The Jeffersonians, 1801-1829

The Election and Inauguration

On election day in 1800, Thomas Jefferson won a clear victory over John Adams but almost did not became President. The Constitution required that presidential electors cast two ballots; the winner became President and the runner-up became Vice-President. Jefferson’s running mate, Aaron Burr, who had been nominated for Vice-President, received 73 electoral votes, the same number as Jefferson. This strange situation occurred because the Constitutional Convention had not anticipated the rise of party politics. When John Adams had defeated Jefferson in 1796, Jefferson, as the runner-up, was elected Vice-President. If parties had not developed by 1800, Adams, as Jefferson’s opponent, would surely have become Vice-President. But because parties had arisen, all of Jefferson’s electors gave Burr their second vote. (A repetition of this kind of deadlock was avoided for future elections by the Twelfth Amendment.)

The Constitution stated that if the two leading candidates were tied, the election should be decided by the House of Representatives. The trouble was that in 1800 the House was controlled by the Federalists and not by Jefferson’s party. The Federalists nearly elected Burr President because they disliked him less than they disliked Jefferson.

Margaret Bayard Smith Describes the Election and Inauguration

Fortunately for the country, Federalist Alexander Hamilton, who knew Burr was unfit to be President, opposed his party’s plan to defeat Jefferson. But while this crucial decision was being made, the nation waited breathlessly. The excitement in Washington is recorded in the following selection from the notebook of Margaret Bayard Smith, wife of the editor of the National Intelligencer.

It was an awful crisis. The people, who with such an overwhelming majority had declared their will, would never peaceably have allowed the man of their choice to be set aside and the individual they had chosen as Vice-President to be put in his place. A civil war must have taken place, to be terminated in all human probability by a rupture of the Union. Such consequences were at least calculated on and excited a deep and inflammatory interest. Crowds of anxious spirits from the adjacent county and cities thronged to the seat of government and hung like a thunder cloud over the Capitol, their indignation ready to burst on any individual who might be designated as President in opposition to the people’s known choice. The citizens of Baltimore, who from their proximity were the first apprised of this daring design, were with difficulty restrained from rushing on with an armed force, to prevent—or if they could not prevent, to avenge this violation of the people’s will and in their own vehement language to hurl the usurper from his seat.

Mr. Jefferson, then President of the Senate, sitting in the midst of these conspirators, as they were then called, unavoidably hearing their loudly whispered designs, witnessing their gloomy and restless machinations, aware of the dreadful consequences which must follow their meditated designs, preserved through this trying period the most unclouded serenity, the most perfect equanimity. A spectator who watched his countenance would never have surmised that he had any personal interest in the impending event. Calm and self-possessed, he retained his seat in the midst of the angry and stormy, though half-smothered passions that were struggling around him, and by this dignified tranquility repressed any open violence. Though insufficient to prevent whispered menaces and insults, to these, however, he turned a deaf ear and resolutely maintained a placidity which baffled the designs of his enemies.

The crisis was at hand. The two bodies of Congress met, the Senators as witnesses, the Representatives as electors. The question on which hung peace or war, nay, the union of the states was to be decided. What an awful responsibility was attached to every vote given on that occasion. The sitting was held with closed doors. It lasted the whole day, the whole night. Not an individual left that solemn assembly; the necessary refreshment they required was taken in rooms adjoining the Hall. They were not like the Roman conclave legally and forcibly confined; the restriction was self-imposed from the deep-felt necessity of avoiding any extrinsic or external influence. Beds, as well as food, were sent for the accommodation of those whom age or debility disabled from enduring such a long-protracted sitting. The balloting took place every hour—in the interval men ate, drank, slept or pondered over the result of the last ballot, compared ideas and persuasions to change votes, or gloomily anticipated the consequences, let the result be what it would.

With what an intense interest did every individual watch each successive examination of the ballot-box; how breathlessly did they listen to the counting of the votes! Every hour a messenger brought to the editor of the National Intelligencer the result of the ballot. That night I never lay down or closed my eyes. As the hour drew near its close, my heart would almost audibly beat, and I was seized with a tremour that almost disabled me from opening the door for the expected messenger....

For more than thirty hours the struggle was maintained, but finding the Republican phalanx impenetrable, not to be shaken in their purpose, every effort proving unavailing, the Senator from Delaware [_James A. Bayard—actually a Representative_], the withdrawal of whose vote would determine the issue, took his part, gave up his party, for his country, and threw into the box a blank ballot, thus leaving to the Republicans a majority. Mr. Jefferson was declared duly elected. The assembled crowds, without the Capitol, rent the air with their acclamations and gratulations, and the conspirators, as they were called, hurried to their lodgings under strong apprehensions of suffering from the just indignation of their fellow citizens.

The dark and threatening cloud which had hung over the political horizon rolled harmlessly away, and the sunshine of prosperity and gladness broke forth and ever since, with the exception of a few passing clouds, has continued to shine on our happy country.

Jefferson’s First Inaugural Address

As the author of the Declaration of Independence and many memorable state papers, Thomas Jefferson was, with Abraham Lincoln, one of our two greatest presidential writers. The following speech, which he delivered on March 4, 1801, is an eloquent statement of democratic principles. Jefferson approached the office of President with humility and a conciliatory attitude towards his opponents. The simplicity and directness of his prose contrast greatly with the flowery and lengthy eloquence of most speakers in his day.

Friends and Fellow Citizens:

Called upon to undertake the duties of the first executive office of our country, I avail myself of the presence of that portion of my fellow citizens which is here assembled to express my grateful thanks for the favor with which they have been pleased to look towards me, to declare a sincere consciousness that the task is above my talents and that I approach it with those anxious and awful presentiments which the greatness of the charge and the weakness of my powers so justly inspire.