XX. A GREAT WAR GOVERNOR…

XX. A GREAT WAR GOVERNOR

1812-1815

The assumption of extraordinary responsibilities during the War of 1812, justly conferred upon Daniel D. Tompkins the title of a great war governor. There is an essential difference between a war governor and a governor in time of war. One is enthusiastic, resourceful, with ability to organise victory by filling languishing patriotism with new and noble inspiration--the other simply performs his duty, sometimes respectably, sometimes only perfunctorily. George Clinton illustrated, in his own person, the difference between a great war governor and a governor in time of war. If he failed to win renown on the battlefield, his ability to inspire the people with confidence, and to bring glory out of threatened failure and success out of apparent defeat, made him the greatest war governor the country had yet known. Daniel D. Tompkins served his State no less acceptably. In the moment of greatest discouragement he displayed a patriotic courage in borrowing money without authority of law that made his Administration famous.

Yet Tompkins' patriotism scarcely rose to that sublime height which suffers its possessor unselfishly to advance a rival even for the public welfare. There is no doubt of DeWitt Clinton's conspicuous devotion to the interests of his country throughout the entire war. He exceeded his power as mayor in inducing the Common Council to borrow money on the credit of the city and loan it to the United States; at the supreme moment of a great crisis, when the national treasury was empty and a British fleet threatened destruction to the coast, an impressive address which he drafted, accompanied by a subscription paper which he headed, resulted in raising a fund of over one million dollars for the city's defence. The genius of Clinton had never been more nobly employed than in his efforts to sustain the war, winning him universal esteem throughout the municipality for his patriotic unselfishness and unlimited generosity. Tompkins must have known that such a man, already holding the rank of major-general in the militia, would be absolute master of any situation. He was not the one to throw up the cards because the chances of the game were going against him. His was a fighting spirit, and his impulse was ever, like that of Macbeth, to try to the last. But Tompkins could not fail to observe the party's growing dislike for Clinton, and, much as he wanted military success, he graciously declined Clinton's request, brought to him by Thomas Addis Emmet, to be assigned to active service in the field.

Tompkins had little to encourage him at the outset of the war. The election in April, 1812, had turned the Assembly over to the Federalists, who not only wasted the time of an extra session, called in November of that year, but carried their opposition through the regular session begun in January, 1813. The emergency was pressing. New England Federalists had declined to make the desired loans to the general government, and the governor of New York wished his State to relieve the situation by advancing the needed money. It was a patriotic measure. Whether right or wrong, the declaration of war had jeopardised the country. Soldiers, poorly equipped, scantily clothed, without organisation, and without pay, were scattered for hundreds of miles along a sparsely settled border, opened to the attacks of a powerful enemy; yet the Federalists refused to vote a dollar to equip a man. Why should we continue a war from the prosecution of which we have nothing to gain, they asked? The Orders in Council have been repealed, England has shrunk from facing the consequences of its own folly, and America has already won a complete triumph. What further need, then, for bleeding our exhausted treasury?

The Governor's embarrassment, however, did not emanate from the Federalists alone. The northern frontier of New York was to become the great battle-ground, and it was conceded that capable generals and a sufficient force were necessary to carry the war promptly into Canada. But the President furnished neither. He appointed Henry Dearborn, with the rank of major-general, to command the district from Niagara to the St. Lawrence, thus putting all military operations within the State under the control of a man in his sixty-second year, whose only military experience had been gained as a deputy quartermaster-general in 1781, and as colonel of a New Hampshire regiment after the end of the Revolutionary War. Dearborn was a politician--not a general. After serving several years in Jefferson's Cabinet, he graduated into the custom-house at Boston, where he concerned himself more to beat the Federalists than he ever exerted himself to defeat the British. In his opinion, campaigning ought to have its regular alternations of activity and repose, but he never knew when activity should begin. To make the condition more supremely ironic, Morgan Lewis, now in his fifty-ninth year, whose knowledge of war, like Dearborn's, had been learned as a deputy quartermaster-general thirty years before, was associated with him in command.

Dearborn submitted a plan of campaign, recommending that the main army advance by way of Lake Champlain upon Montreal, while three corps of militia should enter Canada from Detroit, Niagara and Sackett's Harbour. This was as near as Dearborn ever came to a successful invasion of Canada. War was declared on June 18, 1812, and July had been frittered away before he left Albany. Meantime General Hull, whose success depended largely upon Dearborn's vigorous support from Niagara, having been a fortnight on British soil, now recrossed the river and a few days later surrendered his army and Detroit to General Brock. This tragic event aroused Dearborn sufficiently to send Stephen Van Rensselaer to command the Niagara frontier, the feeble General assuring the secretary of war that, as soon as the force at Lewiston aggregated six thousand men, a forward movement should be made; but Dearborn himself, with the largest force then under arms, took good care to remain on Lake Champlain, clinging to its shores like a barnacle, as if afraid of the fate visited upon the unfortunate Hull. Finally, after two months of waiting, Van Rensselaer sent a thousand men across the Niagara to Queenstown to be killed and captured within sight of four thousand troops who refused to go to the help of their comrades. Disgusted and defeated, Van Rensselaer turned over his command to Brigadier-General Alexander Smith, a boastful Irish friend of Madison from Virginia, who issued burlesque proclamations about an invasion of Canada, and then declined to risk an engagement, although he had three Americans to one Englishman. This closed the campaign of 1812.

With the hope of improving the military situation John Armstrong was made secretary of war in place of William Eustis. Armstrong was never a favourite. His association with Gates and his subsequent career in France, made him an object of distrust. But, once in office, he picked up the Eustis ravellings and announced a plan of campaign which included an attack on Montreal from Lake Champlain; the destruction of Kingston and York (Toronto) by the troops from Sackett's Harbour; and the expulsion of the British from the Niagara frontier. The Kingston part of the programme possessed genuine merit. Kingston commanded the traffic of the St. Lawrence, between Upper and Lower Canada, and no British force could maintain itself in Upper Canada without ready communication with the lower province; but Dearborn decided to reverse Armstrong's plan by taking York, afterward the Niagara frontier, and then unite a victorious army against Kingston. Dearborn, to do him justice, offered to resign, and Armstrong would gladly have gotten rid of him, with Morgan Lewis and other incompetents. The President, however, clung to the old men, making the spring and early summer campaign of 1813, like its predecessor, a record of dismal failures. York had, indeed, capitulated after the bloodiest battle of the war, the American loss amounting to one-fifth the entire force, including Pike, the best brigadier then in the service. But the British still held Niagara; two brigade commanders had been sorely defeated; a third had surrendered five hundred and forty men to a British lieutenant with two hundred and sixty; and Sackett's Harbour, with its barracks burned and navy-yard destroyed, had barely escaped capture, while Kingston was unmolested and Dearborn totally incapacitated "with fever and mortification."

It was now midsummer. Tompkins and a Republican Senate had been re-elected, but the Federalists, whose policy was to obtain peace on any terms, still held the Assembly. Just at this time, therefore, success in the field would have been of immense value politically, and as sickness had put Dearborn out of commission, it gave Armstrong an opportunity of promoting Winfield Scott and Jacob Brown, both of whom had shown unusual ability in spite of the shameless incapacity of their seniors. The splendid fighting qualities of Jacob Brown had saved Sackett's Harbour; and the brilliant pluck of Winfield Scott had withstood a force three times his own until British bayonets pushed him over the crest of Queenstown Heights. Armstrong, however, had a liking for James Wilkinson. They had been companions in arms with Gates at Saratoga, and, although no one knew better than Armstrong the feebleness of Wilkinson's character, he assigned him to New York after the President had forced his removal from New Orleans.

Wilkinson's military life might fairly be described as infamous. Winfield Scott spoke of him as an "unprincipled imbecile."[177] He had recently been several times court-martialled, once for being engaged in a treasonable conspiracy with Spain, again as an accomplice of Aaron Burr, and finally for corruption; and, although each time he had been acquitted, his brother officers regarded him with suspicion and contempt. Nevertheless, this man, fifty-six years of age, and broken in health as well as character, was substituted for Dearborn and ordered to take Kingston; and Wade Hampton, one year his senior, without a war record, and not on speaking terms with Wilkinson, was ordered to Plattsburg to take Montreal. Folly such as this could only end in disaster. Whatever Armstrong suggested Wilkinson opposed, and whatever Wilkinson advised Hampton resented; but Wilkinson so far prevailed, that, before either expedition started, it was agreed to abandon Kingston; and before either general had passed far beyond the limits of the State, it was agreed to abandon Montreal, leaving the generals and the secretary of war ample time to quarrel over their responsibility for the failure. Wilkinson charged Hampton with blasting the honour of the army, and both generals accused Armstrong of purposely deserting them to shift the blame from himself. On the other hand, Armstrong accepted Hampton's resignation, sneered at Wilkinson for abandoning the campaign, and, after Hampton's death, saddled him with the responsibility of the whole failure.

[Footnote 177: Winfield Scott, Autobiography, p. 94, note.]

Meantime, while the generals and secretary quarrelled, and their twelve thousand troops rested in winter quarters at French Mills and Plattsburg--leaving the country between Detroit and Sackett's Harbour with less than a regiment--the British were vigorously at work. They pounced upon the Niagara frontier; reoccupied Fort George; carried Fort Niagara with great slaughter; and burned Black Rock and Buffalo in revenge for the destruction of Newark and Queenstown and the public buildings at York. This ended the campaign of 1813.

On the high seas, however, the American navy, so small that England had scarcely known of its existence, was redeeming the country from the disgrace its generals had brought upon it. There are some battles of that time, fought out in storm and darkness, which taught Americans the real pleasures of war, and turned the names of vessels and their brave commanders into household words; but not until Oliver H. Perry, an energetic young officer, was ordered from Newport to the Niagara frontier, in the spring of 1813, did conditions change from sacrifice and disgrace to real success. Six vessels were at that time building at Erie; and three smaller craft rested quietly in the navy-yard at Black Rock. Perry's orders included the union of these fleets, carrying fifty-four guns and five hundred men, and the destruction of six British vessels, carrying sixty-three guns and four hundred and fifty men. Six months of patient labour on both sides were required to put the squadrons into fighting condition; but when, on the afternoon of September 10, Perry had fought the fight to a finish, the British squadron belonged to him. The War of 1812 would be memorable for this, if it were for nothing else; and the indomitable Perry, whose stubborn courage had wrested victory from what seemed inevitable defeat, is enthroned among the proudest names of the great sea fighters of history.

After Wilkinson, Morgan Lewis, and other incompetent generals had retired in disgrace, Armstrong recognised the genius of Jacob Brown and Winfield Scott. Brown was of Quaker parentage, a school teacher by profession, and a farmer by occupation. After founding the town of Brownsville, he had owned and lived on a large tract of land near Sackett's Harbour, and for recreation he had commanded a militia regiment. In 1811, Tompkins made him a brigadier, and when the contest opened, he found his true mission. He knew nothing of the technique of war. Laying out fortifications, policing camps, arranging with calculating foresight for the far future, did not fall within his knowledge; but for a fighter he must always rank in history with John Paul Jones; and as a leader of men he had hardly a rival in those days. Soldiers only wanted his word of command to undertake any enterprise, no matter how hopeless. Winfield Scott, who understood Brown's limitations, said there was nothing he could not do if he only got a fair opportunity. Armstrong commissioned him a major-general in place of Wilkinson, and assigned Scott to a brigade in his command. These officers, full of zeal and vigor, infused new life into an army that had been beaten and battered for two years. In twelve weeks, during July, August, and September, the British met stubborn resistance at Chippewa, Lundy's Lane, Fort Erie, and Black Rock, and a repulse as disgraceful as it was complete at Plattsburg. But before Brown could establish the new order of things along the whole Canadian border, the British took Oswego, with its abundant commissary supplies, and their navy inflicted a wound, in the destruction of the Chesapeake and the Argus, that turned the Perry huzzas into suppressed lamentations.

Following this calamity, occurred the April elections of 1814. The uncertain temper of the people gave Tompkins little to expect and much to fear. He believed it had only needed a bold and spirited forward movement to demonstrate that the United States was in a position to dictate terms to England; but existing conditions indicated that England would soon dictate terms to the United States. Tompkins may be fairly excused, therefore, if he failed to discern in the struggle for political supremacy the slightest indication of that victory so long prayed for. Events, however, had been working silently--differently than either Federalist or Republican guessed; and, to the utter amazement of all, the war party swept the State, electing assemblymen even in New York City, twenty out of thirty congressmen, and every senator, save one. Under these circumstances Tompkins lost no time in summoning, in September, an extra session of the newly elected Legislature, which began turning out war measures like cloth from a loom. It raised the pay of the militia above that of the regular army; it encouraged privateering; it authorised the enlistment of twelve thousand men for two years and two thousand slaves for three years; it provided for a corps of twenty companies for coast defence; it assumed the State's quota of direct tax, and it reimbursed Governor Tompkins for personal expenditures incurred without authority of law. Some of these measures were drastic, especially the conscription bill; but the act showing the determination of the Republican party to fight the war to a finish, was that allowing slaves to enlist with the consent of their masters, and awarding them freedom when honourably mustered out of service.

There was certainly much need for an active and vigorous Legislature in the fall of 1814. Washington had been captured and burned; Armstrong, threatened with removal, had resigned in disgrace; the national treasury was empty; and every bank between New Orleans and Albany had suspended specie payment, with their notes from twenty to thirty per cent. below par. Although, in ten weeks, from July 3 to September 11, the British had met a bloody and unparalleled check from an inferior force, under the brilliant leadership of Brown and Scott, and a most disgraceful repulse by Macdonough and Macomb at Plattsburg, victorious English veterans, fresh from the battlefields of Spain, continued to arrive, until Canada contained twenty-seven thousand regular troops. On the other hand, Macomb had only fifteen hundred men at Plattsburg, Brown less than two thousand at Fort Erie, and Izard about four thousand at Buffalo.

To make bad matters worse, the New England Federalists were renewing their talk of a dissolution of the Union. "We have been led by the terms of the Constitution," said Governor Strong of Massachusetts, addressing the Legislature on October 5, 1814, "to rely on the government of the Union to provide for our defence. We have resigned to that government the revenues of the State with the expectation that this object would not be neglected. Let us, then, unite in such measures for our safety as the times demand and the principles of justice and the law of self-preservation will justify."[178] Answering for the Legislature, which understood the Governor's words to be an invitation to resume powers the State had given up when adopting the Constitution, Harrison Gray Otis reported that "this people, being ready and determined to defend themselves, have the greatest need of those resources derivable from themselves which the national government has hitherto thought proper to employ elsewhere. When this deficiency becomes apparent, no reason can preclude the right of the whole people who were parties to it, to adopt another."[179] The report closed by recommending the appointment of delegates "to meet and confer with delegates from the States of New England or any of them," out of which grew the celebrated Hartford Convention that met on the 15th of December. The report of this convention, made on the 24th of the same month, declared that a severance of the Union can be justified only by absolute necessity; but, following the Virginia resolution of 1798, it confirmed the right of a State to "interpose its authority" for the protection of its citizens against conscriptions and drafts, and for an arrangement with the general government to retain "a reasonable portion" of the revenues to be used in its own defence and in the defence of neighbouring States. In other words, it favoured the establishment of a New England confederacy. Thus, after ten years, the crisis had come which Pickering, the storm petrel, desired to precipitate in the days when Hamilton declined to listen and Aaron Burr consented to lead.

[Footnote 178: Message; Niles, Vol. 7, p. 113.]

[Footnote 179: Report of Oct. 8, 1814; Niles, Vol. 7, p. 149.]

It is doubtful if the great body of Federalists in New York really sympathised with their eastern brethren. Those who did, like Gouverneur Morris, proclaimed their views in private and confidential letters. "I care nothing more for your actings and doings," Morris wrote Pickering, then in Congress. "Your decree of conscription and your levy of contributions are alike indifferent to one whose eyes are fixed on a star in the east, which he believes to be the dayspring of freedom and glory. The traitors and madmen assembled at Hartford will, I believe, if not too tame and timid, be hailed hereafter as the patriots and sages of their day and generation."[180] Looking back on the history of that portentous event, one is shocked to learn that men like Morris could have sympathy with the principle sought to be established; but if any leading New York Federalist disapproved the convention's report he made no public record of it at the time.[181]

[Footnote 180: Gouverneur Morris to Timothy Pickering, Dec. 22, 1814, Morris's Works, Vol. 3, p. 324.]

[Footnote 181: "Among the least violent of Federalists was James Lloyd, recently United States senator from Massachusetts. To John Randolph's letter, remonstrating against the Hartford Convention, Lloyd advised the Virginians to coerce Madison into retirement, and to place Rufus King in the Presidency as the alternative to a fatal issue. The assertion of such an alternative showed how desperate the situation was believed by the moderate Federalists to be."--Henry Adams, History of the United States, Vol. 8, p. 306.]

The violent methods of New England governors in withdrawing their militia from the service of the United States, coupled with the action of the New York Federalists in calling a state convention to determine what course their party should pursue, were well calculated to arouse Governor Tompkins, who welcomed the privilege of upholding the general government. He did not minimise the gravity of the situation. Perhaps he did not feel the alarm expressed in Jefferson's letter to Gallatin, a year after the crisis had passed; for he now had behind him a patriotic Legislature and the nucleus of an invincible army under trained leadership. But if the war had continued, and, as the Washington authorities anticipated, the British had prevailed at New Orleans, he would have found a New England confederacy to the east of him as well as an army of English veterans on the north.

The conditions that faced Madison made peace his last hope. American commissioners were already in Europe; but as month after month passed without agreement, the darkest hour of the war seemed to have settled upon the country. Suddenly, on the 4th of February, 1815, the startling and glorious news of General Jackson's decisive victory at New Orleans electrified the nation. A week later, a British sloop of war sailed into New York harbour, announcing that the treaty of Ghent had been signed on the 24th of the preceding December. Instantly Madison's troubles disappeared. The war was over, the Hartford commissioners were out of employment, and the happy phrase of Charles J. Ingersoll of Pennsylvania became the popular summing up of the treaty--"not an inch ceded or lost." Jackson's victory had not entered into the peace negotiations; but intelligent men knew that the superb fighting along the Canadian frontier during the campaign of 1814, had had much to do in bringing about the result. Beginning with the battle of Chippewa, where equal bodies of troops met face to face, in broad daylight, on an open field, without advantage of position, the American army faced British troops with the skill and desperate courage that characterised the struggle between the North and the South forty years later.

Among civilians most admired for their part in the struggle, Daniel D. Tompkins stood first. The genius of an American governor had never been more nobly employed, and, although he was sometimes swayed by prejudice and the impulses of his personal ambition, he did enough to show that he was devotedly attached to his country.

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XXI. CLINTON OVERTHROWN

1815

The election of a Republican Assembly in the spring of 1814 opened the way for a Republican Council of Appointment, composed of Jonathan Dayton, representing the southern district, Lucas Elmendorff the middle, Ruggles Hubbard the eastern, and Ferrand Stranahan the western. Elmendorff had been two years in the Assembly, six years in Congress, and was now serving the first year of a single term in the State Senate; but like his less experienced colleagues he was on the Council simply to carry out the wishes of the leaders. It had been three years since Republicans had tasted the sweets of office, and a hungrier horde of applicants never besieged the capital. Yet so dextrous had politicians become in making changes from one party to the other, that the Council's work must have ended in a week had not the jealousies, until now veiled by the war, quickly developed into a conflict destined to reconcile Ambrose Spencer and DeWitt Clinton, and to rivet the friendly relations between Governor Tompkins and Martin Van Buren.

Van Buren desired to become attorney-general. He had been conspicuously prominent almost from the day he entered the Senate; and, after the Republicans recovered control of the Assembly, he was the acknowledged legislative leader of his party. By his persuasive eloquence, his gift of argument, and his political tact in obtaining supporters, he secured the passage of a "classification bill" which divided the military population of the State into twelve thousand classes, each class being required to furnish one able-bodied soldier by voluntary enlistment, by bounty, or by draft. "This act," declared Thomas H. Benton, years afterward, "was the most energetic war measure ever adopted in the country."[182] There appears to be a general agreement among writers who have commented upon the character of Van Buren and his work at this period of his career, that, next to the Governor among civilians, Van Buren was most entitled to the gratitude of his party and his State. Besides, his smooth and pleasing address had become more fascinating the longer he continued in the Senate, until his influence among legislators was equalled only by the kindly and sympathetic Tompkins, whose success in the war had won him a place in the hearts of men similar to that enjoyed by George Clinton after the close of the Revolution.

[Footnote 182: Edward M. Shepard, Martin Van Buren, p. 62.]

But popular and deserving as Van Buren was Ambrose Spencer opposed his preferment. He saw in the brilliant young legislator an obstacle to his own influence; and to break his strength at the earliest moment he advocated for attorney-general the candidacy of John Woodworth. Woodworth was filling the position when the Federalists installed Abraham Van Vechten; his right to restoration appealed with peculiar force to his party friends. Ruggles Hubbard of the Council, representing Woodworth's district, naturally inclined to his support, but Stranahan had no other interest in his candidacy than a desire to please Spencer. This left the Council a tie. There can be no question that Tompkins was in thorough accord with Van Buren's wishes, and that he regarded Spencer with almost unqualified dislike, but he was a candidate for President and naturally preferred keeping out of trouble. Nevertheless, when it required his vote to settle the controversy he gave it ungrudgingly to Van Buren. In selecting a secretary of state, the Governor applied the same rule. Spencer's friend, Elisha Jenkins, had previously held the office, and, like Woodworth, desired reinstatement; but Tompkins--tossing Jenkins aside and ignoring Samuel Young, speaker of the Assembly, who was promised and expected the office--insisted upon Peter B. Porter, now a hero of the Niagara frontier.

Spencer had long realised that Tompkins was turning against him. It is doubtful if the Governor ever felt a personal liking for this political meddling judge, although he accepted his services during the war with a certain degree of confidence. But now that hostilities were at an end, he proposed to distribute patronage along lines of his own choosing. Porter had recently been elected to Congress, and his presence in Washington would help the Governor's presidential aspirations, especially if the young soldier's friendship was sealed in advance by the unsolicited honour of an appointment as secretary of state. For the same reason, he desired the election of Nathan Sanford to the United States Senate to succeed Obadiah German. Spencer favoured John Armstrong, late secretary of war, and when the latter was thrust aside as utterly undesirable, the Judge announced his own candidacy. But Van Buren, resenting Spencer's opposition, skilfully resisted his claims until he grew timid and declined to compete "with so young a man as Mr. Sanford." Fourteen years divided their ages.

The change Republicans most clamoured for had not, however, come yet. DeWitt Clinton still held the mayoralty. Spencer urged his removal and controlled Stranahan; the Martling Men demanded it and controlled Dayton; but Elmendorff and Hubbard hesitated, and Tompkins disliked giving the casting vote. The Governor realised that no statesman had lived in his day in whom the people had shown greater confidence; and, in spite of the present clamour, he knew that the iron-willed Mayor still possessed the friendship of the best men and ripest scholars in the State. DeWitt Clinton was seen at his best, no doubt, by those who knew him in private life, among his books; and, though his strong opinions and earnest desire to maintain his side of the controversy, brought him into frequent antagonisms, his guests were encouraged to give free utterance to their own ideas and views.

These same qualities made him an active, restless leader of men in the world of politics. No doubt many hated him, for he made enemies more easily than friends; but neither enemy nor friend could deny the great natural capacity which had gradually gained a commanding place for him in public life. Tompkins must have felt that it was only a question of time when Clinton would again win the confidence of the people and make his enemies his footstool. What, therefore, to do with him was a serious question. Chained or unchained he was dangerous. The free masonry of intellect and education gave him rank; and if compelled to surrender the mayoralty he might, at any moment, take up some work which would bring him greater fame and influence. Nevertheless, Tompkins felt compelled to reach some decision. The Martling Men were insistent. They charged that Clinton, inspired by unpatriotic motives in the interest of Federalism, had opposed the war, and was an enemy of his party; and in demanding his removal they threatened those who caused delay. Van Buren could probably have relieved Tompkins by influencing Elmendorff, but Van Buren, like Tompkins, was too shrewd to rush into trouble.

It is doubtful if the possibility of a reconciliation between Spencer and Clinton occurred to Van Buren, and, if it did, it must have seemed too remote seriously to be considered; for just then Spencer was indefatigable in his exertions on the opposite side. Van Buren, moreover, understood politics too well to be blind to the danger of incurring the hostility of such a mind. A man who could bring to political work such resources of thought and of experience, who could look beneath the surface and see clearly in what direction and by what methods progress was to be made, was not one to be trifled with.

No doubt Ruggles Hubbard had a sincere attachment for Clinton. In supporting his presidential aspirations Hubbard visited Vermont, where he exercised his companionable gifts in an effort to obtain for Clinton the vote of that State. But Hubbard had neither firmness nor strength of intellect. Irregular in his habits, lax in his morals, a spendthrift and an insolvent, he could not resist the incessant attacks upon Clinton, nor the offer of the shrievalty of New York, with its large income and fat fees. When, therefore, Elmendorff finally evidenced a disposition to yield, Hubbard made the vote for Clinton's removal unanimous.

There have been seventy-nine mayors of New York since Thomas Willett, in 1665, first took charge of its affairs under the iron rule of Peter Stuyvesant, but only one in the long list, averaging a tenure of three years each, served longer than DeWitt Clinton. Richard Varick, the military secretary of Schuyler and Washington, and the distinguished associate of Samuel Jones in revising the laws of the State, held the mayoralty from 1789 to 1801, continuing through the controlling life of the Federalist party and the closing years of a century full of heroic incident in the history of the city. But DeWitt Clinton, holding office from 1803 to 1815--save the two years given Marinus Willett and Jacob Radcliff--saw the city's higher life keep pace with its growth and aided in the forces that widened its achievement and made it a financial centre. It must have cost this master-spirit of his age a deep sigh to give up a position in which his work had been so wise and helpful. His situation, indeed, seemed painfully gloomy; his office was gone, his salary was spent, and his estate was bankrupt. It is doubtful if a party leader ever came to a more distressing period in his career; yet he preserved his dignity and laughed at the storm that howled so fiercely about him. "Genuine greatness," he said, in a memorial address delivered about this time, "never appears in a more resplendent light, or in a more sublime attitude, than in that buoyancy of character which rises superior to danger and difficulty."

In the meantime, Governor Tompkins was riding on the crest of the political waves. On February 14, 1816, a legislative caucus unanimously instructed the members of Congress from New York to support him for President; a week later it nominated him for governor. Tompkins had no desire to make a fourth race for governor, but the unexpected nomination of Rufus King left him no alternative. William W. Van Ness had been determined upon as the Federalist candidate, until the fraudulent capture of the Council of Appointment by the Republicans made it inadvisable for the popular young Judge to leave the bench; and to save the party from disruption Rufus King consented to head the Federalist ticket. His great strength quickly put Republicans on the defensive; and the only man whom the party dared to oppose to him was the favourite champion of the war. Tompkins' re-election by over six thousand majority[183] once more attested his widespread popularity.

[Footnote 183: Daniel D. Tompkins, 45,412; Rufus King, 38,647.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

For the moment, every one seemed to be carried away by the fascination of the man. His friends asserted that he was always right and always successful; that patriotism had guided him through the long, discouraging war, and that, swayed neither by prejudice, nor by the impulses of personal ambition, in every step he took and every measure he recommended, he was actuated by the most unselfish purpose. Of course, this was the extravagance of enthusiastic admirers; but it was founded on twelve years of public life, marked by success and by few errors of judgment or temper. Even Federalists ceased to be his critics. It is not easy to parallel Governor Tompkins' standing at this time. If DeWitt Clinton's position seemed most wretched, Tompkins' lot appeared most happy. His life had been pure and noble; he was a sincere lover of his country; a brave and often a daring executive; a statesman of high purpose if not of the most commanding talents.

There was one man, however, with whom he must reckon. Ambrose Spencer not only loved power, but he loved to exercise it. He lacked the address of Tompkins, and, likewise, the vein of levity in the Governor's temperament that made him buoyant and hopeful even when most eager and earnest; but he was bold, enterprising, and of commanding intellect, with a determination to do with all his might the part he had to perform. His failure to become United States senator, and the appointment of Van Buren and Porter in place of Woodworth and Elisha Jenkins, rankled in his bosom. That was his first defeat. More than this, it proved that he could be defeated. Since DeWitt Clinton's defection in 1812, he had been the most powerful political factor in the State, a man whom the Governor had found it expedient to tolerate and to welcome.

The events of the past year had, however, convinced Spencer that nothing was to be gained by longer adherence to Tompkins, whom he had now come to regard with distrust and dislike. When, therefore, a candidate for President began to be talked about he promptly favoured William H. Crawford. The Georgia statesman, high tempered and overbearing, showed the faults of a strong nature, coupled with an ambition which made him too fond of intrigue; but Gallatin declared that he united to a powerful mind a most correct judgment and an inflexible integrity. In the United States Senate, with the courage and independence of Clay and the intelligence of Gallatin, he had been an earnest advocate of war and a formidable critic of its conduct. Compared to Monroe he was an intellectual giant, whose name was as familiar in New York as that of the President, and whose character was vastly more admired. In favouring such a candidate it may be easily understood how the influence of a man like Spencer affected other state leaders. Their dislike of the Virginian was as pronounced as in 1812, while their faith in the success of Tompkins, of whom Southern congressmen knew as little as they did of DeWitt Clinton four years before, was not calculated to inspire them with the zeal of missionaries. Spencer's bold declaration in favour of Crawford, therefore, hurt Tompkins more than his hesitation to support his brother-in-law in 1812 had damaged Clinton.

In the early autumn of 1814, the President had invited the Governor to become his secretary of state. Madison had been naturally drawn toward Tompkins, who had shown from his first entrance into public life a remarkable capacity for diplomatic management; and, although he had none of the higher faculties of statesmanship, the President probably saw that he would make just the kind of a minister to suit his purposes. Armstrong had not done this. Although a man of some ability and military information, Armstrong lacked conventional morals, and was the possessor of objectionable peculiarities. He never won either the confidence or the respect of Madison. He not only did harsh things in a harsh way, but he had a caustic tongue, and a tone of irreverence whenever he estimated the capacity of a Virginia statesman. On the other hand, Tompkins had gentleness, and that refined courtesy, amounting almost to tenderness, which seemed so necessary in successfully dealing with Madison.

The desire to be first in every path of political success had become such a passion in Tompkins' nature that the question presented by the President's invitation found an answer in the immediate impulses of his ambition. No doubt his duties as Governor and the importance of his remaining through the impending crisis appealed to him, but they did not control his answer. He wanted to be President, and he was willing to sacrifice anything or anybody to secure the prize. So, it is not surprising that he declined Madison's gracious offer, since the experience of Northern men with Virginia Presidents did not encourage the belief that the Presidency was reached through the Cabinet.[184] Yet, had Tompkins fully appreciated, as he did after it was too late, the importance of a personal and pleasant acquaintance with the Virginia statesman and the other men who controlled congressional caucuses, he would undoubtedly have entered Madison's Cabinet. As the ranking, and, save Monroe, the oldest of the President's advisers, he would have had two years in which to make himself popular, a sufficient time, surely, for one having the prestige of a great war governor, with gentleness of manner and sweetness of temper to disarm all opposition and to conciliate even the fiercest of politicians. Fifteen years later Martin Van Buren resigned the governorship to go to the head of Jackson's Cabinet, and it made him President.

[Footnote 184: Henry Adams, History of the United States, Vol. 8, p. 163.]

It is not at all unlikely that Madison had it in mind to make Tompkins his successor. He had little liking for his jealous secretary of state who had opposed his nomination in 1808, criticised the conduct of the war, and forced the retirement of cabinet colleagues and the removal of favourite army officers--who had, in a word, dominated the President until the latter became almost as tired of him as of Armstrong. But, as the time approached for the nomination of a new Executive, Madison's jealous regard for Virginia, as well as his knowledge of Monroe's fitness, induced him to sustain the candidate from his own State. This was notice to federal office-holders in New York to get into line for the Virginian; and very soon some of Tompkins' closest friends began falling away. To add to the Governor's unhappiness, the Administration, repeating its tactics toward the Clintons in 1808 and 1812, began exalting his enemies. In sustaining DeWitt Clinton's aspirations Solomon Southwick had actively opposed the Virginia dynasty and bitterly assailed Tompkins and Spencer for their desertion of the eminent New Yorker. For three years he had practically excluded himself from the Republican party, criticising the war with the severity of a Federalist, and continually animadverting upon the conduct of the President and the Governor; but Monroe's influence now made this peppery editor of the Register postmaster at Albany, turning his paper into an ardent advocate of the Virginian's promotion. The Governor, who had openly encouraged such a policy when DeWitt Clinton sought the Presidency, now felt the Virginia knife entering his own vitals.

Van Buren's part in Tompkins' disappointment, although not active, showed the shrewdness of a clever politician. He had learned something of national politics since he advocated the candidacy of DeWitt Clinton so enthusiastically four years before. He knew the Governor was seriously bent upon being President, and that his friends throughout the State were joining in the bitterness of the old Clinton cry that Virginia had ruled long enough--a cry which old John Adams had taken up, declaring that "My son will never have a chance until the last Virginian is laid in the graveyard;" but Van Buren knew, also, that few New Yorkers in Washington had any hope of Tompkins' success. It was the situation of 1812 over again. Tompkins was personally unknown to the country; Crawford and Monroe were national leaders of wide acquaintance, who practically divided the strength of their party. Could Van Buren have made Tompkins the President, he would have done so without hesitation; but he had little disposition to tie himself up, as he did with Clinton in 1812, and let Crawford, with Spencer's assistance, take the office and hand the patronage of New York over to the Judge. The Kinderhook statesman, therefore, declared for Tompkins, and carried the Legislature for him in spite of Spencer's support of Crawford; then, with the wariness of an old campaigner, he prevented New York congressmen from expressing any preference, although three-fourths of them favoured Crawford. When the congressional caucus finally met to select a candidate, Van Buren had the situation so muddled that it is not known to this day just how the New York congressmen did vote. Monroe, however, was not unmindful of the service rendered him. After the latter's nomination, Tompkins was named for Vice President; and if he did not resent taking second place, as George Clinton did in 1808, it was because the Vice Presidency offered changed conditions, enlarged acquaintance, and one step upward on the political ladder.

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XXII. CLINTON'S RISE TO POWER

1815-1817

There was never a time, probably, when the white man, conversant with the rivers and lakes of New York, did not talk of a continuous passage by water from Lake Erie to the sea. As early as 1724, when Cadwallader Colden was surveyor-general of the colony, he declared the opportunity for inland navigation in New York without a parallel in any other part of the world, and as the Mohawk Valley, reaching out toward the lakes of Oneida and Cayuga, and connecting by easy grades with the Genesee River beyond, opened upon his vision, it filled him with admiration. Even then the thrifty settler, pushing his way into the picturesque country of the Iroquois, had determined to pre-empt the valleys whose meanderings furnished the blackest loam and richest meadows, and whose gently receding foot-hills offered sites for the most attractive homes in the vicinity of satisfactory and enduring markets. It was this scene that impressed Joseph Carver in 1776. Carver was an explorer. He had traversed the country from New York to Green Bay, and looking back upon the watery path he saw nothing to prevent the great Northwest from being connected with the ocean by means of canals and the natural waterways of New York. In one of the rhetorical flights of his young manhood, Gouverneur Morris declared that "at no distant day the waters of the great inland seas would, by the aid of man, break through their barriers and mingle with those of the Hudson." George Washington had visions of the same vast system as he traversed the State, in 1783, with George Clinton, on his way to the headwaters of the Susquehanna.

These were the dreams of statesmen, whose realisation, however, was yet far, very far, away. In 1768, long after "Old Silver Locks" had become the distinguished lieutenant-governor, he induced Sir Henry Moore, the gay and affable successor of Governor Monckton, to ascend the Mohawk for the supreme purpose of projecting a canal around Little Falls. Sixteen years later, in 1784, the Legislature tendered Christopher Colles the entire profits of the navigation of the river if he would improve it; yet work did not follow words. It was easy to see what might be done, but the man did not appear who could do it. In 1791, George Clinton took a hand, securing the incorporation of a company to open navigation from the Hudson to Lake Ontario. The company completed three sections of a canal--aggregating six miles in length, with five leaky locks--at a cost of four hundred thousand dollars, but the price of transportation was not cheapened, nor the time shortened. This seemed to end all money effort. Other canal companies were organised, one to build between the Hudson and Lake Champlain, another to connect the Oswego River with Cayuga and Seneca lakes; but the projects came to nothing. Finally, in 1805, the Legislature authorised Simeon DeWitt, the surveyor-general, to cause the several routes to be accurately surveyed; and, after he had reported the feasibility of constructing a canal without serious difficulty from Lake Erie to the Hudson, a commission of seven men, appointed in 1810, estimated the cost of such construction at five million dollars. It was hoped the general government would assist in making up this sum; but it soon became apparent that the war, into which the country was rapidly drifting, would use up the national surplus, while rival projects divided attention and lessened the enthusiasm. Efforts to secure a right of way, developed the avarice of landowners, who demanded large damages for the privilege. Thus, discouragement succeeded discouragement until a majority of the earlier friends of the canal gave up in despair.

But there was one man who did not weaken. DeWitt Clinton had been made a member of the Canal Commission in 1810, and with Gouverneur Morris, Peter B. Porter and other associates, he explored the entire route, keeping a diary and carefully noting each obstacle in the way. In 1811, he introduced and forced the passage of a bill clothing the commission with full power to act; and, afterward, he visited Washington with Gouverneur Morris to obtain aid from Congress. Then came the war, and, later, in 1815, Clinton's overthrow and retirement.

This involuntary leisure gave Clinton just the time needed to hasten the work which was to transmit his name to later generations. Bitterly mortified over his defeat, he retired to a farm at Newton on Long Island, where he lived for a time in strict seclusion, indulging, it was said, too freely in strong drink. But if Clinton lacked patience, and temporarily, perhaps, the virtue of temperance, he did not lack force of will and strength of intellect. He corresponded with men of influence; sought the assistance of capitalists; held public meetings; and otherwise endeavoured to enlist the co-operation of people who would be benefited, and to arouse a public sentiment which should overcome doubt and stir into activity men of force and foresight. Writing from Buffalo, in July, 1816, he declared that "in all human probability, before the passing away of the present generation, Buffalo will be the second city in the State."[185] A month later, having examined "the land and the water with scrutinising eye, superintending our operations and exploring all our facilities and embarrassments" from the great drop at Lockport to the waters of the Mohawk at Utica, he again refers to the future Queen City of the Lakes with prophetic power. "Buffalo is to be the point of beginning, and in fifty years it will be next to New York in wealth and population."[186]

[Footnote 185: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 411.]

[Footnote 186: Ibid., Vol. 50, p. 411.]

It is doubtful if any statesman endowed with less genius than Clinton could have kept the project alive during this period of indifference and discouragement. Even Thomas Jefferson doubted the feasibility of the plan, declaring that it was a century in advance of the age. "I confess," wrote Rufus King, long after its construction had become assured, "that looking at the distance between Erie and the Hudson, and taking into view the hills and valleys and rivers and morasses over which the canal must pass, I have felt some doubts whether the unaided resources of the State would be competent to its execution."[187] But Clinton had a nature and a spirit which inclined him to favour daring plans, and he seems to have made up his mind that nothing should hinder him from carrying out the enterprise he had at heart.

[Footnote 187: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 97.]

In the end, he compelled the acceptance of his project by a stroke of happy audacity. A great meeting of New York merchants, held in the autumn of 1815, appointed him chairman of a committee to memorialise the Legislature. With a fund of information, obtained by personal inspection of the route, he set forth with rhetorical effect and great clearness the inestimable advantages that must come to city and to State; and, with the ease of a financier, inspired with sounder views than had been observed in the care of his own estate, he demonstrated the manner of securing abundant funds for the great work. "If the project of a canal," he said, in conclusion, "was intended to advance the views of individuals, or to foment the divisions of party; if it promoted the interests of a few at the expense of the prosperity of the many; if its benefits were limited to place, or fugitive as to duration; then, indeed, it might be received with cold indifference or treated with stern neglect; but the overflowing blessings from this great fountain of public good and national abundance will be as extensive as our own country and as durable as time. It may be confidently asserted that this canal, as to the extent of its route, as to the countries which it connects, and as to the consequences which it will produce, is without a parallel in the history of mankind. It remains for a free state to create a new era in history, and to erect a work more stupendous, more magnificent, and more beneficial than has hitherto been achieved by the human race."

When the people heard and read this memorial, monster mass-meetings, held at Albany and other points along the proposed waterway, gave vent to acclamations of joy; and Clinton was welcomed whenever and wherever he appeared. These marks of public favour were by no means confined to the lower classes. Men of large property openly espoused his cause; and when the Legislature convened, in January, 1816, a new commission, with Clinton at its head, was authorised to make surveys and estimates, receive grants and donations, and report to the next Legislature.

It was a great triumph for Clinton. He went to Albany a political outcast, he returned to New York gilded with the first rays of a new and rising career, destined to be as remarkable as the most romantic story belonging to the early days of the last century. To make his success the more conspicuous, it became known, before the legislative session ended, that his quarrel with Spencer had been settled. Spencer's wife, who was Clinton's sister, had earnestly striven to bring them together; but neither Spencer nor Clinton was made of the stuff likely to allow family affection to interfere with the promotion of their careers. As time went on, however, it became more and more evident to Spencer that some alliance must be formed against the increasing influence of Van Buren and Tompkins; and, with peace once declared with Clinton, their new friendship began just where the old alliance left off. In an instant, like quarrelling lovers, estrangement was forgotten and their interests and ambitions became mutual. Of all Clinton's critics, Spencer had been the meanest and fiercest; of all his friends, he was now the warmest and most enthusiastic. To turn Clinton's enemies into friends was as earnestly and daringly undertaken by Spencer, as the old-time work of turning his friends into enemies; and before the summer of 1816 had advanced into the sultry days of August, Spencer boldly proclaimed Clinton his candidate for governor to take the place of Tompkins, who was to become Vice President on the 4th of March, 1817. It was an audacious political move; and one of less daring mind might well have hesitated; but it is hardly too much to say of Spencer, that he combined in himself all the qualities of daring, foresight, energy, enterprise, and cool, calculating sagacity, which must be united in order to make a consummate political leader.

Tompkins, like Jefferson, had never taken kindly to the canal project. In his message to the Legislature, in February, 1816, he simply suggested that it rested with them to determine whether the scheme was sufficiently important to demand the appropriation of some part of the revenues of the State "without imposing too great a burden upon our constituents."[188] The great meetings held in the preceding autumn had forced this recognition of the existence of such a project; but his carefully measured words, and his failure to express an opinion as to its wisdom or desirability, chilled some of the enthusiasm formerly exhibited for him. To add to the people's disappointment and chagrin, the Governor omitted all mention of the subject on the 5th of November, when the Legislature assembled to choose presidential electors--an omission which he repeated on the 21st of January, 1817, when the Legislature met in regular session, although the construction of a canal was just then attracting more attention than all other questions before the public. If Clinton failed to realise the loss of popularity that would follow his loss of the Presidency in 1812, Tompkins certainly failed to appreciate the reaction that would follow his repudiation of the canal.

[Footnote 188: Governors' Speeches, February 2, 1816, p. 132.]

When the Legislature convened, the new Canal Commission, through DeWitt Clinton, presented an exhaustive report, estimating the cost of the Erie canal, three hundred and fifty-three miles long, forty feet wide at the surface, and twenty-eight feet at the bottom, with seventy-seven locks, at $4,571,813. The cost of the Champlain canal was fixed at $871,000. It was suggested that money, secured by loan, could be subsequently repaid without taxation; and on the strength of this report, a bill for the construction of both canals was immediately introduced in the two houses. This action produced a profound impression throughout the State. The only topics discussed from New York to Buffalo, were the magnificent scheme of opening a navigable waterway between the Hudson and the lakes, and the desirability of having the man build it who had made its construction possible. This, of course, meant Clinton for governor.

Talk of Clinton's candidacy was very general when the Legislature assembled, in January, 1817; and, although Van Buren had hitherto attached little importance to it, the discovery that a strong and considerable part of the Legislature, backed by the stalwart Spencer, now openly favoured the nomination of the canal champion, set him to work planning a way of escape. His suggestion that Tompkins serve as governor and vice president found little more favour than the scheme of allowing Lieutenant-Governor Taylor to act as governor; for the former plan was as objectionable to Tompkins and the people, as the latter was plainly illegal. It is doubtful if Van Buren seriously approved either expedient; but it gave him time to impress upon party friends the objections to Clinton's restoration to power. He did not go back to 1812. That would have condemned himself. But he recalled the ex-Mayor's open, bitter opposition to Tompkins in 1813, and the steady support given him by the Federalists. In proof of this statement he pointed to the present indisposition of Federalists to oppose Clinton if nominated, and their avowed declarations that Clinton's views paralleled their own.

Van Buren had shown, from his first entrance into public life, a remarkable faculty for winning men to his own way of thinking. His criticism of Clinton was now directed with characteristic sagacity and skill. His argument, that the object of those who sustained Clinton was to establish a conspiracy with the Federalists at home and abroad, for the overthrow of the Republican party in the nation as well as in the State, seemed justified by the open support of William W. Van Ness, the gifted young justice of the Supreme Court. Further to confirm his contention, Jonas Platt, now of the Supreme bench, and Jacob Rutsen Van Rensselaer of Columbia, a bold, active, and most zealous partisan, who had served in the Legislature and as secretary of state, made no secret of their intention to indorse Clinton's nomination, and, if necessary, to ride over the State to secure his election. Under ordinary circumstances nothing could discredit the Clinton agitation, with the more reasonable part of the Republican legislators, more than Van Buren's charge, strengthened by such supporting evidence.

The canal influences of the time, however, were too strong for any ingenuity of argument, or adroitness in the raising of alarm, to prevail; and so the skilful manager turned his attention to Joseph G. Yates, a judge of the Supreme Court, as an opposing candidate who might be successful. Yates belonged to the old-fashioned American type of handsome men. He had a large, shapely head, a prominent nose, full lips, and a face cleanly shaven and rosy. His bearing was excellent, his voice, manner, and everything about him bespoke the gentleman; but neither in aspect nor manner of speech did he measure up to his real desire for political preferment. Yet he had many popular qualities which commended him to the rank and file of his party. He was a man of abstemious habits and boundless industry, whose courtesy and square dealing made him a favourite. Few errors of a political character could be charged to his account. He had favoured Clinton for President; he had supported Tompkins and the war with great zeal, and, to the full extent of his ability and influence, he had proved an ardent friend of the canal policy.

It had been a trait of the Yates family--ever since its founder, an enterprising English yeoman, a native of Leeds in Yorkshire, had settled in the colony during the troublous days of Charles I.--to espouse any movement or improvement which should benefit the people. Joseph had already shown his activity and usefulness in founding Union College; he regarded the proposed canal as a long step in the development and prosperity of the State; but he did not take kindly to Van Buren's suggestion that he become a candidate for governor against Clinton. In this respect he was unlike Robert, chief justice, his father's cousin, who first ran for governor on the Federalist ticket at the suggestion of Hamilton, and, three years later, as an anti-Federalist candidate at the suggestion of George Clinton, suffering defeat on both occasions. He was, however, as ambitious as the old Chief Justice; and, had the time seemed ripe, he would have responded to the call of the Kinderhook statesman as readily as Robert did to the appeals of Hamilton and George Clinton.

Peter B. Porter was more willing. He belonged to the Tompkins-Van Buren faction which nourished the hope that the soldier, who had recently borne the flag of his country in triumph on several battlefields, would carry off the prize, although the caucus was to convene in less than forty-eight hours. There could be no doubt of General Porter's strength with the people. He had served his State and his country with a fidelity that must forever class his name with the bravest officers of the War of 1812. He rode a horse like a centaur; and, wherever he appeared, whether equipped for a fight, or off for a hunt through the forests of the Niagara frontier, his easy, familiar manners surrounded him with hosts of friends. The qualities that made him a famous soldier made him, also, a favoured politician. As county clerk, secretary of state, and congressman, he had taken the keenest interest in the great questions that agitated the political life of the opening century; and as a canal commissioner, in 1811, he had supported DeWitt Clinton with all the energy of an enthusiast.

At this time Porter was forty-four years old. He was a graduate of Yale, a student of the law, and as quick in intelligence as he was pleasing of countenance. His speeches, enlivened with gleams of humour, rays of fancy, and flashes of eloquence, expressed the thoughts of an honourable, upright statesman who was justly esteemed of the first order of intellect. Certainly, if any one could take the nomination from DeWitt Clinton it was Peter B. Porter.

It is possible, had the nomination been left exclusively to Republican members of the Legislature, as it had been for forty years, Porter might have been the choice of his party. Spencer, however, evidently feared Van Buren's subtle control of the Legislature; for, early in the winter, he began encouraging Republicans living in counties represented by Federalists, to demand a voice in the nominating caucus. It was a novel idea. Up to this time, governors and lieutenant-governors had been nominated by members of the Legislature; yet the plan now suggested was so manifestly fair that few dared oppose it. Why should the Republicans of Albany County, it was asked, be denied the privilege of participating in the nomination of a governor simply because, being in a minority, they were unrepresented in the Legislature? There was no good reason; and, although Van Buren well understood that such counties would return delegates generally favourable to Clinton, he was powerless to defeat the reform. The result was the beginning of nominating conventions, composed of delegates selected by the people, and the nomination of DeWitt Clinton.

The blow to Van Buren was a severe one. "An obscure painter of the Flemish school," wrote Clinton to his friend and confidant, Henry Post, "has made a very ludicrous and grotesque representation of Jonah immediately after he was ejected from the whale's belly. He is represented as having a very bewildered and dismal physiognomy, not knowing from whence he came nor to what place bound. Just so looks Van Buren, the leader of the opposition party."[189] Yet Van Buren seems to have taken his defeat with more serenity and dignity than might have been expected. Statesmen of far nobler character have allowed themselves to indulge in futile demonstrations of disappointment and anger, but Van Buren displayed a remarkable evenness of temper. He advocated with ability and sincerity the bill to construct the canal, which passed the Legislature on April 15, the last day of the session. Indeed, of the eighteen senators who favoured the project, five were bitter anti-Clintonians whose support was largely due to Van Buren.

[Footnote 189: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 412.]

In this vote, the noes, in both Assembly and Senate, came from Clinton's opponents, including the Tammany delegation and their friends. From the outset Tammany, by solemn resolutions, had denounced the canal project as impractical and chimerical, declaring it fit only for a ditch in which to bury Clinton. At Albany its representatives greeted the measure for its construction with a burst of mockery; and, by placing one obstacle after another in its way, nearly defeated it in the Senate. It was during this contest that the friends of Clinton called his opponents "Bucktails"--the name growing out of a custom, which obtained on certain festival occasions, when leading members of Tammany wore the tail of a deer on their hats.

Refusing to accept DeWitt Clinton, Tammany made Peter B. Porter its candidate for governor. There is ample evidence that Porter never concealed the chagrin or disappointment of defeat; but, though the distinguished General must have known that his name was printed upon the Tammany ticket and sent into every county in the State, he did not co-operate with Tammany in its effort to elect him. Other defections existed in the party. Peter R. Livingston seemed to concentrate in himself all the prejudices of his family against the Clintons. Moses I. Cantine of Catskill, a brother-in-law of Van Buren, though perhaps incapable of personal bitterness, opposed Clinton with such zeal that he refused to vote either for a gubernatorial candidate, or for the construction of a canal. Samuel Young, who seemed to nourish a deep-seated dislike of Clinton, never tired of disparaging the ex-Mayor. He apparently took keen pleasure in holding up to ridicule and in satirising, what he was pleased to call his ponderous pedantries, his solemn affectation of profundity and wisdom, his narrow-mindedness, and his intolerable and transparent egotism. But the canal sentiment was all one way. With the help of the Federalists, who declined to make an opposing nomination, Clinton swept the State like a cyclone, receiving nearly forty-four thousand votes out of a total of forty-five thousand.[190] Porter had less than fifteen hundred. Clinton's inauguration as governor occurred on the first day of July, 1817, and three days later he began the construction of the Erie canal.

[Footnote 190: DeWitt Clinton, 43,310; Peter B. Porter, 1479.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

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XXIII. BUCKTAIL AND CLINTONIAN

1817-1819

DeWitt Clinton had now reached the highest point in his political career. He was not merely all-powerful in the administration, he was the administration. He delighted in the consciousness that he was looked up to by men; that his success was fixed as a star in the firmament; and that the greatest work of his life lay before him. He was still in the prime of his days, only forty-eight years old, with a marvellous capacity for work. It is said that he found a positive delight in doing what seemed to others a wearisome and exhaustive tax upon physical endurance. "The canal," he writes to his friend, Henry Post, in the month of his inauguration, "is in a fine way. Ten miles will be completely finished this season, and all within the estimate. The application of the simple labour-saving machinery of our contractors has the operation of magic. Trees, stumps, and everything vanish before it."[191] The exceptional work and responsibility put upon him during the construction of his "big ditch," as his enemies sarcastically called it, might well have made him complain of the official burdens he had to bear; but neither by looks nor words did he indicate the slightest disposition to grumble. Nature had endowed him with a genius for success. He loved literature, he delighted in country life, he was at home among farmers, and with those inclined to science he analysed the flowers and turned with zest to a closer study of rocks and soils. No man ever enjoyed more thoroughly, or was better equipped intellectually to undertake such a career as he had now entered upon. His audacity, too, amazed his enemies and delighted his friends.

[Footnote 191: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 412.]

But Clinton had learned nothing of the art of political management either in his retirement or by experience. He was the same domineering, uncompromising, intolerant dictator, helpful only to those who continually sounded his praises, cold and distant toward those who acted with independence and spirit. He had made his enemies his footstool; and he now assumed to be the recognised head of the party whose destinies were in his keeping and whose fortunes were swayed by his will. It is, perhaps, too much to say that this was purely personal ambition. On the contrary, Clinton seems to have acted on the honest conviction that he knew better than any other man how New York ought to be governed, and the result of his effort inclines one to the opinion that he was right in the belief. At all events, it is not surprising that a man of his energy and capacity for onward movement should refuse to regulate his policy to the satisfaction of the men that had recently crushed him to earth, and who, he knew, would crush him again at the first opportunity. In this respect he was not different from Van Buren; but Van Buren would have sought to placate the least objectionable of his opponents, and to bring to his support men who were restless under the domination of others.

Clinton, however, did nothing of the kind. He would not even extend the olive branch to Samuel Young after the latter had quarrelled with Van Buren. He preferred, evidently, to rely upon his old friends--even though some of their names had become odious to the party--and upon a coterie of brilliant Federalists, led by William W. Van Ness, Jonas Platt, and Thomas J. Oakley, with whom he was already upon terms of confidential communication. He professed to believe that the principles of Republican and Federalist were getting to be somewhat undefined in their character; and that the day was not far off, if, indeed, it had not already come, when the Republican party would break into two factions, and, for the real business of statesmanship, divide the Federalists between them. Yet, in practice, he did not act on this principle. To the embarrassment of his Federalist friends he failed to appoint their followers to office, making it difficult for them to explain why he should profit by Federalist support and turn a deaf ear to Federalist necessities; and, to the surprise of his most devoted Republican supporters, he refused to make a clean sweep of the men in office whom he believed to have acted against him. He quickly dropped the Tammany men holding places in New York City, and occasionally let go an up-state politician at the instance of Ambrose Spencer, but with characteristic independence he disregarded the advice of his friends who urged him to let them all go.

Meanwhile, a change long foreseen by those who were in the inner political circle was rapidly approaching. At no period of American history could such a man as Clinton remain long in power without formidable rivals. No sooner, therefore, had the Legislature convened, in January, 1818, than Martin Van Buren, Samuel Young, Peter R. Livingston, Erastus Root, and their associates, began open war upon him. For a long time it had been a question whether it was to be Clinton and Van Buren, or Van Buren and Clinton. Van Buren had been growing every day in power and influence. Seven years before Elisha Williams had sneered at him as Little Matty. "Poor little Matty!" he wrote, "what a blessing it is for one to think he is the greatest little fellow in the world. It would be cruel to compel this man to estimate himself correctly. Inflated with pride, flattered for his pertness, caressed for his assurance, and praised for his impertinence, it is not to be wondered that in a market where those qualifications pass for evidence of intrinsic merit he should think himself great." Williams, great and brilliant as he was, could not bear with patience the supremacy which Van Buren was all too certainly obtaining. He struggled against him, intrigued against him, and finally hated and lampooned him, but the superiority of Van Buren's talents as a managing politician was destined to make him pre-eminent in the State and in the nation.

That Van Buren was not always honourable, the famous Fellows-Allen contest had recently demonstrated. Henry Fellows, a Federalist candidate for assemblyman in Ontario County, received a majority of thirty votes over Peter Allen, a Republican; but because the former's name appeared in his certificate as Hen. Fellows, the Bucktails, guided by Van Buren, seated Allen, whose vote was absolutely needed to elect a Republican Council of Appointment. Writing "Hen." for Henry was not error; it was not even an inadvertence. Van Buren knew that it stood for Henry as "Wm." did for William, or "Jas." for James. But Van Buren wanted the Council. It cannot be said that this action was inconsistent with the sentiment then governing the conduct of parties; for the maxim obtained that "everything is fair in war." Nevertheless, it illuminated Van Buren's character, and left the impression upon some of his contemporaries that he was a stranger to a high standard of political morality.

Probably DeWitt Clinton would have taken similar advantage. But in practical politics Clinton was no match for the Kinderhook statesman. Van Buren studied the game like a chess-player, taking knights and pawns with the ease of a skilful mover. Clinton, on the other hand, was an optimist, who believed in his destiny. In the performance of his official duties he mastered whatever he undertook and relied upon the people for his support; and so long as he stood for internal improvements and needed reform in the public service, he did not rely in vain. Force, clearness and ability characterised his state papers. For years he had been a student of municipal and county affairs; and, in suggesting new legislation, he exhibited rare judgment and absolute impartiality. A comprehension that sound finance had much to do with domestic prosperity, entered into his review of the financial situation--in its relation to the construction of the canals--indicating fulness of information and great clearness as to existing conditions. Clinton was honestly proud of his canal policy; more than once he declared, with exultation, that nothing was more certain to promote the prosperity of the State, or to secure to it the weight and authority, in the affairs of the nation, to which its wealth and position entitled it. Seldom in the history of an American commonwealth has a statesman been as prophetic. But in managing the details of party tactics--in dealing with individuals for the purpose of controlling the means that control men--he conducted the office of governor much as he did his candidacy for President in 1812, without plan, and, apparently, without organisation. With all his courage, Clinton must have felt some qualms of uneasiness as one humiliation followed another; but if he felt he did not show them. Conscious of his ability, and of his own great purposes, he seems to have borne his position with a sort of proud or stolid patience.

This inattention or inability to attend to details of party management became painfully apparent at the opening of the Legislature in January, 1818. Van Buren and his friends had agreed upon William Thompson for speaker of the Assembly. Thompson was a young man, warm in his passions, strong in his prejudices, and of fair ability, who had served two or three terms in the lower house, and who, it was thought, as he represented a western district, and, in opposition to Elisha Williams, had favoured certain interests in Seneca County growing out of the location of a new courthouse, would have greater strength than other more prominent Bucktails. It was known, also, that Thompson had taken a violent dislike to Clinton and could be relied upon to advance any measure for the latter's undoing. To secure his nomination, therefore, Van Buren secretly notified his partisans to be present at the caucus on the evening before the session opened.

The Clintonians had talked of putting up John Van Ness Yates, son of the former Chief Justice, a ready talker, companionable and brilliant, a gentleman of fine literary taste, with an up-and-down political career due largely to his consistent following of Clinton. But the Governor now wanted a stronger, more decided man; and, after advising with Spencer, he selected Obadiah German, for many years a leader in the Assembly, and until recently a member of the United States Senate, with such a record for resistance to Governor Tompkins, and active complicity with the Federalists who had aided his election to the Assembly, that the mere mention of his name to the Bucktails was like a firebrand thrown onto the roof of a thatched cottage. German himself doubted the wisdom of his selection. He was an old-time fighter, preferring debate on the floor to the wielding of a gavel while other men disputed; but the Governor, with sublime faith in German's fidelity and courage, and a sublimer faith in his own power to make him speaker, turned a deaf ear to the assemblyman's wishes. Had Clinton now conferred with his friends in the Legislature, or simply urged their presence at the caucus, he might easily have nominated German in spite of his record. On the contrary, he did neither, and when the caucus met, of the seventy-five members present, forty-two voted for Thompson and thirty-three for German. When too late Clinton discovered his mistake--seventeen Clintonians had been absent and all the Bucktails present. The great Clinton had been outwitted!

The hearts of the Bucktails must have rejoiced when they heard the count, especially as the refusal of the Clintonians to make the nomination unanimous indicated an intention to turn to the Federalists for aid. This was the one error the Bucktails most desired Clinton to commit; for it would stamp them as the regular representatives of the party, and reduce the Clintonians to a faction, irregular in their methods and tainted with Federalism. It is difficult to realise the arguments which could persuade Clinton to take such a step. Even if such conduct be not considered a question of principle, and only one of expediency, he should have condemned it. Yet this is just what Clinton did not do. After two days of balloting he disclosed his hand in a motion declaring Obadiah German the speaker, and sixty-seven members, including seventeen Federalists, voted in the affirmative, while forty-eight, including three Federalists, voted in the negative.

"The Assembly met on Tuesday," wrote John A. King to his father, on January 8, 1818, "but adjourned without choosing a speaker. The next day, after a short struggle, Mr. German was chosen by the aid of some of the Federalists. I regret to say that there are some of the Federal gentlemen and influential ones, too, who are deeply pledged to support the wanderings fortunes of Mr. Clinton. On this point the Federal party must, if it has not already, divide. Once separated there can be no middle course; a neutrality party in politics, if not an absurdity, at least is evidence of indecision. We are not yet declared enemies, but if I mistake not, the question of Council and the choice of a United States senator must, if these gentlemen persist, decide the matter irrevocably. Mr. W. Duer, Van Vechten, Bunner, Hoffman, and myself are opposed to Mr. W. Van Ness, Oakley, and J. Van Rensselaer. Mr. Clinton has found means to flatter these gentlemen with the prospect of attaining their utmost wishes by adhering to and supporting his administration."[192]

[Footnote 192: Charles R. King, The Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 102.]

Clinton committed the second great error of his life when he consented to bolt the caucus nominee of his party. It was an act of conscious baseness. He had not manfully put forward his strength. Instead of managing, he temporised; instead of meeting his adversaries with a will, he did nothing, while they worked systematically and in silence. Even then he need not have entered the caucus; but, once having voluntarily entered it, it was his plain duty to support its nominee. As a question of principle or expediency Clinton's conduct, therefore, admits of no defence. The plea that Van Buren had secretly assembled the Bucktails in force neither justifies nor palliates it; for the slightest management on Clinton's part would have controlled the caucus by bringing together fifty members instead of thirty-three, and the slightest inquiry would have discovered the weakness of having only thirty-three present instead of fifty.

Clinton professed to believe that the Federalists no longer existed as a party; and it is probably true that he desired to create a party of his own out of its membership, strengthened by the Clintonians, and to leave Tammany and its Bucktail supporters to build up an opposition organisation. But in this he was in advance of his time. Though the day was coming when a majority of the Clintonians and Federalists would make the backbone of the Whig party in the Empire State, a new party could not be built up by such methods as Clinton now introduced. New parties, like poets, are born, not made, and a love for principle, not a desire for spoils, must precede their birth. If Clinton had sincerely desired a new organisation, he should have disclaimed all connection with the Republican or Federalist, and planted his standard on the cornerstone of internal improvements, prepared to make the sacrifice that comes to those who are tired of existing conditions and eager for new policies and new associations. But Clinton was neither reformer nor pioneer. He loved the old order of things, the Council of Appointment, the Council of Revision, the Constitution of 1777 as amended by the convention of 1801, and all the machinery that gave power to the few and control to the boss. He had been born to power. From his first entrance into the political arena he had exercised it--first with the help of his uncle George, afterward with the assistance of his brother-in-law, Ambrose Spencer; and now that he had swung back into power again by means of his canal policy, he had no disposition to let go any part of it by letting go the Republican party. What Van Buren got from him he must take by votes, not by gifts.

Clinton's flagrant violation of the caucus rule, that a minority must yield to the majority, not only broke the Republican party into the famous factions known as Clintonians and Bucktails; it alarmed local leaders throughout the State; made the rank and file distrustful of the Governor's fealty, and consolidated his enemies, giving them the best of the argument and enabling Van Buren to build up an organisation against which the Governor was ever after compelled to struggle with varying fortune. Indeed, in the next month, Van Buren so managed the selection of a Council that it gave Clinton credit for controlling appointments without the slightest power of making them, so that the disappointed held him responsible and the fortunate gave him no thanks. Following this humiliation, too, came the election, by one majority, of Henry Seymour, a bitter opponent of Clinton, to the canal commissionership made vacant by the resignation of Joseph Ellicott. The Governor's attention had been called to the danger of his candidate's defeat; but with optimistic assurance he dismissed it as impossible until Ephraim Hart, just before the election occurred, discovered that the cunning hand of Van Buren had accomplished his overthrow. "A majority of the canal commissioners are now politically opposed to the Governor," declared the Albany Argus, "and it will not be necessary for a person who wishes to obtain employment on the canal as agent, contractor or otherwise, to avow himself a Clintonian." This exultant shout meant that in future only anti-Clintonians would make up the army of canal employees.

But a greater coup d'état was to come. Van Buren understood well enough that Clinton's strength with the people was not as a politician or Republican leader, but as a stubborn, indefatigable advocate of the canal; and that, so long as the Bucktails opposed his scheme, their control of appointments could not overthrow him. Van Buren, therefore, determined to silence this opposition. Just how he did it is not of record. It was said, at the time, that a caucus was held of Clinton's opponents; but, however it was done, it must have required all Van Buren's strength of will and art of persuasion to sustain him in the midst of so many difficulties--difficulties which were greatly increased by the unfriendly conduct of Erastus Root, and two or three senators from the southern district, including Peter Sharpe, afterward speaker of the Assembly. Yet the fact that he accomplished it, and with such secrecy that Clinton's friends did not know how it was brought about, showed the quiet and complete control exercised by Van Buren over the members of the Bucktail party. The National Advocate, edited by Mordecai Manesseh Noah, a conspicuous figure in politics for forty years and one of the most unrelenting partisans of his day, had supported Tammany in its long and bitter antagonism to the canal with a malevolence rarely equalled in that or any other day. He measured pens with Israel W. Clarke of the Albany Register, who had so ably answered every point that Noah charged their authorship to Clinton himself. But after Van Buren had spoken, the Advocate, suddenly, as if by magic, changed its course, and, with the rest of the Bucktail contingent, rallied to the support of Clinton's pet scheme with arguments as sound and full of clear good sense as the Governor himself could wish. The people, however, had good reason to know that statesmen were not all and always exactly as they professed to be; and the immediate effect of the Bucktail change of heart amounted to little more than public notice that the canal policy was a complete success, and that Tammany and its friends had discovered that further opposition was useless.

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XXIV. RE-ELECTION OF RUFUS KING

1819-1820

Although Clinton's canal policy now dominated Bucktails as well as Clintonians, eliminating all differences as to public measures, the bitterness between these factions increased until the effort to elect a United States senator to succeed Rufus King resulted in a complete separation. The Clintonians had settled upon John C. Spencer, while the Bucktails thought Samuel Young, a decided friend of Clinton's canal policy, the most likely man to attract support. Both were representative men, and either would have done honour to the State.

John C. Spencer needed no introduction or advertisement as the son of Ambrose Spencer. He was a man of large promise. Everything he did he did well, and he had already done much. Though scarcely thirty-four years of age, he had established himself as a leading lawyer of the Commonwealth, whose strong, vigorous English in support of the war had found its way into Parliament as an unanswerable argument to Lord Liverpool's unwise policy, winning him an enviable reputation as a writer. Skilful in expression, adroit in attack, calm and resourceful in argument, with the sarcasm of the younger Pitt, he had presented American rights and British outrages in a clearer light than others, arousing his countrymen very much as the letters of Junius had quickened English political life forty years before. He made it plain that England's insistence upon the right to stop and search an American vessel, and England's persistent refusal to recognise a naturalised American citizen on board an American vessel, were the real causes of quarrel. "There is not an individual," said a leading British journal, "who has attended at all to the dispute with the United States, who does not see that it has been embittered from the first, and wantonly urged on by those who, for the sake of their own aggrandisement, are willing to plunge their country into all the evils portrayed by the American writer."

A single term in Congress had placed Spencer in the ranks of the leaders. He was trenchant in speech, forceful on paper, and helpful in committee. Intellectually, he took the place of the distinguished South Carolinian, just then leaving Congress to become Monroe's secretary of war, whose thin face and firm mouth resembled the New Yorker's. Spencer, like Calhoun, delighted in establishing by the subtlest train of philosophical reasoning the delicate lines that exposed sophistry and error, and made clear the disputed point in law or in legislation. The rhetorical drapery that gave Samuel Young such signal success found no place in Spencer's arguments or in his pamphlets; but to a logic that deeply penetrated his subject he added an ethical interest which captivated the mind, as his reasoning illuminated and made plain. He was a born fighter. Like his father, he asked no quarter and he gave none. His eye had the expression one sees in hawks and game-cocks. At twenty-eight, as district attorney of the five western counties of the State, he had become a terror to evil-doers, and it is said of him, at his old home in Canandaigua, that men, conscious of their innocence, preferred appealing to the mercy of the court than endure prosecution at his hands. Possibly he possessed the small affections which Disraeli thought necessary to be coupled with large brains to insure success in public life, yet his nature, in every domestic and social relation, was the gentlest and simplest. DeWitt Clinton did not always approve Spencer's political course. He thought him "an incubus on the party," "the political millstone of the west," and he attributed the occasional loss of Ontario and neighbouring counties "to his deleterious management." The austerity and haughtiness of his manner naturally lessened his popularity, just as his caustic pen and satirical tongue made him bitter enemies; but his strong will and imperious manner were no more offensive than Clinton's. Like Clinton, too, Spencer was ill at ease in a harness; he resented being lined up by a party boss. But, at the time he was talked of for United States senator, the intelligent action and tireless industry upon which his fame rests, had so impressed men, that they overlooked unpopular traits in their admiration for his great ability. People did not then know that he was to sit in the Cabinet of a President, and be nominated to a place upon the Supreme bench of the United States; but they knew he was destined to become famous, because he was already recognised as a professional and political leader.

The genius of Samuel Young had also left its track behind. He was not a great lawyer, but his contemporaries thought him a great man. He combined brilliant speaking with brilliant writing. The fragments of his speeches that have been preserved scarcely hint at the extraordinary power accorded them in the judgment of his neighbours. It is likely that the magic of presence, voice, and action, exaggerated their merits, since he possessed the gifts of a trained orator, rivalling the forceful declamation of Erastus Root, the mellow tones and rich vocabulary of William W. Van Ness, and the smoothness of Martin Van Buren. But, if his speeches equalled his pamphlets, the judgment of his contemporaries must be accepted without limitation. Chancellor Kent objected to giving joint stock companies the right to engage in privateering, a drastic measure passed by the Legislature of 1814 in the interest of a more vigorous prosecution of the war; and in his usual felicitous style, and with much learning, the stubborn Federalist pronounced the statute inconsistent with the spirit of the age and contrary to the genius of the Federal Constitution. Young replied to the great Chancellor in a series of essays, brilliant and readable even in a new century. He showed that, although America had been handicapped by Federalist opposition, by a disorganised army, and by a navy so small that it might almost as well have not existed, yet American privateers--outnumbering the British fleet, scudding before the wind, defying capture, running blockades, destroying commerce, and bearing the stars and stripes to the ends of the earth--had dealt England the most staggering blow ever inflicted upon her supremacy of the sea. This was plain talk and plain truth; and it made the speaker of the Assembly known throughout the State as "the sword, the shield, and the ornament of his party." Young was as dauntless as Spencer, and, if anything, a more distinguished looking man. He was without austerity and easy of approach; and, although inclined to reticence, he seemed fond of indulging in jocular remarks and an occasional story; but he was a man of bad temper. He fretted under opposition as much as Clinton, and he easily became vindictive toward opponents. This kept him unpopular even among men of his own faction. Clinton thought him "much of an imbecile," and suggested in a letter to Post that "suspicions are entertained of his integrity."[193] Yet Young had hosts of friends eager to fight his political battles.

[Footnote 193: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 417.]

The Bucktails had no serious expectation either of nominating or electing Samuel Young to the United States Senate. They knew the Clintonians had a majority, and their purpose, in attending the caucus, was simply to prevent a nomination. No sooner had the meeting assembled, therefore, than several Bucktails attacked the Governor, reproaching him for the conduct of his followers and severely criticising his political methods and character. To this German retorted with great bitterness. German made no pretensions to the gift of oratory; he had neither grace of manner nor alluring forms of expression. On the contrary, there was a certain quality of antagonism in his manner, as if he took grim satisfaction in letting fly his words, seemingly almost coldly indifferent to their effect; and on this occasion his sledge-hammer blows gave Peter R. Livingston, evidently acting by prearrangement, abundant chance for forcing a quarrel. In the confusion that followed, the caucus hastily adjourned amid mutual recriminations. When too late to mend matters the Clintonians discovered the trick. They had the majority and could easily have named Spencer as the candidate of the party, but in the excitement of German's speech and Livingston's attack they lost their heads. Thus ended forever all caucus relationship between these warring factions, and henceforth they were known as two distinct parties.

At the joint session of the Legislature, on February 2, 1819, the Clintonians gave Spencer sixty-four votes, while Young received fifty-seven, and Rufus King thirty-four. "A motion then prevailed to adjourn," wrote John A. King to his father, "so that this Legislature will make no choice." Young King, a member of the Assembly, was looking after his father's re-election to the Senate. He deeply resented Clinton's control of the Federalists, because it made his father a leader only in name; and to show his dislike of Federalist methods he associated and voted with the Bucktails. Nor did the father dislike Clinton less than the son. Rufus King had felt, what he was pleased to call "the baleful influence of the Clintons," ever since his advent into New York politics. They had opposed the Federal Constitution which he, as a delegate from Massachusetts, helped to frame; they assisted Jefferson in overwhelming Hamilton; and they benefited by the election trick which defeated John Jay. For more than two decades, therefore, Rufus King had watched their control by methods, which a man cast in a mould that would make no concessions to his virtue, could not approve. Under his observation, DeWitt Clinton had grown from young manhood, ambitious and domineering, accustomed to destroy the friend who got in his way with as much ease, apparently, as he smote an enemy. Hence King regarded him much as Hamilton did Aaron Burr; and against his candidacy for President in 1812, he used the argument that the great Federalist had hurled against the intriguing New Yorker in 1801. He rejoiced that Clinton lost the mayoralty in 1815; that he was defeated for elector in 1816; and he deeply regretted his election as governor in 1817.

On his part, Clinton had little use for Rufus King; but his need of Federalist votes made him excessively cautious about appearing to oppose the distinguished Senator; although a deep-laid scheme, understood if not engineered by Clinton, existed to defeat him. John King assured his father that Clinton, inviting Joseph Yates to breakfast, urged him to become a candidate; and that William W. Van Ness had asked Chancellor Kent to enter the race. "I entertain not the slightest doubt," he continued, referring to Van Ness, "of being able to produce such testimony of his hypocrisy and infidelity as will require more art than ever he is master of to explain or escape from."[194]

[Footnote 194: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 251.]

As the time approached for the reassembling of the Legislature, in January, 1820, these machinations of Clinton caused his opponents many an uneasy hour. The Bucktails, who could not elect a senator of their own, would not take a Clintonian, and an alliance between Clinton and the Federalists, led by Van Ness, Oakley, and Jacob R. Van Rensselaer, threatened to settle the question against them. Van Buren favoured King, although the Administration at Washington thought his election impolitic, because of its effect upon the party in the State; but Van Buren showed great firmness. His party was violently opposed to King. Van Buren, too, was growing tired of the strain of maintaining the leadership of one faction without disrupting the other. But so sure was he of the wisdom of King's support that he insisted upon it, even though it sacrificed his leadership. "We are committed to his support," he wrote. "It is both wise and honest. Mr. King's views toward us are honourable and correct. I will put my head on its propriety."[195]

[Footnote 195: Edward M. Shepard, Life of Van Buren, p. 71.]

Van Buren wanted to share in the division of the Federalists; and to refuse them a United States senator, when Clinton had recently given them an attorney-general, an influential, and, at that time, a most lucrative office, struck him as poor policy--especially since John A. King and other estimable gentlemen had evidenced a disposition to join them. Two weeks before the Legislature assembled, therefore, an unsigned letter, skilfully drawn, found its way into the hands of every Bucktail, summing up the reasons why they could properly support Rufus King. After recalling his Revolutionary services, this anonymous writer declared that support of King could not subject Bucktails to the suspicion of a political bargain, since the Senator had neither acted with the Federalists who had shown malignity against the Administration, nor with that numerous and respectable portion who ignorantly thought the war impolitic; but rather with those who aided in forcing England to respect the rights of American citizens. It was a cunning letter. There was rough and rasping sarcasm for the Clintonians; an ugly disregard for the radical Federalist; a kind word for the mere party follower, and winning speech for the gifted sons who had risen superior to inherited prejudices. The concluding declaration to the Bucktails was that King merited support because he and his friends opposed Governor Clinton's re-election, the assertion being justified by reference to John King's vote against German and the Clinton Council.

Of the authorship of this remarkable paper, there could be no doubt. William L. Marcy had aided in its preparation; but the hand of Van Buren had shaped its character and inspired its winning qualities. It had the instant effect that Van Buren plainly invoked for it--the unanimous election of Rufus King. Perhaps, on the whole, nothing in Van Buren's official life showed greater political courage or discernment. It is not so famous as his Sherrod Williams letter of 1836, or the celebrated Texas letter with which he faced the crisis of 1844, but it ranks with the public utterances of those years when he took the risk of meeting living issues that divided men on small margins. There was a strength and character about it that seemed to leave men powerless to answer. Clintonians objected to King, many Bucktails opposed him, Van Ness declared that he could easily be defeated, Thomas J. Oakley recognised him as the candidate of a man who spoke of Clinton and his Federalist allies as profligates and political blacklegs. Yet they all voted for Rufus King. Van Buren made up their minds for them; and, though protesting against the duplicity of Bucktail, the cowardliness of Federalist, and the timidity of Clintonian, each party indorsed him, while proclaiming him not its choice.

But Rufus King was not an ordinary candidate. His great experience and exalted character, coupled with his discriminating devotion to the best interests of the country, yielded strength that no other man in the State could command. He was now about sixty years of age, and, of living statesmen, he had no superior. His life had been a pure one, and his public acts and purposes, measured by the virtues of patriotism, honesty and integrity, entitled him to the respect and lasting gratitude of his fellow citizens. The taste for letters which characterised his Harvard College days, followed him into public affairs, and if his style lacked the simplicity of Madison's and the prophetic grasp and instinctive knowledge of Hamilton, he shared their clearness of statement and breadth of view. He displayed similar capacity in administration and in keeping abreast of the times. Although a lifelong member of the Federal party, whose leadership in New York he inherited upon the death of its great founder, he supported the War of 1812 with zeal, giving no countenance to the Hartford Convention if he did not openly oppose it, and promising nothing in the way of aid that he did not amply and promptly fulfil. At the supreme moment of the crisis, in 1814, when the general government needed money and the banks would loan only upon the indorsement of the Governor, he pledged his honour to support Tompkins in whatever he did.

To the society of contemporaries, regardless of party, King was always welcome. He disliked a quarrel. It seemed to be his effort to avoid controversy; and when compelled to lead, or to participate conspicuously in heated debate, he carefully abstained from giving offence. Benton bears testimony to his habitual observance of the courtesies of life. Indeed, his urbanity made a deep impression upon all his colleagues. Yet King was not a popular man. The people thought him an aristocrat; and, although without arrogance, his appearance and manner gave character to their opinion. His countenance inclined to austerity, forbidding easy approach; his indisposition to talk lent an air of reserve, with the suggestion of coldness, which was unrelieved by the touch of amiability that commended John Jay to the affectionate regard of men. It was his nature to be serious and thoughtful. Among friends he talked freely, often facetiously, becoming, at times, peculiarly instructive and fascinating, as his remarkable memory gave up with accuracy and facility the product of extensive travel, varied experiences, close observation, and much reading. His statements, especially those relating to historical and political details, were rarely questioned. We read that he was of somewhat portly habit, above the middle size, strongly made, with the warm complexion of good health, large, attractive eyes, and a firm, full mouth; that, although men no longer chose to be divided sharply by marked distinction of attire, he always appeared in the United States Senate in full dress, with short clothes, silk stockings and shoes--having something of pride and hauteur in his manner that was slightly offensive to plain country gentlemen, as well as inconsistent with the republican idea of equality. Wealthy, he lived at Jamaica, in a stately mansion, surrounded by noble horse chestnut trees, an estate known as King Park, and kept at public expense as a typical Long Island colonial homestead.

It is possible that the extension of slavery into Missouri influenced King's return to the United States Senate; for the election occurred in the midst of that heated contest, a contest in which he had already taken a conspicuous part in the Fifteenth Congress, and in which he was destined to earn, in still greater degree, the commendation of friends, outside and inside the Senate, as the champion of freedom. But whatever the cause of his election, it is certain that it was free from suspicion, other than that he preferred Van Buren to Clinton--a choice which necessarily created the impression that King's prejudice against Clinton resulted more from jealousy than from aversion to his character. No doubt Clinton's ability to dominate Federalist support, in spite of King's opposition, wounded the latter's pride and created a dislike which gradually deepened into a feeling of resentment. It had practically left him without a party; and he turned to Van Buren very much as Charles James Fox turned to Lord North in 1782. He cheerfully accepted the most confidential relations with the Kinderhook statesman, and when, a year or two later, Van Buren joined him in the United States Senate, Benton observed the deferential regard paid by Van Buren to his venerable colleague, and the marked kindness and respect returned by King. Yet King did not openly ally himself with the Bucktails. They could rely with certainty upon his support to antagonise Clinton, but he declined to join a party whose character and principles did not promise such companionship as he had been accustomed to.

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XXV. TOMPKINS' LAST CONTEST

1820

The coming of 1820 was welcomed by the Van Buren forces. It was the year for the selection of another governor, and the Bucktails, very weary of Clinton, were anxious for a change. For all practical purposes Bucktails and Clintonians had now become two opposing parties, Van Buren's removal as attorney-general, by the Council of 1819, ending all semblance of friendship and political affiliation. This Council was known as "Clinton's Council;" and, profiting by the lesson learned in 1817, Clinton had made a clean sweep of the men he believed to have acted against him. He gave Van Buren's place to Thomas J. Oakley, and Peter A. Jay, eldest son of John Jay, who had rendered valuable assistance in promoting the construction of the canal, he made recorder of New York City, an office which Richard Riker had held since 1815. These appointments naturally subjected the Governor to the criticism of removing Republicans to make places for Federalists. But the new officers were Clinton's friends, while Riker, at least, had been an open enemy since Jonas Platt's appointment to the Supreme bench in 1814. Jay's appointment was also a thrust at the so-called "high-minded" Federalists, composed of the sons of Alexander Hamilton, Rufus King, and other well known men of the party.

Clinton's intimates had long known his desire to get rid of Van Buren. In his letters to Henry Post, the Kinderhook statesman is termed "an arch scoundrel," "the prince of villains," and "a confirmed knave;"[196] yet Clinton put off the moment of his removal from week to week, very much as Tompkins hesitated to remove Clinton from the mayoralty; that is, not so much to save the feelings of Van Buren as to avert the hostility of James Tallmadge and John C. Spencer, both of whom sought the office. Tallmadge had recently returned from Congress full of honours because of his brilliant part in the great debate on the Missouri Compromise, and he now confidently expected the appointment. The moment, therefore, the Council, at its meeting in July, 1819, named Oakley, Tallmadge ranged himself squarely among Clinton's enemies. Van Buren had expected dismissal, and he seems to have taken it with the outward serenity and dignity that characterised the departure of Clinton from the mayoralty in 1815; but in confidential communications to Rufus King, he spoke of Clinton and his friends as "very profligate men," "politician blacklegs," and "a set of desperadoes."[197]

[Footnote 196: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 412-7, 563-71.]

[Footnote 197: Martin Van Buren to Rufus King, January 19, 1820; Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 252.]

In the Bucktail mind, Daniel D. Tompkins seemed the only man sufficiently popular to oppose DeWitt Clinton in the gubernatorial contest. He was remembered as the great War Governor; and the up-state leaders, representing the old war party, thought he could rally and unite the opposing factions better than any one else. In some respects Tompkins' position in 1820 was not unlike that of John A. Andrew in Massachusetts in 1870, the great war governor of the Civil War. His well-doing in the critical days of the contest had passed into history, making his accomplishment a matter of pride to the State, and giving him an assured standing. Everybody knew that he had raised troops after enlistments had practically stopped elsewhere; that he had bought army supplies, equipped regiments, constructed fortifications, manned forts, fitted out privateers, paid bills from funds raised on his individual indorsement, and worked with energy while New England sulked. When the grotesque treaty of Ghent closed the war, the Governor's star shone brightly in the zenith. At this time, therefore, Daniel D. Tompkins was undoubtedly the most popular man personally that ever participated in New York politics. Hammond, the historian, relates that a father, desiring the pardon of his son, left the capital better pleased with Governor Tompkins, who refused it, than with Governor Clinton, who granted it. It is not easy to say just wherein lay the charm of his wonderful personality. His voice was rich and mellow; his face, prepossessing in repose, expressed sympathy and friendship; while his manner, gentle and gracious without unnaturalness, appealed to his auditor as if he of all men, was the one whom the Governor wished to honour. His success, too, had been marvellous. He had carried the State by the largest majority ever given to a governor up to that time; larger than Jay's triumphant majority in 1798; larger than George Clinton's in 1801 after the election of Jefferson and the organisation of the Republican party; larger even than the surprising vote given Morgan Lewis in 1804, when Alexander Hamilton and the Clintons combined against Aaron Burr. Tompkins' nomination for governor, therefore, was made on January 16, 1820, without the slightest opposition.

It was known, at this time, that Tompkins' accounts as governor showed a shortage. He had failed to take vouchers during the war, and it was thought not unlikely that he had paid for army supplies out of his own money, and for family supplies out of the State's money; but no one believed him guilty of intentional misconduct. Nevertheless, his accounts, after the comptroller had audited them, after a commission of expert accountants had sought for missing vouchers, and after friends had made explanations, were still $120,000 short. By an act, approved April 13, 1819, the Legislature authorised the comptroller to balance this shortage by allowing Tompkins a premium of twelve per cent. on $1,000,000, and people thought nothing more about it until Tompkins presented an account, demanding a premium of twenty-five per cent., which brought the State in debt to him in the sum of $130,000.

The comptroller, overwhelmed by the extravagance of the claim, construed the law to limit the premium on moneys borrowed solely on Tompkins' personal responsibility, and out of this a correspondence was conducted with much asperity. Archibald McIntyre, the comptroller since 1806, possessed the absolute confidence of the people; and when his letters became public a suspicion that the Vice President might be wrong was quickly encouraged by the friends of Clinton. This suspicion was increased as soon as the Legislature of 1820 got to work. It was intent on mischief. By a fusion of Clintonians and Federalists John C. Spencer became speaker of the Assembly, and to cripple Tompkins, who had now been nominated for governor, Jedediah Miller of Schoharie offered a resolution approving the conduct of the Comptroller in settling the accounts of the former Governor. This precipitated a discussion which has rarely been equalled in Albany for passion and brilliancy. A coterie of the most skilful debaters happened to be members of this Assembly; and for several weeks Thomas J. Oakley, John C. Spencer, and Elisha Williams sustained the Comptroller, while Erastus Root, Peter Sharpe, and others pleaded for Tompkins.

Meanwhile, on the 9th of March, a Senate committee, with Van Buren as chairman, reported that the Comptroller ought to have allowed Tompkins a premium of twelve and a half per cent. on $1,000,000, leaving a balance due the Vice President of $11,870.50. It was a strange mix-up, and the more committees examined it the worse appeared the muddle. After Van Buren had reported, the question arose, should the Comptroller be sustained, or should the report of Van Buren's committee be accepted? It was a long drop from $130,000 claimed by Tompkins to $11,780.50 awarded him by Van Buren, yet it was better to take that than accept a settlement which made him a defaulter, and the Senate approved the Van Buren report. But Thomas J. Oakley, chairman of the Assembly committee to which it was referred, did not propose to let the candidate for governor escape so easily. In an able review of the whole question he sustained the Comptroller, maintaining that the Vice President must seek relief under the law like other parties, and instructing the Comptroller to sue for any balance due the State, unless Tompkins reimbursed it by the following August. This ended legislation for the session.

Van Buren seems to have had no concern about Tompkins' canal record. Possibly he thought the disappearance of Bucktail opposition took that issue out of the campaign; but he was greatly worked up over the unsettled accounts, and in his usual adroit manner set influences to work to discourage Tompkins' acceptance of the nomination, and to secure the consent of Smith Thompson, then secretary of the navy, to make the race himself. He had little difficulty in accomplishing this end, for Thompson was not at all unwilling. But to get rid of Tompkins was another question. "The Republican party in this State never was better united," he wrote Smith Thompson, on January 19, 1820, three days after Tompkins' nomination; "they all love, honour and esteem the Vice President; but such is their extreme anxiety to insure the prostration of the Junto, who have stolen into the seats of power, that they all desire that you should be the candidate. They will support Tompkins to the bat's end if you refuse, or he should not decline; but if he does, and you consent to our wishes, you will be hailed as the saviour of New York."[198] On the same day Van Buren also wrote Rufus King: "Some of our friends think it is dangerous to support the Vice President under existing circumstances.... A few of us have written him freely on the subject and to meet the event of his having left the city of Washington, I have sent a copy of our letter to Secretary Thompson, of which circumstance the Secretary is not informed. There are many points of view in which it would be desirable to place this subject before you, but I am fully satisfied you will appreciate without further explanation. I will, therefore, only say, that if the Vice President is with you, and upon a free discussion between you, the Secretary and himself, he should resolve to decline, and you can induce the Secretary to consent to our using his name, you will do a lasting benefit to the Republican interest of this State."[199]

[Footnote 198: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 254.]

[Footnote 199: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 252.]

To this most adroit and cunning letter Rufus King replied on the last day of the month: "The Vice President left us to-day at noon; on his way he stopped at the Senate and we had a short conference.... I observed as between him and Mr. Clinton my apprehension was that a majority, possibly a large majority of Federalists would vote for Mr. Clinton; adding that between the Secretary of the Navy and Mr. Clinton I was persuaded that a majority of the Federalists would prefer the Secretary.... Apologising for the frankness with which I expressed my opinion, I added that I hoped he would wait until he reached New York before he decided; perhaps he would think it best to delay his answer until he arrived in Albany; one thing I considered absolutely necessary--that his accounts should be definitely closed before election. He answered that he was going immediately to Albany with four propositions which would lead to a final settlement; that he might think it best to delay his answer to the nomination until he should reach Albany. I said in conclusion that my earnest wish was the exclusion of Mr. Clinton, and my preference (knowing the personal sacrifice he would make in consenting to his own nomination) that the candidate selected should be the man who, in the opinion of those most capable to decide, will be the most likely to accomplish the work."[200]

[Footnote 200: Ibid., Vol. 6, p. 263.]

Rufus King certainly did his work well. He had abundantly discouraged him as to the Federalists and had fully advised him as to the importance of settling his accounts; but all to no purpose. Two days later Thompson wrote Van Buren that the Vice President "will stand." The Kinderhook statesman, however, disinclined to give it up, asked the Secretary in a note on the same day for authority to use his name "if the Vice President, when he arrives here, should wish to decline." On the 7th of February, John A. King wrote his father: "Hopes are still entertained that the Vice President's decision may yet yield to the wishes of many of his oldest friends. Those, however, who know him best have no such hopes. Judge Yates has said that he never refused an offer of any sort in his life."[201] And so it proved in this instance. Tompkins was immovable. Like a race horse trained to running, he only needed to be let into the ring and given a free rein. When the bell sounded he was off on his fifth race for governor.

[Footnote 201: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 267.]

If Tompkins was handicapped with a shortage and a canal record, Clinton was harassed for want of a party. To conceal the meagreness of his strength in a legislative caucus, Clinton was renominated with John Taylor at a meeting of the citizens of Albany. He had a following and a large one, but it was without cohesion or discipline. Men felt at liberty to withdraw without explanation and without notice. Within eight months after his election as a Clintonian senator, Benjamin Mooers of Plattsburg accepted the nomination for lieutenant-governor on the ticket with Governor Tompkins, apparently without loss of political prestige, or the respect of neighbours. The administration at Washington recognised the Bucktails as the regular Republican party, and showered offices among them, until Clinton later made it a matter of public complaint and official investigation. Other disintegrating influences were also at work. The "high minded" Federalists, in a published document signed by forty or fifty leading men, declared the Federal party dissolved and annihilated, and pronounced the Clinton party simply a personal one. To belong to it independence must be surrendered, and to obtain office in it, one must laud its head and bow the knee, a system of sycophancy, they said, disgusting all "high minded" men. But DeWitt Clinton's strength was not in parties nor in political management. He belonged to the great men of his time, having no superior in New York, and, in some respects, no equal in the country. He possessed a broader horizon, a larger intellect, a greater moral courage, than most of his contemporaries. It is probably true that, like a mountain, he appeared best at a distance, but having confidence in his ability and integrity, people easily overlooked his rough, unpopular manners. The shrewd, sagacious Yankee farmers who were filling up the great western counties of Ontario and Genesee believed in him. The Bucktails did not know, until the eastern and western districts responded with five thousand eight hundred and four majority for Clinton, as against four thousand three hundred and seventy-seven for Tompkins in the middle and southern districts, what a capital cry Clinton had in the canal issue; what a powerful appeal to selfish interests he could put into voice; and what a loud reply selfish interests would make to the appeal. It was not, in fact, a race between parties at all; it was not a question of shortage or settlement. It is likely the shortage affected the result somewhat; but the majority of over fourteen hundred meant approval of Clinton and his canal policy rather than distrust of Tompkins and his unsettled accounts. The question in 1820 was, shall the canal be built? and, although the Bucktails had ceased their hostility, the people most interested in the canal's construction wanted Clinton to complete what he had so gloriously and successfully begun.

The campaign was fought out with bitterness and desperation until the polls closed. No national or state issue divided the parties. In fact, there were no issues. It was simply a question whether Clinton and his friends, or Tompkins and the Bucktails should control the state government. The arguments, therefore, were purely personal. Clinton's friends relied upon his canal policy, his honesty, and his integrity--the Bucktails insisted that Clinton was no longer a Republican; that the canal would be constructed as well without him as with him, and that his defeat would wipe out factional strife and give New York greater prominence in the councils of the party. "For the last ten days," wrote Van Buren to Rufus King, on April 13, "I have scarcely had time to take my regular meals and am at this moment pressed by at least half a dozen unfinished concerns growing out of this intolerable political struggle in which we are involved."[202] Nevertheless, he had no doubt of Tompkins' election. "I entertain the strongest convictions that we shall succeed,"[203] he wrote later in the month. On the other hand, Clinton was no less certain. In his letters to Henry Post he is always confident; but at no time more so than now. "The canal proceeds wondrously well," he says. "The Martling opposition has ruined them forever. The public mind was never in a better train for useful operations. John Townsend has just come from the west. There is but one sentiment."[204] Yet, when the battle ended, it looked like a Clintonian defeat and Bucktail victory; for the latter had swept the Legislature, adding to their control in the Senate and capturing the Assembly by a majority of eighteen over all. It was only the presence of Tompkins among the slain that transferred the real glory to Clinton, whose majority was fourteen hundred and fifty-seven in a total vote of ninety-three thousand four hundred and thirty-seven. This exceeded any former aggregate by nearly ten thousand.[205]

[Footnote 202: Charles R. King, Life and Correspondence of Rufus King, Vol. 6, p. 331.]

[Footnote 203: Ibid., Vol. 6, p. 332.]

[Footnote 204: DeWitt Clinton to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 413.]

[Footnote 205: DeWitt Clinton, 47,444; Daniel D. Tompkins, 45,990.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

Daniel D. Tompkins took his defeat much to heart. He believed his unsettled accounts had occasioned whispered slanders that crushed him. After his angry controversy with Comptroller McIntyre, in the preceding year, he seriously considered the propriety of resigning as Vice President; for he sincerely believed his figures were right and that the Comptroller's language had classed him in the public mind with what, in these latter days, would be called "grafters." "Our friend on Staten Island is unfortunately sick in body and mind," Clinton wrote to Post in September, 1819. "His situation upon the whole is deplorable and calculated to excite sympathy."[206] It was, indeed, a most unfortunate affair, for the State discovered, years after it was too late, that it did owe the War Governor ninety-two thousand dollars.

[Footnote 206: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 413.]

Tompkins' public life continued four years longer. In the autumn of 1820, the Legislature balanced his accounts and the country re-elected him Vice President. The next year his party made him a delegate to the constitutional convention, and the convention made him its president; but he never recovered from the chagrin and mortification of his defeat for the governorship. Soon after the election, melancholy accounts appeared of the havoc wrought upon a frame once so full of animal spirits. He began to drink too freely even for those days of deep drink. His eye lost its lustre; deep lines furrowed the round, sunny face; the unruffled temper became irritable; and, within three months after the close of his second term as Vice President, before he had entered his fifty-second year, he was dead.

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XXVI. THE ALBANY REGENCY

1820-1822

When the Legislature assembled to appoint presidential electors in November, 1820, Bucktail fear of Clinton was at an end for the present. Before, his name had been one to conjure with; thenceforth it was to have no terrors. He had, indeed, been re-elected governor, but the small majority, scarcely exceeding one per cent. of the total vote, showed that he was now merely an independent, and a very independent member, of the Republican party. To the close of his career he was certain to be a commanding figure, around whom all party dissenters would quickly and easily rally; but it was now an individual figure, almost an eccentric figure, whose work as a political factor seemed to be closed.

Yet Clinton was not ready to go into a second retirement. On the theory, as he wrote Henry Post, that "the meekness of Quakerism will do in religion, but not in politics,"[207] he looked about him for something to arouse public attention and to excite public indignation, and, for the want of a better subject, he charged the Monroe administration with interference in the recent state election. Post advised caution; but Clinton, stung by the defeat of his friends and by his own narrow escape, had become possessed with the suspicion that federal officials had used the patronage of the government against him. So, in his speech to the Legislature in November, he protested against the outrage. "If the officers under the appointment of the federal government," he declared, "shall see fit as an organised and disciplined corps to interfere in state elections, I trust there will be found a becoming disposition in the people to resist these alarming attempts upon the purity and independence of their local governments."[208] Clinton had no evidence upon which to support this charge. It was, at best, only a suspicion based upon his own methods; but the Senate demanded proof, and failing to get specifications, it declared it "highly improper that the Chief Magistrate of the State should incriminate the administration of the general government, without ample testimony in his possession." The resolutions closed with an expression of confidence in the patriotism and integrity of the government.

[Footnote 207: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 413.]

[Footnote 208: Governors' Speeches, November 7, 1820, p. 179.]

Meanwhile, Clinton was urging Post to help him out of his difficulty. "I want authenticated testimony of the interference of the general government in our elections," he wrote on November 19. "Our friends must be up and doing on this subject. It is all important."[209] Eight days later he stirred up Post again. "What is the annual amount of patronage of the national government in this State?" he asked.[210] "Knowing the accuracy of your calculations, I rely much on you." Then he developed his plan: "The course of exposition ought, I think, to be this--to collect a voluminous mass of documents detailing facts, and to form from them a lucid, intelligible statement. On the representation of facts recourse must also be had to inferences, and it ought also to unite boldness and prudence."[211] It is evident that thus far inferences outnumbered facts, for far into December Clinton was still calling upon his friends to collect testimony. "Go on with your collection of proofs," he wrote. "I think with a little industry this matter will stand well."[212]

[Footnote 209: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 413.]

[Footnote 210: Ibid., Vol. 50, p. 413.]

[Footnote 211: Ibid., Vol. 50, p. 414.]

[Footnote 212: Ibid., Vol. 50, p. 415.]

When submitted to the Legislature, on January 17, 1821, the documents, according to the Governor's instructions, were indeed very voluminous. It required a bag to take them to the capitol--the green bag message, it was called; but it proved to be smoke, with little fire. It fully established that the naval storekeeper at Brooklyn, and other federal officials were offensive partisans, just as they had been under Clinton's control, and just as they have been ever since. The Bucktails saw distinctly enough that the State could not be aroused into indignation by such a mass of documents; but there was one letter from Van Buren to Henry Meigs, the congressman, dated April 5, 1820, advising the removal of postmasters at Bath, Little Falls, and Oxford, because it seemed impossible to secure the free circulation of Bucktail newspapers in the interior of the State, which provoked much criticism. How the Governor got it does not appear, but it gives a glimpse of Van Buren's political methods that is interesting. "Unless we can alarm them (the Clintonians) by two or three prompt removals," he says, "there is no limiting the injurious consequences that may result from it."

Soon after, two of the postmasters were removed. If the charge was true, that postmasters were preventing the circulation of Bucktail newspapers, Van Buren's course was very charitable. Evidently he did not want places for his friends so much as a proper delivery of the mails; for otherwise he would have insisted upon the removal of all offenders. The gentle suggestion that the removal of two or three would be a warning to others, explains how this devout lover of men lived through a long life on most intimate terms with his neighbours. If such conditions existed under the modern management of the Post-Office Department, every wrong-doer would be summarily dismissed, regardless of party or creed. Van Buren's methods had no such drastic discipline; yet his letter became the subject of much animadversion by the Clintonians, not so much because they disapproved the suggestion as because Van Buren wrote it. "It is very important to destroy this prince of villains," Clinton declared, in a letter to Post of December 2, 1820.[213]

[Footnote 213: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 415.

Clearly discerning Van Buren as his most formidable competitor for political leadership, Clinton's letters to Post from 1817 to 1824 abound in vituperative allusions, as, for example: "Whom shall we appoint to defeat the arch scoundrel Van Buren?" November 30, 1820. "Of his cowardice there can be no doubt. He is lowering daily in public opinion, and is emphatically a corrupt scoundrel," August 30, 1820. "Van Buren is now excessively hated out of the State as well as in it. There is no doubt of a corrupt sale of the vote of the State, although it cannot be proved in a court of justice," August 6, 1824. "We can place no reliance upon the goodwill of Van Buren. In his politics he is a confirmed knave." And again: "With respect to Van Buren, there is no developing the man. He is a scoundrel of the first magnitude, ... without any fixture of principle or really of virtue." "Van Buren must be conquered through his fears. He has no heart, no sincerity."]

Like many other brilliant political leaders, Van Buren was somewhat thin-skinned; he happened, too, to be out of the State Senate, and thus was compelled to endure, in silence, the attacks of the opposition. It is believed that at this time, Van Buren had a strong inclination to accept a Supreme Court judgeship, and thus withdraw forever from political life. But the fates denied him any chance of making this serious anti-climax in his great political career. While the green bag message convulsed the Clintonians with simulated indignation, the Bucktails declared him, by a caucus vote of fifty-eight to twenty-four, their choice for United States senator in place of Nathan Sanford, whose term expired on March 4, 1821.

It appeared then as it appears now, that Martin Van Buren was "the inevitable man." He was thirty-nine years of age, in the early ripeness of his powers, a leader at the bar, and the leader of his party. He had accumulated from his practice the beginnings of the fortune which his Dutch thrift and cautious habits made ample for his needs. The simple and natural rules governing his astute political leadership seemed to leave him without a rival, or, at least, without an opponent who could get in his way. Times had changed, too, since the days when United States senators resigned to become postmasters and mayors of New York. A seat in the United States Senate had become a great honour, because it was a place of great power and great influence; and in passing from Albany to Washington Van Buren would add to state leadership an opportunity of becoming a national figure. It is not surprising, therefore, that Clinton sought to defeat him; for he had ever been ready to retaliate upon men who ventured to cross his purposes. But Clinton's scheme had no place in the plans of Bucktails. "I am afraid Van Buren will beat Sanford for senator," he wrote Post as early as the 30th of December, 1820. "He will unless his friends stand out against a caucus decision."[214] This is what Clinton wanted the twenty-four Sanford delegates to do, and, to encourage such a bolt, he compelled every Federalist and Clintonian, save one, to vote for him, although Sanford represented Tammany and its bitter hostility to Clinton. But the Bucktails had at last established a party organisation that could not be divided by Clinton intrigue, and Van Buren received the full party vote.

[Footnote 214: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 414.]

When Roger Skinner and his three associates on the new Council of Appointment got to work, Clinton quickly discovered that he could expect little from such a body of Bucktails; and he received less than he expected. For, when the Council had finished, only one Clintonian remained in office. Oakley, the able attorney-general; Jay, the gifted recorder of New York; Colden, the acceptable mayor of New York; Hawley, the ideal superintendent of common schools; Solomon Van Rensselaer, the famous and fearless adjutant-general; McIntyre, the trusted and competent comptroller, had all disappeared in a night. Only Simeon DeWitt, who had been surveyor-general for forty years, was left undisturbed. Former Councils had been radical and vigorous in their action, but the Skinner council cut as deep and swift as the famous Clinton Council of 1801. At its first meeting, clerks and sheriffs and surrogates and district attorneys fell in windrows. Yet it was no worse than its predecessors; it could not be worse, since precedents existed in support of conduct however scandalous.

The removal of Hawley, McIntyre, and Van Rensselaer produced a greater sensation throughout the State than any previous dismissals, except that of DeWitt Clinton from the mayoralty in 1815. Gideon Hawley had held the office of school superintendent for nine years, organising the State into school districts, distributing the school fund equitably, and perfecting the work, so that the entire system could be easily handled by a superintendent. In 1818, he reported five thousand schools thus organised, with upward of two hundred thousand pupils in attendance for a period of four to six months each year. He did this work on a salary of three hundred dollars--only to receive, at last, in place of thanks so richly deserved, the unmerited rebuke of a summary dismissal.

The removal of Archibald McIntyre made a sensation almost as great. For fifteen years, McIntyre had been such an acceptable comptroller that the waves of factional and party strife had broken at his feet, leaving him master of the State's finances. The Lewisites retained him in 1807; the Federalists kept him in 1809; the Republicans continued him in 1811; the Federalists again spared him in 1813; while the frequent changes that followed Clinton's downfall left him undisturbed. He took no part in political contests. It was his duty to see that the State's money was paid according to law, and he so conducted the office; but the Bucktails deeply resented his treatment of the Vice President, and a swift removal was the penalty. In some degree McIntyre may have been responsible for the defeat of Tompkins. The perfervid strength of his convictions as to the injustice of the Vice President's claim betrayed him into an intemperance of language that suggests over-zeal in a public official. In refusing, too, to balance the Vice President's accounts, as the Legislature clearly intended, and as he might have done regardless of the Vice President's additional claim, he seems to have assumed an unnecessary responsibility, and to have learned what many men have experienced in public life, that nothing is so dangerous as being too faithful. But McIntyre may have had no reason to regret his removal. He was immediately returned to the Legislature as a senator, and the next year appointed agent for the state lotteries, a business that enabled him in a few years to retire with an independent fortune.

It is unnecessary to introduce here a full list of the new office-holders; but there came into notice at this time three young lawyers who subsequently occupied a conspicuous place in the history of their State and country. Samuel A. Talcott took the place of Thomas J. Oakley as attorney-general; William L. Marcy became adjutant-general in place of Van Rensselaer, and Benjamin F. Butler was appointed district attorney of Albany County. Marcy was then thirty-five years of age, Talcott thirty-two, and Butler twenty-six. Talcott was tall and commanding, with high forehead and large mellow blue eyes that inspired confidence and admiration. His manners combined dignity and ease; and as he swept along the street, or stood before judge or jury, he appeared like nature's nobleman. Marcy had a bold, full forehead, with heavy brows and eyes deep set and expressive. It was decidedly a Websterian head, though the large, firm mouth and admirably moulded chin rather recalled those of Henry Clay. The face would have been austere, forbidding easy approach, except for the good-natured twinkle in the eye and a quiet smile lingering about the mouth. Marcy was above the ordinary height, with square, powerful shoulders, and carried some superfluous flesh as he grew older; but, at the time of which we are writing, he was as erect as the day he captured St. Regis. Butler was slighter than Marcy, and shorter than Talcott, but much larger than Van Buren, with fulness of form and perfect proportions. He had an indescribable refinement of face which seemed to come from the softness of the eye and the tenderness and intellectuality of the mouth, which reflected his gentle and generous spirit.

At the time of Talcott's appointment, though he had not distinguished himself as a legal competitor of Van Buren, he displayed the gentle manners and amiable traits that naturally commended him to one of Van Buren's smooth, adroit methods. The Kinderhook statesman had, however, in selecting him for attorney-general, looked beyond the charming personality to the rapidly developing powers of the lawyer, who was even then captivating all hearers by the strength of his arguments and the splendour of his diction. Contemporaries of Talcott were fond of telling of this remarkable, almost phenomenal gift of speech. One of them mentions "those magical transitions from the subtlest argument to the deepest pathos;" another describes him as "overpowering in the weight of his intellect, who produced in the minds of his audience all the sympathy and emotion of which the mind is capable." William H. Dillingham, a classmate and lifelong friend, declared that the extraordinary qualities which marked his career and so greatly distinguished him in after life--towering genius, astonishing facility in acquiring knowledge, and surpassing eloquence, were developed during his college days. The life of Talcott recalls, in its brilliant activity, the dazzling legal career of Alexander Hamilton. Wherever the greatest lawyers gathered he was in their midst, the "Erskine of the bar." At his last appearance in the Supreme Court of the United States he opposed Daniel Webster in the "Sailors' Snug Harbor" case. "Beginning in a low and measured tone," says Bacon, in his Early Bar of Oneida County, "he gathered strength and power as he proceeded in his masterly discourse, and for five hours held the breathless attention of bench and bar and audience, in an argument which the illustrious Marshall declared had not been equalled in that court since the days of the renowned William Pinckney."

Benjamin F. Butler was very much like Talcott in gentleness of manner and in power of intellect. He was born in Kinderhook, Columbia County, where his father, starting as a mechanic, became a merchant, and, after a brief service in the Legislature, received the appointment of county judge. But there was no more reason to expect Medad Butler to bring an illustrious son into the world than there was that his neighbour, Abraham Van Buren, should be the father of the eighth President of the United States. Thirteen years divided the ages of Van Buren and Butler; and, while the latter attended the district school and aided his father about the store, Van Buren was practising law and talking politics with Butler's father. Young Butler was not a dreamer. He had no wild ambition to be great, and cherished no thought of sitting in cabinets or controlling the policy of a great party; but his quiet, respectful manners and remarkable acuteness of mind attracted Van Buren. When Van Buren went to Hudson as surrogate of the county, Butler entered the Hudson academy. There he distinguished himself, as he had already distinguished himself in the little district school, acquiring a decided fondness for the classics. His teachers predicted for him a brilliant college career; but, whatever his reasons, he gave up the college, and, at the age of sixteen, entered Van Buren's law office and Van Buren's family. On his admission to the bar, in 1817, he became Van Buren's partner at Albany.

Though Talcott began life a Federalist, in the party breakup he joined the Bucktails, with Butler and Van Buren. It seemed to be a love match--the relations between Talcott and Butler. They were frequently associated in the most important cases, the possession of scholarly tastes being the powerful magnet that drew them together. Talcott, at Williams College, had evidenced an astonishing facility for acquiring knowledge; Butler, after leaving the academy, had continued the study of the languages until he could read his favourite authors in the original with great ease. This was their delight. Neither of them took naturally to public service, though offices seemed to seek them at every turn of the road--United States senator, judge of the Supreme Court, and seats in the cabinets of three Presidents. Nevertheless, with the exception of a brief service under Jackson and Van Buren, Butler declined all the flattering offers that came to him.

It was Marcy who seemed born for a politician. A staid old Federalist teacher sent him away from school at fourteen years of age, because of his love for Jeffersonian principles and his fondness for argument. The early years of this Massachusetts lad seem to have been strangely varied and vexed. He was the leader of a band of noisy, roguish boys who made the schoolroom uncomfortable for the teacher, and the neighbourhood uncomfortable for the parents. Neither the father nor his wife appear to have had any idea of their good fortune. Mrs. Marcy once declared him the worst boy in the country. He showed little disposition to study and less inclination to work; yet it was noticed that he read all the books to be found in the homes of his playfellows and in the libraries of the district. The character of the books made no difference; he preferred reading anything to reading nothing, though history and general literature, such as the works of Addison, on whose style he seems to have moulded his own, were his favourite volumes. When, at last, he met Salem Towne, his earliest, and, in a sense, his best education began. Towne recognised the latent genius of the lad and told him of it, encouraging him to enter college and the law. Marcy used often to declare, in later years, that he owed everything he ever gained in life to the influence and example of Salem Towne. The affectionate regard which Marcy felt for his boyhood friend, a regard which endured until the day of his death, belongs to the chapter of pathetic incidents in Marcy's life.

Soon after leaving Brown University, Marcy settled in Troy and became violently hostile to DeWitt Clinton. After Clinton's downfall, he was appointed recorder of Troy; and after Clinton's restoration, he was promptly removed. Just now he was trying to practise law, and to edit the Troy Budget, a Bucktail newspaper; but he preferred to read, sitting with his unblacked boots on the table, careless of his dress, and indifferent to his personal appearance. He looked dull and inactive, and people thought he lacked the industry and energy so necessary to success in any profession; but when the Budget appeared, its editorials made men read and reflect. It was the skill with which he marshalled facts in a gentle and winning style that attracted Van Buren and made them friends.

Marcy's appointment as adjutant-general created intense indignation, because he took the place of Solomon Van Rensselaer, who had served in the War of 1812, bravely leading the attack on Queenstown Heights and holding his ground until dislodged by superior force; but, it was said in reply, that Marcy had the honour of capturing the first British fort and the first British flag of the war. The fight was not a bloody encounter like the Queenstown engagement; yet, for men new to war, it evidenced coolness and great courage. A detachment of British soldiers had taken a position at St. Regis, seven miles from the American camp. Selecting one hundred and seventy picked men, Lieutenant Marcy cautiously approached the fort at night, overpowered the guards on the outposts, surprised the sentries at the entrance, broke down the gates, and charged the enemy in the face of a volley of musketry. When it was over he had the fort, a file of prisoners, several stands of arms, and a flag. Van Buren thought this record was good enough.

The appointment of Talcott, Marcy, and Butler changed the existing political system. Prior to their activity, the distribution of patronage depended largely upon the local boss. His needs determined the men who, regardless of their personal fitness, should be given office. But Talcott and his colleagues introduced new methods, with a higher standard of political morality, and a better system of party discipline. They refused to tolerate unworthy men, and when the little souls stormed and raged, their wise counsels silenced the selfish and staggered the boss. Gradually, their control of patronage and of the party's policy became so absolute that they were called the "Albany Regency." It was, at first, simply a name given them by Thurlow Weed;[215] there was neither organisation nor legal authority. Power came from their great ability and high purpose.

[Footnote 215: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 36.]

The Albany Regency was destined to continue many years, and to number among its members men of character and great influence. Roger Skinner, a United States district judge, was an early member of it; so were Edwin Croswell of the Albany Argus, and Benjamin Knower, the state treasurer. At a later day came John A. Dix, Azariah C. Flagg, Silas Wright, and Charles E. Dudley. In his autobiography, Thurlow Weed says he "had never known a body of men who possessed so much power and used it so well." They had, he continues, "great ability, great industry, indomitable courage, and strict personal integrity."[216] But the men who organised the Regency, giving it power and the respect of the people, by refusing to do what their fine sense of honour did not approve, were Talcott, Marcy, and Butler. It was as remarkable a trio as ever sat about a table.

[Footnote 216: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 1, p. 103.]

In the passing of these three great intellects, there is something peculiarly touching. Talcott died suddenly at the early age of forty-five, leaving the members of the New York bar as sincere mourners. Butler, after the highest and purest living, died at fifty-nine, just as he landed in France to visit the scenes of which he had read and dreamed. Marcy, at sixty-two, having recently retired as President Pierce's secretary of state, was found lifeless, lying upon his bed, book in hand. He had been reading, as he had read since childhood, whenever there came a lull in the demand for his wisdom, his counsel, and his friendship.[217]

[Footnote 217: "Always an honoured citizen of New York, it has seemed fitting that the highest mountain-peak in the State by bearing his name should serve as a monument to his memory."--James F. Rhodes, History of the United States, Vol. 1, p. 247.]

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XXVII. THE THIRD CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION

1821

New England people, passing through the Mohawk Valley into the rich country beyond Seneca Lake, found many reasons for settling in central and western New York. Out of this section the Legislature organised twelve new counties in 1812. The sixteen counties that existed in the State, in 1790, had increased to fifty-five in 1820. Settlers had rapidly filled up the whole region. New York City, according to the third census, had 123,706 inhabitants, and, of these, only 5390 were unnaturalised foreigners. Indeed, the population of the State, in 1820, was made up largely of native Americans; and the descendants of English families outnumbered those of the Dutch.

Administrative reform had not, however, kept pace with the increase in population. The number of freeholders qualified to vote for senator and governor, was, relatively, no larger; the power of the Council of Appointment had become odious; the veto of the Council of Revision distasteful; and the sittings of the Supreme Court infrequent. It was said that the members of the Council of Revision, secure from removal, had resisted the creation of additional judges, until the speedy administration of justice was a lost art. Gradually, the spirit that demanded independence, in 1776, began to insist upon a broader suffrage and additional rights. The New Englanders in the central, western, and northern parts of the State had very pronounced sentiments upon the subject of reform. They sympathised little with the views of the landowning and conservative classes that largely controlled the making of the Constitution of 1777. The people of New York City, as well, who had increased over fifty per cent. in twelve years, clamoured for a radical change in conditions that seemed to them to have no application to life in a republic.

Nevertheless, the politicians were slow in recognising the necessity of amending the State Constitution. Although trouble increased from year to year, governors avoided recommendations; and legislators hesitated to put in motion the machinery for correcting abuses. After Clinton had defeated Tompkins for governor, in 1820, however, the agitation suddenly blazed into a flame. Tammany resolved in favour of a convention having unlimited powers to amend the Constitution. Following this suggestion, Governor Clinton, in his speech to the Legislature in November, 1820, recommended that the question be submitted to the people. But the Bucktails, indifferent to the views of their opponents, pushed through a bill calling for a convention with unlimited powers, whose work should subsequently be submitted in gross to the people for ratification or rejection.

Governor Clinton preferred a convention of limited powers, a convention that could not abolish the judiciary or turn out of office the only friends left him. Nevertheless, it was not easy for a governor, who loved popularity, to take a position against the Bucktail bill; for the popular mind, if it had not yet formally expressed itself on the subject, was well understood to favour a convention. When, therefore, the bill came before the Council of Revision, Clinton thought he had taken good care to have a majority present to disapprove it, without his assistance. Van Ness and Platt were absent holding court; but, of the others, Joseph C. Yates, the only Bucktail on the bench, was presumably the only one likely to favour it. Chancellor Kent, in giving his reasons for disapproving the measure, contended that the Legislature had no constitutional authority to create a convention of unlimited powers, and, if it did, it should require the convention to submit its amendments to the people separately and not in gross. Spencer agreed with the Chancellor. Yates, as expected, approved the bill, but there was consternation in the Council when Woodworth agreed with Yates. Woodworth was the creature of Clinton. He had made him a judge, and, having done so, the Governor relied with confidence upon his support, in preference to that of either Van Ness or Jonas Platt. It recalls the mistake of the historic conclave which elected a Pope whom the cardinals believed too feeble to have any will of his own, but who suddenly became their master. One can easily understand Clinton's dilemma. He wanted the bill disapproved without his aid; Woodworth's action compelled him to do the very thing he had planned to avoid. To the day of his death, Clinton never got over the affront. "Yates and Woodworth were both frightened and have damned themselves," he wrote Henry Post, on the 27th of November, 1820. "The latter supposed also that he would distinguish himself by his independence. I don't know a fellow more intrinsically despicable. I intend the first convenient opportunity to cut him to the quick. Y---- is a miserable fellow--the dupe of his own vanity and the tool of bad principles!"[218] Woodworth's action was severely criticised; and when, shortly afterward, the Bucktails in the Senate sitting as a Court of Errors, reversed a judgment against him for several thousand dollars, overruling the opinion of Chancellor Kent, it seemed to impeach the purity of his motives.

[Footnote 218: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 415.]

After Clinton had voted in the Council, the convention bill, thus vetoed, did not get the necessary two-thirds support. At the regular session of the Legislature, which began in January, 1821, an amendment was accepted submitting to the people the simple question of a convention or no convention. Of the one hundred and forty-four thousand votes cast, one hundred and nine thousand favoured a convention. Delegates were then elected; and the convention, having been organised, continued in session from August 28 to November 10, 1821.

This convention passed into history as a remarkable gathering of distinguished persons. With a few exceptions, all the men then living, whose names have figured in these pages, took an active part in its deliberations; and by their eloquence and ability contributed to a constitution which was to answer the purposes of a rapidly growing State for another quarter of a century. John Jay, the constitution-maker of 1777, then seventy-six years of age, who still lived upon his farm, happy in his rustic tastes and in his simple pleasures, was represented by his gifted son, Peter A. Jay of Westchester; Daniel D. Tompkins came from Richmond; Rufus King from Queens; Nathan Sanford and Jacob Radcliff from New York; James Kent, Ambrose Spencer, Abraham Van Vechten, and Stephen Van Rensselaer from Albany; Jonas Platt, Ezekiel Bacon, and Nathan Williams from Oneida; William W. Van Ness, Elisha Williams, and Jacob R. Van Rensselaer from Columbia; and James Tallmadge and Peter R. Livingston from Dutchess. There was one new name among them--Samuel Nelson of Cortland, a young man, yet destined to become a well-known and influential chief justice of the State, and an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court. The Federalists of Albany did not return Martin Van Buren, who now made his home in their city; but the people of Otsego honoured themselves and greatly strengthened the convention by making him their representative. He was clearly its leader. Root and Young did more talking, but when others had argued until argument seemed hopeless, Van Buren usually spoke the last word with success.

From the first, it was recognised that Clinton's friends were without influence. They could talk and vote, but the convention was a Bucktail body, in which the election of delegates, the choice of a president, the appointment of committees, the selection of chairmen, and the transaction of business were made party questions. The vote of sixteen to ninety-four for Daniel D. Tompkins, for president, showed Bucktail delegates overwhelmingly in the majority. Of the chairmen of the ten standing committees, all were prominent Bucktail leaders, save Rufus King, who had practically ceased to act with the Federalists of his State, and James, Tallmadge, who ended his affection for DeWitt Clinton when the latter preferred Thomas J. Oakley for attorney-general.

The convention's work centred about three great principles--broader suffrage, enlarged local government, and a more popular judiciary system. There was no difficulty in abolishing the Councils of Appointment and of Revision; in clothing the governor with power of veto; in fixing his term of office at two years instead of three; and in making members of the Legislature ineligible for appointment to office. But, on the questions of suffrage and the judiciary, the convention was thrown into weeks of violent debate, memorable by prophecies never fulfilled, and by criticism that the future quickly disproved. In respect to the suffrage, there were practically three different views. A few members favoured freehold qualifications; a larger number believed in universal suffrage; while others stood between the two, desiring the abolition of a freehold qualification, yet opposing universal suffrage and wishing to place some restrictions on the right to vote. Erastus Root and Samuel Young ably represented the second class; Ambrose Spencer and the Federalists were intensely loyal to a freehold qualification; and Van Buren, backed probably by a majority of the convention, presented the compromise view.

Preliminary to the great debate, a lively skirmish occurred over the limitation of suffrage to the white voter. Strangely enough, this proposition was sustained by Erastus Root, the ardent champion of universal suffrage and the abolition of slavery; and it was opposed with equal warmth by Peter A. Jay and the Federalists, who advocated a freehold qualification. Van Buren did not speak, but he voted for the resolution, to eliminate the word "white," which was carried by a close vote--sixty-three to fifty-nine. Then it was proposed that coloured voters should be freeholders. Again the advocates of universal suffrage favoured the proposition, and the friends of a freehold qualification opposed it; but this time the convention decided against the negro, thirty-three to seventy-one. New York was slow to give equal suffrage to the blacks. Nearly three-fourths of the voters of the State withheld it in 1846; and, six years after President Lincoln's emancipation proclamation, when the black soldier had served his country throughout the Civil War with a fidelity and courage that awoke the strongest emotions of a patriotic people, it was again refused.

The debate, however, which aroused the greatest interest, and in which members of the convention most generally participated, sprang from Ambrose Spencer's proposition limiting to freeholders the right to vote for senators. It must have occurred to the Chief Justice that the convention was against him, because its committee had unanimously agreed to abolish the freehold qualification; and, further, because the convention, by its action on the negro question, had demonstrated its purpose to wipe out all property distinctions among white voters; yet Spencer, at this eleventh hour, proposed to re-establish a freehold difference between senators and assemblymen. The Chief Justice, with all his faults, and they were many and grave, had in him the capacity of a statesman; but it was a statesman of fifty years before. He had learned little by experience. The prejudices of Jay and other patriots of the Revolution, still lingered in his mind, arousing painful apprehensions of what would happen if the exclusive privileges of landowners should disappear, and robbing him of that faith in the people which made Erastus Root the forerunner of the broad suffrage that obtains to-day. Chancellor Kent backed Spencer's proposition in an abler speech than that made by the Chief Justice himself. Kent was an honourable, upright statesman, who, unlike Spencer, had never wavered in his fealty to that federalism which had been learned at the feet of John Jay and Alexander Hamilton; but, like Spencer, he had failed to discover that the people, jealous of their rights and liberties, could be trusted regardless of property holdings. "By the report before us," he said, "we propose to annihilate, at one stroke, all property distinctions, and to bow before the idol of universal suffrage. That extreme democratic principle has been regarded with terror by the wise men of every age, because in every European republic, ancient and modern, in which it has been tried, it has terminated disastrously, and been productive of corruption, injustice, violence, and tyranny. And dare we flatter ourselves that we are a peculiar people, who can run the career of history exempted from the passions which have disturbed and corrupted the rest of mankind? If we are like other races of men, with similar follies and vices, then I greatly fear that our posterity will have reason to deplore in sackcloth and ashes the delusion of the day."[219]

[Footnote 219: Jabez D. Hammond, Political History of New York, Vol. 2, p. 34.]

Though Erastus Root and Samuel Young employed all their eloquence and all their energy against Spencer's proposition, it was Martin Van Buren's speech which made the deepest impression. It cannot be said that the latter's remarks defeated the amendment, because the vote of nineteen to one hundred, showed no one behind the Chief Justice's proposal save himself and a few Federalists. But Van Buren greatly strengthened the report of the committee, which gave a vote to every male citizen twenty-one years old, who had resided six months in the State and who had within one year paid taxes or a road assessment, or had been enrolled and served in the militia. Although, said Van Buren, this report is on the verge of universal suffrage, it did not cheapen the invaluable right, by conferring it indiscriminately upon every one, black or white, who would condescend to accept it. He was opposed, he said, to a precipitate and unexpected prostration of all qualifications, and looked with dread upon the great increase of voters in New York City, believing that such an increase would render elections a curse rather than a blessing. But he maintained that the events of the past forty years had discredited the speculative fears of Franklin, Hamilton, and Madison; that venality in voting, in spite of property qualifications, already existed in grossest forms in parliamentary elections in England, and that property had been as safe in those American communities which had given universal suffrage as in the few which retained a freehold qualification. Then, with great earnestness, his eye resting upon the distinguished Chancellor, he declared that whenever the principles of order and good government should yield to principles of anarchy and violence, all constitutional provisions would be idle and unavailing.

It was a captivating speech. There was little rhetoric and less feeling. Van Buren took good care to show his thorough knowledge of the subject, and, without the use of exclamations or interrogations, he pointed out the unwisdom of following the constitution-makers of 1777, and the danger of accepting the dogma of universal suffrage. The impression we get from the declaration of some of those who heard it, is that Van Buren surpassed himself in this effort. He seems to have made a large majority of the convention happy because he said just what they wanted to know, and said it in just the way they wanted to hear it. It must be admitted, too, that the evils which he prophesied, if universal suffrage were given to New York City, have been too unhappily verified. With the defeat of Spencer's proposition, the suffrage question quickly settled itself along the lines of the committee's report.

The judiciary article excited less debate but more feeling. Delegates brooded over the well known fact that judges had become political partisans, opposed to increasing their number to meet the growing demands of business, and anxious to retain the extraordinary power given them under the Constitution of 1777. Whenever a suggestion was made to retain these judges, therefore, it provoked bitter opposition and denunciation. A few men in the convention had very fierce opinions, seasoned with a kind of wit, and of these, the restless energy of Erastus Root soon earned for him considerable notoriety. Indeed, it passed into a sort of proverb that there were three parties in the convention--the Republicans, the Federalists, and Erastus Root. It is not so clear that he had as much influence as his long prominence in public life would seem to entitle him; but when he did happen to stand with the majority, he pleased it with his witty vehemence more than Peter R. Livingston did with his coarse vituperation. In the debate on the judiciary, however, abuse and invective were not confined to Root and Livingston. Abraham Van Vechten and some of those who acted with him, employed every means in their power to defeat the opponents of the judges, although they scarcely equalled the extra-tribunal methods of their adversaries.

The contest opened as soon as the chairman of the judiciary committee reported in favour of a vice chancellor, from whom appeals should be taken to the chancellor; and of a superior court of common pleas, having practically the jurisdiction of the Supreme Court, which should form a part of the Court for the Correction of Errors. This meant the continuation of the old judges. Immediately, Erastus Root offered a substitute, abolishing the existing courts, and creating a new Supreme Court, with a corps of nisi prius district judges. Root's plan also provided for the transfer of the equitable powers of the Court of Chancery to the courts of common law. This was the extreme view. Although the convention, or at least a majority of it, might wish to get rid of the old Supreme Court judges, it was plainly unwilling to let go the Court of Chancery. So it rejected the Root substitute by a vote of seventy-three to thirty-six, and the report of the judiciary committee by seventy-nine ayes to thirty-three noes. But the attack thus daringly begun by Root, was steadily maintained. Martin Van Buren, who figured as a sort of peacemaker, proposed the retention of the Chancery and Supreme Courts, and the creation of circuit judges. This proposition went to a special committee, which presented two reports--one for the preservation of the Court of Chancery and the Supreme Court, the other for the creation of a Court of Chancery, a Supreme Court, and courts of common pleas. It was plain that the second of these was Root's former substitute, with the Court of Chancery continued, and, in support of it, he now arraigned the political conduct of the judges with a severity that was speedily rebuked. Root was radical or nothing. He hated Spencer, he despised Van Ness, and he disliked James Kent and Jonas Platt; and with an exuberance of apparent anger he demanded the abolition of their courts and the creation of others in no wise different.

In replying to Root, Van Buren again discovered his kindliness of heart. The only question, he said, was whether the convention would insert an article in the Constitution for the sole purpose of vacating the offices of the present chancellor, and Supreme Court judges, and thus apply a rule which had not yet been applied in a single instance. There could be no public reason for the measure and personal feeling should not control. Referring to William W. Van Ness, he declared that he could with truth say that, throughout his whole life, he had been assailed by him with hostility--political, professional and personal--hostility which had been keen, active, and unyielding. "But, sir, am I on that account to indulge my individual resentment in the prostration of my private and political adversary? If I could be capable of such conduct I should forever despise myself." In conclusion, he expressed the hope that the convention would not ruin its character and credit by proceeding to such extremities. Van Buren struck hard, and for the time had routed the judges' opponents by a vote of sixty-four to forty-four. But if the delegates hesitated to back Root, they did not propose to follow Van Buren, and they crushed the first report under the unexpected vote of eighty-six to twenty-five.

The convention had now been in session over two months, and this most troublesome question seemed no nearer settlement than on the opening day. As in the suffrage debate, there were three factions--one determined to get rid of Chancellor Kent and the five Supreme Court judges; another, less numerous, desirous of continuing them all in office, and a third, probably composed of a majority of the convention, who wished to save the chancellor and lose the others. Finally, on the first day of November, ten days before adjournment, a proposition appeared to create a Supreme Court to consist of a chief justice and two justices, and to divide the State into not less than four or more than eight districts, as the Legislature should decide, in each of which a district judge should be appointed, with the tenure and powers of Supreme Court judges. It was also provided that such equity powers should be vested in the district judges, in courts of common pleas, or in other subordinate courts, as the Legislature might direct, subject to the appellate jurisdiction of the chancellor. This was practically Root's old proposition in another form, and its reappearance made it the more certain that a majority of the convention had determined to destroy the present judges.

Up to this time, the members of the court, all of whom were delegates, either from motives of modesty, or with the hope that the many plans might result in no action, had taken no part in the debates on the judiciary. Now, however, Ambrose Spencer, with doubtful propriety, broke the silence. His friends feared the assaults of Root and Peter R. Livingston might drive him into a fierce retort, and that he would antagonise the convention if he did not also weary it. But he did nothing of the kind. He spoke with calmness and excellent taste, saying that he favoured the appointment of circuit judges who should aid the Supreme Court in the trial of issues of fact, and who should also be members, ex-officio, of the Court of Errors; that he had little or no personal interest in the question since he should very soon be constitutionally ineligible to the office; that for eighteen years he had tried to discharge his duties with fidelity and integrity, and that he should leave the bench conscious of having done no wrong if he had not always had the approval of others. He seemed to capture the convention for a moment. His tones were mellow, his manner gentle, and when he suggested leaving Albany on the morrow to resume his labours on the bench, his remarks took the form of a farewell speech, which added a touch of pathos. Indeed, the Chief Justice had proved so wise and discreet that Henry Wheaton thought it an opportune time to propose an amendment to the proposition before the convention, providing that the present justices hold office until their number be reduced to three, by death, resignation, removal, or by age limitation. This brought the convention face to face with the question of retaining the old judges, stripped of all other provisions, and the result was awaited with great interest. It was Van Buren's idea. It had the support, too, of Nathan Sanford, of Peter B. Sharpe, the speaker of the Assembly, and of half a score of prominent Bucktails who hoped, with Van Buren, that the convention would not ruin its character by extreme measures based upon personal dislikes; but a majority of the delegates was in no mood for such a suggestion. It had listened respectfully to the Chief Justice, and would doubtless have cheerfully heard from the Chancellor and other members of the court, but it could not surrender the principle over which sixty days had been spent in contention. When, therefore, the roll was called, Wheaton's amendment was rejected by a vote of sixty-six to thirty-nine. Then came the call on the original proposition, to have Supreme and District Courts, which disclosed sixty-two ayes and fifty-three noes. If the weakness of the noes on the first vote was a disappointment, the strength of the noes on the second vote was a surprise. A change of only five votes was needed to defeat the proposition, and these might have been reduced to three had Daniel D. Tompkins, who favoured Van Buren's idea, and the four judges who refrained from voting, felt at liberty to put themselves upon record. It is a notable fact that the conspicuous, able men of the convention, with the exception of Erastus Root and Samuel Young, voted to continue the judges in office.

Martin Van Buren, as chairman of the committee to consider the question of filling offices, reported in favour of abolishing the Council of Appointment, and of electing state officers by the Legislature, justices of the peace by the people, and military officers, except generals, by the rank and file of the militia. Judicial officers, with surrogates and sheriffs, were to be appointed by the governor and confirmed by the Senate, while courts were authorised to select county clerks and district attorneys. To the common councils of cities was committed the duty of choosing mayors and clerks. In his statement, Van Buren said that of the eight thousand two hundred and eighty-seven military officers in the State, all would be elected by the rank and file, except seventy-eight generals; and of the six thousand six hundred and sixty-three civil officers, all would be elected by the people or designated as the Legislature should direct, except four hundred and fifty-three. To provide for these five hundred and thirty-one military and civil officers, the committee thought it wise to have the governor appoint and the Senate confirm them. The constitutions recently formed in Kentucky, Louisiana, Indiana, Illinois, and Missouri, he said, had such a provision--similar, in fact, to that in the Federal Constitution--and, although this method was open to objection, the committee was unable to devise a better system.

Aside from James Tallmadge, who thought the Legislature should have nothing to do with the patronage of government, this report called out little opposition, so far as it provided for the election of state officers by the Legislature, military officers by the militia, and the appointment of higher military and judicial officers by the governor. Van Buren had made it plain, by his exhaustive argument, that constitution-makers, seeking the latest expression of the people's will, could devise no better plan, and that experience in the newest States having the same system, had developed no serious objection. There was a readiness, also, to accept the recommendation allowing the Legislature to designate the manner of selecting the three thousand six hundred and forty-three notaries public, commissioners of deeds, and other minor officers. But a buzz of disapproval ran through the convention when the article providing for the election of justices of the peace was reached. It was evident from the outset, that a concerted movement was on foot among Republican leaders to establish, at the seat of government, a central appointing power of large authority, and the appointment of justices of the peace was peculiarly essential to its strength. A justice was of more importance then than now. He was usually the strongest character in his vicinage, and whether he followed the plow, or wore upon the bench the homely working clothes in which he tended cattle, he was none the less familiar with the politics of every suitor in his court. In the absence of higher courts, neighbours were compelled to go before him, and in settling their troubles, it was usually understood that he held the scales of justice without being blindfolded.

Van Buren did not conceal his hostility to the election of these justices. If he had developed radical tendencies in the suffrage debate, he now exhibited equally strong conservative proclivities in limiting the power of the voter. His vigorous protests in the committee-room against the election of surrogates, sheriffs and county clerks had defeated that proposition, and in referring to the section of the report making justices of the peace elective, he said it had been a source of sincere regret that the committee overruled him. But a majority of the committee, he continued, in his smooth and adroit manner, had no strong personal predilections on the question of the election of sheriffs and surrogates, and if, on a fair and deliberate examination, it should be thought better to have these officials elected by the people, they would cheerfully acquiesce in that decision. This was the quintessence of diplomacy. He knew that Erastus Root and Samuel Young insisted upon having these officers elected, and, to secure their opposition to the election of justices of the peace, he indicated a willingness to be convinced as to the expediency of electing sheriffs and surrogates.

To bring the question of electing or appointing justices of the peace squarely before the convention, Van Buren, at a later day, introduced a resolution providing that the board of supervisors in every county should, at such time as the Legislature directed, recommend to the governor a list of persons equal in number to the justices of the peace in such county; that the respective courts of common pleas of the several counties should also recommend a like number, and from the lists so recommended the governor should appoint. In the event of vacancies, like recommendations were to be made. The governor was also authorised to remove a justice upon the application in writing of the body recommending his appointment. This scheme was not very magnificent. It put the responsibility of selection neither upon supervisors, courts, nor governor, although each one must act independently of the other, but it gave the governor a double chance of appointing men of his own political faith. This was Van Buren's purpose. He believed in a central appointing power, which the Albany Regency might control, and, that such power should not be impotent, these minor and many magistrates, thickly distributed throughout the State, with a jurisdiction broad enough to influence their neighbourhoods, became of the greatest importance. To secure their appointment, therefore, Van Buren was ready to sacrifice the appointment of sheriffs, with their vast army of deputies.

Van Buren's scheme was ably resisted. Rufus King, who was counted a Bucktail but until now had taken little part in debate, spoke against it with all the sincere emotion of one whose mind and heart alike were filled with the cause for which he pleaded. He thought justices should be elected. Each locality knew the men in whom it could trust to settle its disputes, and farmers as well as townspeople should be allowed to select the arbitrator of all their petty quarrels and disagreements. It was the very essence of home rule. In vigorous English Ambrose Spencer, William W. Van Ness, and Jacob R. Van Rensselaer supported the Senator, while Ogden Edwards of New York City, an able representative of Tammany, burning with a sense of injustice, violently assailed the proposed plan. "The unanimous vote of this convention," he said, "had shown that the Council of Appointment was an evil. A unanimous sentence of condemnation has been passed upon it, and I had not expected so soon to find a proposition for its revival."

Probably no stranger scene was ever witnessed in a parliamentary body than Erastus Root and Samuel Young, two radical legislators, advocates of universal suffrage, and just now especially conspicuous because of their successful support of the election of sheriffs and county clerks, arguing with zeal and ability for the appointment of justices of the peace. It seemed like a travesty, since there was not an argument in favour of electing sheriffs that did not apply with added force to the election of justices. The convention stood aghast at such effrontery. It is impossible to read, without regret, of the voluntary stultification of these orators, pleading piteously for the appointment of justices of the peace while declaiming with passionate righteousness against the appointment of sheriffs. With acidulated satire, Van Ness, enrapturing his hearers by his brilliancy, held them up to public ridicule if not to public detestation. But Van Buren's bungling proposition, though once rejected by a vote of fifty-nine to fifty-six, was in the end substantially adopted, and it remained a part of the amended constitution until the people, very soon satisfied of its iniquity, ripped it out of the organic law with the same unanimity that their representatives now abolished the Councils of Appointment and of Revision. Could Van Buren have had his way, the Council of Appointment would have been changed only in name.

The work of the convention concluded, a motion for the passage of the Constitution as a whole developed only eight votes in the negative, though twenty-four members, including the eight delegates from Albany and Columbia Counties, four from Montgomery, Jonas Platt of Oneida, and Peter A. Jay of Westchester, because it extended and cheapened suffrage, refused to sign it. Other objections were urged. Ezekiel Bacon of Utica, explaining his affirmative vote, thought it worse than the existing Constitution of 1777; yet he approved it because the provision for amendment afforded the people a means of correcting defects with reasonable facility, without resorting to the difficult and dangerous experiment of a formal convention.

The Constitution, however, in spite of the opposition, was overwhelmingly ratified. The vote for it was 74,732; against it 41,043. And it proved better than even its sponsors prophesied. It abolished the Councils of Appointment and of Revision; it abolished the power of the governor to prorogue the Legislature; it abolished the property qualification of the white voter; it extended the elective franchise; it made a large number of officers elective; it modified the management of the canals and created a canal board; it continued the Court of Errors and Impeachments; it reorganised the judicial department, making all judges, surrogates, and recorders appointive by the governor, with the advice and consent of the Senate; it made state officers, formerly appointed by the Council, elective by joint ballot of the Senate and Assembly; and it gave the power of veto exclusively to the governor, requiring a two-thirds vote of the Legislature to overcome it. No doubt it had radical defects, but with the help of a few amendments it lived for a quarter of a century.

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XXVIII. THE SECOND FALL OF CLINTON

1822

The new Constitution changed the date of elections from April to November, and reduced the gubernatorial term from three years to two, thus ending Governor Clinton's administration on January 1, 1823. As the time approached for nominating his successor, it was obvious that the Bucktails, having reduced party discipline to a science and launched the Albany Regency upon its long career of party domination, were certain to control the election. Indeed, so strong had the party become that a nomination for senator or assemblyman was equivalent to an election, and the defeat of John W. Taylor of Saratoga for speaker of the Seventeenth Congress showed that its power extended to the capital of the nation. Taylor's ability and splendid leadership, in the historic contest of the Missouri Compromise, had made him speaker during the second session of the Sixteenth Congress; but Bucktail resentment of his friendly attitude toward Clinton, in 1820, changed a sufficient number of his New York colleagues to deprive him of re-election. It was not until the Nineteenth Congress, after the power of the Albany Regency had been temporarily broken by the election of John Quincy Adams to the Presidency, that Taylor finally received the reward to which he was so richly entitled.

At this moment of the Regency's domination, Joseph C. Yates showed himself the coming man. Though it was the desire of his party that he take the nomination for governor in 1820, the cautious, modest Justice of the Supreme Court had discreetly decided not to sacrifice himself in the year of DeWitt Clinton's greatest strength. Conscious of his own popularity with the people, he was prepared to wait. But he had not to wait long. During the last two years of Clinton's administration, Yates had distinguished himself in the Council of Revision, by voting for the bill creating a constitutional convention--a vote which was applauded by Van Buren, although overcome by Clinton; and when the time approached for the selection of another gubernatorial candidate, he rightly saw that his hour was come. Yates was not cut out for the part which a strange combination of circumstances was to allow him to play. He was a man of respectable character, but without remarkable capacity of any kind. He had a charming personality. He was modest and mild in his deportment, and richly gifted with discretion, caution, and prudence. Vindictiveness formed no part of his disposition. The peculiar character of his intellect made him a good Supreme Court judge; but he lacked the intellectual energy and courage for an executive, who must thoroughly understand the means of getting and retaining public support.

A majority of the leading politicians of the party, appreciating Yates' mental deficiencies, ranged themselves on the side of Samuel Young, who enjoyed playing a conspicuous part and liked attacking somebody. Young was not merely a debater of apparently inexhaustible resource, but a master in the use of parliamentary tactics and political craft. His speeches, or such reports of them as exist, are full of striking passages and impressive phrases; and, as an orator, full, round and joyous, with singularly graceful and charming manners, he was then without a rival in his party. But his ultra-radicalism and illiberal, often rude, treatment of opponents prevented him from obtaining all the influence which would otherwise have been fairly due to his talents and his political and personal integrity.

There were, also, other aspirants. Daniel D. Tompkins, preferring governor to Vice President, was willing to be called; and Peter B. Porter, Erastus Root, and Nathan Sanford, figured among those whose names were canvassed. The contest, however, soon settled down between Yates and Young, with the chances decidedly in favour of the former. People admired Young and were proud of him--they thoroughly liked Yates and trusted him. If Young had possessed the kindly, sympathetic disposition of Yates, with a tithe of his discretion, he would have rivalled Martin Van Buren in influence and popularity, and become a successful candidate for any office in the gift of the voters; but, with all his splendid genius for debate and eloquent speaking, he was neither a patient leader nor a popular one. When the Republican members of the Legislature got into caucus, therefore, Joseph C. Yates had a pronounced majority, as had Erastus Root for lieutenant-governor.

Young's defeat for the nomination left bitter enmity. A reconciliation did, indeed, take place between him and Yates, but it was as formal and superficial as that of the two demons described in Le Sage's story. "They brought us together," says Asmodeus; "they reconciled us. We shook hands and became mortal enemies." Young and Yates were reconciled; but from the moment of Yates' nomination, until, chagrined and disappointed, he was forced into retirement after two years of humiliating obedience to the Regency, Samuel Young spared no effort to render his late opponent unpopular.

Although Clinton's canal policy, upon the success of which he had staked his all, was signally vindicating itself in rapidity of construction, and the very moderate estimate of cost, his friends did not hesitate to advise him that his re-election to the governorship was impossible. It was a cold proposition for a man to face who had inaugurated a system of improvement which would confer prosperity and wealth upon the people, and enrich and elevate the State. For a time, like a caged tiger, he bit at the bars that seemed to limit his ambition. But his friends were right. Through his management, or want of management, the Clintonians had ceased to exist as an organisation, and his supporting Federalists, as evidenced by the election of delegates to the constitutional convention in 1821, had passed into a hopeless minority. "Governor Clinton, though governor," said Thurlow Weed, "was much in the condition of a pastor without a congregation." It was striking proof of the absence of tact and that address which, in a popular government, is necessary for one to possess who expects to succeed in public life. Clinton had now been governor for five consecutive years. His motives had undoubtedly been pure and patriotic, and he had within his control the means of a great office to influence people in his favour; yet a cold exterior, an arrogant manner, and a disposition to rule or ruin, had cooled his friends and driven away the people until opponents took little heed of his existence.

No doubt Clinton had good reason to know that the statesmen of that time were not exactly what they professed to be. He was well aware that many of them, like John Woodworth, Ambrose Spencer, and James Tallmadge, had played fast and loose as the chances of Bucktail and Clintonian had gone up or gone down; and, although he gracefully declined to become a candidate for re-election, when convinced of the utter hopelessness of such a race, his brain was no less active in the conception of plans which should again return him to power. As early as October, 1822, he wrote Post: "The odium attached to the name of Federalist has been a millstone round the neck of true policy. It is now almost universally dropped in this district, in the district of which Oneida County is part, and in the Herkimer County meeting. I hail this as an auspicious event. Names in politics as well as science are matters of substance, and a bad name in public is as injurious to success as a bad name in private life. The inferences I draw from the signs of the times are: First, the ascendancy of our party from the collisions of parties. In proportion as they quarrel with each other they will draw closer to us. The last hate being the most violent will supersede the former antipathy. Second, the old names as well as the old lines of party will be abolished. Third, nominations by caucuses will be exploded. Fourth, Yates, Van Buren, etc., will go down like the stick of a rocket. Our friends are up and doing in Ulster."

It is impossible not to feel admiration for the indomitable courage and the inexhaustible animal spirits which no defeat could reduce to prostration. Furthermore, Clinton had written with the inspiration of a prophet. Not only were the old names and the old party lines soon to vanish, but the last legislative caucus ever to be held in the State, would be called in less than two years. Within the same period Yates was to fall like the stick of a rocket, and Van Buren to suffer his first defeat.

In the absence of a Clintonian or Federalist opponent, Solomon Southwick announced himself as an independent candidate. His was a strange story. He had many of the noblest qualities and some of the wildest fancies, growing out of an extravagant imagination that seemed to control his mind. Among other things, he opened an office for the sale of lottery tickets, reserving numbers for himself which had been indicated in dreams or by fortune-tellers, with whom he was in frequent consultation. Writing of his disposition to hope for aid from the miraculous interposition of some invisible power, Hammond says: "He was in daily expectation that the next mail would bring him news that he had drawn the highest prize in the lottery; and I have known him to borrow money of a friend under a solemn pledge of his honour for its repayment in ten days, and have afterward ascertained that his sole expectation of redeeming his pledge depended on his drawing a prize when the next lottery in which he was interested should be drawn."[220]

[Footnote 220: Jabez D. Hammond, Political History of New York, Vol. 2, p. 101.]

Southwick was undoubtedly a man of genius, as his work on the Albany Register, the Ploughboy, and the Christian Visitant clearly indicates; but erroneous judgment and defective impulses resulted in misfortunes which finally darkened and closed his life in adversity if not in poverty. As a young man he had been repeatedly elected clerk of the Assembly, and had afterward served as sheriff, as state printer, and, finally, as postmaster. In the meantime, he became the first president of the Farmers' and Mechanics' Bank, making money easily and rapidly, living extravagantly, giving generously, and acquiring great political influence. But his trial for bribery, of which mention has been made, his removal as state printer, and his defalcation as postmaster, prostrated him financially and politically. In the hope of retrieving his fortunes he embarked in real estate speculation, thus completing his ruin and making him still more visionary and fantastic. Nevertheless, he struggled on with industry and courage for more than twenty years, occasionally coming into public or political notice as a writer of caustic letters, or as a candidate for office.

In 1822, the wild fancy possessed Southwick of becoming governor, and to preface the way for his visionary scheme he applied to a bright young journalist, the editor of the Manlius Republican, to canvass the western and southwestern counties of the State. Thurlow Weed at this time was twenty-six years old. He had worked on a farm, he had blown a blacksmith's bellows, he had shipped as a cabin-boy, he had done chores at a tavern, he had served as a soldier, and he had learned the printer's trade. For twenty years he lived a life of poverty, yet of tireless industry, with a simplicity as amazing as his genius. The only thing of which he got nothing was schooling. His family was an old Connecticut one, which had come down in the world. Everything went wrong with his father. He was hard-working, kind-hearted, and strictly honest, but nothing succeeded. With the hope of "bettering his condition," he moved five times in ten years, getting so desperately poor at last that a borrowed two-horse sleigh carried all his worldly goods, including a wife and five children. Joel Weed was, perhaps, as unfortunate a man as ever brought an illustrious son into the world. He was neither shiftless nor worthless, but what others did he could not do. He never took up land for himself because he had nothing to begin with. A neighbour who began with an axe and a hoe, entered fifty acres, and got rich.

If Joel Weed lived as a beggar, Thurlow thought as a king. He revelled in the mountains and streams interspersed along the routes of the family's frequent movings; his taste for adventure made the sloop's cabin a home, and his love for reading turned the blacksmith shop and printing office into a schoolroom. As he read he forgot that he was poor, forgot that he was ragged, forgot that he was hungry. In his autobiography he tells of walking bare-footed six miles through the snow to borrow a history of the French Revolution, and of reading it at night in the blaze of a pitch-pine knot. Men found him lovable. He was large and awkward; but even as a boy there was a charm of manner, a tender, sympathetic nature, a sweet, sparkling humour, and a nobility of character that irresistibly drew people to him. In many respects his boyhood resembled Lincoln's, and, though he lived in some of the evil days of the last century, his youth, like Lincoln's, escaped pollution. At the age of twelve, as an apprentice in a weekly newspaper office at Onondaga Hollow, he read and filed every exchange paper, familiarising himself with discussions in Congress, and imbibing a deadly hatred of England because of Indian barbarities excited by British agents, and cruelties to American seamen impressed by British officers. With the true instinct of his fine nature, he made his friends and companions among the wisest and highest of his time, although he loved all company that was not vicious and depraved. He knew Gerrit Smith in 1814; a few months' stay, as a journeyman printer, at Auburn, forged a lasting friendship with Elijah Miller, the father-in-law of William H. Seward, and with Enos T. Throop, afterward governor. His intimacy with Gorham A. Worth, a financier of decided literary tastes, and for thirty years president of the New York City Bank, began in Albany in 1816. Thus, in whatever town he worked or settled, the prominent men and those to grow into prominence became his intimates. He had women friends, too, as wisely chosen as the men, but Catherine Ostrander was the star of his life. He tells a touching little story of this Cooperstown maiden. Their engagement occurred in his seventeenth year, but her parents, objecting to the roving, unsettled youth, he proposed three years of absolute separation, and if then no change had come to her affections she should write and tell him so. In his hours of poverty, he was cheered by the thought of her, and when, at last, her letter came, he hastened to claim her as his bride. At the conclusion of the ceremony, he had money enough only to take them back to Albany.

Weed began the publication of the Manlius Republican in June, 1821. For three years previously the Agriculturist, published at Norwich, in Chenango County, had given him proprietorship, some reputation, and less money; but it had also classified him politically. He had never been a Federalist, nor could he be called a Clintonian, although his belief in canal improvement led him to the support of Governor Clinton and earned for him the opposition of the Bucktails. Like his father he worked without success, and then moved on to Albany; but he left behind him a coterie of distinguished Chenango friends who were ever after to follow his leadership. At Albany, he began to earn eighteen dollars a week as a journeyman printer on the Argus. The Bucktails forced him out and he went on to Manlius, resurrecting the Times, an old Federalist paper, which he called the Republican.

It was at this time that Southwick sought him. "He was insanely anxious to be governor," says Weed, "and all the more insane because of its impossibility. He had been editing with great industry and ability the Ploughboy and the Christian Visitant, and beguiled himself with a confident belief that farmers and Christians, irrespective of party, would sustain him. He provided me with a horse and wagon, and gave me a list of the names of gentlemen on whom I was to call, but I soon discovered that my friend's hopes and chances were not worth even the services of a horse that was dragging me through the mud. Years afterward I learned that in politics, as almost in everything else, Mr. Southwick was blinded by his enthusiasm and credulity."[221]

[Footnote 221: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 86.]

But Southwick was not the only blinded one in 1822. On the 10th of January, Governor Clinton wrote Henry Post "that Yates and Van Buren are both prostrate, and the latter particularly so."[222] Later in the year, on August 21, he declared: "Yates is unpopular, and Southwick will beat him in this city and in Schenectady."[223] In the next month, September 21, he is even more outspoken. "Yates is despised and talked against openly. Savage and Skinner talk plainly against him, and he is the subject of commonplace ridicule."[224] Clinton was the last person to abandon hope of Yates' defeat; and yet Yates' election could, without exaggeration, be declared practically unanimous.[225] Republican legislative candidates fared equally well. Clintonians and Federalists were entirely without representation in the Senate, and in the Assembly their number was insufficient to make their presence appreciable.

[Footnote 222: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 507.]

[Footnote 223: Ibid., p. 565.]

[Footnote 224: Ibid., p. 565.]

[Footnote 225: Southwick received 2910 out of a total of 131,403 votes cast.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

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XXIX. CLINTON AGAIN IN THE SADDLE

1823-1824

The election in the fall of 1822 was one of those sweeping, crushing victories that precede a radical change; and the confidence with which the victors used their power hurried on the revolution prophesied in Clinton's clever letter to Post. The blow did not, indeed, come at once. The legislators, meeting in January, 1823, proceeded cautiously, agreeing in caucus upon the state officers whom the Legislature, under the amended Constitution, must now elect. John Van Ness Yates, the Governor's nephew, was made secretary of state; William L. Marcy, comptroller; Simeon DeWitt, surveyor-general, and Alexander M. Muir, commissary-general. The caucus hesitated to nominate DeWitt because he was a Clintonian; but forty years of honourable, efficient, quiet service finally appealed to a Republican Legislature with all the force that it had formerly appealed to the Skinner Council. There was more of a contest over the comptrollership. James Tallmadge suddenly blossomed into a rival candidate. Tallmadge, like John W. Taylor, won his spurs as a leader of the opposition to the Missouri Compromise. He had been an ardent supporter of Clinton until the latter preferred Thomas J. Oakley as attorney-general; then he swung into communion with the Bucktails. He was impulsively ambitious, sensitive to opposition, fearless in action, and such an inveterate hater that he could not always act along lines leading to his own preferment.

Under the new Constitution, county judges, surrogates, and notaries public were selected from the dominant party with more jealous care than by the old Council; and if Yates failed to observe the edict of the Regency, the Senate failed to confirm his appointees. Hammond, the historian, gives an instance of its refusal to confirm the reappointment of a bank cashier as a notary public because of his politics. But the really absorbing question was the appointment of Supreme Court judges. Though there was no objection to Nathan Sanford for chancellor, since he would not take office until the retirement of James Kent, in August, by reason of age limitation, the spirit shown in the constitutional convention, toward the old Supreme Court judges, pervaded the Senate. The Governor, who had served with Ambrose Spencer since 1808, and with Platt and Woodworth from the time of their elevation to the court, was prompted, perhaps through his kindly interest in their welfare, to nominate them for reappointment, but the Senate rejected them by an almost unanimous vote. If the Governor had now let the matter rest, he would doubtless have escaped the serious charge of insincerity. The next day, however, without giving the rejected men opportunity to secure a rehearing, he nominated John Savage, Jacob Sutherland, and Samuel R. Betts. The suddenness of these second nominations seemed to indicate a greater desire to continue cordial relations with the Senate than to help his former associates. Whatever the cause, though, Ambrose Spencer never forgave him; nor did he outlive Samuel Young's criticism of playing politics at the expense of his old comrades upon the bench.

With the exception of Ambrose Spencer, who was destined to be remembered for a time by friends and enemies, the old judges of the Supreme Court may now be said to drop out of state history. Spencer lived twenty-five years longer, until 1848, serving one term in Congress, one term as mayor of Albany, and finally rounding out his long life of eighty-three years as president of the national Whig convention at Baltimore in 1844; but his political and public activity, as a factor to be reckoned with, ceased at the age of fifty-eight. The close of his life was spent in happy quietude among his books, and in the midst of new-found friends in the church, with which he united some six or eight years before his death. Jonas Platt returned to Clinton County, and, for a time, practised his profession with great acceptance as an advocate; but as a master-politician he, like Spencer, was out of employment forever. At last, he, too, retired to a farm, and with composure awaited the end that came in 1834. William W. Van Ness was destined to go earlier. Not seeking reappointment to the bench, he settled in New York, with apparently forty years of life before him, his genius in all the glow of its maturity marking him for greater political success than he had yet achieved; yet, within a year, on February 27, 1823, death found him while he sought health in a Southern State. He was only forty-seven years old at the time. Disease and not age had thrown him. Born in 1776, he had won for himself the proudest honours of the law, and written his name high up on the roll of New York statesmen.

Governor Yates had thus far travelled a difficult and dusty road. In the duty of organising the government, which, under the new Constitution fell to him, and in making appointments, he received the censure and was burdened with the resentment of the mortified and disappointed. His opponents, with the hearty and poorly concealed approval of Young's friends, made it their business to create a public opinion against him. They assailed him at all points with ridicule, with satire, with vituperation, and with personal abuse. They seemed to lie in wait to find occasion for attacking him, exaggerating his weaknesses and minimising his strength. But the blunder that broke his heart, and sent him into unexpected and sudden retirement, was his opposition to a change in the law providing for the choice of presidential electors by the people. The demand for such a measure grew out of a divided sentiment between William H. Crawford, then secretary of the treasury, John Quincy Adams, secretary of state, and Henry Clay, speaker of the national House of Representatives, the leading candidates for President. There was, as yet, no real break in the Republican party. No national question had appeared upon which the nation was divided; and, although individuals in the South took exception to protective duties, the party had made no claim that the tariff system of 1816 was either inexpedient or unconstitutional. The selection of a candidate for President had, however, become intensely personal, dividing the country into excited factions equivalent to a division of parties. In New York, Van Buren and the Albany Regency favoured Crawford; James Tallmadge, Henry Wheaton, Thurlow Weed and others preferred Adams; and Samuel Young, Peter B. Porter and their friends warmly supported Clay. The heated contest extended to the people, who understood that the choice of Crawford electors by the Legislature would control the election for the Georgian, while a change in the law would give Adams or Clay a chance. To insure such a change, the opponents of Crawford, calling themselves the People's party, made several nominations for the Assembly, and among those elected by overwhelming majorities were Tallmadge and Wheaton.

If Tallmadge was the most conspicuous leader of the People's party, Henry Wheaton was easily second. Though seven years younger, he had already made himself prominent, not merely as a politician of general ability, but as a reporter of the United States Supreme Court, whose conscientious and intelligent work was to link his name forever with the jurisprudence of the country. During the War of 1812, Wheaton had edited the National Advocate, writing a series of important papers on neutral rights; and, subsequently, he had become division judge-advocate of the army, and justice of the marine court of New York City. From the constitutional convention of 1821, he stepped into the Assembly of 1824, where, in the debates over the choice of electors by the people, his ready eloquence made him a valuable ally for Tallmadge and a formidable opponent to Flagg. His ambition to shine as a statesman, and an extraordinary power of application, equipped him with varied information, and made him an authority on many subjects. He joined Benjamin F. Butler in the revision of the statutes of the State, and was associated with Daniel Webster in settling the limits of the bankruptcy legislation of the state and federal governments. Just now he was still a young man, only in his thirty-ninth year; but those who had seen his keen, clever articles on neutral rights, polished and penetrating in style, and who heard his skilful and fearless advocacy of the people's right to choose electors, were not surprised to learn of his appointment, in later life, as a lecturer at Harvard, or to read his great work on the Elements of International Law, published in 1836. As a reward for the part he took in the election of 1824, President Adams sent him to Denmark, from whence he went to Prussia--these appointments keeping him abroad for twenty years.

John Van Ness Yates urged his uncle to recommend a change in the law regulating the choice of electors; and if the Governor had possessed the political wisdom necessary in such an emergency, he would doubtless have taken the suggestion. But Yates thought it wise to follow the Regency; the Regency thought it wise to follow Van Buren; and Van Buren opposed a change, as prejudicial to Crawford's interests. The result was a bungling attempt on the part of the Governor to evade the direct expression of an opinion. Finally, however, he said that as Congress was likely soon to present an amendment to the Constitution for legislative sanction, it was inadvisable "under existing circumstances" to change the law "at this time."[226] This was neither skilful nor truthful. Congress had no thought of doing anything of the kind, and, if it had, men knew that an amendment could not be secured in time to operate at the coming election. Yates' message, therefore, was pronounced "a shabby dodge," a trick familiar to many statesmen in difficulties.

[Footnote 226: Governors Speeches, Aug. 2, 1824, p. 218.]

When the Legislature convened, in January, 1824, a bill authorising the people to choose electors naturally excited a long and bitter debate, in which Azariah C. Flagg represented the Regency. Flagg was a printer by trade, the publisher of a Republican paper at Plattsburg, and a veteran of the War of 1812. He was not prepossessing in appearance; his diminutive stature, surmounted by a big, round head gave him the appearance of Atlas with the world upon his shoulders. His voice, too, was shrill and unattractive; but he suddenly evinced shrewdness and address in legislative tactics that greatly worried his opponents and pleased his friends. A majority of the Assembly, however, afraid of their excited and indignant constituents, finally passed the bill. When it reached the Senate, the supporters of Crawford indefinitely postponed it by a vote of seventeen to fourteen.

The defeat of this measure raised a storm of popular indignation. People were exasperated. Newspapers, opposed to the Van Buren leaders, published in black-letter type the names of senators who voted against it, while the frequenters of public places denounced them as "traitors, villains, and rascals," with the result that most of them were consigned to retirement during the remainder of their lives. "The impression here is that Van Buren and his junto are politically dead," wrote DeWitt Clinton to Henry Post on the 17th of February, 1824. "The impression will produce the event."[227]

[Footnote 227: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 568.]

In the midst of this excitement, came the selection of a candidate for governor, to be elected in the following November. Yates had done the bidding of the Regency and Flagg demanded his renomination, but the men who supported a change in the mode of choosing electors declared that Yates was the original opponent of the people's wishes, and that, if renominated, he could not be re-elected. "If the Governor is to be sacrificed for his fidelity," retorted Flagg, "I am ready to suffer with him." From a sentimental standpoint, this avowal was most creditable and generous, but it had no place in the councils of politicians to whom sentiment never appeals when the shrouded figure of defeat stands at the open door. Just now, too, their fears increased as evidence accumulated that Samuel Young would certainly be offered a nomination by the People's party, and would certainly accept it, if he were not quickly nominated by the Regency Republicans. When the legislators went into caucus on the 3d of April, 1824, therefore, the friends of Van Buren were ready to throw over Yates and to accept Young, with Erastus Root for lieutenant-governor.

Three days afterward, the most influential and active friends of John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay decided that a state convention--consisting of as many delegates as there were members of the Assembly, to be chosen by voters opposed to William H. Crawford for President and in favour of restoring the choice of presidential electors to the people--should assemble at Utica, on September 21, 1824, to nominate candidates for governor and lieutenant-governor. It had long been a dream of Clinton to have nominations made by delegates elected by the people. That dream was now to be realised, and the door to a new political era opened.

Though Clinton had announced a determination to support Andrew Jackson, he displayed no zeal in the state contest, and contented himself with writing gossipy letters to Post and in watching the rapid growth of the Erie canal. As early as 1819, the canal had been opened between Utica and Rome, and from the Hudson to Lake Champlain. The middle section, recently completed, was now actively in use between Utica and Montezuma. In little more than a year, the jubilee over the letting in of the waters of Lake Erie would deaden the strife of parties with booming of cannon and expressions of joy. Throughout all the delays and vexations of this wonderful enterprise, DeWitt Clinton had been the great inspiring force, and, although for several years the board of canal commissioners had been reorganised in the interest of the Bucktails, not a whisper was heard intimating any desire or intention to interfere with him. When it was known, however, that James Tallmadge had been agreed upon as the candidate of the People's party for governor, the Regency, in order to split his forces, determined upon Clinton's removal from all participation in the management of the canal. If Tallmadge voted for such a resolution, reasoned the Van Buren leaders, it would alienate the political friends with whom he was just now acting; if he voted against it, he would alienate Tammany.

It was a bold game of politics, and a dangerous one. The people did not love Clinton, but they believed in his policy, and a blow at him, in their opinion, was a blow at the canal. Nothing in the whole of Van Buren's history exhibits a more foolish disregard of public sentiment, or led to a greater disaster. But the Regency, blinded by its overwhelming victory at the last election, was prepared to pay a gambler's price for power, and, in the twinkling of an eye, before the Assembly knew what had happened, the Senate removed Clinton from the office of canal commissioner, only three votes being recorded for him. Thurlow Weed happened to be a witness of the proceeding, and, rushing to the Assembly chamber, urged Tallmadge to resist its passage through the house. "I knew how bitterly General Tallmadge hated Mr. Clinton," he says, "but in a few hurried and emphatic sentences implored him not to be caught in the trap thus baited for him. I urged him to state frankly, in a brief speech, how entirely he was estranged personally and politically from Mr. Clinton, but to denounce his removal during the successful progress of a system of improvement which he had inaugurated, and which would confer prosperity and wealth upon the people and enrich and elevate our State, as an act of vandalism to which he could not consent to be a party. I concluded by assuring him solemnly that if he voted for that resolution he could not receive the nomination for governor."[228]

[Footnote 228: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 109.]

But Tallmadge remained dumb. Gamaliel H. Barstow, formerly a Clintonian, walked out of the chamber. Other old friends showed indifference. Only Henry Cunningham of Montgomery, entering the chamber while the clerk was reading the resolution, eloquently denounced it. "When the miserable party strifes shall have passed by," he said, in conclusion; "when the political jugglers who now beleaguer this capital shall be overwhelmed and forgotten; when the gentle breeze shall pass over the tomb of that great man, carrying with it the just tribute of honour and praise which is now withheld, the pen of the future historian will do him justice, and erect to his memory a monument of fame as imperishable as the splendid works that owe their origin to his genius and perseverance."[229] One or two others spoke briefly in Clinton's behalf, and then the resolution passed--ayes sixty-four, noes thirty-four. Among the ayes were Tallmadge and Wheaton.

[Footnote 229: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 110.]

Had Clinton been assassinated, the news could not have produced a greater shock. Scarcely had the Assembly adjourned, before the citizens of Albany--rushing into the vacant chamber and electing the old and venerable John Taylor, the former lieutenant-governor, for chairman--expressed their indignation in denunciatory speeches and resolutions. In New York City, a committee of twenty-five, headed by Thomas Addis Emmet, called in person upon Clinton to make known the feeling of the meeting. Everywhere throughout the State, the removal awakened a cyclone of resentment, the members who voted for it being the storm-centres. At Canandaigua, personal indignities were threatened.[230] "Several members," says Weed, "were hissed as they came out of the capitol. Tallmadge received unmistakable evidence, on his way through State Street to his lodgings, of the great error he had committed. His hotel was filled with citizens, whose rebukes were loudly heard as he passed through the hall to his apartment, and as he nervously paced backward and forward in his parlour, 'the victim of remorse that comes too late,' he perceived both the depth and the darkness of the political pit into which he had fallen."[231]

[Footnote 230: Ibid., p. 114.]

[Footnote 231: Ibid., p. 113.]

Immediately, the tide began setting strongly in favour of Clinton for governor. Clintonian papers urged it, and personal friends wrote and rode over the State in his interest. Clinton himself became sanguine of success. "Tallmadge can scarcely get a vote in his own county," he wrote Post on the 21st of April. "He is the prince of rascals--if Wheaton does not exceed him."[232]

[Footnote 232: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 569. Clinton seems to have taken a particular dislike to Henry Wheaton. Elsewhere, he writes to Post: "There is but one opinion about Wheaton, and that is that he is a pitiful scoundrel."--Ibid., p. 417.]

Meanwhile, a sensation long foreseen by those in the Governor's inner circle, was about to be sprung. Yates was not a man to be rudely thrust out of office. He knew he had blundered in opposing an electoral law, and he now proposed giving the Legislature another opportunity to enact one. The Regency did not believe there would be an extra session, because, as Attorney-General Talcott suggested, the power to convene the Legislature was a high prerogative, the exercise of which required more decision and nerve than Yates possessed; but, on the 2nd of June, to the surprise and consternation of the Van Buren leaders, Yates issued a proclamation reconvening the Legislature on August 2. It was predicated upon the failure of Congress to amend the Constitution, upon the recent defeat of the electoral bill in the Senate, and upon the just alarm of the people, that "their undoubted right" of choosing presidential electors would be withheld from them. Very likely, it afforded the Governor much satisfaction to make this open and damaging attack upon the Regency. He had surrendered independence if not self-respect, and, in return for his fidelity, had been ruthlessly cast aside for his less faithful rival. Yet his purpose was more than revenge. Between the Clintonian prejudice against Tallmadge, and the People's party's hatred of Clinton, the Governor hoped he might become a compromise candidate at the Utica convention. The future, however, had no place for him. He was ridiculed the more by his enemies and dropped into the pit of oblivion by his former friends. Nothing in his public life, perhaps, became him so well as his dignified retirement at Schenectady, amid the scenes of his youth, where he died at the age of sixty-nine, leaving a place in history not strongly marked.

Yates' extra session lasted four days and did nothing except to snub the Governor and give the eloquent Tallmadge, amidst tumultuous applause from the galleries, an opportunity of annoying the Regency by keeping up the popular excitement over a change in the choice of electors until the assembling of the Utica convention. As the days passed, the sentiment for Clinton became stronger and more apparent. Thurlow Weed, travelling over the State in the interest of Tallmadge, found Clinton's nomination almost universally demanded, with Tallmadge a favourite for second place. This, the eloquent gentleman peremptorily refused, until an appeal for harmony, and the suggestion that Adams' election might open to him a broader field for usefulness than that of being governor, produced the desired change. Probably Tallmadge felt within himself that he was not destined to a great political career. In any case, he finally accepted the offer with perfect good humour, giving Weed a brief letter consenting to the use of his name as lieutenant-governor. With this the young journalist arrived at Utica on the morning of convention day.

There were one hundred and twenty-two delegates in the convention, of whom one-fourth belonged to the People's party. These supported Tallmadge for governor. When they discovered that Tallmadge's vote to remove Clinton had put him out of the race, they suggested John W. Taylor; but a delegate from Saratoga produced a letter in which the distinguished opponent of the Missouri Compromise declined to become a candidate. This left the way open to DeWitt Clinton, and, as he carried off the nomination by a large majority, with Tallmadge for lieutenant-governor by acclamation, many representatives of the People's party walked out of the hall and reorganised another convention, resolving to support Tallmadge, but protesting against the nomination of Clinton--"a diversion," says Weed, "which was soon forgotten amid the general and pervading enthusiasm."[233]

[Footnote 233: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 120.]

The election of governor in 1824 passed into history as one of the most stirring ever witnessed in the State. In a fight, Samuel Young and DeWitt Clinton were at home. They neither asked nor gave quarter. There is no record that their fluency or invective did more than add to the excitement of the campaign; but each was well supplied with ready venom. Young was rhetorical and dramatic--Clinton energetic and forceful. People, listening to Young, rocked with laughter and revelled in applause as he pilloried his opponents, the ferocity of his attacks being surpassed only by the eloquence of his periods. With Clinton, speaking was serious business. He lacked the oratorical gift and the art of concealing the labour of his overwrought and too elaborate sentences; but his addresses afforded ample evidence of the capacity and richness of his mind. In spite of great faults, both candidates commanded the loyalty of followers who swelled with pride because of their courage and splendid ability. The confidence of the Regency and the usual success of Tammany at first made the friends of Clinton unhappy; but as the campaign advanced, Young discovered that the Regency, in insisting on the choice of electors by the Legislature, had given the opposition the most telling cry it could possibly have found against him; that the popular tumult over Clinton's removal was growing from day to day; and that his opponents were banded together against him on many grounds and with many different purposes. Two weeks before the election, it was evident to every one that the Regency was doomed, that Van Buren was disconcerted, and that Young was beaten; but no one expected that Clinton's majority would reach sixteen thousand,[234] or that Tallmadge would run thirty-two thousand ahead of Erastus Root. The announcement came like a thunderbolt, bringing with it the intelligence that out of eight senators only two Regency men had been spared, while, in the Assembly, the opposition had three to one. In other words, the election of 1822 had been completely reversed. Clinton was again in the saddle.

[Footnote 234: DeWitt Clinton, 103,452; Samuel Young, 87,093.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

Samuel Young's political fortunes never recovered from this encounter with the illustrious champion of the canals. He was much in office afterward. For eight years he served in the State Senate, and once as lieutenant-governor; for a quarter of a century he lived on, a marvellous orator, whom the people never tired of hearing, and whom opponents never ceased to fear; but the glow that lingers about a public man who had never been overwhelmed by the suffrage of his fellow-citizens was gone forever.

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