American History Tellers - Encore: The Age of Jackson | The Little Magician | 5

Episode Date: July 6, 2022

During the last years of Andrew Jackson’s presidency, the American economy flourished. But when his successor, Martin Van Buren, took office, he inherited a financial crisis. Before he became president, Van Buren’s political skill had earned him the nickname “The Little Magician.” But he could not conjure away two major stains on his administration: the Panic of 1837, and the forced removal of Native Americans from the South that became known as the Trail of Tears.Listen ad free with Wondery+. Join Wondery+ for exclusives, binges, early access, and ad free listening. Available in the Wondery App. https://wondery.app.link/historytellersPlease support us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's February 1837. You work as a clerk at a warehouse in Lower Manhattan. The company, Eli Hart & Co., is named after your boss, a wealthy flower merchant. But you're not wealthy. Far from it. You live paycheck to paycheck. But you're better off than some. At least you have a job. But that job comes with co-workers. Don't tell me you actually read that hogwash. Your co-worker is eyeing a newspaper spread open on your desk.

You prefer the New York Herald. The times are tight, and this paper is cheaper. It only costs you a penny. Don't pay that any mind. It's flim-flam. Your co-worker annoys you. He has strong, loud, and often outlandish opinions. But about this, you have to admit he's right. The penny papers are infamous for their sensationalized headlines, if not outright lies. But lately, the stories in the penny press have piqued your interest. Over the last few weeks, they've been covering the rising cost of flour. They say the price is about to jump to $20 a barrel. That can't be true. Does it matter? People will believe anything. You've heard some people say that there's a manufactured flour shortage. They say that the greedy businessmen of New York, men like your boss Mr. Hart, are hoarding

flour. And you know that people are fed up. About a week ago, notices started appearing on every street corner in the city announcing a meeting for concerned citizens. So when's this so-called town hall meeting anyways? Today. It's happening right now, actually. You look around the warehouse at the barrels of flour you've got stored here. You start to wonder, what if the penny press is actually on to something? What if your boss and the rest of the silk hats in New York are only in it for themselves? What if Mr. Hart really is hoarding food? Say, you hear that? Hear what? Shh, listen. Open the window. What does that sound like to you? You bolt outside to the front steps of the warehouse, just in time to see a massive crowd of people around the corner. They're coming for the warehouse.

Get everyone inside and lock the doors! But you're not fast enough. The crowd reaches the doors at the same time you do. And in an instant, they're pouring into the warehouse. One barrel spills and the air is filled with a cloud of flour. There's no use in trying to stop anyone from looting the place. Instead, you stumble through the flour to the door. You're just in time to watch as most of the contents of the warehouse are carried away down the street. Wipe the flour from your eyes and wonder, what has the world come to?

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Stream free on Freebie and Prime Video. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. I'm Lindsey Graham. We're continuing American History Tellers with a six-episode series, The Age of Jackson. In the last episode, we heard about Andrew Jackson's role in the Indian Removal Act. In this episode, we'll hear about his legacy and how it impacted the country and his successor, President Martin Van Buren. This is Episode 5, The Little Magician. In February of 1837, warehouses in New York City were ransacked in what would later be known as the Flower Riots. Earlier that day, community leaders and city officials had spoken to a crowd of 5,000

angry New Yorkers at a town hall. One of the speakers, who to this day remains unidentified, fired up the crowd. He said, Mr. Hart now has 53,000 barrels of flour in his store. Let us go and offer him $8 a barrel, and if he does not take it, we shall depart from him in peace. But the crowd was not interested in peace. The mob of angry New Yorkers looted Mr. Hart's warehouse, dragging hundreds of barrels of flour into the streets of Lower Manhattan and doing significant damage to the building. The mob's anger was felt across the country. The economy was flourishing, but not for everyone. The divide between rich and poor was growing, and many

people were starting to lose their patience, not just with businessmen like Hart, but with the government. Just a few weeks after the riot, Martin Van Buren was sworn in as the eighth president of the United States. He inherited an economic disaster. In the final years of Jackson's presidency, the American economy boomed. The national debt was paid in full. Businesses started to flourish, and it seemed, for a time, that the economic hardships of the previous decade had finally subsided. From 1834 to 1835, cotton prices rose from 11 to 16 cents a pound.

Public land sales doubled, and the Treasury had a sizable surplus. American cotton and foodstuffs flowed into world markets, and money came pouring back in. The lumber industry cleared trees to make way for Western expansion. Cotton, hemp, wheat, corn, cattle, and hogs all became staples of America's thriving economy. And it wasn't just farming. American industry was on the rise, too. Steam power was quickly replacing horsepower. Roads and canals opened up quick and easy avenues to transport goods. In mills, metal machinery began to replace wooden contraptions. And mechanical reapers and steel plows, invented by Americans like Robert Hall McCormick and John Deere, made farming faster

and more efficient. But in spite of all of this economic momentum, for Andrew Jackson, there was one issue that stuck in his craw. Speculation. Jackson had won his war against the Second Bank of the United States, but that victory was not without its consequences. As the Second Bank began to wind down its operations, state-chartered banks moved in to fill the void. Because these state banks were more independent and subject to less regulation, they relaxed their lending standards, and loans for land increased. A lot. In 1834, public land sold in the U.S. totaled almost $5 million. Only one year later, that tally had tripled to just under $15 million. To Jackson, the irresponsible speculation out West was a disease. The cure was simple. Require that all land sales be backed by

gold or silver, otherwise known as specie. Many in Congress and even members of Jackson's own cabinet were opposed to this policy, some for political reasons, others for more personal ones. They owned interest in the land business. But that did not stop old Hickory. On July 11, 1836, Andrew Jackson issued the Species Circular, an executive order demanding that all public lands be purchased with gold or silver. The move would help slow the runaway inflation that threatened the U.S. economy, or so Jackson thought. Instead, it created an unstoppable avalanche. The species circular drove up demand for gold and silver, forcing Western banks to call in the precious metals from back east. In less than a year's time, gold and silver reserves in New York dropped from 7.2 million to as low as 1.5. In turn, that left the banks extremely vulnerable

to specie calls from the British, whose own economy was in shambles. It was a perfect storm. Jackson's war against the second bank had, in part, created the problem of land speculation. His attempt to solve that problem had created an even bigger one, a financial crisis. The impending economic disaster was due, in large part, to the policies of Andrew Jackson. But it was Jackson's successor, Martin Van Buren, who had shouldered the bulk of the blame. Andrew Jackson cast a long shadow over Martin Van Buren, both figuratively and literally. At over six feet tall, Jackson towered over Van Buren, who was only five foot six. But it wasn't just old Hickory's stature that loomed over Van Buren. In the eyes of many, Van Buren's presidency was merely Jackson's

third term. Martin Van Buren was widely known as a skilled politician. Born in Kinderhook, New York in 1782 to a family of Dutch-Americans, Van Buren wore widely known as a skilled politician. Born in Kinderhook, New York in 1782 to a family of Dutch-Americans, Van Buren wore many hats before becoming the eighth president of the United States. He'd been a lawyer, state senator, governor, secretary of state, and finally vice president. His clever ability to land on the winning side of political controversy had earned him the nickname, the Little Magician. The Jacksonian Democrats loved Van Buren, and there was no doubt what type of president he wanted to be. Prior to the election, Van Buren promised, I shall, if honored with the choice of the American people, endeavor

to tread generally in the footsteps of President Jackson, happy if I shall be able to perfect the work he has so gloriously begun. And Jackson was more than happy for Van Buren to carry the torch forward. About Van Buren's views, Jackson wrote, they are, like my own, always based upon the just grounds of the prosperity for our country and the general good. But in the minds of the nascent Whig party, it was past time for the age of Jackson to come to an end. The Whigs were the main opposition party at the time. Party members hated the Jacksonians, but that's about all they could agree on. They couldn't even settle on a candidate for president, so they adopted a bizarre strategy to split the vote and have the House of

Representatives make the final decision instead. And if you'll recall, this is exactly how Jackson lost his first election campaign to Adams in 1824. In 1836, four different Whigs vied for the White House, including William Henry Harrison, a popular war hero. But in the end, the Whig strategy failed. Van Buren won the electoral vote decisively. His portion of the popular vote was less impressive. Just a hair over half the country voted for the little magician.

Jackson's third term would begin with Van Buren in the White House. And while his predecessor's popularity and his steadfast loyalty to Jackson might have paved the way for Van Buren, within just weeks of his inauguration, that same dedication to Jacksonian policies would be Van Bin's ruin. Dracula, the ancient vampire who terrorizes Victorian London. Blood and garlic, bats and crucifixes, even if you haven't read the book, you think you know the story. One of the incredible things about Dracula

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Woo! Buy it now. Stream free on Freeview and Prime Video. Imagine it's March 1839. You're a private in the United States Army. You've been sent to help the Army execute a controversial order, the relocation of the Cherokee Indians. You don't agree with the Indian Removal Act.

You're a Christian. You find it inhumane and morally wrong. But you're also a soldier, and soldiers follow orders. You've been on the road so long you've lost count of the days. Spring is late this year. The Cherokee are freezing, and so are you. You wish you had your heavy coat, but you gave it to a young and gravely ill Cherokee woman. A fellow private slides up next to you. He offers you his flask. No, thank you. I've never felt cold like this. Imagine how they feel. The journey has been long and arduous. Weeks ago, you departed from the Smoky Mountains bound for the Indian Territory out west. Along the way,

you've witnessed horrors impossible to describe. But you are a soldier, and soldiers do not complain. So you do what a soldier can to keep the peace. But standing there in the bitter cold, something catches your eye. A white man, a teamster, violently lashes a feeble old Cherokee man with a bullwhip. Stand down, sir. You know this man. Mr. McDonald is his name, and he's a troublemaker. Don't reprimand me. He's the one disobeying my order. He won't get in the damn cart. Your job is to drive the wagon, not whip the Cherokee. You're not in a position to give anyone orders. You're one to talk, private. He reaches back to lash the man again, and you stop his wrist. I said stand down, sir. When you try to wrest the

bullwhip from his hands, the man turns violent. He lashes you across the face, hard. The wire tip of his whip cuts a gash in your cheek. You pull a small hunting hatchet from your belt in defense. He lunges. When the brawl is over, your cheek is gushing blood, but Mr. McDonald is motionless, beaten unconscious. Your hands are smeared red. You Mr. MacDonald is motionless, beaten unconscious. Your hands are smeared red. You can't tell whose blood is whose. The soldier in this story is Private John J. Burnett. Fluent in Cherokee, Burnett was sent as an interpreter into the Smoky Mountain country in May of 1838.

He watched firsthand as the Cherokees were ripped from their homes, driven by bayonet into stockades, and ultimately loaded onto hundreds of wagons bound for the Indian Territory out west. After the beating, Private Burnett was placed in confinement under the watch of armed guards, but he was never tried for the incident. Private Burnett saved the old Cherokee man from the lash, but nothing could save the Cherokee people from the fate that awaited them on the Trail of Tears. As we heard in the last episode, a small contingent of Cherokees had eventually signed the 1835 Treaty of New Uchota, trading all Cherokee land east of the Mississippi for $5 million, relocation assistance, and compensation for lost property. The rest of the Cherokee Nation disputed this agreement. By 1838, only 2,000

Cherokees had left Georgia. The rest were refusing to leave. Van Buren ordered General Winfield Scott to remove the Cherokee by force. The troops forced the Cherokee into stockades at gunpoint, while whites looted their homes and belongings. Then, they marched the Native Americans more than 1,200 miles to Oklahoma. Whooping cough, typhus, dysentery, cholera, and starvation were epidemic along the way. Historians estimate that around 4,000 Cherokee died as a result of the journey. When General Scott addressed the Cherokees before the march, he made it clear who was behind the order.

Cherokees, the President of the United States has sent me with a powerful army to cause you, in obedience to the Treaty of 1835, to join that part of your people who have already established in prosperity on the other side of the Mississippi. Van Buren, like Jackson, felt that removal would ultimately be Native American salvation. We were, perhaps, in the beginning, unjustifiable aggressors,

he wrote in his autobiography. But we have become the guardians, and as we hope, the benefactors. In his second message to Congress in December 1838, Van Buren continued to defend the Cherokee removal, claiming that a mixed occupancy of the same territory by the white and red man is incompatible with the safety or happiness of either. But even with the removal of the Cherokee, American remained

a mixed occupancy of the same territory. Slavery in the southern states was still a strong institution. Enslaved Africans were still being brought ashore, captured and transported to America in the dark holds of fetid ships. Van Buren would find his entire presidency challenged by the slavery question again, when one African man on one Spanish ship fought back. It's June, 1839. Far from the coast, a ship cuts its way through choppy waters, sailing for Port-au-Princepe, Cuba.

Two Spanish slavers, Don Jose Ruiz and Don Pedro Montez, are the masters of the ship, a two-masted schooner. There's a small ragtag crew on board. Captain Ramon Ferrer, two sailors, a cabin boy named Antonio, and a cook named Celestino. Below deck, in the hold of the ship, is the cargo. 53 captured Africans. Originally enslaved in Sierra Leone, these Mendy men, women, and children

are being transported from Havana, Cuba, to a plantation in Puerto Principe. The water is rough. The hold is damp, dreary, and deadly. On slave ships, disease was rampant, and living conditions were beyond horrific. The conditions on board La Amistad are no different. Celestino, the cook, serves the slaves their daily meal, two potatoes and a cup of water. But on this day, just three days into the journey, one of the slaves, 25-year-old Mendy Mann, is refusing to eat. The cook, Celestino, asks the man why he's not hungry, but he doesn't get an answer. Just silence.

The man doesn't look up. He doesn't make a sound. He just stares at the floor. In the past few days, he's witnessed unspeakable and horrific acts of violence on board the ship. Floggings are a regular occurrence. After the lashings, they pour vinegar and gunpowder into the open wounds. Celestino tosses the slave's food on the floorboards and leaves,

muttering curses under his breath. The slave watches him go. He waits, still and silent, making sure the cook isn't returning. He bends over slowly and picks up something small. In his hand, he holds a small, rusty nail. Later that evening, in the dark of night, he uses it to unshackle himself and the other captives. The men-to-men rip open several crates in the ship's hold. They arm themselves with the sugarcane knives they find inside and set out to fight for their

freedom. They kill Ferrer and Celestino, subdue the rest of the crew, and take control of the ship. Blood is spilled, but the ship is theirs. And their first order of business is to command Ruiz and Montez to sail back east towards Africa, their home. The man in this story is Singhe Pie, also known as Joseph Sinque. He and the other captives on board the vessel known as La Amistad fought to secure their freedom, and they almost succeeded. But after the Mendi secured control of the ship, their former captors secretly maneuvered the vessel north, not east. La Amistad was stopped off the coast of Long Island

by an American Navy vessel, the USS Washington. Mr. Pia's fate was now in the hands of the United States government. Like Jackson, Van Buren came to office a supporter of slavery. In his inaugural address, he said, I must go into the presidential chair the inflexible and uncompromising opponent of every attempt on the part of Congress to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia. As president, Van Buren would be confronted with the issue of slavery. But instead of it being a matter of the expansion of slavery westward, or a question of what to do with runaway slaves, this dilemma almost literally washed up on U.S. soil. After their arrest, P.A. and the other captives were

imprisoned in New Haven, Connecticut, on charges of murder and piracy. Almost immediately, abolitionists began to rally support for them. They arranged for attorneys to represent the Africans in court, and ultimately the murder charges were dismissed. But the Africans continued to be held in prison. The legal battle over La Amistad was just beginning. The Spanish foreign minister demanded that the Amistad and its cargo be released from custody and the slaves sent back to Cuba for punishment by Spanish authorities. Van Buren and the United States government took Spain's side. The slaves should be returned to Cuba. For Van Buren, there were two main reasons. He didn't want to jeopardize his relationships with Spain. And secondly, he did not want to

upset the South by appearing to take the side of abolitionists. An attorney for the United States government argued that the United States was obligated by international treaty to return the ship and its cargo to the Spanish owners. The abolitionists and their lawyers argued that the slaves were kidnapped illegally and thus could not be the property of Spain or the Spanish sailors. In the end, the abolitionists won, and the Africans were ordered to be set free. But the U.S. attorney, at the behest of Martin Van Buren, immediately appealed, sending the case to the Supreme Court. That's when former President John Quincy Adams stepped onto the scene to lead the defense. On February 24, Adams gave a

historic four-and-a-half-hour address to the Supreme Court calling for the Africans' freedom and attacking Van Buren's abuse of executive power. In a dramatic moment, Adams faced the judges, pointed to a copy of the Declaration of Independence hanging on the courtroom wall, and said, I know no law, statute, or constitution, no code, no treaty except that law, which is forever before the eyes of your honors. The Supreme Court ruled in favor of the Africans, accepting the argument that they were never citizens of Spain and were illegally taken from Africa,

where they lived in a state of freedom. The 35 surviving Africans were returned to their homeland. Of course, the ruling only applied to those enslaved by Spain and not to the two million slaves held in America. The legality of their enslavement was not yet being questioned by the Supreme Court. Imagine it's May, 1837. You're a merchant in the bustling city of New York. The economy's been rocky lately, but for you, business has been good.

You stroll down Broadway, dressed in the finest livery of the day, toward the tallest building on the skyline, Trinity Church. Its 200-foot spire reaches to the sky, pointing you in the direction of the real power behind the country, Wall Street, where you do your banking. It's a pleasant day. The street is emptier than usual. You tip your hat to a pretty young lady passing by. She's in a hurry and doesn't seem to notice. But how could she not notice your top hat? At 20 inches tall, it gives Trinity Church a run for its money. But never mind her.

Life's good. And your hat makes you a walking symbol of success. You strike a match, light a cigar, and grab a copy of the New York Herald. The news is not good. Cotton prices are still tanking, dropping 17% this month. This will make it much harder for you to meet your current obligations to production and to your bank. As you turn onto Wall Street, a gentleman darts by you, white as a ghost. The streets are jam-packed, panicked people running to and fro.

Sir, what has happened? Didn't you read the paper? You frantically scan the herald in your hand. When you see it, your heart drops. Species payments suspended. You scan down to the editor's note. His words are like a knife to the heart. The explosion of the banking system is now complete.

Your cigar falls from your lips. Your leisurely walk turns to a run. Your hat falls off and you don't even stop to get it. You push through the growing chaos erupting on Wall Street until you come to a mass of people stopped in their tracks right in front of your bank. You recognize a face in the crowd. He owns a shoe shop just down the street from you. You grab him by the arm. What's happened, sir? I asked them for the cash, but they told me they hadn't got it. A gentleman from the bank shouts at the crowd for silence. He wishes to make an announcement. The dry dock bank has just closed its doors. There is no money left.

They have money. They just don't want to let us get it. I want my damn money. You feel their rage. You trusted the bank to secure your wealth. You had hoped to turn a profit on lands you bought out west. They were all purchased on loan. Your factory, too.

You have a business to run, a staff of girls on the floor to pay, and you need your money now. The bank man asks for calm and continues. We have reached out for assistance from some other banks. No assistance has been given. I'm afraid to say that immediate demand was just too great. The bank, forgive me, gentlemen, the bank is not solvent. We have closed our doors.

The crowd erupts in protest and tries to run the bank's man out on a rail. But you're in too great of a shock to be angry. You just lost everything you own. When Van Buren took possession of the White House in 1837, a deep recession was already underway due to the contraction of credit caused by the species circular. By spring 1837, with their species reserves dwindling, banks in New York, Philadelphia, Providence, Baltimore, and New Orleans refused to convert paper money into gold or silver, called in their loans, and stopped lending. The credit freeze had grinded the flow of goods and services throughout America's economy to a halt. Average American citizens, particularly those living in burgeoning cities, were hit the hardest. Tens of thousands of people found themselves out of work, with no prospects for the future and no way to pay for rent, food, or fuel.

Merchants, shopkeepers, and manufacturers were all affected. The economy was in a freefall. From his retirement, Andrew Jackson encouraged Van Buren to keep the policy, saying it only needs time to be a success, and the public are in favor. You must rest assured that 19-20ths of the whole people approve it, all except the speculators and their secret associates and partners. But Van Buren was hearing otherwise, and not just from bankers and speculators, from members of his own party. The Democrats were deeply divided over this issue.

The pro-bank Democrats wanted the species circular rescinded. Van Buren received bundles of letters every day urging him to take a new path. But Jackson pressed him hard on the issue. Jackson wrote to Van Buren, The Treasury order is popular with the people everywhere I have passed. Check the paper mania, and the republic is safe, and your administration must end in triumph. Van Buren listened to Jackson. He ignored pleas for a new direction and made his decision.

Jackson's executive order, the specie circular, would stand. Five weeks into his presidency, Van Buren watched as the economy collapsed. I'm Tristan Redmond, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts. But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024

Ambees and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Amby's and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time, only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert.

What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store, or maybe you're with your secret lover, or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Thank you. exclusively and ad-free on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts, or Spotify. The election of 1840 was a referendum on Martin Van Buren's presidency and his handling of the economy.

Jackson's economic policies and Van Buren's commitment to seeing them through resulted in a crippling depression. This downturn earned Van Buren's commitment to seeing them through resulted in a crippling depression. This downturn earned Van Buren a new nickname, Martin Van Ruin. In 1836, Van Buren had won the popular vote over William Henry Harrison, but now, in 1840, Harrison would have a real chance for revenge. Harrison had led U.S. forces against Tecumseh supporters in the Battle of Tippecanoe during the War of 1812, earning him the nickname Old Tippecanoe and national fame.

Van Buren was, well, Van Ruin. He had doubled down on Jackson's policies, and in this election, they would be Van Buren's, well, Ruin. When the votes were counted, Harrison won the day in an electoral landslide. The Whigs had finally wrested the presidency from the hands of the Jacksonian Democrats. But the new president, the war hero who united the Whigs and defeated the little magician, was not destined for a long reign in the White House. William Henry Harrison was president for only 31 days before he died, making his tenure in the White House the shortest in American history.

The day of his inauguration, he made a two-hour speech in the rain. Three weeks later, he fell ill, and on April 4th, he died. 1841 became the first year in American history to see three presidents in the White House, Martin Van Buren, William Henry Harrison, and now President John Tyler. Tyler, a Virginia native and the 10th president of the United States, was always something of an afterthought. In fact, Harrison's campaign slogan was, Old Tippecanoe, and Tyler too. No one trusted Tyler, not the Whigs and not the opposition. Tyler didn't trust the Jacksonian Democrats either, but he sided with them on the issue of banks, against his own party,

and much to the annoyance of men like Henry Clay. Tyler's independent thinking left him with few friends and even fewer allies, and the Americans had not voted for him to be president. After Harrison's untimely death, the people gave Tyler a less than flattering nickname, his Accidency. This deeply bothered Tyler, who wanted more than anything to be elected on his own terms. In order to do this, he needed to finish Harrison's term with a big win. So Tyler focused his agenda on a big territory, Texas. Before Tyler's presidency, the annexation of Texas had not been in the cards.

Most in Washington thought few cared about Texas at all. But Tyler saw things differently. He believed that outside of Washington, the public was in favor of annexation. And more importantly, if he brought Texas into the Union, he'd have a fighting chance of winning the election as his own man. Tyler secretly negotiated a treaty to annex the Republic of Texas and began lining up supporters for the bill in the Senate. When the negotiations began, Texans had their concerns, mainly that Mexico would learn of the courtship with the U.S. and use military force against them. To ease their worries, Tyler's administration verbally offered Texas military protection. But Texans wanted something more official. They wanted a commitment in writing. On February 14, 1844, they got one, a secret pledge from John Tyler.

Tyler promised that the moment Texas signed the Treaty of Annexations, a sufficient naval force shall be placed in the Gulf of Mexico, convenient for the defense of Texas. There was only one problem. Tyler didn't have the constitutional authority to make such a promise, and he knew it. The Tyler administration hoped to keep the treaty out of the public eye as long as possible, but by April of 1844, the cat was out of the bag. Benjamin Tappan, an abolitionist senator from Ohio, leaked a copy of the treaty to the press, the Valentine's Day Pledge, as well as his own thoughts, calling the whole affair a disgrace to the nation. The same day Tappan's story leaked, a letter written by Henry Clay was published. Clay rejected the idea of annexing Texas warning readers, annexation,

and war with Mexico are identical. Running on a pro-bank platform and standing in firm opposition to the annexation treaty, Henry Clay would handily secure the Whigs' nomination for president in the election of 1844. John Tyler was officially on his own. But Henry Clay and Tyler weren't the only men with their sights set on the presidency. Martin Van Buren, the presumed Democratic nominee, was looking to retake the White House, and he too took a hard position against the annexation of Texas. He felt it would do us more real lasting injury as a nation than the acquisition of such a territory, valuable as it undoubtedly is, could possibly repair.

In the face of opposition, Tyler never wavered. He claimed his desire to annex Texas was motivated by reason and justice. But if Tyler thought his election hopes couldn't get any worse, he was badly mistaken, because the issue of Texas annexation was about to become an issue of slavery. On February 24, 1844, just 10 days after the infamous Valentine's Day Pledge, Tyler's Secretary of State was killed aboard the USS Princeton when one of the ship's guns exploded. Tyler would tap Andrew Jackson's old political rival John Calhoun of South Carolina as a replacement. But Calhoun was a wild card. In the middle of the debate over the future of Texas, he released a letter he had written to a British minister. In the letter, he explained that the annexation of Texas was vital

to the security of the South and, most importantly, the expansion of slavery. Tyler had been desperately trying to keep conversations of annexation away from the issue of slavery because of the potential fallout. But with this single letter, Calhoun put the issue front and center. Tyler's dreams of annexing Texas, once so close, were evaporating, along with any Northern support for annexation. This was bad for Tyler, but it was bad for someone else, too. Martin Van Buren. Whereas Clay's position on annexation played very well with the anti-slavery Whigs in the North,

for Southern Democrats, Van Buren's position on Texas was a serious problem. Standing in opposition to the annexation of Texas meant standing in the way of the expansion of slavery. The party of Jackson had been adrift ever since the Panic of 1837 and the shocking victory of William Henry Harrison. And now, the clear frontrunner was a political liability. Even Andrew Jackson was starting to turn on his former vice president. Terminally ill at his Tennessee estate, Jackson admitted to a friend that he was unmanned by Van Buren's rejection of Texas and shed tears of regret when he read of it. Jackson was no longer a power broker in the party, but his opinion still

mattered, and he believed the time for annexation had arrived. He wrote directly to Van Buren and warned him that his election in 1844 would be impossible under the circumstances. Van Buren, shocked by the desertion of his mentor, destroyed the letter. Jackson wrote another letter, but this time to James K. Polk, and summoned him to his bedside. Polk, whose reputation for loyalty earned him the nickname Young Hickory, came at once. Jackson railed. The candidate for the first office should be an annexation man, and from the Southwest. Polk fit the bill. He understood the rising interest of expansion amongst the public. With the support of Old Hickory, Polk made his case to the party and secured the Democratic nomination. In the summer of 1844, John Tyler made a last-ditch effort to pass the

annexation treaty. But when his efforts failed, Tyler began to see the writing on the wall. He would never win the election. So Tyler struck a deal. If the Democrats would pass the treaty, he would drop out of the race, giving Polk a clear path to the White House. The Democrats agreed. The treaty passed in the final weeks of Tyler's presidency, and Polk won the 1844 election, handily, with 62% of the vote. In March of 1845, President-elect Polk began his journey to Washington, D.C. On the way, he stopped to visit his old friend and mentor at the Hermitage. Andrew Jackson, wracked by old wounds, tuberculosis, and dysentery, was a frail shadow of his former self.

He was just an old man clinging to life. But Polk's election made Jackson happy. He felt that Polk would fearlessly carry out all of his principles. But both men knew it would be the last time they would ever meet. From Wondery, this is episode six of The Age of Jackson from American History Tellers. In our next series, after World War II, the United States and the Soviet Union emerged as the world's new superpowers. And soon they were locked in competition for supremacy. This rivalry played out all across the globe and into orbit as the space race saw the Soviets taking the early lead and leaving America playing catch-up. If you like American History Tellers, you can

binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Christine King with research by Daniel Wallace. Produced by George Lavender. Executive producers are Marshall Louis and Hernán López for Wondery. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark

web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target. Because buried in the depths of the internet is The Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses, and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. And it turns out, convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy. Follow Kill List on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C

True Crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your

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