The rest took the path of least resistance. Robert Winthrop was one of them. A Brahmin descendant of Puritan John Winthrop representing an antiwar district, Winthrop was not an abolitionist. But neither did he have to fear a public backlash, as did many southern and western Whigs who acceded to Polk’s lies. He voted yes to war, but he was severely shaken by the proceedings and not at all sure he had made the right decision. “I found it hard to swallow so unjust a representation of the fact as the preamble of the Bill contained, & I did what I could to prevent it being prefixed to the Bill,” he explained in a plaintive letter to a close friend. “But when the condition of things was so critical, I could not allow the insertion of a false fact to prevent my being found on the side of the National Defenses. I do not blame any of my colleagues for differing from me. It was one of those cases, where one could not vote either way with any satisfaction.”36
In 1844 the Whig Party warned that Polk’s election would lead to war with Mexico. Many reacted to the fulfillment of that prophecy with a sense of fatalism. “Heaven knows my heart is sickened at the idea of a War with any Country, & at a War with Mexico especially,” Winthrop wrote. “I fear it will lead to mischief of every kind. But the thing was inevitable. Annexation was War.… If we had not recognized its existence this week, we must have done so next week.” Many newspapers agreed. “The Congress of the United States have adopted the War with the Republic of Mexico in which the President has, without their consent or authority, involved the country.… THE MISCHIEF IS DONE,” the Cleveland Herald announced.37
Whig leaders felt strongly that it was time to look to the future. Winthrop claimed he supported the war bill not only because he believed opposition to be “fruitless” but also because “if I can do anything to moderate the War spirit, either in relation to Oregon or to Texas, it must be by exhibiting myself wil[l]ing, when War comes, to vote men & money for defense.” Many in the Whig press agreed: “It will now and henceforward be the business of all good men … to mitigate the evils before us.”38
Winthrop’s friends reassured him that he had made the right choice. “You need give yourself no uneasiness about the wisdom of our course in that matter or its impression upon the public mind at home,” one wrote. Even in Plymouth, “the very source & centre of all peace influences,” the leading Whigs “all took the ground that anything that looked like opposition to a most liberal and vigorous preparation” for war “on the part of the Whigs would be fatal to their future ascendancy … Your ground is not only right in itself” but “will be found to be the only safe one for a statesman to occupy … What a fearful account this administration will have to settle.”39 Winthrop would also have an account to settle: although he couldn’t know it at the time, he would spend the rest of his career attempting to justify that vote for war.
Matters were nearly as chaotic in the Senate, but under Thomas Hart Benton’s leadership opponents of the bill managed to adjourn debate until the following day. At eight that evening Benton returned to the White House, full of questions and not at all happy. Polk called Buchanan and Marcy in as reinforcements for what he knew would be a contentious meeting. With a clear sense of outrage, Benton let all of them know that “in his opinion in the 19th Century war should not be declared without full discussion and much more consideration” than it had received in Congress that day. Marcy and Buchanan tried to reason with the Senate leader. Perhaps not realizing that Benton had dismissed U.S. title to the Nueces Strip in a private conversation with the president the previous day, the two men repeated the specious claim that “war already existed by the act of Mexico herself.” This could only have infuriated Benton. Polk remained silent. He “saw it was useless to debate the subject further.”40
After Benton left, Polk, Marcy, and Buchanan agreed that the Missouri senator would oppose the passage of the bill, as would South Carolinian John C. Calhoun, and “two or three other Senators professing to belong to the Democratic Party.” In combination with the united Whigs, this coalition could defeat the bill in the Senate. Were that to happen, “the professed Democrats … will owe a heavy responsibility not only to their party but to the country.” Polk went to sleep convinced that “all that can save the bill in the Senate is the fear of the people.” The public wanted war. Polk hoped their elected representatives recognized the cost of opposing the will of the people.41
Debate in the Senate the following afternoon was heated. John C. Calhoun charged the president with provoking a war on Mexican soil, and Senator John M. Clayton of Delaware argued that Taylor’s maneuvers within clear view of Matamoros were “as much an act of aggression on our part as is a man’s pointing a pistol at another’s breast.” But Polk’s fears proved misplaced. Virtually all of them capitulated, and at 6:30 p.m. the bill passed the Senate by a vote of 42–2. Had it “been deliberately put to a vote, whether it was right to order Genl Taylor” to the Rio Grande, or for him to plant “his cannon” at Matamoros, or for Slidell to be “sent to Mexico, when he was & under the circumstances he was,” Calhoun was sure that “not a tenth part of Congress” would have voted “in the affirmative, & yet we have been forced into a war.” Apparently “fear of the people” was an animating force. Even Senator Benton, who mocked the idea of a Texas boundary at the Rio Grande in a scathing speech to the Senate in 1844, agreed that in the end, “he was bound to stick to the War party or he was a ruined man.” Robert Winthrop had cast his vote with thoughts of his own manhood in mind. He argued that to have “shirked the vote” would “have been hardly manly.” Southerner John C. Calhoun clearly didn’t see it that way. He abstained from voting.42
And with that, the U.S. Congress assented to war with Mexico. They did not declare war; Polk stole that privilege from them. John C. Calhoun recognized the implications of this constitutional usurpation. “The prescedent [sic] is pregnant with evil,” he wrote. “It sets the example, which will enable all future Presidents to bring about a state of things, in which Congress shall be forced, without deliberation, or reflection,… to declare war, however opposed to its conviction of justice or expediency.” But with near unanimity that in no way reflected the true feelings of their body, or of the nation, they condoned what would soon be called “Mr. Polk’s War.”43
Polk was not one to gloat. He remained as dour and subdued as usual at the large White House reception that evening. But the Democratic press was united in their celebration. “We have the pleasure of announcing orders for the prosecution of the war with Mexico that will be hailed by our countrymen with a burst of universal enthusiasm,” wrote the New Orleans Tropic. “The American people are taking hold of it as becomes their energetic character. A great and powerful movement is about to be made, in which we see a glorious triumph of arms.”44
The cabinet got straight to work implementing plans for the long-awaited war. There was a flood of volunteers to organize, officers had to be named, and everything from supplies to strategy demanded immediate attention. Polk’s first action was to request “all the orders and letters of instruction to our squadrons in the Pacific & Gulf of Mexico” and ask that these be read to the Cabinet. Polk “desired to refresh” his memory about the exact orders that he had given Commander J. D. Sloat when, back in the president’s third month in office, he had ordered Sloat to immediately seize San Francisco and other ports in California if war should break out. Perhaps he was also worried about how these orders would look in retrospect if subpoenaed by Congress.45
Polk hardly could have been clearer about his territorial ambitions, but Secretary of State Buchanan somehow missed the hint. In a remarkable display of obliviousness, Buchanan drafted a message to the great powers of Europe disavowing interest in Mexico’s territory and presented it to the cabinet. Polk was flabbergasted when Buchanan read “that in going to war we did not do so with a view to acquire either California or New Mexico or any other portion of the Mexican territory.” Polk “told him that though we had not gone to war for conquest, yet it was clear that in making peace we wo
uld if practicable obtain California and such other portion of the Mexican territory as would be sufficient … to defray the expenses of the war … it was well known that the Mexican government had no other means of indemnifying us.”
This was not what Buchanan had hoped to hear. The secretary of state insisted that war “with England as well as Mexico, and probably with France also,” would be the result, “for neither of these powers will ever stand by and [see] California annexed to the U.S.” Growing ever more animated, Polk responded that “I would meet the war which either England or France or all the Powers of Christendom might wage, and that I would stand and fight until the last man among us fell in the conflict,” before he would ever agree to Buchanan’s pledge.46
The men argued for two full hours, with the rest of the cabinet lining up behind the president. Finally, at close to 11:00 p.m., Polk rose, demanded that Buchanan strike out the offending paragraphs of his message, and sent the speechless secretary of state out of the room. Polk rarely had to exert his will so bluntly within the cabinet, and there was no longer any doubt among the men in the room that Polk intended to take California. The discussion “was one of the most earnest & interesting which has ever occurred in my Cabinet,” Polk wrote in his diary. But it wore him out. The president retired to bed “exhausted after a day of incessant application, anxiety and labor.”47
Polk’s bluster aside, he hardly believed it necessary to fight “all the Powers of Christendom” for California. He didn’t even believe that he would have to fight Mexico. Polk’s brinksmanship with England was vindicated on June 6 when word arrived in Washington of a British-proposed compromise over Oregon, agreeing to a boundary at the forty-ninth parallel, along with possession of Vancouver Island. England had sent it off just ten days before learning about hostilities on the Mexican border. Polk forwarded the proposal to an enthusiastic Senate, shifting responsibility for the compromise away from himself, and the Senate ratified the treaty nine days later. If speaking cannon fire worked with England, surely it wouldn’t fail with feeble Mexico. When Polk’s younger brother wrote from Europe during the summer, inquiring about the possibility of serving as an officer in Mexico, Polk told him to “abandon” any thoughts of joining the fight. “In regard to the Mexican war, my impression and hope is, that it will be of short duration. I doubt whether there will be much more fighting unless it be in a guerrilla warfare.… It is probable that the war will be over very soon.”48 A quick battle or two, and Mexico would surely capitulate.
Although I was for annexing all of this part of Mexico to the United States before I came here, yet I now doubt whether it is worth it.
—CAPTAIN JOHN J. HARDIN,
PARRAS, MEXICO, DECEMBER 16, 1846
6
A Tame, Spiritless Fellow
IT IRRITATED ABRAHAM LINCOLN that the voters who came to his campaign rallies weren’t more interested in tariffs. Congress had just passed an act that drastically reduced import levies, and Lincoln was incensed. The tariff was “in greater dispute than ever.” Clearly, this should have been the leading issue of the campaign. Congressional candidate Abraham Lincoln covered eleven foolscap half sheets with notes for a brilliant, technical, inspiring speech on the matter. But he never got to deliver it. All the good voters of Illinois wanted to hear about was war.1
He supposed it made sense: Illinois was the center of western expansionist fervor, full of voters who had moved west in search of opportunity, and who might move again given the right circumstances. It hadn’t been long since Illinois was the frontier. Lincoln’s district, though majority Whig, was full of pro-war constituents who believed that the conquest of Mexico was part of God’s plan. Mexicans “are reptiles in the path of progressive democracy,” the Illinois State Register declared, who “must either crawl or be crushed.”2
Immediately after authorizing the war, Congress had called up twenty-five thousand volunteers from the states closest to Mexico to aid Taylor at the border for a term of three months; forty thousand more volunteers were to be allotted evenly among the remaining states. Their term of enlistment was one year, which seemed ample, since almost everyone north of the Rio Grande expected a swift conclusion to the whole business. Illinois’s quota of volunteers, three regiments of a thousand men each, filled almost instantly. Thousands more men clamored for an opportunity to fight. Some crossed into neighboring states for a chance to enlist.
First among Illinois’s volunteers was John J. Hardin. He had been itching to fight Mexico, pestering Congressman Douglas for news about hostilities throughout the spring, and repeatedly volunteering to lead troops to California. Hardin’s cousin, Kentucky representative John McHenry, broke the news to him the day after Polk’s war message to Congress. McHenry was a Whig, but decidedly not one of the “Immortal Fourteen” congressmen who openly opposed the president. Like almost all other members of his party, he voted in favor of the war, despite admitting that it contained “palpable falsehoods.” The entire business disgusted him. “No good reason has been applied and none can be applied to why our army was sent to entrench themselves & … their batteries opposite Matamoros—a child could have told it would lead to war,” he fumed to Hardin. Making no attempt to moderate his views in order to suit his hyperpatriotic cousin, McHenry pronounced it “useless to disguise the fact that we have been brought into this war by the weakness or wickedness of our pres[iden]t … while we must all stand by the country right or wrong it is grievous to know that when we pray God defend the right our prayers are not for our own country.” As for “those who have brought it on,” McHenry declared them to “have a fearful responsibility even in this world and in the next.”3
McHenry knew full well how desperately his cousin wanted to fight Mexico, even if he didn’t quite understand it. He thought Hardin’s patriotism and willingness to sacrifice all for the mendacious Polk were naive, and he let him know as much. The political climate in Washington was so poisonous, he warned, that “I can think no Whig would stand the least possible chance of getting any post where he can do honor to himself or service to his country” except where it would benefit the Democrats. But if “under all the circumstances” Hardin was still intent on supporting this war, McHenry offered lukewarm encouragement: by all means “raise your men & go at it.”4
Hardin did. The governor appointed him colonel of Illinois’s volunteers, and he set to work organizing his troops with typical efficiency and intensity. Colonel Hardin led the call for men at a rally in Springfield. “Let us not say that Taylor and his brave men can whip Mexico without our aid,” Hardin proclaimed. “This is not the language of brave men. Let us have a hand in whipping her.” He placed a call for troops in a local paper. “Illinoians should respond to the call which has been made upon them, promptly and with spirit,” he wrote. “The General [meaning himself] asks no one to go, where he is not willing to lead.” Always at his best when he felt the call to arms, Hardin was in his element. “You stand very high here with all our Military men and volunteers,” one admirer told him.5
Hardin was inundated with letters from young men anxious to fight. “I have somewhat of an inclination for Glory, and to engage in such an expedition as I understand you have,” wrote one when offering his services. Nor was adventure the only thing on their minds. Manifest Destiny was at stake. Like Hardin, many of them hoped to go to California. Several expressed the opinion that “the government aught not to lose the present opportunity of conquering New Mexico and California. Such an other may never occur.”6
Others worried that if the men of Illinois did not volunteer in great enough numbers, they, or their state, would be shamed. “Excuse me for expressing my humble tribute,” wrote one grateful admirer, “expressive of the thanks due from all good citizens, for your anticipated efforts to redeem them from the suspicion” that “our state has proven less gallant and patriotic than her neighbors.” Hardin also warned the men of the state that “the fame of this state” might “be tarnished” if there was “either diffic
ulty or delay in raising the requisite number of troops.”7
National honor was at stake too. Even those inclined to dismiss Polk’s claim that Mexico started the war couldn’t help but feel that much depended on the outcome of America’s first foreign war, that it could offer “a lesson” to “nations which jeer at the power and energies of a Republican people.” The local Whig paper in Lincoln and Hardin’s district, the Sangamo Journal, steadfastly denied that Mexico had started the hostilities, but in June it heartily endorsed the war, warning that “the eyes of all European nations will be upon us.… If we dictate terms to Mexico within her own dominions;—we shall be respected;—if not every petty power in the world will spit upon us.” Fortunately, Mexico seemed unlikely to put up much of a fight. The people of Mexico were clearly racial inferiors, “but little removed above the negro,” according to the Democratic Illinois State Register. Or perhaps closer to the Indians that the nation had successfully banished west of the Mississippi less than a decade earlier. One friend of Hardin’s declined the call to arms because he imagined there would be “nothing to whip but a parcel of blankeded half-breeds armed with bows and arrows.”8
And men had practical reasons for volunteering. Illinois’s economy was in tatters, the state was struggling under an enormous debt obligation, and jobs were scarce in 1846. The pay for a private worked out to $15.50 a month, twice what a common laborer could earn (assuming he could find a job in the first place).9
A Wicked War: Polk, Clay, Lincoln, and the 1846 U.S. Invasion of Mexico Page 15
