong. Taylor supposedly was an obstacle to the compromise, which we now know is not true (see the entry on Taylor) and Fillmore's stance was the opposite. But both men were, in fact, mostly in agreement.

Another reason could be his association with the distasteful Know-Nothings, which tars Fillmore as a bigot without understanding why he ran as their candidate.

Still another reason is the fact that Fillmore made no real effort to run for re-election, which is usually related by historians as his “failure to win re-nomination.” Had he done so at the height of his popularity, right after the passage of the compromise, he likely would have been nominated and probably would have won. Six and a half years of Millard Fillmore might have considerably changed the “inevitability” of the Civil War.

It depends on the historian or the writer looking back, and whatever "sins" he or she finds with Fillmore. And those supposed sins just don’t fit the facts. This isn’t historical revisionism. This is actually correcting a wrong that has been done to a man who didn’t deserve it.

I agree with Elbert Smith and Robert J. Scarry who also believe that Millard Fillmore is a much-underrated president, and deserves far better from history. In fact, before reading Scarry’s conclusion, I determined that Fillmore deserved to be placed “above average” in the presidential rankings, and not in the “near-failure” or “failure” categories. Scarry mostly agrees:

“It is not this writer’s contention that Fillmore was a great or near-great president. But considering that he served in the office for less than three years he did a remarkable job. He deserves a better ranking by future historians rating presidents of the United States: at least high in the Average category or perhaps near the bottom of the Above Average category.” (Scarry, p.344)

I'm not so naïve to believe Fillmore will be celebrated anytime soon as one of our better presidents. He should be remembered not as a failure, but as a success. History has a lot of catching up to do.

Final rating: Successful and somewhat popular

Resources
Two resources served this study well: Elbert Smith’s The Presidencies of Zachary Taylor and Millard Fillmore (1985), part of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency series, and Robert J. Scarry’s Millard Fillmore (2001).

George Pendle’s fictional The Remarkable Millard Fillmore : The Unbelievable Life of a Forgotten President is worth a look, too, if only to see just how much he’s ridiculed today.

Illustrations

All images are public domain and found in the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division unless otherwise noted.

1. Matthew Brady took this, the most recognizable photo of Millard Fillmore.

2. Abigail Fillmore, from an engraving created between 1850 and 1890

3. Grand national Whig banner: press onward, a banner created by N. Currier for the 1848 presidential campaign

4. Millard Fillmore, from an engraving by J. Sartain, between 1850 and 1853

5. Official White House portrait (White House Historical Association)

6. A poster warning free blacks and escaped slaves in Boston to be wary of policemen, who could be pressed into service as slave catchers. Boston was the strongest base for abolitionist sentiment.

7. The cover page of the first edition of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin, published in 1852. (Image taken from Wikipedia, which altered it so that it would remain in the public domain, but credit could also go to the Department of English at the University of Virginia, which maintains an extensive site on Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Wikipedia obtained the original, unaltered image from that site.)

8. Millard Fillmore image engraved by J.C. Buttre

9. The great footrace for the presidential purse (100,000 and picking) over the Union Course 1852. Library of Congress summary: Satire on the presidential election of 1852, showing Winfield Scott, Daniel Webster and Franklin Pierce competing in a footrace before a crowd of onlookers for a $100,000 prize (the four-year salary for a president) and “pickings.” In the lead is Webster, who exclaims, “I can beat you both, and ‘walk in’ at that although you had a hundred yards the start of me!!” Denied the Whig nomination in June, Webster was later persuaded to run as an independent candidate. Directly behind Webster appears Whig nominee Winfield Scott, in military uniform. Scott says, “Confound Webster! what does he want to get right in my way for? if he don’t give out, or Pierce don’t faint I shall be beaten.” Democratic candidate Franklin Pierce trails both of them, yelling, “No! No! old Fuss and Feathers [Scott's nickname], you don’t catch this child fainting now. I’m going in to make good time! whether I win or not, Legs! do your duty.” Onlookers standing behind a fence in the background cheer the contestants on. Their comments include: “Go it Dan! put in the “big licks.” [In an exaggerated Irish brogue], “Arrah be Jabers! an is it ould Dannil, thats to . . . he’ll come out fore nint the whole o’thim.” “I'm fraid the Ex pounder is too old for such a severe race.” “Old! my dear fellow don’t you know that it is the Blood that tells, age dont matter I’d back old Dan against Lady Suffolk herself.” (Lady Suffolk was a premiere race horse of the day). “Scott ought to pass, he’s got a long Stride.” “Yes, but Dan . . . gathers well.” The cartoon must have originated between June 5, when Franklin Pierce won the Democratic nomination, and September, when Webster effectively retired an invalid to his estate at Marshfield.

10. The grand national fight 2 against 1 fought on the 6th of Nov. 1856 for one hundred thousand dollars. Library of Congress summary: The familiar metaphor of the presidential contest as a boxing match is invoked [for 1856]. The scene is set in an open field, roped off behind to make a ring. Republican candidate Fremont (right) squares off against Democrat James Buchanan (left), after the latter has felled American party nominee Millard Fillmore. Buchanan warns Fremont, “Look out now Young Mariposa for that hair on your face I will put in the “Right” when you least expect it!” Fremont replies, “Come to time, Old Buck, I think I can lick a Democrat as old again as you are!” Fremont steps over the fallen Fillmore, who says, “You see, Fremont, I’m down! There must be a good many drops of ‘Democrtic Blood’ in that arm of Old Buck’s to strike such a stunning blow!” Buchanan is seconded by an Irishman (far left) who comments, “By Jabbers but Old Bucky knocks ’em.” Fremont is supported by a Bowery type (crouching at far right) who urges him, “Go in wooly Hoss don’t be afeard.” The print was probably issued in summer 1856 or later in the election campaign, after Fillmore’s prospects for victory had dimmed.

11. A large woodcut proof for a campaign banner or poster for Millard Fillmore's 1856 candidacy for the America Party, or the Know-Nothings.

Number 12: Zachary Taylor

Years in office: 1849-1850
Pre-service occupations: general, plantation owner
Key events during his administration: California gold rush begins (1849), Clayton-Bulwer Treaty (1850), Compromise of 1850 (completed just after his death), cornerstone laid for Washington Monument (1850), his death

Presidential rating: Neither successful nor unsuccessful (e.g., right down the middle), and somewhat popular

ESSAY

Old Rough ‘n’ Ready, Zachary Taylor, governed just like his moniker: rough, but ready. Taylor was not a politician, nor was he a highly educated man. His schooling, as it were, came from almost 50 years of fighting Indians and Mexicans—and winning friends with both. A slave owner, Taylor bought a cotton plantation that became his home, but he was no die-hard defender of slavery.

If any man was less prepared for the office of the presidency than Zachary Taylor, I am unaware of who it was. Essentially, the man was a cult of personality: a war hero sought out by the Whigs to be a presidential candidate for no other reason than he was a Whig and a war hero—and an extremely popular one at that. The two previous war heroes elevated to the presidency had some government experience. Taylor had absolutely none.

But as the more popular of the two Whig generals who won the recent unpopular war with Mexico—unpopular to Whigs, that is—Taylor’s fame, appearance and character seemed the perfect antidote to the dour, suspicious and cranky Democrat president, James K. Polk.

Taylor is another one of the “forgotten” presidents between Jackson and Lincoln. Being the second president to die in office has contributed to Taylor’s forgotten status—people remember firsts, but not seconds. His abbreviated term was largely undistinguished, but it wasn’t terrible, either. In fact, Taylor threatened one action that gives further credence to what Lincoln would actually do one decade later.

He wasn’t a brilliant man or a deep thinker; but he was practical, a top-notch general, and his actions in Texas and northern Mexico helped win that war. Much of his life revolved around his career in the military, punctuated by periods as a gentleman farmer (e.g., plantation owner).

So, why in the world did the Whigs choose him to be their standard-bearer in 1848? And better yet, why did he win—and how good were his 16 months in office?

Frontier soldier
Zachary Taylor came of age in Kentucky, and he called Louisville home early in life. He entered the army as an officer before the War of 1812, thanks to his father’s connections. He was actually in William Henry Harrison’s command, but missed the Tippecanoe campaign because he had been called east to testify on some matter.

During the war, Captain Taylor was kept busy with recruiting and manning forts. He saw action on a few occasions against Indian tribes allied with the British. On one occasion, Taylor was in charge of Fort Harrison up the Wabash River, which he successfully defended against superior numbers. Later in the war, he was tasked with an expedition up the Mississippi to establish an outpost at Rock Island, but fierce Indian opposition turned him back.

He was called east to join a new regiment, but the war ended before it was formed. Congress immediately reduced the size of the army, and Taylor, miffed that other officers were promoted over him, resigned and went home to farm—only to be invited back to the Army in 1816 as a major.

Later Taylor would bounce between Louisiana and the upper Mississippi, serving in the Black Hawk War—a sad, misunderstood affair that for want of a translator might have ended peacefully. Rising to colonel, Taylor revealed a certain fussiness in his character, as well as roughness. It’s an odd combination, really. He fussed over his rank—a frequent pastime in the small antebellum army—but actually managed to steer clear of the army politics that bedeviled other officers. Wherever he went, he tried to bring his family. They lived well, but in the field, Taylor would live as roughly as his men.

During this period, Taylor developed a serious disdain for militia and volunteers, considering them worthless as soldiers. Taylor also developed a perchance of disobeying—or, more delicately, ignoring—orders with which he disagreed. For example, when ordered to rejoin his command in Wisconsin while he was in Louisiana on other duties, Taylor took his sweet time, using the excuse of ice on the Mississippi. He never faced disciplinary action for his fudging and hawing, but when it mattered most in Mexico, it almost cost him everything.

His long, dull army career would be punctuated by his service during the Seminole war in Florida, where Taylor would fight—and win—the conflict’s only pitched battle. His actions in Florida actually had a real chance to bring the Seminole war to a conclusion, but the commander-in-chief of the Army came to Florida and literally messed things up. Taylor got so disgusted he demanded a transfer out.

To sum up his army career prior to 1845: he served. It was largely solid, and he earned his rank and respect. He also developed an almost unique skill of detachment when dealing with the various Indian tribes, a skill that served him well as president. Taylor had the ability to deal with Indians as equals, contemporaries, instead of enemies; he could see things from their point of view, and turn potentially bloody situations into peaceful encounters. His diplomatic skills with the tribes averted two different Indian wars when he was president.

But Taylor was in the right place at the right time when in 1845, President Tyler sent him to command the Army of Observation in Louisiana in case of hostilities over the annexation of Texas.

Family and plantation master
Other than gaining senior rank, with its good pay and benefits, Taylor found another bonus from his army life: he set down roots the rich farmland in upper Louisiana. He purchased a plantation and had it managed in absentia.

Taylor was truly interested in the plantation, but unlike other slave owner presidents, he wasn’t a die-hard slave power/states rightist. More on that below.

His family life was for the most part good, as well. His wife, Peggy, loved setting up house wherever duties took him (and she was able to join him). They lived in style whenever they could, too, which may seem odd for an officer on the frontier.

Peggy bore him six children: one son and five daughters. Two daughters died from fever in infancy, and another married Jefferson Davis over her father’s objections. Taylor objected not so much to Davis but to Davis’ profession—an Army officer. Despite his own career, Taylor wished his daughters to marry outside the Army. Davis solved the problem by resigning, and Taylor removed his objections. But the daughter died three months later. Another daughter, Mary, served as White House hostess due to Peggy’s ill health.

The son, Richard “Dick” Taylor, became famous in his own right as a Confederate general.

War!
As with Taylor's pre-war service my intention is not to give a blow-by-blow history, but rather illustrate Taylor's character. He grew angry over slights against him, but this time, someone was definitely out to destroy him. He was calm and deadly in battle and magnanimous when the fighting stopped. Those qualities served him as president, but few historians until late have recognized those qualities in his presidency and given him due credit. (The United States Military Academy's official map of Taylor's Mexican War campaigns is an excellent tool for following the action.)

After the annexation of Texas, Taylor’s renamed Army of Occupation set off by boat and land for Corpus Christi, Texas. His force had about 2,000 men total, all Army regulars, which accounted for about one-fourth of the entire Army at that time. After a period of training, boredom, more training and more boredom, Taylor finally received orders in February 1846 to move south to the Rio Grande, the southern end of Texas but 100 miles inside land that Mexico claimed.

An uneasy feeling settled over the American and Mexican camps during April, with Taylor under the impression—and orders—that he was there to defend American soil from Mexican invasion, and Mexican forces believing Americans were the invaders (they believed the 1836 treaty at San Jacinto, which ended the Texas war of independence, was null and void, and hence Taylor’s starting point at Corpus Christie was the southern extent of American soil). The ball finally went up in early may when a force of 1,600 Mexican soldiers attacked an American patrol, killing 16 Americans. Taylor responded forcefully, per his orders.

By some accounts, Taylor had initially bungled by leaving his supplies mostly unguarded 30 miles away at Port Isabel, while building a largely impregnable fort (Fort Texas) across from Matamoras, but without much supplies. Regardless, Taylor left for the coast for his supplies while leaving a sufficient force at Fort Texas. On the way back, American and Mexican forces collided for the first time, forcing Taylor to cut his way through to Fort Texas.

Taylor won these opening battles of the war—Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma—largely through superior artillery. The Mexicans quit the immediate area and Taylor finally entered what was indisputably Mexican territory after the formal declaration of war.

Militia reinforcements were rushed to Taylor, but it was fall before the two sides seriously clashed again.

Monterrey, crossing the president and Buena Vista
Gen. Taylor crossed the Rio Grande and peacefully occupied Matamoros. He then moved west, eventually investing the Mexican city of Monterrey, where his reinforced army fought a bruising battle against Gen. Ampudia’s numerically superior forces. Once again American artillery proved decisive, as good emplacement allowed American troops access to the fortress city, where heavy hand-to-hand street fighting commence. The bitter battle of Monterrey (Sept. 21-23) was a draw, and cost Taylor 531 casualties to Ampudia’s 367.

Exposed far inside enemy territory, still facing a superior force and with the real probability of one more attack wrecking his army, Taylor negotiated a two-month armistice with the beaten Ampudia in exchange for the Mexican retreat from Monterrey. He let the Mexican army simply withdraw. President Polk exploded in anger when he heard the news, and demanded that Taylor resume hostilities. Taylor had no authority to negotiate an armistice (though Scott’s orders actually said that he could do so if the situation warranted) and believed Taylor should have taken the whole lot prisoner. Regardless of the actual situation thousands of miles away, the cost in blood and the victory, the dour Polk privately raged at Taylor. Publicly, he said nothing, but his feelings were now clear: he had it out for Taylor. Polk would have Gen. Scott command the campaign against Mexico City, and leave Taylor languishing with a depleted force in northeastern Mexico. Polk was becoming aware that, due to Taylor’s successes, he was being thought of as a presidential candidate—and Polk did not like that one bit.

Necessity forced Gen. Scott to strip down Taylor’s army, and place Taylor on the defensive. But Taylor actually ignored the War Department’s orders to return his army to Monterrey and instead occupied Saltillo, a city more favorable than Monterrey. His defense was that a Mexican force was moving to engage him—which, in fact, there was. (Scott and Taylor had believed the Mexicans would move to engage Scott and leave Taylor alone, but they were wrong.) Gen. Santa Anna was heading toward Taylor’s army with at least 20,000 men, and Taylor, having already lost most of his veterans to Scott’s army, now numbered around 4,500—most of them untried volunteers.

He fell back to Buena Vista, and after politely turning down Santa Anna’s demand for surrender, battle was joined Feb. 22-23, 1847. In what really was a near-run thing, Taylor and his subordinates whipped Santa Anna’s forces and scored a stunning victory. American forces suffered 267 dead, 456 wounded and 23 missing, while Mexican forces suffered 549 dead, 1,039 wounded, 1,800 missing and 294 captured. Santa Anna falsely declared victory and went back to Mexico City to prepare to meet the new American threat, but the truth was Taylor had thrashed him soundly, and there were no more clashes in northeastern Mexico for the remainder of the war.

Taylor, however, had fought his last—and greatest—battle.

Fame and the Whig candidate…
Taylor never actively sought the White House. His candidacy was truly grass-roots. Rough and Ready clubs and Taylor clubs began not long after his victories in Texas. Taylor at first was even astonished that he was being considered, and held to his opinion that military men did not belong in the White House.

But when it became clear to him that he was being sidelined in the war for the crime of being a Whig—and for crossing Polk—Taylor let it be known that he was not disallowing the possibility. But, he also said, if a better man were to be nominated—Clay, perhaps—he would support him. Taylor would be perfectly content to spend a few more years in the Army at a quiet post and then retire to his plantation. If duty took him to the White House, so be it. If elected, then he’d serve as best he could. If nominated and not chosen, he’d go home. Taylor really didn’t care that much—definitely not with the fevered intensity of most who seek the office, that is.

But rather than risk backing the aging famed compromiser Henry Clay once more, or someone else who had strong stands on the issues of the day, the Whigs chose the war hero—the public blank slate. Taylor, based solely on his public image, would be their man. After all, it had worked eight years earlier. And with Martin Van Buren gathering disaffected Democrats and some Whigs under the new Free Soil party, promising to draw more Democrats than Whigs, and the Democrats selecting the unexciting Polk ally Senator Lewis Cass, Taylor seemed to be their sure bet to win the White House.

Taylor was counseled by his closed friend Kentucky Sen. John Crittenden, as well as his brother, Colo. George Taylor, to keep his political pronouncements quiet, and after a couple of potential embarrassments, he did.

During the 1848 convention, Clay made a final attempt to get the nomination, but the Whigs determined that the Great Compromiser was finished as a presidential candidate and chose Taylor. Die-hard abolitionist Whigs and Free-Soilers, furious at having to support a slave owner, started their own party and nominated Martin Van Buren as their candidate. Taylor, for his part, didn’t even campaign—both because it was still the custom of the day, as campaigning was done by proxy and through newspapers, but also because he was still on active duty. In the end, the popular Taylor beat the Democrats’ Lewis Cass and Free Soiler Van Buren to become the 12th president of the United States—even though he really didn’t want the job.

…but not a Whig president
The election of Zachary Taylor should stand as the shining example of who not to elect. The Whigs chose Taylor as their standard-bearer because he said he was a Whig. And Taylor had declared he was a Whig…but that was it. He was counseled on keeping his mouth shut on specifics, and told not to give his thoughts on what he believed beyond vague generalities. Many Whigs, therefore, simply assumed Taylor held the same beliefs, and a Whig president would naturally pursue a Whig agenda. Much to their astonishment, embarrassment and horror, Taylor proved to be no Whig (or Democrat, for that matter).

So Taylor simply told the truth as he saw it: he would be a president above party, and be president of the entire nation. He would defend the right of the South to have slavery and he would defend the right of the North to attack it—and he would fight extremists on both sides.

But after the inauguration, when Taylor started making decisions and talking about his plans, it wasn’t what Whigs wanted to hear: Taylor had no intention of bringing back a national bank (Taylor declared it dead) or restoring the tariff to 1842 levels—the two biggest Whig pet causes. Of course, Taylor bears some blame, because he could have told them this beforehand. But they weren’t interested in listening.

Quite simply, by choosing Taylor as their man in 1848 because he was incredibly popular, and not because he really stood rock solidly for major Whig causes, they wrecked their party. The coming fight over slavery, which would rend northern and southern Whigs, sealed the deal. Taylor was, in fact, the last Whig elected president. They would field candidates in 1852, ’56 and ’60, but for all intents and purposes, the party was on the way out and would be dead by the time the cannons roared at Fort Sumter.

Taylor’s cabinet
Taylor’s cabinet would not be a Whig-pleaser, either. They felt that the novice Taylor should have a strong, recognized voice in his cabinet, like Daniel Webster was as secretary of state for Harrison and Tyler. But to their dismay, Taylor chose men below the top tier of public notables. It proved to be a mixed lot. His secretary of state, John M. Clayton, was a nationalist who, with Taylor, would set a course for American interests that would be felt for the next 50 years. But Clayton had too many personal problems to be of too much use.

The best was his attorney general, Reverdy Johnson. His secretary of war, George Crawford, the former Georgia governor, would cause some embarrassment later over an old claim stretching back to the country’s founding. The entire cabinet resigned/was fired after Taylor’s death.

The biggest problem with Taylor’s cabinet is that not one of them had any strong connection with Congress, and Taylor himself did not understand or appreciate the necessity of having allies in Congress. This created such a lack of communication and cooperation between the White House and Congress that Whigs felt alienated. Even Henry Clay noted that:

"I have never before seen such an administration. There is very little co-operation or concord between the two ends of the avenue. There is not, I believe, a prominent Whig in either House that has any confidential intercourse with the Executive.” (K. Jack Bauer, p. 265)

Meanwhile, Democrats sneered that Taylor had chosen a cabinet that could easily control him. But such was not the case. Taylor delegated duties as he had done in the field, and solicited their advice when so desired, but he was his own man. His biographer Elbert Smith writes that:

“Long before he had been elected president, Taylor had stated the basic convictions from which he did not deviate during his brief term in office. If he and most of his cabinet were a harmonious group on important policies, it was because they agreed on what should be done and not because strong advisors had captured the mind of a weak and ignorant president. Indeed, on the subject of Texas and New Mexico, Taylor’s belligerence went far beyond that of his advisors. No one had to let Taylor be Taylor; no one could have kept Taylor from being Taylor. He was neither weak nor modest, and no had always been one of his favorite words.” (Smith, pp. 62-63)

Thousands of office-seekers

The Taylor administration quickly found itself besieged with literally thousands of office-seekers. Except for the 30 days of Harrison, and then the term of the pseudo-Whig Tyler, the Democrats had held the White House since 1829—and hence all of the thousands of appointed offices all across the country. Whigs eagerly awaited the spoils of office: post offices, collectors, judgeships, etc.; and so did Democrats, who believed Taylor when he said he wanted to be a president above party.

Immediately, Taylor was in trouble.

How could he satisfy everyone? In truth, he couldn’t. Taylor—like all other presidents—relied on his cabinet members to recommend office-holders, just as he had relied on friends and political patrons to recommend cabinet officials. But the whole process was wearying and dispiriting, and brought false charges of disingenuousness against Taylor.

Some historians have made hay over the fact that Whig and Taylor supporter Abraham Lincoln was overlooked for an office, but in truth the fault lay with Lincoln’s tardiness. And on an interesting note, Democrat Nathanial Hawthorne lost his office, but used his newfound time to write The Scarlet Letter.

A canal treaty 50 years before its time
President Taylor and Secretary of State Clayton pursued a treaty with Britain that laid important groundwork for the next century. It would take much space to explain the background, but essentially, first Polk’s then Taylor’s minister to Nicaragua were searching for a way to gain treaty rights for the construction of a canal in Central America to cut down on the debilitating, expensive and often deadly travel around South America. Britain was the chief rival/obstacle/potential partner, and the nations south of Mexico were still in turmoil following the revolutions from Spanish rule some 20 years earlier.

In the end, Clayton and Sir Henry Bulwer-Lutton negotiated the Clayton-Bulwer treaty, which called for neither party to exercise control over the areas or countries (Nicaragua, Costa Rica, etc.) where a proposed canal could be built, meaning no colonies, forts or anything else that would make one side suspicious of the other’s intents. In other words, strict neutrality. Although disputes over the treaty started almost immediately, it remained generally in force until 1902.

Taylor’s thinking in pressing for a canal and urging the diplomatic groundwork is a stunning achievement for an administration that is usually consigned the status of failure.

The new decade
On James K. Polk’s last day in office, he authorized the creation of the Department of the Interior, taking interior matters away from the Treasury and the Indian Bureau away from the War department. The new department came into being in Zachary Taylor’s administration, and he named Thomas Ewing of Ohio as its first head. (Ewing, by the way, was the foster father for William T. Sherman.) Unfortunately, Ewing started an unwholesome process of making it a patronage department. Nevertheless, for good or ill, Indian affairs would now have an exclusive department focus.

In the meantime, gold had been discovered in California during Polk’s final year, starting a new craze that added a fevered impetuousness to the rush to move west. The gold rush and the 49ers was one of the main reasons why Taylor encouraged California to move immediately to statehood.

During this decade, the fight over slavery finally came fully into the sunlight as a personal battle. Long gone were the days where merely the institution was assaulted as a lamentable evil; abolitionists now attacked slave owners directly as being morally deficient for holding human beings in bondage. Slave owners fought back with a vengeance, for example passing laws in Virginia demanding that the North leave slavery alone and calling on defense against northern “aggression.”

Taylor was attacked by fellow slave owners for daring to have as a friend the anti-slaver William Seward (who would gain lasting fame as secretary of state under Lincoln and Johnson). Seward, a New York Whig, helped the administration with the voluminous appointments in the Empire State, for which Taylor was immensely pleased. But to die-hard southerners, an anti-slavery agitator had to be shunned at worst or held at arm’s length at best—never embraced as a friend. This seemingly ridiculous and petty affront to southern honor cost actually Taylor support.

(Side note: Taylor turning more to Seward instead of his own vice president, also a New Yorker, naturally upset Millard Fillmore, which I’ll deal with in the next entry.)

In fact, the Democratic press viciously and even insanely attacked Taylor almost from the very start of his presidency—which may seem like no big deal in that age of the openly partisan press. Their attacks are so incredibly outrageous that they have to be read to even be believed, and many of the Taylor bashing rantings are not too dissimilar from some of the incredible Bush hating rantings of today.

But Taylor, a ferocious fighter who made peace with Indians and Mexicans when there was no need for fighting, would make friends with who he damned well pleased—and his enemies could go hang themselves for all he cared.

The politics of slavery
Slave-owner Taylor had made it quite clear that he would not be slavery’s die-hard champion. While he would not press for the elimination of slavery in any fashion, the president believed, quite firmly, that slavery had no business expanding into the new territories. In his uninspired inaugural address, he weirdly even asked the people to just not talk about slavery (not an auspicious start to his presidency).

But when Taylor got his footing, he made clear that he believed that the nation no longer need fear the expansion of slavery because of nature: geography had set the limits on slavery. The climate of the new territories from Mexico was inhospitable to the slave system, so why even argue over it? Taylor even said that the Wilmot Proviso, a northern-state pushed bill designed to outlaw slavery in the new territories, was totally unnecessary for the very same reason. It was an argument over nothing!

But the lines were already drawn, the passions were high, Taylor’s exasperations were a little naïve and, simply put, Southern defenders of slavery were throwing a huge tantrum. Speaking as if all Southerners were slave owners and just loved the system, the old states-rights warrior John C. Calhoun, near death, threw what I can only charitably call a hissy-fit. He organized a Southern-only convention to create a highly paranoid “Southern Address” that accused the northern states of conspiring to destroy slavery and states’ rights concerning slavery going all the way back to the foundation of the country! (It was utterly ridiculous, and to their credit, nearly half of the attendees refused to sign.)

Calhoun’s final speech to Congress in early 1850 was so full of paranoia and hate against the North that it just defies belief, and many of his fellow Southerners, including Taylor, thought so, too. But those who sided with Calhoun were a dangerous lot, and believed that any slight against the South, whether real or, most likely, imagined, was the gravest insult and grounds for secession. The president thought they were off their rocker.

Southerners were also mad at Taylor for urging California and New Mexico to bypass the territorial stage and immediately seek statehood. California, newly flush with the discovery of gold in 1848, had a population explosion and was essentially lawless. By not wanting the land to remain under military control, Taylor gave his approval to the formation of a state government, which Californians did at the end of 1849. But their constitution banned slavery. Again, southerners were furious. How dare they! Now, Taylor could have counseled that they deal with slavery after passing a constitution, which would have mollified the states rights champions. But they were outraged that it happened before the fact—despite the fact that transplanted Southerners helped make the constitution!

Next, Texas, a slave state, was trying to gobble up much of the New Mexico territory (which included present-day Arizona). President Taylor would have none of it, and said he would keep the peace between the two states, even using United States troops to defend New Mexico. Taylor vowed—and this is key—that the latter had been won from Mexico and would remain as it was no matter what claims Texas made on it.

Most Taylor biographers neglect or completely misunderstand Taylor’s desire to keep New Mexico away from Texas, and interpret his stance in the upcoming Compromise of 1850 as pure obstructionism.

Some outraged southerners threatened secession, raising the specter of the nullification crisis of 20 years earlier. Texas, which was full of southerners, threatened to take by force from New Mexico what it believed was rightfully Texas land. Taylor once again proved to be his own man by explaining exactly what he would do to anyone who committed the “treason” of secession, or lead aggression against a territory in defiance of the federal government. In early 1850, Taylor exploded in anger after meeting with two Georgian congressmen in the White House. The two men had been early Taylor supporters, but now they demanded that Taylor drop his support for California’s admission as a free state. Taylor refused, and said he would support constitutional law. As the two stormed out, Hannibal Hamlin, the future vice president to Abraham Lincoln, found Taylor extremely agitated. Hamlin recalled that,

“…with an expletive I shall not repeat here, he said, with an emphasis that I shall never forget, that if they attempted to carry out their schemes while he was president they should be dealt with by law as they deserved and executed.”
(Smith, P. 104)

When Hamlin left, Whig editor and New York power-broker Thurlow Weed came in, and found Taylor still extremely agitated. He recalled Taylor saying he actually told the two Georgia congressmen that

“…if it became necessary, in executing the laws, he would take command of the army himself, and … if they were taken in rebellion against the Union, he would hang them with less reluctance than he had hanged deserters and spies in Mexico.” (Smith, P. 140)

Weed’s quote is probably embellished, because he added a third person to the scene who later swore he wasn’t present, but the quote is still passed off as authentic. Nevertheless, both quotes, with Hamlin’s being the more reliable, expose just how much Taylor was ready to fight for Union should it have become necessary. And that angered southerners even more.

Compromise
But it never came to secession. The Great Compromiser, Henry Clay, proposed one final bill that dealt together with the great issues of the day: California, Texas and New Mexico, slavery in the capitol, fugitive slaves, and more. The president was happy with the thought of compromise, but believed, as did Clay’s old foe, Democrat Senator Thomas Hart Benton, that the issues should be dealt with separately—particularly because Taylor was keen to defend New Mexico from Texas no matter what.

In the end, a compromise was worked out—the Compromise of 1850—which, with the benefit of hindsight, we know was only a temporary cease-fire. However, Taylor wouldn’t live to see it. The compromise was still being debated when Taylor died suddenly midway through his second year in office.

Under the combined bill:

• California would become a free state,
• New Mexico would become a territory,
• Texas’ debt would be assumed by the United States government in exchange for dropping claims to New Mexican territory,
• Slavery in the remaining areas won from Mexico would be decided by “popular sovereignty”,
• the slave trade would be abolished in Washington, D.C., and
• the “fugitive slave act” would become the law of the nation.

The last odious part of the compromise let slave masters go anywhere in America to hunt for, and take back, escaped slaves.

Taylor’s ultimate role in the compromise is usually and uncharitably described as being an obstacle, as incapable of stopping the dead Calhoun and his allies, or intensely jealous of Henry Clay. But none is really true. He didn’t stand in its way at all, though his cabinet was not enthusiastic about it. Taylor, above all else, sought to keep the union together—and the omnibus bill seemed like the way to solve the current massive sectional crisis. It was Taylor’s inability to form allies and voting blocs in Congress damaged his abilities to sway the debate, and subsequently damaged him in history’s judgment. In addition, everyone tried to take credit—Clay, Daniel Webster, the South’s irascible Sen. Henry Foote, etc.—and paint the dead Taylor as someone who had been in the way.

But Elbert Smith says,

"He looked beyond his own immediate interests as a large slaveholder, recognizing that slavery could not be expanded, and tried to check unrealistic Southern demands that could only multiply Northern opposition to the institution itself. Instead, however, revisionists have made the compromise efforts the centerpiece of his administration and accepted the accusation of Taylor’s enemies … that he was an obstacle to its achievement. Supporters of the omnibus bill … defended him against the charge, and … insisted throughout that Taylor would support any compromise that did not give New Mexico to Texas. Their views, however, somehow escaped serious consideration by historians, including Taylor’s friendly biographers…

…The sudden removal of Taylor—by Providence, the Almighty, fate, or America’s usual good luck—just in time to enable Clay, (Stephen A.) Douglas, and Fillmore to save the Union was another illusion too exciting to bear closer examination.” (Smith, p.258)

It wasn’t exactly Taylor’s finest hour, but history has done a great disservice by getting Taylor’s role utterly wrong.

Death
During the July 4, 1850, dedication of the laying of the Washington Monument, President Taylor took ill. He downed a whole pitcher of water, and took in some iced milk, cherries and cucumbers, but never loosened his clothes under the oppressive heat. Back at the White House, the old general finally loosened his clothes, but remained ill.

His condition worsened, and five days later, on July 9, he was dead.

We don’t quite know why he died. It may have been acute gastroenteritis. Possibly chloera. The immediate cause was probably a heat stroke. Some have speculated that he was poisoned, and in 1991 his body was exhumed and autopsied. Traces of arsenic were found, but only the normal amount found in all people, far less than a fatal dose. But assasination seems really far-fetched.

A stunned nation watched as Millard Fillmore assumed the presidency (and thanks to John Tyler nine years earlier, the succession happened effortlessly). Filmore would replace Taylor’s entire cabinet, and quickly make Taylor’s presidency his own presidency.

Final Assessment

Zachary Taylor wasn’t a successful president—but neither was he unsuccessful. He’s been long thought a failure, or a nonentity, but Elbert Smith argues that during his 16 months in office, Taylor charted a steady course through the middle of the hotheads on both sides at the start of this most turbulent of decades. Like Ulysses S. Grant a generation later, Taylor’s presidential reputation fell into the hands of his enemies, and their word on him was “final.” He was a “failed” president because they said he was, regardless of the facts and regardless of what Taylor actually accomplished and attempted to do while in office.

As it were, Taylor’s desire to be president of the entire country and not remain beholden to just the slave interests cost him dearly, as did his honest friendship with the anti-slavery power-broker Seward. Enemies considered him weak because he relied on others for appointments. Well, who else did? Every other president, that’s who! In short, Taylor’s refusal to be a tool made him a “failure,” not the actual facts. In his affairs with Indian tribes and foreign nations, Taylor was skillful and deft. In matters of domestic policy, Taylor charted a course designed to placate both sides of the slavery divide, making him a facilitator of the Compromise of 1850, not an obstacle as has long been charged. Taylor even tried to get the hotheads of the north and south to see the obvious: slavery just wouldn’t work in the southwest; so, fighting over expanding it there was just stupid. But few listened to him.

Taylor’s willingness to treat secession as treason was exactly the same reaction as Jackson’s, and even more blunt than Lincoln’s. Taylor was ready and willing to destroy secession—but it’s long forgotten, because the Secession Crisis of 1850 never happened, replaced, as it were, by the Compromise of 1850. Would Taylor have slapped down an actual session crisis like Jackson? Or would he have dithered like Buchanan and let it develop until it was past the point of return? It’s more than likely he would have done the former.

Zachary Taylor, one of America’s finest soldiers, deserves much better than being remembered as a presidential failure. He was a military hero, and a hero president, and it’s good that writers of history are finally taking note.

Final assessment: Neither successful nor unsuccessful (e.g., right down the middle), and somewhat popular (but not with the political class, and definitely not with the abolitionists)

Resources

The majority of information on Zachary Taylor is usually found in collections on the presidents or in books on the Mexican War. The American Presidents Series entry has not yet been released, but it is written by John S.D. Eisenhower, author of So Far From God: The U.S. War With Mexico, 1846-1848. Again, I highly recommend reading that book, both for its historical value and for the fact that it is simply one of the best books on any subject you’ll ever read—non-fiction or fiction. If you want to understand America and Mexico together, you need to read this book.

I also wasn’t able to get a hold of Elbert Smith’s brand-new 2007 biography, Zachary Taylor: The Hero President, in time for this study, but I was able to use his earlier work, The Presidencies of Zachary Taylor and Millard Fillmore, part of the University of Kansas’ American Presidency series. Apparently, his general thesis remains unchanged. (If you haven’t guessed by now, I have been making heavy use of books from the public library systems of St. Louis County and St. Louis City for this study.)

Also for this study, I used the ponderous and plodding Zachary Taylor: Soldier, Planter, Statesman of the Old Southwest (1985) by K. Jack Bauer. Smith disagrees with Bauer’s conclusions, as do I.

Illustrations
All images are public domain and found in the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division unless otherwise noted.

1. A daguerreotype of Zachary Taylor, probably taken for the 1848 campaign. I think it’s the best likeness of him.

2. Taylor and his faithful horse, Old Whitey

3. Margaret “Peggy” Taylor

4. Battle of Palo Alto, May 8th, 1846. Battle of Resaca de la Palma, May 9th, 1846. Lithograph by Klauprech & Menzel after Ange Paldi, 5th Inf., U.S.A.

5. US troops marching on Monterrey during the Mexican-American War, painting by Carl Nebel. Published in the 1851 book The War Between the United States and Mexico, Illustrated.

6 Storming of Independence Hill at the Battle of Monterey. September 1846. Copy of lithograph by Kellogs & Thayer, ca. 1847. National Archives and Records Administration. John S.D. Eisenhower, in So Far From God, took particular note of a similar image made most likely by the same artist, depicting the same street fighting in Monterrey. “This picture is remarkable for its realism at a time when artists in the United States usually depicted battle scenes in largely formal terms.” Compare this 1847 lithograph to the next image.

7. "A little more grape Capt. Bragg"—General Taylor at the Battle of Buena Vista, Feby 23d, 1847. This rather fanciful depiction of the battle of Buena Vista was created as a campaign poster. It depicts a real incident, where Taylor instructed one of his artillery captains to step up his fire (which helped win the battle), but it also shows Taylor wearing a full general’s uniform, which he almost never did. Taylor favored buckskin and jeans and a slouch hat—chosen for comfort, not style. His casual disdain of military pomp would impress young Ulysses S. Grant, who would emulate his hero’s style during the Civil War.

8. An anti-Whig campaign poster, which truthfully depicts the sole reason for selecting a Mexican War hero as presidential candidate. Taylor is not actually the general depicted, but the sentiment sit fit when Taylor was tapped to be their champion.

9. A standard campaign poster depicting Taylor and his running mate, New Yorker Millard Fillmore.

10. An extremely rare and damaged picture of Taylor’s cabinet. The president stands at center.

11. An idealized portrait of Taylor created for the campaign

12. The United States in 1850, after the compromise took effect. Map is courtesy of courtesy of Florida’s Educational Technology Clearinghouse. Credit: http://etc.usf.edu/maps/

13. Official White House portrait of President Zachary Taylor (White House Historical Association)

14. A somewhat comic yet sympathetic portrayal of the culminating episode in the flight of slave Henry Brown "who escaped from Richmond Va. in a Box 3 feet long, 2-1/2 ft. deep and 2 ft. wide." In the office of the Pennsylvania Anti-Slavery Society, the young Brown emerges from a crate as several figures, including Frederick Douglass (holding a claw hammer at left) look on. Details of Brown's escape, whereby he had himself shipped via Adams Express from Richmond to Philadelphia, were widely publicized in a narrative of his ordeal published under his own name in 1849. The box itself became an abolitionist metaphor for the inhumanity and spiritual suffocation of slavery. It is shown on an undated broadside published in Boston. (Library of Congress description.)

15. Clay, Fillmore, Calhoun, Webster in the Senate, 1850. Henry Clay (presenting his compromise), Millard Fillmore (presiding), John C. Calhoun (right of Fillmore), and Daniel Webster (head in hand) in the Senate, 1850. Created by Peter Rothermel in 1850.

16. Matthew Brady took this daguerreotype of Zachary Taylor in 1849

17. Taylor on his death bed, in the White House, July, 1850.