The Gilder Lehrman Institute of American History

Even the Constitution itself was uncertain -- a work-in-progress with serious design flaws. The election ultimately centered on one of these flaws -- a fundamental constitutional defect in the presidential and vice presidential voting process. As originally drafted, the Constitution did not differentiate between presidential and vice presidential candidates. Each presidential elector cast two votes, and regardless of political affiliation, the man who received the most votes became president and the runner-up became vice president; any candidate could win either office. When two candidates were tied, the election was thrown into the House, where each state had one vote, to be decided by a majority of the delegation. In 1796, this produced a Federalist president (John Adams) and a Republican vice president (Thomas Jefferson). In 1800, it created a tied election in which both candidates were entitled to claim the presidency, and even the backup procedure of deciding the election in the House almost failed; it took six days and thirty-six ballots to break the deadlock. This defect was resolved by the Twelfth Amendment in 1804, which provided separate balloting for president and vice president.

So the dire predictions and overwrought rhetoric that characterized the election were not mere campaign excess; people really feared disunion. They were also nervous about party loyalties. Rather than intense party unity, there was a jumble of suspicions and conflicting loyalties -- personal, ideological, and regional, as well as partisan -- at the heart of the election. For example, Northerners and Southerners deeply distrusted each other -- Federalists and Republicans alike. Aware of this potential problem, both alliances held a congressional caucus before the election, during which Northerners and Southerners personally vowed to support the candidate from the other region. These vows ultimately proved necessary, for regional loyalties came to the fore throughout the election, prompting a string of nervous demands for reassurance. After hearing a rumor that Virginia Republicans were going to drop votes for Burr to ensure Jefferson's victory, Burr's friend David Gelston sent two anxious letters to Madison, reminding him that personal honor was at stake. "I am not willing to believe it possible that such measures [as dropping votes for Burr] can be contemplated," he wrote, suggesting just the opposite. "We know that the honour of the Gentlemen of Virgina, and N.Y. was pledged at the adjournment of Congress," and to violate such an agreement would be "a sacrilege."⁶ A letter from Madison to Jefferson reveals that Gelston's fears were well founded. Gelston "expresses much anxiety & betrays some jealousy with respect to the integrity of the Southern States," Madison wrote. "I hope the event will skreen all the parties, particularly Virginia[,] from any imputation on this subject; tho' I am not without fears, that the requisite concert may not sufficiently pervade the several States." Such fears eventually compelled Jefferson himself, as he later explained, to take "some measures" to ensure Burr Virginia's unanimous vote.⁷

Clearly, this was no election of simple party politics. Nor did it represent a sudden acceptance of a "modern" politics. The Federalist and Republican congressional caucuses of May 1800 suggest as much. Led astray by the word "caucus," many scholars pinpoint these meetings as a modern innovation. But in truth, they were something quite different. Participants sometimes referred to them as "caucuses," but they also called them "the agreement," "the promise," "the compromise," and "the pledge," to which they would be "faithful" and "true."⁸ Clearly, these caucuses involved negotiation and compromise between men of different views, rather than the simple confirmation of a presidential ticket. Nor was the result of these compromises -- electoral tickets featuring a northerner and a southerner -- a foregone conclusion, regardless of how obvious such a strategy seems to us. For national politicians, a cross-regional ticket was risky, for it required a high degree of national partisan loyalty and mutual trust between North and South. The national caucuses were attempts to create national party unity, not expressions of it. Indeed, as suggested by words such as "pledge" and "promise," national party loyalty was so weak that it had to be supplemented by personal vows. To compel politicians to stay the course, they had to commit themselves by pledging their word of honor and their reputations; the only way to unite Northerners and Southerners was to appeal to them as gentlemen who would be dishonored if they abandoned their allies. These honor-pledging ceremonies were not party caucuses as we understand them today.

The election was ultimately decided by a Federalist who abandoned his political loyalties, putting his loyalty to his home state above all else; James Bayard, the lone representative from Delaware, had an entire state's vote in his power during the deadlock in the House. A letter to Hamilton written shortly after the tie was announced reveals Bayard's dilemma. First and foremost, he considered himself a Federalist who would require "the most undoubting conviction" before he separated himself from his Federalist friends. He also thought of himself as a Northerner whose intense dislike of Virginia seemed to make Burr the preferable choice for president. Under normal circumstances, these two perspectives would have been in accord, for the Federalists were largely a Northern party with a particular hatred of Virginia, the heart of their Republican opposition. Bayard's problems arose when he perceived a conflict between Federalist concerns and the welfare of his home state. New England Federalists seemed willing to sacrifice the Union rather than install Jefferson as president. And if the Union collapsed, the tiny state of Delaware would probably be swallowed by another state or a foreign power. As Bayard explained after the election, "Representing the smallest State in the Union, without resources which could furnish the means of self protection, I was compelled by the obligation of a sacred duty so to act as not to hazard the constitution upon which the political existence of the State depends."⁹ Compelled to decide between loyalty to Federalism and to his home state, Bayard abandoned Federalism.

In all of these ways, the election of 1800 cannot be summed up as a stepping-stone to modern party politics. Of course, there are exceptions to all rules, and not surprisingly, Aaron Burr offers one exception. Inspired by the prevailing sense of crisis (as well as by his sheer enjoyment of the political game), Burr pushed political innovation to an extreme. Anxieties were certainly at an extreme in the spring of 1800, for New York City was the most crucial contest of the campaign, capable of deciding the election. The challenge of the moment spurred Burr to new heights of political creativity. For example, he personalized his campaign to an extraordinary degree, purportedly compiling a roster with the name of every New York City voter, accompanied by a detailed description of his political leanings, temperament, and financial standing. His plan was to portion the list out to his cadre of young supporters, who would literally electioneer door-to-door; in the process, he was politically organizing the citizenry -- not his goal, but the logical outcome. Similarly, rather than selecting potential electors based on their rank and reputation, he selected the men "most likely to run well," canvassing voters to test the waters. Perhaps his most striking innovations concerned his advance preparations for the city's three polling days. As one contemporary described it, Burr "kept open house for nearly two months, and Committees were in session day and night during that whole time at his house. Refreshments were always on the table and mattresses for temporary repose in the rooms. Reporters were hourly received from sub-committees, and in short, no means left unemployed."¹⁰ In essence, Burr created an early version of a campaign headquarters.

Indeed, as a whole, the election featured a number of electoral innovations. Newspapers were used with particular effectiveness, partly the result of creative politicking, and partly the result of the ever-spreading power of the press-a growing technology. Also, some elite politicians spent more time electioneering among voters than they had before; for example, both Burr and Hamilton pledged "to come forward, and address the people" during the course of the election. During New York City's three days of voting, both men scurried from polling place to polling place, addressing the crowds. As Burr supporter Matthew Davis noted, this Burr had "never done at any former election."¹¹ The partisan presses recognized the novelty of such a gesture. How could a "would be Vice President . . . stoop so low as to visit every corner in search of voters?" asked the Federalist Daily Advertiser. The Commercial Advertiser likewise commented on the "astonished" electorate that greeted Hamilton's efforts. ¹²

The tone of politics was slowly shifting. But such changes do not signal a simple acceptance of a "modern" form of politics. In the crisis-ridden election of 1800, the many prevailing anxieties about the fate of the Union pushed people to change past habits. Of course, people did not accept such change in a blind rush. Rather, they forged a gradual, intricate series of compromises between "shoulds" and "should-nots," negotiating between past standards and the demands of the moment. For the political elite, this involved new levels of communication with the populace. Examined closely, this type of compromise reveals the complex dynamic of political change. The nature of politics changed slowly, one decision at a time.

Footnotes:


1. James Madison, "Advice to My Country," 1834, in Irving Brant, James Madison, Commander in Chief, 1812-1836 (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1961), 530-31; Alexander Hamilton to Theodore Sedgwick, July 10, 1804, Harold C. Syrett, ed., The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 27 vols. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1961-87), 26:309.
2. See Alexander Hamilton, [Statement on Impending Duel with Aaron Burr], [June 28-July 10, 1804], The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 26:278, 280.
3. Henry Lee to James Madison, April 3, 1790, Robert Rutland and J. C. A. Stagg, eds., The Papers of James Madison, 17 vols. to date (Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia, 1962-), 13:136.
4. George Washington to Alexander Hamilton, August 26, 1792, The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 12:276.
5. See Stanley Elkins and Eric McKitrick, The Age of Federalism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 481. This book offers a detailed discussion of the many crises of the 1790s.
6. David Gelston to James Madison, October 8 and November 21, 1800, The Papers of James Madison, 17:418-19, 438; James Madison to Thomas Jefferson, October 21, 1800, ibid., 17:425-26.
7. Jefferson, memorandum, January 26, 1804, in Franklin B. Sawvel, ed., The Complete Anas of Thomas Jefferson (New York: Round Table Press, 1903), 224-28.
8. See, for example, James Monroe to James Madison, October 21, 1800, George Jackson to Madison, February 5, 1801, The Papers of James Madison, 17:426, 460-61; Charles Cotesworth Pinckney to James McHenry, June 10, 1800, Bernard C. Steiner, ed., The Life and Correspondence of James McHenry (Cleveland: Burrows Brothers, 1907), 459-60; Robert Troup to Rufus King, December 4, 1800, Fisher Ames to Rufus King, August 26, 1800, Charles R. King, ed., The Life and Correspondence of Rufus King 6 vols. (New York: Putnam's, 1897), 3:295-97, 340-41; John Rutledge, Jr. to Alexander Hamilton, July 17, 1800, and George Cabot to Alexander Hamilton, August 21, 1800, The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 25: 30-38, 74-75; David Gelston to Madison, October 8 and November 21, 1800, The Papers of James Madison, 17:418-19, 438.
9. James Bayard to Alexander Hamilton, January 7, 1801, The Papers of Alexander Hamilton, 25:199-203; James Bayard to John Adams, February 19, 1801, "Papers of James A. Bayard, 1796-1815," Annual Report of the American Historical Association 2 (1913): 129-30.
10. Diary of Benjamin Betterton Howell, in Milton Lomask, Aaron Burr 2 vols. (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1979), 1:244.
11. Matthew Davis to Albert Gallatin, March 29, 1800, Albert Gallatin Papers, New-York Historical Society.
12. [New York] Daily Advertiser, April 2, 1800, in Lomask, Aaron Burr, 1:244; [New York] General Advertiser, April 3, 1800, ibid.