XXX. VAN BUREN ENCOUNTERS WEED
1824
Political interest, in 1824, centred in the election of a President as well as a Governor. Three candidates,--William H. Crawford of Georgia, John Quincy Adams of Massachusetts, and Henry Clay of Kentucky,--divided the parties in New York. No one thought of DeWitt Clinton. Very likely, after his overwhelming election, Clinton, in his joy, felt his ambition again aroused. He had been inoculated with presidential rabies in 1812, and his letters to Henry Post showed signs of continued madness. "I think Crawford is hors de combat," he wrote in March, 1824. "Calhoun never had force, and Clay is equally out of the question. As for Adams, he can only succeed by the imbecility of his opponents, not by his own strength. In this crisis may not some other person bear away the palm?"[235] Then follows the historic illustration, indicating that the canal champion thought he might become a compromise candidate: "Do you recollect the story of Themistocles the Athenian? After the naval victory of Salamis a council of generals was held to determine on the most worthy. Each man was to write down two names, the first and the next best. Each general wrote his own name for the first, and that of Themistocles for the second. May not this contest have a similar result? I am persuaded that with common prudence we will stand better than ever."[236]
[Footnote 235: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 568.]
[Footnote 236: Ibid., Vol. 50, p. 586.]
But the field was preoccupied and the competitors too numerous. So, getting no encouragement, Clinton turned to the hero of New Orleans. "In Jackson," he wrote Post, "we must look for a sincere and honest friend. Whatever demonstrations are made from other quarters are dictated by policy and public sentiment."[237] He grows impatient with Clay, indignant at the apparent success of Adams, and vituperative over the tactics of Calhoun. "Clay ought to resign forthwith," he writes on the 17th of April, 1824; "his chance is worse than nothing. Jackson would then prevail with all the Western States, if we can get New Jersey."[238] Four days later he was sure of New Jersey. "We can get her," he assures Post, on April 21. "I see no terrors in Adams' papers; his influence has gone with his morals."[239]
[Footnote 237: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in Harper's Magazine, Vol. 50, p. 568.]
[Footnote 238: Ibid., p. 568.]
[Footnote 239: Ibid., p. 569.]
But by midsummer Clinton had become alarmed at the action of the candidate from South Carolina. "Calhoun is acting a treacherous part to Jackson," he says, under date of July 23, "and is doing all he can for Adams. Perhaps there is not a man in the United States more hollow-headed and base. I have long observed his manoeuvres."[240] A week later Clinton speaks of Calhoun as "a thorough-paced political blackleg."[241] In August he gives Adams another slap. "The great danger is that there will be a quarrel between the friends of Jackson and Adams, and that in the war between the lion and the unicorn the cur may slip in and carry off the prize."[242]
[Footnote 240: Ibid., p. 569.]
[Footnote 241: Ibid., p. 569.]
[Footnote 242: Ibid., p. 569.
"Clinton's presidential aspirations made him a very censorious judge of all who did not sympathise with them. The four competing candidates, Crawford, Clay, Calhoun, and Adams, could hardly be paralleled, Clinton being judge, by an equal number of the twelve Cæsars of Suetonius. Crawford is 'as hardened a ruffian as Burr'; Calhoun is 'treacherous', and 'a thorough-paced political blackleg.' Adams 'in politics was an apostate, and in private life a pedagogue, and everything but amiable and honest', while his father, the ex-President, was 'a scamp.' Governor Yates is 'perfidious and weak.' Henry Wheaton's 'conduct is shamefully disgraceful, and he might be lashed naked round the world.' Chief Justice Ambrose Spencer is classed as a minus quantity, and his son John C., 'the political millstone of the West.' Peter B. Porter 'wears a mask.' Woodworth 'is a weak man, with sinister purposes.' Root is 'a bad man.' Samuel Young 'is unpopular and suspicions are entertained of his integrity.' Van Buren 'is the prince of villains.' The first impression produced is one of astonishment that a man capable of such great things could ever have taken such a lively interest, as he seemed to, in the mere scullionery of politics."--John Bigelow, in Harper's Magazine, March, 1875.]
Though Clinton and Jackson had long been admirers, there is no evidence that, at this time, so much as a letter had passed between them. One can easily understand, however, that a man of the iron will and great achievement of the Tennesseean would profoundly interest DeWitt Clinton. On the other hand, the proud, aspiring, unpliant man whose canal policy brought national renown, had won the admiration of Andrew Jackson. In 1818, at a Nashville banquet, he had toasted Clinton, declaring him "the promoter of his country's best interests;" and one year later, at a dinner given in his honour by the mayor of New York, Jackson confounded most of the Bucktail banqueters and surprised them all by proposing "DeWitt Clinton, the enlightened statesman and governor of the great and patriotic State of New York." The two men had many characteristics in common. Neither would stoop to conquer. But the dramatic thing about Clinton's interest just now, was his proclamation for Jackson, when everybody else in New York was for some other candidate. The bitterness of that hour was very earnest. Whatever chance existed for Jackson outside of the State, there was not the slightest hope for him within it. Nevertheless, Clinton seemed indifferent. He was a statesman without being a politician. He believed in Jackson's star, and it was this prescience, as the sequel showed, that was to give him, in spite of opponents, a sixth term as governor.
Clinton's résumé of the political situation, written to Post, also showed his unfailing knowledge of the conditions about to be enacted at Albany. The Legislature which assembled in extra session, in November, 1824, for the appointment of presidential electors, was the same Assembly that had favoured the choice of electors by the people, and the same Senate which had indefinitely postponed that measure by a vote of seventeen to fourteen. The former struggle, therefore, was immediately renewed in the legislative halls, with Martin Van Buren confident of seventeen Crawford votes in the Senate, and enough more in the Assembly, with the help of the Clay men, to give the Georgian a majority on joint ballot.
The Adams men had less confidence, but no less shrewdness and skill. A new Richmond had arrived on the field. Since his visitation through the State two years before, in behalf of Solomon Southwick's candidacy for governor, Thurlow Weed had been growing rapidly in political experience. He left Manlius without a penny in the autumn of 1822 to find work on the Rochester Telegraph, a Clintonian paper of small pretensions and smaller circulation. Under its new manager, and with the name of John Quincy Adams for President at the head of the editorial page, it soon became so popular and belligerent that the business men of Rochester sent Weed to Albany as their agent to secure from the Legislature a charter for a bank. Upon his arrival at the capital, the friends of the New England candidate welcomed him to the great political arena in which he was to fight so long, so brilliantly, and with such success.
It was at this period in his history, that Thurlow Weed's connection with public life began, developing into that wonderful career which made him one of the most influential writers and strongest personalities of his day. He was not an orator; he was not even a public talker. One attempt to speak met with failure so embarrassing that he never tried a second time; but he was a companionable being. He loved the company of men. He had suffered so much, and yet retained so much of the serenity of a child, that he was ever ready to share his purse and his mantle of pity with the unfortunate, brightening their lives with a tender sympathy that endeared him to all. It was so natural for him to guide wisely and noiselessly that he seemed unconscious of his great gifts. Men in high places, often opulent and happy in their ease, deferred to him with the confidence of pupils to a beloved teacher. But he possessed more than philosophic wisdom. He was sleepless and tireless. It was his custom to attend political gatherings in all parts of the State, and to make the acquaintance of men in that "inner circle," who controlled the affairs of party and the destiny of aspiring statesmen. In 1822 he had toured the State in the interest of Solomon Southwick. From April to December, in 1824, he attended two extra sessions of the Legislature and a meeting of the Electoral College, besides travelling twice throughout the State in behalf of the candidacy of John Quincy Adams. Traversing New York, over rough roads, before the days of canals and railroads, in the heavy, lumbering stage coach that took five or six days and nights, and, in muddy seasons, six days and seven nights of continuous travel, to go from Albany to Buffalo, made a strenuous life, but Weed's devotion to party, and fidelity to men and principles, sent him on his way with something of the freshness of boyhood still shining on his face. He had his faults, but they were not of a kind to prevent men from finding him lovable.
When Weed came to Albany, in November, 1824, as the advocate of John Quincy Adams, the only hope of success was the union of the friends of Clay and Adams, since only two electoral tickets, under the Constitution, could be voted for. In the Senate, Crawford had seventeen votes, and Adams and Clay seven each; in the Assembly, the first ballot gave Crawford forty-three, Adams fifty, and Clay thirty-two. Until some combination was made, therefore, a majority could not be obtained for any candidate. To make such an union required fine diplomacy between the Adams and Clay men; for it appeared that Clay must have at least seven electoral votes from New York in order to become one of the three candidates to be voted for in the House of Representatives, should the election of President be thrown into Congress. Fortunately for the Adams men, the Crawford people also had their troubles, and to hold two senators in line they placed the names of six moderate Clay men on their ticket. Thereupon, at a secret meeting, the Adams and Clay leaders agreed to support thirty Adams men and the six Clay men upon the Crawford ticket, the friends of Adams promising, if Clay carried Louisiana, to furnish him the needed seven votes. Naturally enough, the success of this programme depended upon the utmost secrecy, since their ticket, with the help of all the Clay votes that could be mustered, would not exceed two majority. The better to secure such secrecy Weed personally printed the ballots on the Sunday before the final vote on Tuesday.
There was another well-kept secret. Thurlow Weed had had his suspicions turned into absolute evidence that Henry Eckford of New York City, a wealthy supporter of Crawford, had furnished money to influence three Adams men to vote for the Georgian. He had followed their go-between from Syracuse to Albany, from Albany to New York, and from New York back to Albany; he had heard their renunciation of Adams and their changed sentiments toward Crawford; and he knew also that the Adams ticket was lost if these three votes, or even two of them, were cast for the Crawford ticket. Weed straightway proposed that the dishonourable purposes of these men should be anticipated by an immediate declaration of war; and, upon their appearance in Albany, Henry Wheaton faced them with the story of their dishonour, threatening an exposure unless they voted a ballot bearing the initials of himself and Tallmadge. Conscious of their guilty purposes, the timid souls consented to Wheaton's proposition and then kept their pledges.
In the meantime, Van Buren's confidence in the weakness of the Adams-Clay men was never for a moment shaken. Of the thirty-nine Clay supporters in the Legislature, Crawford only needed sixteen; and these, Samuel Young and his Clay friends, had promised to deliver. There is no evidence that Van Buren had any knowledge of Weed's management at this time; it so happened, by design or by accident, that in their long careers they never met but once, and then, not until after Van Buren had retired from the White House. But the Senator knew that some hand had struck him, and struck him hard, when Lieutenant-Governor Root drew from the box the first union ballot. Instead of reading it, Root involuntarily exclaimed, "A printed split ticket." Thereupon Senator Keyes of Jefferson County, sprang to his feet, and, in a loud voice, shouted, "Treason, by God!" In the confusion, Root was about to vacate the speaker's chair and return with the senators to their chamber, when James Tallmadge, in a stentorian voice, called for order. "I demand, under the authority of the Constitution of the United States," he said, "under the Constitution of the State of New York, in the name of the whole American people, that this joint meeting of the two houses of the Legislature shall not be interrupted in the discharge of a high duty and a sacred trust."[243] This settled it. The count went on, but, so nearly were the parties divided that only thirty-two electors, and these on the union ticket, received votes enough to elect them. On the second ballot, four Crawford electors were chosen. "Had our secret transpired before the first ballot," says Weed, "such was the power of the Regency over two or three timid men, that the whole Crawford ticket would have been elected."[244]
[Footnote 243: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 127.]
[Footnote 244: Ibid., p. 127.]
Writing without full information of the agreement made in the secret caucus, Hammond[245] intimates that the Adams men did not keep faith with the Clay men, since the four votes taken from Clay and given to Crawford on the second ballot made Crawford, instead of Clay, a candidate in the national House of Representatives. Other writers have followed this opinion, charging the Adams managers with having played foul with the Kentucky statesman. But Weed and his associates did nothing of the kind. The agreement was that Clay should have seven electoral votes from New York, provided he carried Louisiana, but as Jackson carried that State, it left the Adams men free to give all their votes to the New Englander. What would have happened had Clay carried Louisiana is not so clear, for Weed admits that up to the time news came that Louisiana had gone for Jackson, he was unable to find a single Adams elector who would consent to vote for Clay, even to save his friends and his party from dishonour.
[Footnote 245: Jabez D. Hammond, Political History of New York, p. 177.]
The failure of the people to elect a President in 1824, and the choice of John Quincy Adams by the House of Representatives, are among the most widely known events in our political history. New York remained, throughout, the storm-centre of excitement. After a large majority of its presidential electors had declared for Adams, thus throwing the election into Congress, the result still depended upon the vote of its closely divided delegation in the House. Of the thirty-four congressmen, seventeen favoured Adams, sixteen opposed him, and Stephen Van Rensselaer was doubtful. The latter's action, therefore, became of the utmost importance, since, if he voted against Adams, it would tie the New York delegation and exclude it from the count, thus giving Adams twelve States instead of the necessary thirteen, and making his election on a second ballot even more doubtful. This condition revived the hopes of Van Buren and gave Clinton a chance to work for Jackson.
Stephen Van Rensselaer,[246] born in 1764, had had a conspicuous and in some respects a distinguished career. He was the fifth in lineal descent from Killian van Rensselaer, the wealthy pearl merchant of Amsterdam, known as the first Patroon, whose great manor, purchased in the early part of the seventeenth century, originally included the present counties of Albany, Rensselaer, and Columbia. Stephen inherited the larger part of this territory, and, with it, the old manor house at Albany. His mother was a daughter of Philip Livingston, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, and his wife a daughter of Philip Schuyler. This made him the brother-in-law of Alexander Hamilton.
[Footnote 246: Thurlow Weed, in his Autobiography, says (p. 461): "Of his estimable private character, and of the bounties and blessings he scattered in all directions, or of the pervading atmosphere of happiness and gratitude that his lifelong goodness created, I need not speak, for they are widely known and well remembered."]
Stephen began filling offices as soon as he was old enough. For several years he served in the Assembly and in the Senate. In 1795, he became lieutenant-governor for two terms. George Clinton defeated him for governor in 1801; but before Jay's term expired, he made him commander of the State's cavalry. In 1812, at the outbreak of hostilities with England, Governor Tompkins promoted him to be chief of the state militia--an office which he resigned in disgust after the disgraceful defeat at Queenstown Heights on the Niagara frontier, because his troops refused to follow him. In 1810, he became a member of the first canal commission, of which he was president for fifteen years. Later, he served as a regent and chancellor of the State University, and, in 1824, established the Troy Polytechnical Institute. It was at this time he went to Congress, and while serving his first term, held the casting vote that would elect a President of the United States.
Rensselaer had been a Federalist of the Hamilton school, and, although the Federal party had practically ceased to exist, he owed his election to its former members. This was sufficient reason to believe that he would not support Van Buren's candidate, and that his predilections would incline him to take a President from the North, provided Adams was persona grata to the old Federalists. The latter had never quite forgiven Adams for deserting them; and, having been long excluded from power, they were anxious to know whether, if elected, he would continue to proscribe them. Finally, when Daniel Webster removed their doubts on this subject, Van Rensselaer still hesitated on account of Clinton. He had a strong liking for the Governor. They had served as canal commissioners, and their association in the great work, then nearing completion, filled him with admiration for the indomitable spirit exhibited by the distinguished canal builder. His probable action, therefore, kept men busy guessing. The suspense resembled that of the Tilden Hayes controversy of 1877, for the result meant much to the several factions in the State. Crawford's election would continue Van Buren and the Regency in power; the choice of Jackson must make Clinton the supreme dispenser of federal patronage; and Adams' success meant a better opportunity for Thurlow Weed to form a new party.
Van Rensselaer did not talk. Experience had accustomed him to outside pressure, and he now kept his head cool when Clinton and other influential New Yorkers overwhelmed him with prayers and petitions. At last, on the morning of February 9, 1825, he walked leisurely into the hall of the House and took his seat with the New York delegation. Every member of the House was in his place, except one who was sick in his lodgings. The galleries were packed with spectators, and the areas thronged with judges, ambassadors, governors, and other privileged persons. After the formal announcement, that no one had received a majority of electoral votes for the Presidency, and that the House of Representatives must elect a President from the three highest candidates, the roll was called by States, and the vote of each State deposited in a box by itself. Then the tellers, Daniel Webster and John Randolph, opened the boxes and counted the ballots.
The report of the tellers surprised almost every one. A long contest had been expected. Friends of Crawford hoped the House would weary itself with many ballots and end the affair by electing him. But the announcement gave Crawford only four States, Jackson seven, and Adams thirteen--a majority over all. Then it was known that Van Rensselaer's vote had given New York to Adams, and that New York's vote had made Adams the President. For the moment, Van Buren was checkmated, and he knew it.
XXXI. CLINTON'S COALITION WITH VAN BUREN
1825-1828
The election of John Quincy Adams as President of the United States staggered the Regency and seriously threatened the influence of Martin Van Buren. It was likely to close the portals of the White House to him, and to open the doors of custom-houses and post-offices to his opponents. More injurious than this, it established new party alignments and gave great prestige at least to one man before unrecognised as a political factor. The successful combination of the Adams and Clay electors was the talk of the State; and, although Thurlow Weed's dominant part in the game did not appear on the surface, Van Buren and every intelligent political worker understood that some strong hand had been at work.
The absence of available candidates, around whom he could rally his shattered forces, cast the deepest shadow across Van Buren's pathway. He had staked much upon Samuel Young's candidacy for governor, and everything upon William H. Crawford's candidacy for President. But Young fell under Clinton's overwhelming majority, and Crawford exhibited a weakness that surprised even his inveterate opponents. In the House of Representatives Crawford had carried but four out of the twenty-four States. This seemed to leave Van Buren without a man to turn to; while Clinton's early declaration for Andrew Jackson gave him the key to the situation. Although Jackson, for whom eleven States had given an electoral plurality, received the vote of but seven States in the House, the contest had narrowed to a choice between Adams and himself, making the popular General the coming man. Besides, Clinton was very active on his own account. On the 26th of October, 1825, the waters of Lake Erie were let into the Erie canal, and navigation opened from the lake to the Hudson. It was a great day for the Governor. A popular jubilation extended from Buffalo to New York, and, amidst the roar of artillery and the eloquence of many orators, the praises of the distinguished canal builder sounded throughout the State and nation. To a man of intellect far lower than that of Martin Van Buren, it must have been obvious that forces were at work in the minds and hearts of people which could not be controlled by Regency edicts or party traditions.
But the Kinderhook statesman did not despair. In the election to occur in November he desired simply to strengthen himself in the Legislature; and, with consummate skill, he sought to carry Republican districts. National issues were to be avoided. So ably did Edwin Croswell, the wise and sagacious editor of the Albany Argus, lead the way, that not a word was written or spoken against the national administration. This cunning play renewed the old charge of "non-committalism,"[247] which for many years was used to characterise Van Buren's policy and action; but it in no wise disconcerted his plans, or discovered his intentions. All he wanted now was the Legislature, and while the whole State was given up to general rejoicing over the completion of the canal, the Regency leaders, under the direction of the astute Senator, practised the tactics which Van Buren had learned from Aaron Burr, and which have come to be known in later days as a "political still-hunt." When the contest ended, the Regency Republicans had both branches of the Legislature by a safe working majority. This result, so overwhelming, so sudden, and so entirely unexpected, made Clinton's friends believe that his end had come.
[Footnote 247: "'I heard a great deal about Mr. Van Buren,' said Andrew Jackson, who occupied a seat in the United States Senate with him, 'especially about his non-committalism. I made up my mind that I would take an early opportunity to hear him and judge for myself. One day an important subject was under debate. I noticed that Mr. Van Buren was taking notes while one of the senators was speaking. I judged from this that he intended to reply, and I determined to be in my seat when he spoke. His turn came; and he arose and made a clear, straightforward argument, which, to my mind, disposed of the whole subject. I turned to my colleague, Major Seaton, who sat next to me. 'Major,' I said, 'is there anything non-committal about that?' 'No, sir,' said the Major."--Edward M. Shepard, Life of Martin Van Buren, p. 151.
"In Van Buren's senatorial speeches there is nothing to justify the charge of 'non-committalism' so much made against him. When he spoke at all he spoke explicitly; and he plainly, though without acerbity, exhibited his likes and dislikes. Van Buren scrupulously observed the amenities of debate. He was uniformly courteous towards adversaries; and the calm self-control saved him, as some great orators were not saved, from a descent to the aspersion of motive so common and futile in political debate."--Ibid., p. 152.]
Van Buren, however, had broader views. He knew that Andrew Jackson, as a candidate for the Presidency, had little standing in 1824 until Pennsylvania took him up, and he now believed that if New York supported him, with the Keystone State, in 1828, the hero of New Orleans must succeed Adams. To elect him President, therefore, became the purpose of Van Buren's political life; and, as the first step in that direction, he determined to make DeWitt Clinton his friend. The Governor was Jackson's champion. He had declared for him in the early days of the Tennesseean's candidacy, and to reach him through such an outspoken ally would give Van Buren an open way to the hero's heart.
Accordingly, Van Buren insisted upon a conciliatory course. He sent Benjamin Knower, the state treasurer and now a member of the Regency, to inform Clinton that, if the Van Buren leaders could control their party, he should have no opposition at next year's gubernatorial election. Clinton and Bucktail, like oil and water, had refused to combine until this third ingredient, that Van Buren knew so well how to add, completed the mixture. Whether the coalition would have brought Clinton the reward of success or the penalty of failure must forever remain a secret, for the Governor did not live long enough to solve the question. But in the game of politics he had never been a match for Van Buren. He was a statesman without being a politician.
Just now, however, Clinton and Van Buren, like lovers who had quarrelled and made up, could not be too responsive to each other's wishes. To confirm the latter's good intentions, the Regency senators promptly approved Clinton's nomination of Samuel Jones for chancellor in place of Nathan Sanford, who was now chosen United States senator to succeed Rufus King. It was bitter experience. The appointment rudely ignored the rule, uniformly and wisely adhered to since the formation of a state government, to promote the chief justice.
Besides, Jones had been a pronounced Federalist for a quarter of a century. Moreover, he was a relative of the Governor's wife, and to some men, even in that day, nepotism was an offence. But he was an eminent lawyer, the son of the distinguished first comptroller, and to make their consideration of the Governor's wishes more evident, the senators confirmed the nomination without sending it to a committee.
A more remarkable illustration of Van Buren's conciliatory policy occurred in the confirmation of James McKnown as recorder of Albany. McKnown was a bitter Clintonian. It was he who, at the Albany meeting, so eloquently protested against the removal of Clinton as a canal commissioner, denouncing it as "the offspring of that malignant and insatiable spirit of political proscription which has already so deeply stained the annals of the State," and the perpetrators as "utterly unworthy of public confidence."[248] But the Senate confirmed him without a dissenting vote. Later, when a vacancy occurred in the judgeship of the eighth circuit by the resignation of William B. Rochester, it seemed for a time as if the coalition must break. The Regency wanted Herman J. Redfield, one of the seventeen senators whose opposition to the electoral bill had caused his defeat; but the eighth district was Clinton's stronghold, and if he nominated Redfield, the Governor argued, it would deprive him of strength and prestige, and seriously weaken the cause of Jackson. The Regency, accustomed to remain faithful to the men who incurred popular odium for being faithful to them, found it difficult, either to reconcile the conditions with their wishes, or to compromise upon any one else. Nevertheless, on the last day of the session, through the active and judicious agency of Benjamin Knower, John Birdsall of Chautauqua County, a friend of Clinton, was nominated and confirmed.
[Footnote 248: Jabez D. Hammond, Political History of New York, Vol. 2, p. 164.]
In the meantime, Van Buren had returned to his seat in Congress. He entered the United States Senate in 1821, and, although observing the decorum expected of a new member of that body, he displayed powers of mind that distinguished him as a senator of more than ordinary ability. He now became a parliamentary orator, putting himself at the head of an anti-Administration faction, and developing the tact and management of a great parliamentary leader. He had made up his mind that nothing less than a large and comprehensive difference between the two wings of the Republican party would be of any real use; so he arraigned the Administration, with great violence, as un-Republican and Federalistic. He took a definite stand against internal improvements by the United States government; he led the opposition to the appointment of American representatives to the Congress of Panama, treating the proposed mission as unconstitutional and dangerous; and he charged the Administration with returning to the practices of the Federalist party, to which Adams originally belonged, declaring that the presidential choice of 1825 was not only the restoration of the men of 1798, but of the principles of that day; that the spirit of encroachment had become more wary, but not more honest; and that the system then was coercion, now it was seduction. He classed the famous alien and sedition laws, of the elder Adams, with the bold avowal of the younger Adams that it belonged to the President alone to decide upon the propriety of a foreign mission. Thus, he associated the administration of John Quincy Adams with the administration of his father, insisting that if the earlier one deserved the retribution of a Republican victory, the latter one deserved a similar fate.
Van Buren's language had the courteous dignity that uniformly characterised his speeches. He charged no personal wrong-doing; he insinuated no base motives; he rejected the unfounded story of the sale of the Presidency to Adams; he voted for Clay's confirmation as secretary of state, and, as a member of the senatorial committee, he welcomed the new President upon his inauguration; but from the moment John Quincy Adams became President, the Senator from New York led the opposition to his administration with the astuteness of a great parliamentary leader, determined to create a new party in American politics. Van Buren also had some strong allies. With him, voted Findlay of Pennsylvania, Holmes of Maine, Woodbury of New Hampshire, Dickerson of New Jersey, and Kane of Illinois, besides twelve Southern senators. But, from the outset, he was the leader. His speeches, smooth and seldom impassioned, were addressed to the intellect rather than to the feelings. He was the master of the art of making a perfectly clear statement of the most complicated case, and of defending his measures, point by point, with never-failing readiness and skill throughout the most perplexing series of debates. He talked to make converts, appealing to his colleagues with a directness well calculated to bring to his side a majority of the waverers.
Van Buren's opposition to the Adams administration has been called factious and unpatriotic. It was certainly active and continuous, and, perhaps, now and then, somewhat more unscrupulous than senatorial opposition is in our own time; but his policy was, unquestionably, the policy of more modern political parties. His tactics created an organisation which, inside and outside of the Senate, was to work unceasingly, with tongue and pen, to discredit everything done by the men in office and to turn public opinion against them. It was a part of his plan not only to watch with jealous care all the acts of the Administration, but to make the most of every opportunity that could be used to turn them out of office; and when the Senate debate ended, the modern Democratic party had been formed. Adams recorded in his now famous diary that Van Buren made "a great effort to combine the discordant elements of the Crawford and Jackson and Calhoun men into a united opposition against the Administration." He might have added, also, that the debate distinctly marked Van Buren's position in history as a party-maker in the second great division of parties in America.
Van Buren's coalition with DeWitt Clinton, however, came perilously near prostrating them both. At their state convention, held at Utica, in September, 1826, the Clintonians and the People's party renominated Clinton for governor. In the following month, the Bucktails met at Herkimer, and, if Van Buren could have had his way, the convention would have indorsed Clinton. Finding such action inadvisable, however, Van Buren secured the nomination of William B. Rochester, on the theory that he was a good enough candidate to be beaten. Rochester was not a man of marked ability. He had done nothing to make himself known throughout the State; he did not even favour a state road through the southern tier of counties. He was simply a lawyer of fair attainments who had served a term in the Legislature, one in Congress, and two years as a circuit judge, a position from which he resigned, in 1825, to become minister to Panama.
But Rochester proved vastly more formidable as a candidate for governor than the Van Buren leaders anticipated. It became well known that he was a supporter of the Adams administration, and that Henry Clay regarded him with favour. Indeed, it was through the latter's personal and political friendship that he secured the mission to Panama. Thus, the feeling began to obtain that Rochester, although the nominee of the Regency party, more nearly represented the interests and principles of the Adams administration than DeWitt Clinton, an avowed Jackson man, who had formed a coalition with Van Buren. For this reason, Peter B. Porter, an ardent admirer of Clay, and now a member of the People's party, entered with spirit into the campaign, appealing to the Clintonians, a large majority of whom favoured Adams, to resent Clinton's deal with Jackson's friends, and vote for Rochester, whose election would insure the success of the President, and bring credit to the people of the western counties, already ambitious to give the State a governor. This potent appeal was taken up throughout the State, influencing many Clintonians to support Rochester, and holding in line scores of Bucktails who favoured Adams.
It was a critical moment for Van Buren. He was not only a candidate for re-election to the United States Senate, but he had staked all upon the overthrow of the Adams administration. Yet, the election of his party's candidate for governor would in all probability overthrow the Clinton-Van Buren coalition, giving the vote of the State to the President, and possibly defeat his own re-election. It was a singular political mix-up.
Van Buren had hoped to exclude from the campaign all national issues, as he succeeded in doing the year before. But the friends of Clay and Adams could not be hoodwinked. The canvass also developed combinations that began telling hard upon Van Buren's party loyalty. Mordecai M. Noah, an ardent supporter of Van Buren, and editor of the New York Enquirer, came out openly for Clinton. For years, Noah had been Clinton's most bitter opponent. He opposed the canal, he ridiculed its champion, and he lampooned its supporters; yet he now swallowed the prejudices of a lifetime and indorsed the man he had formerly despised. Van Buren, it may safely be said, was at heart quite as devoted a supporter of the Governor, since the latter's re-election would be of the greatest advantage to his own personal interests; but whatever his defects of character, and however lacking he may have been in an exalted sense of principle, Van Buren appeared to be sincere in his devotion to Rochester. This was emphasised by the support of the Albany Argus and other leading Regency papers.
Nevertheless, the election returns furnished ample grounds for suspicion. Steuben County, then a Regency stronghold, gave Clinton over one thousand majority. Other counties of that section did proportionately as well. It was explained that this territory would naturally support Clinton who had insisted in his message that the central and northern counties, having benefited by the Erie and Champlain canals, ought to give Steuben and the southern tier a public highway. But William B. Rochester went to his watery grave[249] thirteen years afterward with the belief that Van Buren and his confidential friends did not act in good faith.
[Footnote 249: Rochester was lost off the coast of North Carolina, on June 15, 1838, by the explosion of a boiler on the steamer Pulaski, bound from Charleston to Baltimore. Of 150 passengers only 50 survived.]
With the help of the state road counties, however, Clinton had a narrow escape; the returns gave him only 3650 majority.[250] This margin appeared the more wonderful when contrasted with the vote of Nathaniel Pitcher, candidate for lieutenant-governor on the Rochester ticket, who received 4182 majority. "Clinton luck!" was the popular comment.
[Footnote 250: Clinton's vote was 99,785--a falling off of 3,667 from 1824, while Rochester's was 96,135, an increase of 9,042 over Young's vote.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
The closeness of the result prompted the friends of the President to favour Rochester for United States senator to succeed Van Buren, whose term expired on March 4, 1827. Several of the Adams assemblymen acted with the Regency party, and it was hoped that through them a winning combination might be made. But Van Buren had not been sleeping. He knew his strength, and with confidence he returned to Washington to renew his attacks upon the Administration. When, finally, the election occurred, he had a larger majority than sanguine friends anticipated. Three Clintonians in the Senate and two in the Assembly, recognising the coalition of Van Buren and Clinton, cast their votes for the former. In thanking the members of the Legislature for this renewed expression of confidence, Van Buren spoke of the "gratifying unanimity" of their action, declaring that it should be his "constant and zealous endeavour to protect the remaining rights reserved to the States by the Federal Constitution; to restore those of which they have been divested by construction; and to promote the interests and honour of our common country."
Thus, in much less than two years, Van Buren easily retrieved all, and more, than he had lost by the election of Clinton and the defeat of Crawford. His position was singularly advantageous. Whatever happened, he was almost sure to gain. He stood with Clinton, with Jackson, and with a party drilled and disciplined better than regular troops. In his biography of Andrew Jackson, James Parton says of Van Buren at this time: "His hand was full of cards, and all his cards were trumps."[251] Andrew Jackson, who had been watching his career, said one day to a young New Yorker: "I am no politician; but if I were a politician, I would be a New York politician."[252]
[Footnote 251: James Parton, Life of Andrew Jackson, Vol. 3, p. 131.]
[Footnote 252: Ibid., p. 136.]
Van Buren's advantage, however, great as it was, did not end with his re-election to the United States Senate. One after another, the men who stood between him and the object of his ambition had gradually disappeared. Ambrose Spencer was no longer on the bench, James Tallmadge had run his political course, and Daniel D. Tompkins was in his grave. Only DeWitt Clinton was left, and on February 11, 1828, death very suddenly struck him down. Stalwart in form and tremendous in will power, few dreamed that he had any malady, much less that death was shadowing him. He was in his fifty-ninth year.
Of DeWitt Clinton it may fairly be said that "his mourners were two hosts--his friends and his foes." Everywhere, regardless of party, marks of the highest respect and deepest grief were evinced. The Legislature voted ten thousand dollars to his four minor children, an amount equal to the salary of a canal commissioner during the time he had served without pay. Indeed, nothing was left undone or unsaid which would evidence veneration for his memory and sorrow for his loss. He had lived to complete his work and to enjoy the reward of a great achievement. Usually benefactors of the people are not so fortunate; their halo, if it comes at all, generally forms long after death. But Clinton seemed to be the creature of timely political accidents. The presentation of his canal scheme had made him governor on July 1, 1817; and he represented the State when ground was broken at Rome on July 4; his removal as canal commissioner made him governor again in 1825; and he represented the State at the completion of the work. On both occasions, he received the homage of the entire people, not only as champion of the canal, but as the head of the Commonwealth for which he had done so much.
There were those who thought the time of his death fortunate for his fame, since former opponents were softened and former friends had not fallen away. An impression also obtained that little was left him politically to live for. New conditions and new men were springing up. As a strict constructionist of the Federal Constitution, with a leaning toward states' rights, he could not have followed Clintonians into the Whig party soon to be formed, nor would he have been at home among the leaders of the Jackson or new Democratic party, who were unlikely to have any use for him. He would not be second to Van Buren, and Van Buren would not suffer him to interfere with the promotion of his own career. It is possible Van Buren might have supported him for governor in 1828, but he would have had no hesitation in playing his own part regardless of him. Had Clinton insisted, so much the worse for Clinton. Of the two men, Van Buren possessed the advantage. He had less genius and possibly less self-reliance, but in other respects--in tact, in prudence, in self-control, in address--indeed, in everything that makes for party leadership, Van Buren easily held the mastery.
Clinton's career was absolutely faultless in two aspects--as an honest man, and a husband, only praise is due him. He died poor and pure. Yet, there are passages in his history which evidence great defects. Life had been for him one long dramatic performance. Many great men seem to have a suit of armour in the form of coldness, brusqueness, or rudeness, which they put on to meet the stranger, but which, when laid aside, reveals simple, charming, and often boyish manners. Clinton had such an armour, but he never put it off, except with intimates, and not then with any revelation of warmth. He was cold and arrogant, showing no deference even to seniors, since he denied the existence of superiors. Nobody loved him; few really liked him; and, except for his canal policy, his public career must have ended with his dismissal from the New York mayoralty. It seemed a question whether he really measured up to the stature of a statesman.
Nevertheless, the judgment of posterity is easily on the side of Clinton's greatness. Thurlow Weed spoke of him as a great man with weak points; and Van Buren, in his attractive eulogy at Washington, declared that he was "greatly tempted to envy him his grave with its honours." He may well have done so; for, although Van Buren reached the highest office in the gift of the people, and is clearly one of the ablest leaders of men in the history of the Empire State, his fame does not rest on so sure a foundation. Clinton was a man of great achievement. He was not a dreamer; nor merely a statesman with imagination, grasping the idea in its bolder outlines; but, like a captain of industry, he combined the statesman and the practical man of affairs, turning great possibilities into greater realities. It may be fairly said of him that his career made an era in the history of his State, and that in asserting the great principle of internal improvements he blazed the way that guided all future comers.
XXXII. VAN BUREN ELECTED GOVERNOR
1828
In September, 1827, Van Buren permitted the New York wing of the Republican party to come out plainly for Andrew Jackson for President. The announcement, made by the general committee, which met in Tammany Hall, declared that the Bucktails reposed full confidence in Andrew Jackson's worth, integrity, and patriotism, and would support only those who favoured him for President of the United States.
Peter B. Sharpe, a Tammany chief of courage, recently speaker of the Assembly, voiced a faint protest; and later he summoned Marinus Willett from his retirement to preside at an opposition meeting. It was, no doubt, an inspiring sight to see this venerable soldier of the Revolution, who had won proud distinction in that long and bloody war, presiding at an assembly of his fellow citizens nearly half a century afterward; it accentuated the fact that other heroes existed besides the victor of New Orleans; but the Van Buren papers spoke in concert. Within a week, the whole State understood that the election of 1827 must be conducted with express reference to the choice of Jackson in 1828.
The note of this bugle call, blown by Edwin Croswell, the famous editor of the Albany Argus, resounded the enthusiasm of the party. The ablest and most popular men, preliminary to the contest, were selected for legislative places. Erastus Root was again nominated in Delaware County; Robert Emmet, the promising son of the distinguished Thomas Addis Emmet, and Ogden Hoffman, the eloquent and brilliant son of Josiah Ogden Hoffman, who was to become the best criminal lawyer of his day, found places on the ticket in New York City; Nathaniel P. Tallmadge, heretofore an opponent of the Regency, but now to begin a public career which finally placed him in the United States Senate for twelve years, was brought out in Dutchess County; and Benjamin F. Butler, whose revision of the state statutes had made him exceedingly popular, accepted a nomination in the anti-Regency stronghold of Albany.
Not to be outdone in the character or strength of their ticket, the Adams men summoned their ablest and most eloquent campaigners to share the burden of the contest; and Elisha Williams, Peter B. Sharpe, Francis Granger, and Peter B. Porter readily responded. Ezra C. Gross, who had served a term in Congress, also bore a conspicuous part. Gross was rapidly forging to the front, and would doubtless have become one of the most gifted and brilliant men in the State had he not fallen an early victim to intemperance.
For a purely local campaign, without the assistance of a state ticket, it proved a canvass of unusual vehemence, filling the air with caricatures and lampoons, and bringing victory to the drilled and disciplined forces which were now to follow, for half a score of years, the fortunes of the New Orleans hero. From the moment Jackson became the standard-bearer, the crowds were with him. Adams was represented as cold and personally unpopular; Jackson as frank, cordial in manner, and bravely chivalric. When everything in favour of Adams was carefully summed up and admitted, his ability as a writer, as a lawyer, as a diplomatist, and as a statesman, the people, fascinated by the distinguished traits of character and the splendour of the victory at New Orleans, threw their hats into the air for Andrew Jackson. The eloquence of Williams could carry Columbia County; Porter, ever popular and interesting, could sweep the Niagara frontier; and Gross, with an illuminated rhetoric that lives to this day in the memory of men who heard their fathers talk about it, had no trouble in Essex; but from the Hudson to Lake Oneida the Jackson party may be said to have carried everything by storm, electing its ticket by over four thousand majority in New York City, and securing nearly all the senatorial districts and the larger part of the Assembly. So overwhelming was the victory that Van Buren had no trouble at the opening of the Twentieth Congress to defeat the re-election of John W. Taylor for speaker.
As the time approached for nominating a governor to lead the campaign of 1828, Van Buren realised that the anti-masonic sentiment, which had been rapidly growing since the abduction of William Morgan, had developed into an influence throughout the western part of the State that threatened serious trouble. Morgan was a native of Virginia, born in 1776, a man of fair education, and by trade a stone-mason. Little is known of his life until 1821, when he resided first in York, Canada, and, a year later, in Rochester, New York, where he worked at his trade. Then he drifted to LeRoy, in Genesee County, becoming an active Free Mason. Afterward, he moved back to Rochester, and then to Batavia, where he sought out David C. Miller, a printer, who agreed to publish whatever secrets of Free Masonry Morgan would reveal. The work, done by night and on Sundays, was finally interrupted on September 11, 1826, by Morgan's arrest, on a trifling criminal charge, and transfer to Canandaigua for examination. His acquittal was immediately followed by a second arrest upon a civil process for a small debt and by his imprisonment in the Canandaigua jail. When discharged on the succeeding night, he was quickly seized, and, as it subsequently appeared from the evidence taken at the trial of his abductors, he was bound, gagged, thrust violently into a covered carriage, driven by a circuitous route, with relays of horses and men, to Fort Niagara, and left in confinement in the magazine. Here he dropped out of view.
The excitement following the discovery of this crime was without a parallel in the history of Western New York. Citizens everywhere organised committees for the apprehension of the offenders; the Governor offered a reward for their discovery; the Legislature authorised the appointment of able lawyers to investigate; and William L. Marcy and Samuel Nelson, then judges of the Supreme Court, were designated to hold special circuits for the trial of the accused. Many persons were convicted and punished as aiders and abettors of the conspiracy. For three years the excitement continued without abatement, until the whole State west of Syracuse became soaked with deep and bitter feeling, dividing families, sundering social ties, and breeding lawsuits in vindication of assailed character. Public sentiment was divided as to whether Morgan had been put to death. Half a century afterward, in 1882, Thurlow Weed published an affidavit, rehearsing a statement made to him in 1831 by John Whitney, who confessed that he was one of five persons who took Morgan from the magazine and drowned him in Lake Ontario.[253]
[Footnote 253: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 332.]
The trouble stirred up by this unfortunate affair gradually drifted into politics. In the spring of 1827, a disinclination had shown itself among the people of Genesee County to support Free Masons for supervisors or justices of the peace, and, although the leading men of the western part of the State deprecated political action, the pressure became so great that Free Masons were excluded from local tickets in certain towns of Genesee and Monroe Counties. This course was resented by their friends. In the summer of the same year, the old treasurer of Rochester, who had been elected year after year without opposition, was defeated. No one had openly opposed him, but a canvass of the returns disclosed a silent vote which was quickly charged to the Masons. This discovery, says Thurlow Weed, "was like a spark of fire dropped into combustible materials." Immediately, Rochester became the centre of anti-Masonry. In September, an anti-masonic convention nominated a legislative ticket, which, to the amazement and confusion of the old parties, swept Monroe County by a majority of over seventeen hundred. Direction was thus given to the movement. In the following year, when the state and national election was approaching, it appeared that throughout "the infected district," as it was called, the opponents of Masonry, although previously about equally divided in political sentiment, had aligned themselves with the Adams party, and that the Masons had affiliated with the followers of Jackson. There was good reason for this division. The prominent men in the anti-masonic body, for the most part, were not only leaders of the Adams party, but, very early in the excitement, President Adams took occasion to let it be known that he was not a Mason. On the other hand, it was well understood that Jackson was a Mason and gloried in it.
This was the situation when the Adams followers, who now called themselves National Republicans, met in convention at Utica on July 22, 1828. The wise policy of nominating candidates acceptable to all Anti-Masons was plain, and the delegates from the western half of the State proposed Francis Granger for governor. Granger was not then a political Anti-Mason, but he was clean, well-known, and popular, and for two years had been a leading member of the Assembly. Thurlow Weed said of him that he was "a gentleman of accomplished manners, genial temperament, and fine presence, with fortune, leisure, and a taste for public life."[254] Indeed, he appears to have felt from the first a genuine delight in the vivid struggles of the political arena, and, although destined to be twice beaten for governor, and once for Vice President, he had abundant service in the Cabinet, in the Legislature, and in Congress. Just then he was thirty-six years old, the leading antagonist of John C. Spencer at the Canandaigua bar, and one whom everybody regarded as a master-spirit. Dressed in a bottle-green coat with gilt buttons, a model of grace and manhood, he was the attraction of the ladies' gallery. He had youth, enthusiasm, magnificent gifts, and a heart to love. All his resources seemed to be at instant command, according as he had need of them. Besides, he was a born Republican. Thomas Jefferson had made his father postmaster-general, and during the thirteen years he held the office, the son was studying at Yale and fighting Federalism.[255]
[Footnote 254: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 391.]
[Footnote 255: Writing of Granger, in January, 1831, Seward says: "I believe I have never told you all I thought about this star of the first magnitude in Anti-masonry, and the reason was that, with a limited personal acquaintance, I might give you erroneous impressions which I should afterward be unable to reverse. He is 'six feet and well-proportioned,' as you well know, handsome, graceful, dignified, and affable, as almost any hero of whom you have read; is probably about thirty-six or seven years old. In point of talent he has a quick and ready apprehension, a good memory, and usually a sound judgment. Has no 'genius,' in its restricted sense, not a very brilliant imagination, nor extraordinary reasoning faculties; has no deep store of learning, nor a very extensive degree of information. Yet he is intimately acquainted with politics, and with the affairs, interests, and men of the State. He is never great, but always successful. He writes with ease and speaks with fluency and elegance--never attempts an argument beyond his capacity, and, being a good judge of men's character, motives, and actions, he never fails to command admiration, respect, and esteem. Not a man do I know who is his equal in the skill of exhibiting every particle of his stores with great advantage. You will inquire about his manners. His hair is ever gracefully curled, his broad and expansive brow is always exposed, his person is ever carefully dressed, to exhibit his face and form aright and with success. He is a gallant and fashionable man. He seems often to neglect great matters for small ones, and I have often thought him a trifler; yet he is universally, by the common people, esteemed grave and great. He is an aristocrat in his feelings, though the people who know him think him all condescension. He is a prince among those who are equals, affable to inferiors, and knows no superiors. In principle he has redeeming qualities--more than enough to atone for his faults--is honest, honourable, and just, first and beyond comparison with other politicians of the day. You will ask impatiently, 'Has he a heart?' Yes. Although he has less than those who do not know him believe him to possess, he has much more than those who meet him frequently, but not intimately, will allow him to have. He loves, esteems, and never forgets his friends; but you must not understand me that he possesses as confiding and true a heart as Berdan had, or as you think I have, or as we both know Weed has. There is yet one quality of Granger's character which you do not dream of--he loves money almost as well as power."--Frederick W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 171.]
Eastern delegates wanted Smith Thompson. Thompson was a man of great learning and an honoured member of the Republican party. But he was sixty years old. With the exception of five years as secretary of the navy, under Monroe, he had been continuously upon the bench for over a quarter of a century, first as justice and chief justice of the Supreme Court of the State, latterly as associate justice of the United States Supreme Court. It was suggested, with some pertinency as it afterward appeared, that the people of the State having declared in the recently adopted Constitution, that a judge, holding office during good behaviour, ought not to be a candidate for an elective office, would resent such a nomination. It was further suggested, with even greater force, that Thompson's nomination would offend the ultra Anti-Masons and bring an independent ticket into the field, thus dividing the Adams vote and giving the election to the Jackson candidate. On the other hand, it was maintained with equal spirit that the nomination of Granger, avowedly to secure the anti-masonic vote, would offend the National Republicans and jeopardise the state as well as the electoral ticket. It took a ballot to decide the question, and Thompson won by a close vote. Francis Granger was then nominated for lieutenant-governor by acclamation.
As predicted, several ultra anti-masonic editors in Genesee and Ontario counties immediately denounced the nomination of Thompson. The Adams people knew it portended danger; but Thompson would not withdraw and the ultras would not relent. Thereupon, the anti-masonic convention, already called to meet at Utica, added to the difficulty of the situation by nominating Francis Granger and John Crary. Granger had not solicited nomination, and now he was burdened with two. But Thompson refused to relieve the embarrassment, and Crary proved wickedly false to his agreement. The latter admitted that the union of the Adams and anti-masonic forces would probably elect Granger for lieutenant-governor, and he promised to withdraw as soon as Granger should do so. Upon this Granger declined the anti-masonic nomination; but the wily Van Buren, who was intently watching the embarrassment of the National Republicans, took good care to have Crary remain and Solomon Southwick substituted for Granger. The general sentiment of the Anti-Masons did not respond to this movement. But the angry feeling excited by Granger's declination, aided by Van Buren's finesse, gave Southwick, who had acquired some credit with the Anti-Masons by an early renunciation of his masonic ties, an opportunity of advancing his visionary projects of personal ambition. Thurlow Weed declared that the people had been "juggled" out of a candidate for governor; but Weed did not know that Van Buren, needing money to help along the jugglery, wrote James A. Hamilton, the son of the great Federalist, that unless "you do more in New York than you promised, our friends in Albany, at best poor, will break down." Crary was one of the assemblymen who, in 1824, had boldly denounced the removal of Clinton as a canal commissioner. After his broken promise to Granger and his bargain with Van Buren, however, he ceased to be called "Honest John Crary."
Before the meeting of the National Republican convention, Martin Van Buren was announced as the Jackson candidate for governor. It was well-known, at least to the Albany Regency, that if Jackson became President, Van Buren would be his secretary of state. One can readily understand that Van Buren would willingly exchange the Senate for the head of the Cabinet, since the office of secretary of state had been for twenty years a certain stepping-stone to the Presidency. Madison had been Jefferson's secretary of state, Monroe had filled the exalted place under Madison, and John Quincy Adams served Monroe in the same capacity. But Van Buren's willingness to exchange the Senate, an arena in which he had ranked among the ablest statesmen of the Republic, for the governorship, was prompted by the force of circumstances and not by choice. Jackson's election was believed to depend upon New York, and the carrying of New York, to depend upon Van Buren. The latter, at this time, was at the zenith of his popularity. His speeches had not only stamped him as a genuine parliamentary debater, but had gained for him the reputation of being the congressional leader and chief organiser of the Jackson party. During his seven and a half years in the Senate, his name was associated with every event of importance; his voice was heard on one side or the other of every question that interested the American people; and the force he brought to bear, whether for good or evil, swayed the minds of contemporaries to an unusual degree.
Van Buren looked his best in these days. His complexion was a bright blonde, and he dressed with the taste of Disraeli. Henry B. Stanton describes him as he appeared at church in Rochester on a Sunday during the campaign. "He wore an elegant snuff-colored broadcloth coat with velvet collar; his cravat was orange with modest lace tips; his vest was of a pearl hue; his trousers were white duck; his silk hose corresponded to the vest; his shoes were morocco; his nicely fitting gloves were yellow kid; his long-furred beaver hat, with broad brim, was of Quaker color. As he sat in the wealthy aristocratic church of the town, in the pew of General Gould who had been a lifelong Federalist and supporter of Clinton, all eyes were fixed upon the man who held Jackson's fate in his hands."[256]
[Footnote 256: H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 32.]
Van Buren did not propose to take any chances, either in securing the nomination or the election for governor--hence his visit to Rochester and the western counties to study for himself the anti-masonic situation. "The excitement has been vastly greater than I supposed," he wrote Hamilton. In order to find some way of pacifying it, he turned aside to visit the home of his friend, Enos T. Throop, then living on the wooded and beautiful banks of Lake Owasco. In January, 1827, Throop, who presided at the first trial of the Morgan abductors, had, to the great delight of all Anti-Masons, flayed the defendants, before pronouncing sentence, in a remarkably effective and emphatic address. Such a man was needed to strengthen the Jackson ticket, and before Van Buren got home it was charged that he had secured Throop's promise to stand for lieutenant-governor, with the assurance that within three months after his inauguration, if everything went according to programme, he should be the acting governor.
These tactics meant the turning down of Nathaniel Pitcher, the acting governor in place of DeWitt Clinton. Pitcher had served four years in the Assembly, one term in Congress, and as a delegate to the convention in 1821. Though a man of limited education and strong prejudices, with a depth of feeling that made him as vigorously independent as he was rigidly honest, he proved his fitness for the high office to which he had suddenly fallen heir by several excellent appointments to the Superior Court, just then created for the city of New York. He honoured himself further by restoring the rule, so rudely broken by Clinton, of offering the chancellorship to Chief Justice Savage, and, upon his declining it, to Reuben H. Walworth, then a young and most promising circuit judge. Later in the year, he named Daniel Mosely for the seventh circuit vacated by the resignation of Enos T. Throop, soon to become lieutenant-governor. These appointments marked him as a wise and safe executive. Van Buren understood this, and his correspondence with Hamilton, and others, while absent in the west, affords many interesting glimpses into his political methods in their immodest undress. As the candidate for governor, he was very active just now. His letters indicate that he gave personal attention to the selection of all delegates, and that he wanted only those in whom reliance could be absolutely placed. "Your views about the delegates are correct," he says to Hamilton. "It would be hazarding too much to make out a list." A list might contain names of men who could not be safely trusted at such a supreme moment; and Van Buren naturally desired that his nomination should be enthusiastically unanimous. The slightest protest from some disappointed friend of Nathaniel Pitcher, who was to be sacrificed for Throop, or of Joseph C. Yates, who was spending his years in forced retirement at Schenectady, would take away the glory and dull the effect of what was intended to be a sudden and unanimous uprising of the people's free and untrammelled delegates in favour of the senior United States senator, the Moses of the newly-born Democratic party.
The anticipated trouble at the Herkimer convention, however, did not appear. Delegates were selected to nominate Martin Van Buren and Enos T. Throop, and, after they had carried out the programme with unanimity, Pitcher ceased to act with the Jackson party. But the contest between the opposing parties proved exceedingly bitter and malevolent. It resembled the scandalous campaign of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson in 1800, and the more recent Blaine and Cleveland canvass of 1884. Everything that could be tortured into apparent wrong was served up to listening thousands. Van Buren had about him the genius of Edwin Croswell, the unerring judgment of Benjamin F. Butler, the wisdom of William L. Marcy, the diplomacy of Benjamin Knower, and the scintillating brilliancy of Samuel A. Talcott; but like McGregor, Van Buren sat at the head of the table. He cautioned Noah, he complimented Coleman, he kept Southwick and Crary on the anti-masonic ticket, he selected the candidate for lieutenant-governor, he called for funds, and he insisted upon making the Adams administration odious. In referring to the President and his secretary of state, he did not personally join in the cry of bargain and sale, of fraud and corruption, of treachery and knavery; nor did he speak of them as "the Puritan and the Blackleg;" but for three years his criticisms had so associated the Administration with Federalism and the offensive alien and sedition laws which Jefferson condemned and defeated in 1800, that the younger Adams inherited the odium attached to his father a quarter of a century before.
The National Republicans retaliated with statements no less base and worthless, exhibiting Jackson as a military butcher and utterly illiterate, and publishing documents assailing his marriage, the chastity of his wife, and the execution of six militiamen convicted of mutiny. Thurlow Weed, who conducted the Adams campaign in the western part of the State, indulged in no personal attacks upon Jackson or his wife, refusing to send out the documents known as "Domestic Relations" and "Coffin Handbills." "The impression of the masses was that the six militiamen deserved hanging," he says, in his autobiography, "and I look back now with astonishment that enlightened and able statesmen could believe that General Jackson would be injured with the people by ruthlessly invading the sanctuary of his home, and permitting a lady whose life had been blameless to be dragged forth into the arena of politics."[257]
[Footnote 257: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 309.]
The result of the election for governor and lieutenant-governor was practically settled by the nomination of an anti-masonic independent ticket. Thurlow Weed advised Smith Thompson that votes enough to defeat him would be thrown away upon Southwick. Van Buren wrote Hamilton to "bet for me on joint-account five hundred dollars that Thompson will be defeated, and one hundred dollars on every thousand of a majority up to five thousand; or, if you can't do better, say five hundred on the result and fifty on every thousand up to ten." The returns justified his confidence. He received one hundred and thirty-six thousand votes to one hundred and six thousand for Thompson and thirty-three thousand for Southwick.[258] Francis Granger would probably have received the aggregate vote of Thompson and Southwick, or three thousand more than Van Buren. That Weed rightly understood the situation is evidenced by his insistence that a candidate be nominated acceptable to the Anti-Masons. "Van Buren's election," said Thurlow Weed, in his autobiography, the tears of disappointment and chagrin almost trickling down his cheeks when he wrote the words nearly half a century afterward, "enabled his party to hold the State for the twelve succeeding years."[259] But it was the last time, for many years, that Thurlow Weed did not have his way in the party. It was apparent that the opponents of Van Buren needed a leader who could lead; and, although it took years of patient effort to cement into a solid fighting mass all the heterogeneous elements that Clinton left and Van Buren could not control, the day was destined to come when one party flag floated over an organisation under the leadership of the stately form of Thurlow Weed.
[Footnote 258: Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
[Footnote 259: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 307.]
XXXIII. WILLIAM H. SEWARD AND THURLOW WEED
1830
Although the election in 1828 brought hopeless defeat to the National Republicans, apparently it imparted increased confidence and vigour to anti-Masonry. For a time, this movement resembled the growth of abolitionism at a later day, people holding that a secret society, which sought to paralyse courts, by closing the mouths of witnesses and otherwise unnerving the arm of justice, threatened the existence of popular government. The moral question, too, appealed strongly to persons prominent in social, professional, and church life, who increased the excitement by renouncing masonic ties and signifying their conversion to the new gospel of anti-Masonry. Cadwallader D. Colden, formerly the distinguished mayor of New York and a lawyer of high reputation, wrote an effective letter against Free Masonry, which was supplemented by the famous document of David Barnard, a popular Baptist divine of Chautauqua County. Henry Dana Ward established the Anti-Masonic Review in New York City, and Frederick Whittlesey became equally efficient and influential as editor of the Rochester Republican.
But the man who led the fight and became the centre from which all influences emanated was Thurlow Weed. Early in the struggle, as a member of the Morgan committee, he investigated the crime of 1826. Soon after, he founded the Anti-Masonic Enquirer of Rochester, whose circulation, unparalleled in those days, quickly included the western and northern counties of New York, and the neighbouring States of Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Vermont. Weed had been slow to yield to the influences which carried the question into politics, but, once having determined to appeal to the ballot-box, he set to work to strengthen and enlarge the party. It became a quasi-religious movement, ministers and churches, without any very far-reaching hopes and plans, labouring to bring about a spirit which should induce men to renounce Masonry; and in their zeal they worked with the singleness of thought and the accepted methods that dominate the revivalist and temperance advocate.
The aim of Thurlow Weed was to reach the people, and it mattered not how often he had to bear defeat, or the sneers of older politicians and an established press; he flung himself into the work with an indomitable spirit and an entire disregard of trouble and pain. Weed was a born fighter. He saw no visions, he believed in no omens, and he had no thought of bearing a charmed life; but he seems to have been indifferent to changes of season or the assaults of men, as he travelled from one end of the State to the other regardless of inclement weather, answering attacks with rough and rasping sarcasms, and meeting every crisis with the candour and courage of a John Wesley. One reads in his autobiography, almost with a feeling of incredulity, of the toil cheerfully borne and the privations eagerly endured while the guiding member of the Morgan committee.
Weed proved a great captain, not only in directing and inspiring anti-masonic movements, but in rallying to his standard a body of young men destined to occupy conspicuous places in the State and in the nation. Among those entering the Assembly, in 1829, were Philo C. Fuller of Livingston and Millard Fillmore of Erie. When Weed first met him, in 1824, Fuller was a law clerk in James Wadsworth's office, only twenty-three years old. But Weed noted his fitness for public place, and in 1828 had him nominated and elected to the Assembly.
Millard Fillmore was a year or two older. His youth, like that of Weed, had been crowded with everything except schooling. He learned the clothier's trade, he was apprenticed to a wool-carder, and he served his time at the woodpile, in the harvest field, and as chore boy. Only at odd moments did he get an education; but when he began studying law and teaching school he quickly evidenced a strength of intellect that distinguished him throughout life. Weed met him at an Adams convention in Buffalo, in 1828, and so favourably impressed was he with his ability that he suggested his nomination for the Assembly.
One year later, Weed insisted upon the nomination of Albert H. Tracy, of Erie, for the Senate. Tracy, who had already served six years in Congress, had the advantage of being well born and well educated. His father, a distinguished physician of Connecticut, urged him to adopt the profession of medicine, but when about ready for a degree, he entered his brother's law office at Madison, New York, and, in 1815, upon his admission to the bar, settled in Buffalo. He was then twenty-two years old. Four years later he entered Congress. He had earned this quick start by good ability; and so acceptably did he maintain himself, that, in spite of the acrimony existing between Clintonian and Bucktail, his name was regarded with much favour in 1825 as the successor of Rufus King in the United States Senate. Tracy was a man of marked ability. Though neither brilliant nor distinguished as a public speaker, he was a skilful advocate, easy and natural; with the help of a marvellous memory, and a calm, philosophic temperament, he ranked among the foremost lawyers of his day. Like James Tallmadge, he was inordinately ambitious for public life, and his amiability admirably fitted him for it; but like Tallmadge, he was not always governed by principle so much as policy. He showed at times a lamentable unsteadiness in his leadership, listening too often to the whispers of cunning opponents, and too easily separating himself from tried friends. In 1838, he practically left his party; and, soon after, he ceased to practise his profession, burying a life which had promised great usefulness and a brilliant career. In mien, size, bearing, visage, and conversation he was the counterpart of Thomas Jefferson when about the same age--a likeness of which Tracy was fully conscious.
Tracy's nomination to the Senate in 1829 came as a great surprise and a greater gratification. He had not taken kindly to the anti-masonic party. Only the year before, he dissuaded John Birdsall from accepting its nomination to Congress, because of the obloquy sure to follow defeat; but its strength, evidenced in the campaign of 1828, opened his eyes; and, while absent in Albany, unsuccessfully seeking a judgeship from Governor Throop, Thurlow Weed had him nominated. On his way home, he stopped at Rochester to call upon the great apostle of anti-Masonry, reaching the house before sunrise. "He was wrapped in a long camlet cloak," says Weed, "and wore an air of depression that betokened some great disappointment. 'You have been east?' I asked, for I had not heard of his absence from home. 'Yes,' he answered. 'Then you don't know what happened at Batavia yesterday?' He replied in the negative, and I continued: 'We had a convention and nominated a candidate for senator.' When he laughingly inquired, 'Who?' I said, 'Why, we nominated you.' He instantly jumped two feet from the floor and whooped like an Indian. Then, with brightened countenance and undisguised elation of spirit that he was to have a seat in the Senate for four years, he informed me of his disappointment in not obtaining either the judgeship, or the presidency of the branch of the United States Bank about to be established at Buffalo."[260]
[Footnote 260: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 340.]
Thus far, Thurlow Weed had won more reputation than money in Rochester. He dwelt in a cheap house in an obscure part of the village. Sometimes he had to borrow clothes to be presentable. "One day," says Henry B. Stanton, "I was standing in the street with him and Frederick Whittlesey when his little boy came up and said: 'Father, mother wants a shilling to buy some bread.' Weed put on a queer look, felt in his pockets, and remarked: 'That is a home appeal, but I'll be hanged if I've got the shilling.' Whittlesey drew out a silver dollar and gave the boy who ran off like a deer."[261] Yet, at that moment, Weed with his bare arms spattered with printer's ink, was the greatest power in the political life of Western New York.
[Footnote 261: H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 25.]
But a scheme more helpful to Weed and to his party than the election of young men of large promise was just now on foot. The need of a newspaper at Albany, to represent the sentiments of the Anti-Masons had long been recognised; and, to enable Weed to establish it, he had been re-elected to the Assembly in the autumn of 1829. In the course of the winter the project quickly took shape; a fund of twenty-five hundred dollars was subscribed; and on March 22, 1830, appeared the first number of the Albany Evening Journal, in which were soon to be published the sparkling paragraphs that made it famous.[262] Weed's salary as editor was fixed at seven hundred and fifty dollars. The paper was scarcely larger than the cloud "like a man's hand;" and its one hundred and seventy subscribers, scattered from Buffalo to New York, became somewhat disturbed by the acrimonious and personal warfare instantly made upon it by Edwin Croswell of the Argus.
[Footnote 262: "Writing slowly and with difficulty, Weed was for twenty years the most sententious and pungent writer of editorial paragraphs on the American press."--Horace Greeley, Recollections of a Busy Life, p. 312.]
Croswell and Weed had been boys together at Catskill. They were neither intimates nor equals, although of the same age; for young Croswell had the advantage of position and education given him by his father, then publisher of the Recorder. To Weed, only such work came as a bare-footed, ragged urchin of eleven was supposed to be capable of doing. This was in 1808. The two boys did not meet again for twenty years, and then only to separate as Hamilton and Burr had parted, on the road to White Plains, in the memorable retreat from Manhattan in September, 1776. But Croswell, retaining the quiet, studious habits that characterised his youth, climbed rapidly. He had become editor of the Argus, state printer, and one of the ablest and most zealous members of the Albany Regency. He possessed a judgment that seemed almost inspired, with such untiring industry and rare ability that for years the Democratic press of the country looked upon the Argus as its guiding star.
Against this giant in journalism Thurlow Weed was now to be opposed. "You have a great responsibility resting upon your shoulders," wrote the accomplished Frederick Whittlesey, "but I know no man who is better able to meet it."[263] This was the judgment of a man who had personal knowledge of the tremendous power of Weed's pen. In his later years, Weed mellowed and forgave and forgot, but when he went to Albany, and for years before, as well as after, he seemed to enjoy striking an adversary. An explosion followed every blow. His sarcasms had needle-points, and his wit, sometimes a little gross, smarted like the sting of wasps. Often his attacks were so severe and merciless that the distress of his opponents created sympathy for them.
[Footnote 263: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 361.]
Very early in the Evening Journal's history Croswell invited Weed's fire. It is doubtful if the Argus' publisher thought or cared much about the character of the reply. Editors are not usually sensitive to the stricture of others. But when Weed's retort came, the rival writers remained without personal or business relations until, years afterward, Croswell, financially crushed by the failure of the Albany Canal Bank, and suspected of dishonesty, implored Weed's assistance to avoid a criminal indictment. In the meantime subscriptions poured into the Journal. The people recognised a fighter; the thoughtful distinguished a powerful mind; and politicians discovered such a genius for leadership that Albany became a political centre for the National Republicans as it was for the Bucktails. Within ten years after its establishment, the Evening Journal had the largest circulation of any political paper in the United States.
The birth year of the Journal also witnessed a reorganisation of the Anti-Masons. Heretofore, this party had declared only its own peculiar principles, relying for success upon the aid of the National Republicans; but, as it now sympathised with Henry Clay upon questions of governmental policy, especially the protection of American industry, it became evident that, to secure the greatest political strength, its future policy must be ardent antagonism to the principles of the Jackson party. Accordingly, at the Utica convention, held in August, 1830, it adopted a platform substantially embracing the views of the National Republicans. In acknowledgment of this change, the Adams party accepted the nomination of Francis Granger for governor and Samuel Stevens, a prominent lawyer of Albany City and the son of a distinguished Revolutionary officer, for lieutenant-governor.
The Bucktails did not get on so smoothly at their convention, held at Herkimer, on September 8. Erastus Root thought if Van Buren could afford to take the nomination away from Acting Governor Pitcher, he might deprive Enos T. Throop of the same honour. Throop, who was acting governor in the place of Van Buren, had proved a feeble executive. Besides, it could not be forgotten that Throop suffered Van Buren to humiliate Pitcher simply to make his own election sure. But Throop had friends if nothing else. On the first ballot, he received seventy-eight votes to forty for Root. The wrangle over lieutenant-governor proved less irritating, and Edward P. Livingston, after several ballots, secured seventy-seven votes.
These contests created unusual bitterness. Root had the offer of support from a working men's convention; and his failure to secure the Herkimer nomination left the working men, especially in New York City, in no mood to support the Bucktail choice. All this greatly encouraged the Anti-Masons. Granger and Stevens commanded the cordial support of the National Republicans, while Throop and Livingston were personally unpopular. Throop had the manners of DeWitt Clinton without a tithe of his ability, and Livingston, stripped of his family's intellectual traits, exhibited only its aristocratic pride. But there were obstacles in the way of anti-masonic success. Among other things, Francis Granger had become chairman of an anti-masonic convention at Philadelphia, which Weed characterised as a mistake. "The men from New York who urged it are stark mad," he wrote; "more than fifty thousand electors are now balancing their votes, and half of them want an excuse to vote against you."[264] Whether this "mistake" had the baleful influence that Weed anticipated, could not, of course, be determined. The returns, however, proved a serious disappointment.[265] Granger had carried the eighth or "infected district" by the astounding majority of over seven thousand in each of the first five districts. In the sixth district the anti-masonic vote fell over four thousand. It was evident that the Eastern masons, who had until now acted with the National Republicans, preferred the rule of the Regency to government by Anti-Masons.
[Footnote 264: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 39.]
[Footnote 265: Throop, 128,842; Granger, 120,361.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
The year that witnessed this disheartening defeat of the Anti-Masons, welcomed into political life a young man of great promise, destined to play, for the next forty years, a conspicuous part in the history of his country. William Henry Seward was twenty-nine years old when elected to the State Senate; but to all appearances he might have been eight years younger. He was small, slender, boyish, punctilious in attire, his blue eyes and finely moulded chin and mouth giving an unconscious charm to his native composure, which attracted with a magnetism peculiarly its own; but there was nothing in his looks or manner to indicate that the chronicle of the century would record his name among the country's most prominent statesmen. He had neither the bold, full forehead of Marcy, nor the tall, commanding form of Talcott, although the boyish face suggested the refinement of Butler's features, softened by the blue eyes and light sandy hair. The only noticeable feature was the nose, neither Roman nor Semitic, but long, prominent and aggressive, with nostrils slightly distended. In after years, the brow grew heavier, the eyes more deeply set, and the chin, slightly drawn, gave greater prominence to the jaw and firmness to the mouth.
In 1830, Seward had not yet made his great legal contest in the Freeman case, setting up the then novel and unpopular defence of insanity, and establishing himself as one of the ablest and grittiest lawyers in the State. But early in that year, he made a speech, at an anti-masonic conference, which won the confidence of the delegates sufficiently to admit him to leadership with Thurlow Weed, Francis Granger, John C. Spencer, Frederick Whittlesey, William H. Maynard, and Albert H. Tracy. He was the youngest man in the council, younger than Whittlesey, four years younger than Weed, and eight years younger than Tracy. Granger and John C. Spencer belonged almost to an earlier generation. Millard Fillmore was one year his senior; but Fillmore, whose force and feeling made for conservatism, had not yet entered that coterie of brilliant anti-masonic leaders.
Seward was neither precocious nor gifted beyond his years. He had spirit and gifts, with sufficient temper and stubbornness to defend him against impositions at home or in college; but the love for adventure and the strenuous life, that characterised Weed's capricious youth, were entirely absent. As a boy, Weed, untidy even to slovenliness, explored the mountain and the valley, drifted among the resolute lads of the town, and lingered in gardens and orchards, infinitely lovable and capable of the noblest tenderness. On the contrary, Seward was precise, self-restrained, possessing the gravity and stillness of a youth who husbanded his resources as if conscious of physical frailty, yet wholesome and generous, and once, at least, splendidly reckless in his race for independence of a father who denied him the means of dressing in the fashion of other college students. By the time he reached the age of nineteen, he had run away to Georgia, taught school six months, studied law six months, and graduated with honour from Union College. Two years later, in 1822, he was admitted to the bar, and, having accepted a partnership with Elijah Miller, located at Auburn. To make this arrangement the more binding, he married his partner's daughter and became a member of his family.
Seward retained the political affiliations of his father, who was a Republican and a Bucktail, until the journey on the canal to Auburn opened his eyes to the importance of internal improvements. This so completely changed him into a Clintonian, that, in the autumn of 1824, he assailed the Albany Regency with great vigour and voted for DeWitt Clinton for governor. Four years later, he presided over a state convention of young National Republicans, favourable to the re-election of John Quincy Adams; and then witnessed that party's defeat and dispersion under the murderous fire of the Jackson forces, aided by Southwick and Crary on the anti-masonic ticket. Seward had not taken kindly to the anti-masonic party. What would have been his final attitude toward it is problematical had he not fallen under the influence of Weed. The first meeting of this illustrious pair, a very casual meeting, occurred in the summer of 1824 while Seward was passing through Rochester on his return from a visit to Niagara Falls. A wheel of the coach came off, and among the curious who quickly assembled "one taller and more effective, while more deferential and sympathising than the rest," says Seward, in his autobiography, "lent his assistance."[266] This was Thurlow Weed. "My acquaintance with William H. Seward grew rapidly on subsequent occasions," adds Weed, "when he was called to Rochester on professional business. Our views in relation to public affairs, and our estimate of public men, rarely differed, and in regard to anti-Masonry he soon became imbued with my own opinions."[267]
[Footnote 266: Autobiography of William H. Seward, p. 56.]
[Footnote 267: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 137.]
This was the key that opened the way to great achievement. Tracy listened to others and was lost; Fillmore finally preferred the judgment of his associates in Washington, and is to-day without a statue even in his own home; but Seward kept closely in touch with the man whose political judgment inspired him with confidence. "Come now and let us reason together," said Weed, and together these two friends worked out the policy of success. "I saw in him, in a remarkable degree," continued Weed, "rapidly developing elements of character which could not fail to render him eminently useful in public life. I discerned also unmistakable evidences of stern integrity, earnest patriotism, and unswerving fidelity. I saw also in him a rare capacity for intellectual labour, with an industry that never tired and required no relaxation; to all of which was added a purity and delicacy of habit and character almost feminine."[268]
[Footnote 268: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 423.]
In his Autobiography, Seward says he joined the anti-masonic party because he thought it the only active political organisation opposed to Jackson and Van Buren, whose policy seemed to him to involve "not only the loss of our national system of revenue, and of enterprises of state and national improvement, but also the future disunion of the States, and ultimately the universal prevalence of slavery."[269] Once an Anti-Mason, he became, like Weed, a zealous and aggressive member of the party. He embodied its creed in resolutions, he attended its first national convention at Philadelphia, he visited John Quincy Adams at Quincy--just then an anti-masonic candidate for Congress--he aided in the establishment of the Albany Evening Journal, and, a little later, as a delegate to the party's second national convention at Baltimore, he saw Chief Justice Marshall upon the platform, sat beside Thaddeus Stevens, and voted for William Wirt as an anti-masonic candidate for President. It was during his attendance upon the Philadelphia convention that Thurlow Weed had him nominated, without his knowledge, for state senator. "While stopping at Albany on my way south," he says,[270] "Weed made some friendly but earnest inquiries concerning my pecuniary ability, whether it was sufficient to enable me to give a portion of my time to public office. When I answered my ability was sufficient, but I had neither expectation nor wish for office, he replied that he had learned from my district enough to induce him to think it possible that the party might desire my nomination to the Senate."
[Footnote 269: Autobiography of William H. Seward, p. 74.]
[Footnote 270: Autobiography of William H. Seward, p. 79.]
Thurlow Weed had many claims to the regard of his contemporaries, but the greatest was the intelligence that enabled him to discern the rising genius of a recruit to anti-Masonry whose name was to help make illustrious any cause which he served.
XXXIV. VAN BUREN'S ENEMIES MAKE HIM VICE PRESIDENT
1829-1832
Martin Van Buren's single message as governor exhibited a knowledge of conditions and needs that must rank it among the ablest state-papers in the archives of the capitol. Unlike some of his predecessors, with their sentences of stilted formality, he wrote easily and with vigour. His message, however, was marred by the insincerity which shows the politician. He approved canals, but, by cunningly advising "the utmost prudence" in taking up new enterprises, he coolly disparaged the Chenango project; he shrewdly recommended the choice of presidential electors by general ticket instead of by congressional districts, knowing that opposition to the change died with DeWitt Clinton. With full knowledge of what he himself had done, in the last campaign, in urging upon John A. Hamilton the necessity of raising funds, he boldly attacked the use of money in elections, proposing "the imposition of severe penalties upon the advance of money by individuals for any purposes connected with elections except the single one of printing." It is not surprising, perhaps, that a man of Van Buren's personal ambition found himself often compelled, for the sake of his own career, to make his public devotion to principle radically different from his practice; but it is amazing that he should thus brazenly assume the character of a reformer before the ink used in writing Hamilton was dry.
The prominent feature of Van Buren's message was the bank question, which, to do him credit, he discussed with courage, urging a general law for chartering banks without the payment of money bonus, and declaring that the only concern of the State should be to make banks and their circulation secure. In accord with this suggestion, he submitted the "safety fund" project, subsequently enacted into law, providing that all banks should contribute to a fund, administered under state supervision, to secure dishonoured banknotes. There was a great deal of force in Van Buren's reasoning, and the New York City banks, which, at first, declined to recharter under the law, finally accepted the scheme with apparent cheerfulness. Had the real test, which came with the hard times of 1837, not broken it down, Van Buren's confidence in the project might have continued. After that catastrophe, which was destined to prove his Waterloo, he had confidence in nothing except gold and silver.
As anticipated, Van Buren's inauguration as governor preceded his appointment as secretary of state under President Jackson only seventy days. It gave him barely time gracefully to assume the duties of one position before taking up those of the other. But, in making the change, he did not forget to keep an anchor to windward by having the amiable and timid Charles E. Dudley succeed him in the United States Senate. Dudley had the weakness of many cultured, charming men, who are without personal ambition or executive force. He was incapable of taking part in debate, or of exerting any perceptible influence upon legislation in the committee-room. Nevertheless, he was sincere in his friendships; and the opinion obtained that if Van Buren had desired for any reason to return to the Senate, Dudley would have gracefully retired in his favour.
The appointments of Green C. Bronson as attorney-general, and Silas Wright as comptroller of state, atoned for Dudley's election; for they brought conspicuously to the front two men whose unusual ability greatly honoured the State. Bronson had already won an enviable reputation at the bar of Oneida County. He was now forty years old, a stalwart in the Jackson party, bold and resolute, with a sturdy vigour of intellect that was to make him invaluable to the Regency. He had been a Clintonian surrogate of his county and a Clintonian member of the Assembly in 1822, but he had changed since then, and his present appointment was to give him twenty-two years of continuous public life as a Democrat, lifting him from justice to chief justice of the Supreme Court, and transferring him finally to the Court of Appeals.
Silas Wright was a younger man than Bronson, not yet thirty-five years old; but his admittance to the Regency completely filled the great gap left by Marcy's retirement. Like Marcy, he was large and muscular, although with a face of more refinement; like Marcy, too, he dressed plainly. He had an affable manner stripped of all affectation. From his first entrance into public life, he had shown a great capacity for the administration of affairs. He looked like a great man. His unusually high, square forehead indicated strength of intellect, and his lips, firmly set, but round and full, gave the impression of firmness, with a generous and gentle disposition. There was no evidence of brilliancy or daring. Nor did he have a politician's face, such as Van Buren's. Even in the closing years of Van Buren's venerable life, when people used often to see him, white-haired and bright-eyed, walking on Wall Street arm in arm with his son John, his was still the face of a master diplomatist. Wright, on the other hand, looked more like a strong, fearless business man. His manner of speaking was not unlike Rufus King's. He spoke slowly, without rhetorical embellishment, or other arts of the orator; but, unlike King, he had an unpleasant voice; nevertheless, if one may accept the opinion of a contemporary and an intimate, "there was a subdued enthusiasm in his style of speaking that was irresistibly captivating." The slightly rasping voice was "almost instantly forgotten in the beauty of his argument," which was "clear, forcible, logical and persuasive."[271]
[Footnote 271: John S. Jenkins, Lives of the Governors of New York, p. 790.]
Silas Wright had already been in public life eight years, first as surrogate of St. Lawrence County, afterward as state senator, and later as a member of Congress. He had also increased his earnings at the bar by holding the offices of justice of the peace, town clerk, inspector of schools, and postmaster at Canton. From the outset, he had allied himself with the Regency party, and, with unfailing regularity he had supported all its measures, even those which his better judgment opposed. His ability and gentle manners, too, apparently won the people; for, although St. Lawrence was a Clintonian stronghold, a majority of its voters believed in their young office-holder--a fact that was the more noteworthy since he had broken faith with them. In the campaign of 1823, he favoured the choice of presidential electors by the people; afterward, in the Senate, he voted against the measure. So bitter was the resentment that followed this bill's defeat, that many of the seventeen senators, who voted against it, ever afterward remained in private life. But Wright was forgiven, and, two years later, sent to Congress, where his public career really began. In a bill finally amended into the tariff act of 1828, he sought to remove the complaint of manufacturers that the tariff of 1824 was partial to iron interests, and the criticism of agriculturalists, that the woollens bill, of 1827, favoured the manufacturer. In this debate, he gave evidence of that genius for legislation which was destined soon to shine in the United States Senate at a time when some of the fiercest political fights of the century were being waged.
It is evident Van Buren did not appreciate the capacity of Silas Wright in 1831; otherwise, instead of William L. Marcy, Wright would have succeeded Nathan Sanford in the United States Senate.[272] Marcy had made an excellent state comptroller; his able and luminous reports had revealed the necessity of preserving the general fund, and the danger of constructing additional lateral canals. As a judge of the Supreme Court, also, his sound judgment had won him an enviable reputation, especially in the trial of the Morgan abductors, which was held at a time of great excitement and intense feeling. But, as a United States senator, Marcy failed to realise the expectations of his friends. Very likely two years were insufficient to test fairly his legislative capacity. Besides, his services, however satisfactory, would naturally be dwarfed in the presence of the statesmen then engaged in the great constitutional debate growing out of the Foote resolution, limiting the sale of public lands. Congress was rapidly making history; and the Senate, lifted into great prominence by the speeches of Webster and Hayne, had become a more difficult place than ever for a new member. At all events, Marcy did not exhibit the parliamentary spirit that seeks to lead, or which delights in the struggles of the arena where national reputations are made. He, moreover, had abundant opportunity. Thomas H. Benton says that the session of 1832 became the most prolific of party topics and party contests in the annals of Congress; yet Marcy was dumb on those subjects that were interesting every one else.
[Footnote 272: "Marcy was the immediate predecessor of Wright as state comptroller and United States senator. Each possessed rare talents, but they were totally dissimilar in mental traits and political methods. Both were statesmen of scrupulous honesty, who despised jobbery. Marcy was wily and loved intrigue. Wright was proverbially open and frank. Marcy never trained himself to be a public speaker, and did not shine in the hand-to-hand conflicts of a body that was lustrous with forensic talents. A man's status in the United States Senate is determined by the calibre and skill of the opponents who are selected to cross weapons with him in the forum. Wright was unostentatious, studious, thoughtful, grave. Whenever he delivered an elaborate speech the Whigs set Clay, Webster, Ewing, or some other of their leaders to reply to him."--H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 39.]
Even when the great opportunity of Marcy's senatorial career was thrust upon him--the defence of Van Buren at the time of the latter's rejection as minister to Great Britain--he failed signally. The controversy growing out of Jackson's cabinet disagreements, ostensibly because of the treatment of Mrs. Eaton, wife of the Secretary of War, but really because of Calhoun's hostility to Van Buren, due to the President's predilections for him as his successor, had made it evident to Van Buren that an entire reorganisation of the Cabinet should take place. Accordingly, on April 11, 1831, he opened the way, by voluntarily and chivalrously resigning. President Jackson soon after appointed him minister to England, and Van Buren sailed for his post. But when the question of his confirmation came up, in the following December, Calhoun and his friends, joined by Webster and Clay, formed a combination to defeat it. Calhoun's opposition was simply the enmity of a political rival, but Webster sought to put his antagonism on a higher level, by calling Van Buren to account for instructions addressed to the American Minister at London in regard to our commercial relations with the West Indian, Bahama, and South American colonies of England.
In 1825 Parliament permitted American vessels to trade with British colonies, on condition that American ports be opened within a year to British vessels on the same terms as to American vessels. The Adams administration, failing to comply with the statute within the year, set up a counter prohibition, which was in force when Van Buren, wishing to reopen negotiations, instructed McLane, the American Minister at London, to say to England that the United States had, as the friends of the present administration contended at the time, been wrong in refusing the privileges granted by the act of 1825, but that our "views have been submitted to the people of the United States, and the counsels by which your conduct is now directed are the result of the judgment expressed by the only earthly tribunal to which the late administration was amenable for its acts." In other words, Van Buren had introduced party contests in an official dispatch, not brazenly or offensively, perhaps, but with questionable taste, and, for this, the great senators combined and spoke against him--Webster, Clay, Hayne, Ewing of Ohio, Holmes of Maine, and seven others--"just a dozen and equal to a full jury," wrote Benton. Webster said he would pardon almost anything when he saw true patriotism and sound American feeling, but he could not forgive the sacrifice of these to party. Clay characterised his language as that of an humble vassal to a proud and haughty lord, prostrating the American eagle before the British lion. In the course of his remarks, Clay also referred, in an incidental way, to the odious system of proscription practised in the State of New York, which, he alleged, Van Buren had introduced into the general government.
Only four senators spoke in Van Buren's defence, recalling the weak protest made in the Legislature on the day of DeWitt Clinton's removal as canal commissioner, but this gave William L. Marcy the greater opportunity for acquitting himself with glory and vindicating his friend. It was not a strong argument he had to meet. Van Buren had been unfortunate in his language, although in admitting that the United States was wrong in refusing the privileges offered by the British law of 1825, he did nothing more than had Gallatin, whom Adams sent to England to remedy the same difficulty. Furthermore, by assuming a more conciliatory course Van Buren had been entirely successful. To Webster's suggestion of lack of patriotism, and to Clay's declaration that the American eagle had been prostrated before the British lion, Marcy might have pointed to Van Buren's exalted patriotism during the War of 1812, citing the conscription act, which he drafted, and which Benton declared the most drastic piece of war legislation ever enacted into law. To Clay's further charge, that he brought with him to Washington the odious system of proscription, the New York senator could truthfully have retorted that the system of removals, inaugurated by Jackson, was in full swing before Van Buren reached the national capital; that if he did not oppose it he certainly never encouraged it; that of seventeen foreign representatives, the Secretary of State had removed only four; and that, in making appointments as governor, he never departed from the rule of refusing either to displace competent and trustworthy men, or to appoint the dishonest and incompetent. He could also have read Lorenzo Hoyt's wail that Van Buren would "not lend the least weight of his influence to displace from office such men as John Duer," Adams' appointee as United States attorney at New York. But Marcy did nothing of the kind. He made no use of the abundant material at hand, out of which he might have constructed a brilliant speech if not a perfect defence. Quite on the contrary he contented himself simply with replying to Clay's slur. He defended the practice of political proscription by charging that both sides did it. Ambrose Spencer, he said, the man whom Clay was now ready to honour, had begun it, and he himself "saw nothing wrong in the rule that to the victors belong the spoils of the enemy."
If the conspiracy of distinguished statesmen to defeat Van Buren's confirmation was shallow and in bad taste, Marcy's defence was scarcely above the standard of a ward politician. Indeed, the attempted defence of his friend became the shame of both; since it forever fixed upon Marcy the odium of enunciating a vicious principle that continued to corrupt American political life for more than half a century, and confirmed the belief that Van Buren was an inveterate spoilsman.[273]
[Footnote 273: "To this celebrated and execrable defence Van Buren owes much of the later and unjust belief that he was an inveterate spoilsman. Benton truly says that Van Buren's temper and judgment were both against it."--Edward M. Shepard, Life of Martin Van Buren, p. 233.]
Probably an abler defence would in no wise have changed the result. From the first a majority of senators had opposed Van Buren's confirmation, several of whom refrained from voting to afford Vice President Calhoun the exquisite satisfaction of giving the casting vote. "It will kill him, sir, kill him dead," Calhoun boasted in Benton's hearing; "he will never kick, sir, never kick." This was the thought of other opponents. But Thomas H. Benton believed otherwise. "You have broken a minister and elected a Vice President," he said. "The people will see nothing in it but a combination of rivals against a competitor."
This also was the prophecy of Thurlow Weed. While the question of rejection was still under consideration, that astute editor declared "it would change the complexion of his prospects from despair to hope. His presses would set up a fearful howl of proscription. He would return home as a persecuted man, throw himself upon the sympathy of the party, be nominated for Vice President, and huzzaed into office at the heels of General Jackson."[274] On the evening Van Buren heard of his rejection, in London, Lord Auckland, afterward governor-general of India, said to him: "It is an advantage to a public man to be the subject of an outrage."
[Footnote 274: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 1, p. 375.]
In New York, Van Buren's party took his rejection as the friends of DeWitt Clinton had taken his removal as canal commissioner. Indignation meetings were held and addresses voted. In stately words and high-sounding sentences, the Legislature addressed the President, promising to avenge the indignity offered to their most distinguished fellow citizen; to which Jackson replied with equal warmth and skill, assuming entire responsibility for the instructions given the American minister at London and for removals from office; and acquitting the Secretary of State of all participation in the occurrences between himself and Calhoun. He had called Van Buren to the State Department, the President said, to meet the general wish of the Republican party, and his signal success had not only justified his selection, but his public services had in nowise diminished confidence in his integrity and great ability. This blare of trumpets set the State on fire; and various plans were proposed for wiping out the insult of the Senate. Some suggested Dudley's resignation and Van Buren's re-election, that he might meet his slanderers face to face; others thought he should be made governor; but the majority, guided by the wishes of the Cabinet, and the expression of friends in other States, insisted that his nomination as Vice President would strengthen the ticket and open the way to the Presidency in 1836.
When, therefore, the Democratic national convention met at Baltimore, in May, 1832, only one name was seriously considered for Vice President. Van Buren had opponents in P.P. Barbour of Virginia and Richard M. Johnson of Kentucky, but his friends had the convention. On the first ballot, he received two hundred and sixty votes out of three hundred and twenty-six. Barbour had forty, Johnson twenty-six. Delegates understood that they must vote for Van Buren or quarrel with Jackson.
Van Buren returned from London on July 5. New York was filled with a multitude to welcome him back. At a great dinner, ardent devotion, tempered by decorum, showed the loyalty of old neighbours, in whose midst he had lived, and over whom he had practically reigned for nearly a quarter of a century. Instead of killing him, the Senate's rejection had swung open a wider door for his entrance to the highest office in the gift of the people.
XXXV. FORMATION OF THE WHIG PARTY
1831-1834
The campaign of 1832 seemed to be without an issue, save Van Buren's rejection as Minister to Great Britain, and Jackson's wholesale removals from office. Yet it was a period of great unrest. The debate of Webster and Hayne had revealed two sharply defined views separating the North and the South; and, although the compromise tariff act of 1832, supported by all parties, and approved by the President, had temporarily removed the question of Protection from the realm of discussion, the decided stand in favour of a State's power to annul an act of Congress had made a profound impression in the North. Under these circumstances, it was deemed advisable to organise a Clay party, and, to this end, a state convention of National Republicans, assembled in Albany in June, 1831, selected delegates to a convention, held in Baltimore in December, which unanimously nominated Henry Clay for President. The Anti-Masons, who had previously nominated William Wirt, of Maryland, and were in practical accord with the National Republicans on all questions relating to federal authority, agreed to join them, if necessary, to sustain these principles.
A new issue, however, brought them together with great suddenness. Though the charter of the United States Bank did not expire until 1836, the subject of its continuance had occupied public attention ever since President Jackson, in his first inaugural address, raised the question of its constitutionality; and when Congress convened, in December, 1831, the bank applied for an extension of its charter. Louis McLane, then secretary of the treasury, advised the president of the bank that Jackson would approve its charter, if certain specified modifications were accepted. These changes proved entirely satisfactory to the bank; but Webster and Clay declared that the subject had assumed aspects too decided in the public mind and in Congress, to render any compromise or change of front expedient or desirable. Later in the session, the bill for the bank's recharter passed both branches of Congress. Then came the President's veto. The act and the veto amounted to an appeal to the people, and in an instant the country was on fire.
Under these conditions, the anti-masonic state convention, confident of the support of all elements opposed to the re-election of Andrew Jackson, met at Utica on June 21, 1832. Albert H. Tracy of Buffalo became its chairman. After he had warmed the delegates into enthusiastic applause by his happy and cogent reasons for the success of the party, Francis Granger was unanimously renominated for governor, with Samuel Stevens for lieutenant-governor. The convention also announced an electoral ticket, equally divided between Anti-Masons and National Republicans, headed by James Kent[275] and John C. Spencer. In the following month, the National Republicans adopted the anti-masonic state and electoral tickets. It looked like a queer combination, a "Siamese twin party" it was derisively called, in which somebody was to be cheated. But the embarrassment, if any existed, seems to have been fairly overcome by Thurlow Weed, who patiently traversed the State harmonising conflicting opinions in the interest of local nominations.
[Footnote 275: "Chancellor Kent's bitter, narrow, and unintelligent politics were in singular contrast with his extraordinary legal equipment and his professional and literary accomplishments."--Edward M. Shepard, Life of Martin Van Buren, p. 246.]
Meantime, the Van Buren leaders proceeded with rare caution. There had been some alarming defections, notably the secession of the New York Courier and Enquirer, now edited by James Watson Webb, and the refusal of Erastus Root longer to follow the Jackson standard. Samuel Young had also been out of humour. Young declared for Clay in 1824, and had inclined to Adams in 1828. It was in his heart also to rally to the support of Clay in 1832. But, looking cautiously to the future, he could not see his way to renounce old associates altogether; and so, as evidence of his return, he published an able paper in defence of the President's veto. There is no indication, however, that Erastus Root was penitent. He had been playing a double game too long, and although his old associates treated him well, electing him speaker of the Assembly in 1827, 1828, and again in 1830, he could not overlook their failure to make him governor. Finally, after accepting a nomination to Congress, his speeches indicated that he was done forever with the party of Jackson.
The Republican convention, which met at Herkimer, in September, 1832, nominated William L. Marcy for governor. Marcy had reluctantly left the Supreme Court in 1831; and he did not now take kindly to giving up the United States Senate, since the veto message had made success in the State doubly doubtful. But no other candidate excited any interest. Enos T. Throop had been practically ridiculed into retirement. He was nicknamed "Small-light," and the longer he served the smaller and the more unpopular he became. If we may accept the judgment of contemporaries, he lacked all the engaging qualities that usually characterise a public official, and possessed all the faults which exaggerate limited ability.
Marcy had both tact and ability, but his opposition to the Chenango canal weakened him in that section of the State. The Chenango project had been a thorn in the Regency's side ever since Francis Granger, in 1827, forced a bill for its construction through the Assembly, changing Chenango from a reliable Jackson county to a Granger stronghold; but Van Buren now took up the matter, assuring the people that the next Legislature should pass a law for the construction of the canal, and to bind the contract Edward P. Livingston, with his family pride and lack of gifts, was unceremoniously set aside as lieutenant-governor for John Tracy of Chenango. This bargain, however, did not relieve Marcy's distress. He still had little confidence in his success. "I have looked critically over the State," he wrote Jesse Hoyt on the first day of October, "and have come to the conclusion that probably we shall be beaten. The United States Bank is in the field, and I can not but fear the effect of fifty or one hundred thousand dollars expended in conducting the election in such a city as New York."
This was a good enough excuse, perhaps, to give Hoyt. But Marcy's despair was due more to the merciless ridicule of Thurlow Weed's pen than to the bank's money. Marcy had thoughtlessly included, in one of his bills for court expenses, an item of fifty cents paid for mending his pantaloons; and the editor of the Evening Journal, in his inimitable way, made the "Marcy pantaloons" and the "Marcy patch" so ridiculous that the slightest reference to it in any company raised immoderate laughter at the expense of the candidate for governor. At Rochester, the Anti-Masons suspended at the top of a long pole a huge pair of black trousers, with a white patch on the seat, bearing the figure 50 in red paint. Reference to the unfortunate item often came upon him suddenly. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," shouted the driver of a stage-coach on which Marcy had taken passage, "hold on tight, for this hole is as large as the one in the Governor's breeches." All this was telling hard upon Marcy's spirits and the party's confidence. Jesse Hoyt wrote him that something must be done to silence the absurd cry; but the candidate was without remedy. "The law provided for the payment of the judge's expenses," he said, "and while on this business some work was done on pantaloons for which the tailor charged fifty cents. It was entered on the account, and went into the comptroller's hands without a particle of reflection as to how it would appear in print." There was no suggestion of dishonesty. Weed was too skilful to raise a point that might be open to discussion, but he kept the whole State in laughter at the candidate's expense. Marcy felt so keenly the ridiculous position in which his patched pantaloons put him that, although he usually relished jokes on himself, "the patch" was a distressing subject long after he had been thrice elected governor.
The Granger forces had, however, something more influential to overcome than a "Marcy patch." Very early in the campaign it dawned upon the bankers of the State that, if the United States Bank went out of business, government deposits would come to them; and from that moment every jobber, speculator and money borrower, as well as every bank officer and director, rejoiced in the veto. The prejudices of the people, always easily excited against moneyed corporations, had already turned against the "monster monopoly," with its exclusive privileges for "endangering the liberties of the country," and now the banks joined them in their crusade. In other words, the Jackson party was sustained by banks and the opponents of banks, by men of means and men without means, by the rich and the poor. It was a great combination, and it resulted in the overwhelming triumph of Marcy and the Jackson electoral ticket.[276]
[Footnote 276: "On one important question, Mr. Weed and I were antipodes. Believing that a currency in part of paper, kept at par with specie, and current in every part of our country, was indispensable, I was a zealous advocate of a National Bank; which he as heartily detested, believing that its supporters would always be identified in the popular mind with aristocracy, monopoly, exclusive privileges, etc. He attempted, more than once, to overbear my convictions on this point, or at least preclude their utterance, but was at length brought apparently to comprehend that this was a point on which we must agree to differ."--Horace Greeley, Recollections of a Busy Life, p. 314.]
The western anti-masonic counties gave their usual majorities for Francis Granger, but New York City and the districts bordering the Hudson, with several interior counties, wiped them out and left the Jackson candidate ten thousand ahead.[277]
[Footnote 277: William L. Marcy, 166,410; Francis Granger, 156,672. Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
This second defeat of Francis Granger had a depressing influence upon his party. It had been a contest of giants. Webster's great speeches in support of the United States Bank were accepted as triumphant answers to the arguments of the veto message, but nothing seemed capable of breaking the solid Jackson majorities in the eastern and southern counties; and, upon the assembling of the Legislature, in January, 1833, signs of disintegration were apparent among the Anti-Masons. Albert H. Tracy, despairing of success, began accepting interviews with Martin Van Buren, who sought to break anti-Masonry by conciliating its leaders. It was the voice of the tempter. Tracy listened and then became a missionary, inducing John Birdsall and other members of the Legislature to join him. Tracy had been an acknowledged leader. He was older, richer, and of larger experience than most of his associates, and, in appealing to him, Van Buren exhibited the rare tact that characterised his political methods. But the Senator from Buffalo could not do what Van Buren wanted him to do; he could not win Seward or capture the Evening Journal. "We had both been accustomed for years," says Thurlow Weed, "to allow Tracy to do our political thinking, rarely differing from him in opinion, and never doubting his fidelity. On this occasion, however, we could not see things from his standpoint, and, greatly to his annoyance, we determined to adhere to our principles."[278]
[Footnote 278: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 421. Seward, in his Autobiography, says of Tracy, p. 166: "Albert H. Tracy is ... a man of original genius, of great and varied literary acquirements, of refined tastes, and high and honourable principles. He seems the most eloquent, I might almost say the only eloquent man in the Senate. He is plainly clothed and unostentatious. Winning in his address and gifted in conversation, you would fall naturally into the habit of telling him all your weaknesses, and giving him unintentionally your whole confidence. He is undoubtedly very ambitious; though he protests, and doubtless half the time believes, that dyspepsia has humbled all his ambition, and broken the vaultings of his spirit. I doubt not that, dyspepsia taken into the account, he will be one of the great men of the nation."]
It must be admitted that many reasons existed well calculated to influence Tracy's action. William Wirt had carried only Vermont, and Henry Clay had received but forty-nine out of two hundred and sixty-five electoral votes. Anti-Masonry had plainly run its course. It aroused a strong public sentiment against secret societies, until most of the lodges in western New York had surrendered their charters; but it signally failed to perpetuate its hold upon the masses. The surrendered charters were soon reissued, and the institution itself became more popular and attractive than ever. These disheartening conditions were re-emphasised in the election of 1833. The county of Washington, before an anti-masonic stronghold, returned a Jackson assemblyman; and the sixth district, which had elected an anti-masonic senator in 1829, now gave a Van Buren member over seven thousand majority. But the most surprising change occurred in the eighth, or "infected district." Three years before it had given Granger thirteen thousand majority; now it returned Tracy to the Senate by less than two hundred. For a long time his election was in doubt. Of the one hundred and twenty-eight assemblymen, one hundred and four belonged to the Jackson party, and of the eight senators elected Tracy alone represented the opposition.
It was certainly not an encouraging outlook, and the leaders, after full consultation, virtually declared the anti-masonic party dissolved. But this did not, however, mean an abandonment of the field. It was impossible for men who believed in internal improvements, in the protection of American industries, and in the United States Bank, to surrender to a party controlled by the Albany Regency, which was rapidly drifting into hostility to these great principles and into the acceptance of dangerous state rights' doctrines. In giving up anti-Masonry, therefore, Weed, Seward, Granger, Whittlesey, Fillmore, John C. Spencer, and other leaders, simply intended to let go one name and reorganise under another. Several Anti-Masons, following the lead of Tracy, fell by the way, but practically all the people who made up the anti-masonic and National Republican forces continued to act together.
Several events of the year aided the opposition party. The hostility of the Jackson leaders to internal improvements aroused former Clintonians who believed in canals, and the widespread financial embarrassment alarmed commercial and mercantile interests. They resented the remark of the President that "men who trade on borrowed capital ought to fail," and the bold denial that "any pressure existed which an honest man should regret." Business men, cramped for money, or already bankrupt because the United States Bank, stripped of its government deposits, had curtailed its discounts, did not listen with patience or amiability to statements of such a character; nor were they inclined to excuse the President's action on the theory that the United States Bank had cut down its loans to produce a panic, and thus force a reversal of his policy. To them such utterances seemed to evince a want of sympathy, and opposition orators and journals took advantage of the situation by eloquently denouncing a policy that embarrassed commerce and manufactures, throwing people out of employment and bringing suffering and want to the masses.
The New York municipal election in the spring of 1834 plainly showed that the voters resented the President's financial policy. For the first time in the history of the city, the people were to elect their mayor, and, although purely a local contest, it turned upon national issues. All the elements of opposition now used the one name of "Whig." Until this time local organisations had adopted various titles, such as "Anti-Jackson," "Anti-Mortgage," and "Anti-Regency;" but the opponents of Jackson now claimed to be the true successors of the Whigs of 1776, calling their movement a revolution against the tyranny and usurpation of "King Andrew." They raised liberty poles, spoke of their opponents as Tories, and appropriated as emblems the national flag and portraits of Washington.
The prospects of the new party brightened, too, when it nominated for mayor Gulian C. Verplanck, a member of Tammany Hall, a distinguished congressman of eight years' service, and, until then, a representative of the Jackson party, highly esteemed and justly popular. Although best known, perhaps, as a scholar and writer, Verplanck's active sympathies early led him into politics. He entered the Whig party and the mayoralty campaign with high hopes of success. He led the merchants and business men, while his opponent, Cornelius V.R. Lawrence, also a popular member of Tammany, rallied the mechanics and labouring classes. The spirited contest, characterised by rifled ballot-boxes and broken heads, revealed at once its national importance. If the new party could show a change in public sentiment in the foremost city in the Union, it would be helpful in reversing Jackson's financial policy. So the great issue became a cry of "panic" and a threat of "hard times." Like the strokes of a fire bell at night, it alarmed the people, whose confidence began to waver and finally to give way.
The evident purpose of the United States Bank was to create, if possible, the fear of a panic. By suddenly curtailing its loans, ostensibly because of the removal of the deposits, it brought such pressure upon the state banks that a suspension of specie payment seemed inevitable. To relieve this situation, Governor Marcy and the Legislature, acting with great promptness, pledged the State's credit to the banks, should the exigency require such aid, to the amount of six million dollars. This was called "Marcy's mortgage." The Whigs stigmatised it as a pledge of the people's property for the benefit of money corporations, denouncing the project as little better than a vulgar swindle in the interest of the Democratic party. Whether Marcy's scheme really averted the threatened calamity, or whether the United States Bank had already carried its contraction as far as it intended, it is certain that the fear of a panic served its purpose in the campaign. The Whigs became enthusiastic, and, as the United States Bank now began relieving the commercial embarrassment by extending its loans and giving its friends in New York special advantages, the party felt certain of victory. When the polls closed the result did not fully realise Whig anticipations; yet it disclosed a Democratic majority, cut down from five thousand to two hundred, with a loss of the Council. Verplanck had, indeed, been beaten by one hundred and eighty-one votes; but the Common Council, carrying with it the patronage of the city, amounting to more than one million dollars a year, had been easily won. The Democrats had the shadow, it was said, and the Whigs the substance.
This election, and other successes in many towns throughout the State, greatly encouraged the leaders of the opposition. A convention held at Syracuse, in August, 1834, adopted the title of "Whig," and the new party exulted in its name. To add to the enthusiasm, Daniel Webster declared, in a letter, that, from his cradle, he had "been educated in the principles of the Whigs of '76." The New York City election was referred to as the "Lexington" of the revolution against "King Andrew," as its prototype was against King George.
The Whigs' hope of success was heightened, also, by the unanimous nomination of William H. Seward for governor. Seward was now thirty-three years of age. During his four years in the Senate, political expediency neither limited nor controlled his opinions. He had argued for reform in the military system; he had favoured the abolition of imprisonment for debt; he had vigorously opposed the attacks upon the United States Bank and the removal of the deposits; he had antagonised the Chenango canal for reasons presented by Comptroller Marcy, and he gave generously of his time in the Court of Errors. He had grown into a statesman of acknowledged genius and popularity, placing himself in sympathy with the masses, denouncing misrule and supporting measures of reform. Of all the old and experienced members of the Senate, it was freely admitted that none surpassed him in a knowledge of the affairs of the State, or in a readiness to debate leading questions. But, well fitted as he was, he did not solicit the privilege of being a candidate for governor. On the contrary, with Weed and Whittlesey, he tried to find some one else. Granger preferred going to Congress; Verplanck had not yet recovered from the chagrin and disappointment of losing the mayoralty; Maynard was dead, and James Wadsworth would not accept office. To Seward an acceptance of the nomination, therefore, appealed almost as a matter of duty.
Silas M. Stilwell of New York became the candidate for lieutenant-governor. Stilwell had been a shoemaker, and, until the organisation of the Whig party, a stalwart supporter of the Regency, occupying a conspicuous place as an industrious and ambitious member of the Assembly. When the deposits were removed and a panic threatened he declared himself a Whig.
Confidence characterised the convention which nominated Seward and Stilwell. Young men predominated, and their enthusiasm was aroused to the highest pitch by the eloquence of Peter R. Livingston, their venerable chairman. Like a new convert, Livingston prophesied victory. Livingston had been a wheel-horse in the party of Jefferson. He had served in the Senate with Van Buren; he had taken a leading part in the convention of 1821, and he had held, with distinction, the speakership of the Assembly and the presidency of the Senate. His creed was love of republicanism and hatred of Clinton. At one time he was the faithful follower, the enthusiastic admirer, almost the devotee of Van Buren; and, so long as the Kinderhook statesman opposed Clinton, he needed Livingston. But, when the time came that Van Buren must conciliate Clinton, Livingston was dropped from the Senate. The consequences were far more serious than Van Buren intended. Livingston was as able as he was eloquent, and Van Buren's coalition with Clinton quickly turned Livingston's ability and eloquence to the support of Clay. Then he openly joined the Whigs; and to catch his influence, and the thrill of his remarkable voice, they made him chairman of their first state convention. As an evidence of their enthusiasm, the whole body of delegates, with music and flags, drove from Syracuse to Auburn, twenty-six miles, to visit their young candidate for governor.
In the same month the Democrats renominated Marcy and John Tracy, strong in prestige of past success and present power. Instantly, the two leading candidates were contrasted--Marcy, the mature and experienced statesman; Seward, a "red-haired young man," without a record and unknown to fame. Stilwell was told to "stick to his boots and shoes;" and, in resentment, tailors, printers, shoemakers, and men of other handicraft, organised in support of "the working man" against the "Jackson Aristocrats." In answer to the Commercial Advertiser's sneer that Seward was "red-haired," William L. Stone, with felicitous humour, told how Esau, and Cato, Clovis, William Rufus, and Rob Roy not only had red hair, but each was celebrated for having it; how Ossian sung a "lofty race of red-haired heroes," how Venus herself was golden-haired, as well as Patroclus and Achilles. "Thus does it appear," the article concluded, "that in all ages and in all countries, from Paradise to Dragon River, has red or golden hair been held in highest estimation. But for his red hair, the country of Esau would not have been called Edom. But for his hair, which was doubtless red, Samson would not have carried away the gates of Gaza. But for his red hair, Jason would not have navigated the Euxine and discovered the Golden Horn. But for the red hair of his mistress, Leander would not have swum the Hellespont. But for his red hair, Narcissus would not have fallen in love with himself, and thereby become immortal in song. But for his red hair we should find nothing in Van Buren to praise. But for red hair, we should not have written this article. And, but for his red hair, William H. Seward might not have become governor of the State of New York! Stand aside, then, ye Tories, and 'Let go of his hair.'"[279]
[Footnote 279: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 238.]
The mottoes of this campaign illustrate the principles involved in it. "Seward and Free Soil, or Marcy with his Mortgage" was a favourite with the Whigs. "The Monster Bank Party" became the popular cry of Democrats, to which the Whigs retorted with "The Party of Little Monsters." "Marcy's Pantaloons," "No Nullification," and "Union and Liberty" also did service. Copper medals bearing the heads of candidates were freely distributed, and humourous campaign songs, set to popular music, began to be heard.
It was a lively campaign, and reports of elections in other States, showing gratifying gains, kept up the hopes of Whigs. But, at the end, the withering majorities in Democratic strongholds remained unbroken, re-electing Marcy and Tracy by thirteen thousand majority,[280] and carrying every senatorial district save the eighth, and ninety-one of the one hundred and twenty-two assemblymen. The Whigs had put forward their ablest men for the Legislature and for Congress, but, outside of those chosen in the infected district, few appeared in the halls of legislation, either at Albany or at Washington. Francis Granger went to Congress. "He has had a fortunate escape from his dilemma, and I rejoice at it," wrote Seward to Thurlow Weed. "He is a noble fellow, and I am glad that, if we could not make him what we wished, we have been able to put him into a career of honour and usefulness."[281]
[Footnote 280: William L. Marcy, 181,905; William H. Seward, 168,969.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
[Footnote 281: Autobiography of William H. Seward, p. 241.]
Seward was not broken-hearted over his defeat. The majority against him was not so large as Granger encountered in 1832; but it was sufficiently pronounced to send him back to his profession with the feeling that his principles and opinions were not yet wanted. "If I live," he said to Weed, "and my principles ever do find favour with the people, I shall not be without their respect. Believe me, there is no affectation in my saying that I would not now exchange the feelings and associations of the vanquished William H. Seward for the victory and 'spoils' of William L. Marcy."[282]
[Footnote 282: Autobiography of William H. Seward, p. 241.]
A POLITICAL HISTORY
OF THE
STATE OF NEW YORK
BY
DeALVA STANWOOD ALEXANDER, A.M.
Member of Congress, Formerly United States Attorney for the Northern District of New York
VOL. II
1833-1861
NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1906
Copyright, 1906 By HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
CONTENTS
VOL. II
CHAPTER PAGE
I. VAN BUREN AND ABOLITION. 1833-1837 1
II. SEWARD ELECTED GOVERNOR. 1836-1838 15
III. THE DEFEAT OF VAN BUREN FOR PRESIDENT. 1840 31
IV. HUMILIATION OF THE WHIGS. 1841-1842 47
V. DEMOCRATS DIVIDE INTO FACTIONS. 1842-1844 56
VI. VAN BUREN DEFEATED AT BALTIMORE. 1844 65
VII. SILAS WRIGHT AND MILLARD FILLMORE. 1844 76
VIII. THE RISE OF JOHN YOUNG. 1845-1846 90
IX. FOURTH CONSTITUTIONAL CONVENTION. 1846 103
X. DEFEAT AND DEATH OF SILAS WRIGHT. 1846-1847 114
XI. THE FREE-SOIL CAMPAIGN. 1847-1848 129
XII. SEWARD SPLITS THE WHIG PARTY. 1849-1850 145
XIII. THE WHIGS' WATERLOO. 1850-1852 159
XIV. THE HARDS AND THE SOFTS. 1853 180
XV. A BREAKING-UP OF PARTY TIES. 1854 190
XVI. FORMATION OF THE REPUBLICAN PARTY. 1854-1855 205
XVII. FIRST REPUBLICAN GOVERNOR. 1856 222
XVIII. THE IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT. 1857-1858 243
XIX. SEWARD'S BID FOR THE PRESIDENCY. 1859-1860 256
XX. DEAN RICHMOND'S LEADERSHIP AT CHARLESTON. 1860 270
XXI. SEWARD DEFEATED AT CHICAGO. 1860 281
XXII. NEW YORK'S CONTROL AT BALTIMORE. 1860 294
XXIII. RAYMOND, GREELEY, AND WEED. 1860 305
XXIV. FIGHT OF THE FUSIONISTS. 1860 324
XXV. GREELEY, WEED, AND SECESSION. 1860-1861 334
XXVI. SEYMOUR AND THE PEACE DEMOCRATS. 1860-1861 346
XXVII. WEED'S REVENGE UPON GREELEY. 1861 361
XXVIII. LINCOLN, SEWARD, AND THE UNION. 1860-1861 367
XXIX. THE WEED MACHINE CRIPPLED. 1861 388
A POLITICAL HISTORY OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK
I. VAN BUREN AND ABOLITION
1833-1837
After Van Buren's inauguration as Vice President, he made Washington his permanent residence, and again became the President's chief adviser. His eye was now intently fixed upon the White House, and the long, rapid strides, encouraged by Jackson, carried him swiftly toward the goal of his ambition. He was surrounded by powerful friends. Edward Livingston, the able and accomplished brother of the Chancellor, still held the office of secretary of state; Benjamin F. Butler, his personal friend and former law partner, was attorney-general; Silas Wright, the successor of Marcy, and Nathaniel P. Tallmadge, the eloquent successor of the amiable Dudley, were in the United States Senate. Among the members of the House, Samuel Beardsley and Churchill C. Cambreling, firm and irrepressible, led the Administration's forces with conspicuous ability. At Albany, Marcy was governor, Charles L. Livingston was speaker of the Assembly, Azariah C. Flagg state comptroller, John A. Dix secretary of state, Abraham Keyser state treasurer, Edwin Croswell state printer and editor of the Argus, and Thomas W. Olcott the able financier of the Regency. All were displaying a devotion to the President, guided by infinite tact, that distinguished them as the organisers and disciplinarians of the party. "I do not believe," wrote Thurlow Weed, "that a stronger political organisation ever existed at any state capital, or even at the national capital. They were men of great ability, great industry, indomitable courage, and strict personal integrity."[283]
[Footnote 283: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 103.]
John A. Dix seemed destined from the first to leave an abiding mark in history. Very early in life he was distinguished for executive ability. Although but a boy, he saw active service throughout the War of 1812, having been appointed a cadet at fourteen, an ensign at fifteen, and a second lieutenant at sixteen. After the war, he served as aide-de-camp on the staff of General Brown, living at Fortress Monroe and at Washington, until feeble health led to his resignation in 1828. Then he began the practice of law at Cooperstown. In 1830, when Governor Throop made him adjutant-general, he removed to Albany. He was now twenty-six years old, an accomplished writer, a vigorous speaker, and as prompt and bold in his decisions as in 1861, when he struck the high, clear-ringing note for the Union in his order to shoot the first man who attempted to haul down the American flag. He was not afraid of any enterprise; he was not abashed by the stoutest opposition; he was not even depressed by failure. When the call came, he leaped up to sudden political action, and very soon was installed as a member of the Regency.
Dix had one great advantage over most of his contemporaries in political life--he was able to write editorials for the Argus. It took a keen pen to find an open way to its columns. Croswell needed assistance in these days of financial quakings and threatened party divisions, but he would accept it only from a master. Until this time, Wright and Marcy had aided him. Their love for variety of subject, characteristic, perhaps, of the gifted writer, presented widely differing themes, flavoured with humour and satire, making the paper attractive if not spectacular. To this work Dix, who had already published a Sketch of the Resources of the City of New York, now brought the freshness of a strong personality and the training of a scholar and linguist. He had come into public life under the influence of Calhoun, for whom the army expressed a decided preference in 1828; but he never accepted the South Carolinian's theory of nullification. Dix had inherited loyalty from his father, an officer in the United States army, and he was quick to strike for his country when South Carolina raised the standard of rebellion in 1861.
There was something particularly attractive about John A. Dix in these earlier years. He had endured hardships and encountered dangers, but he had never known poverty; and after his marriage he no longer depended upon the law or upon office for life's necessities. Educated at Phillips Exeter Academy, at the College of Montreal, and at St. Mary's College in Baltimore, he learned to be vigorous without egotism, positive without arrogance, and a man of literary tastes without affectation. Even long years of earnest controversy and intense feeling never changed the serene purity of his life, his lofty purposes, or the nobility of his nature. It is doubtful if he would have found distinction in the career of a man of letters, to which he was inclined. He had the learning and the scholarly ambition. Like Benjamin F. Butler, he could not be content with a small measure of knowledge. He studied languages closely, he read much of the world's literature in the original, and he could write on political topics with the firm grasp and profound knowledge of a statesman of broad views; but he could not, or did not, turn his English into the realm of literature. Yet his Winter in Madeira and a Summer in Spain and Florence, published in 1850, ran through five editions in three years, and is not without interest to-day, after so many others, with, defter pen, perhaps, have written of these sunny lands. His appointment as secretary of state in 1833 made him also state superintendent of common schools, and his valuable reports, published during the seven years he filled the office, attest his intelligent devotion to the educational interests of New York, not less than his editorial work on the Argus showed his loyal attachment to Van Buren.
But, despite the backing of President Jackson, and the influence of other powerful friends, there was no crying demand outside of New York for Van Buren's election to the Presidency. He had done nothing to stir the hearts of his countrymen with pride, or to create a pronounced, determined public sentiment in his behalf. On the contrary, his weaknesses were as well understood without New York as within it. David Crockett, in his life of Van Buren, speaks of him as "secret, sly, selfish, cold, calculating, distrustful, treacherous," and "as opposite to Jackson as dung is to a diamond." Crockett's book, written for campaign effect, was as scurrilous as it was interesting, but it proved that the country fully understood the character of Van Buren, and that, unlike Jackson, he had no great, redeeming, iron-willed quality that fascinates the multitude. Tennessee, the home State of Jackson, opposed him with bitterness; Virginia declared that it favoured principles, not men, and that in supporting Van Buren it had gone as far astray as it would go; Calhoun spoke of the Van Buren party as "a powerful faction, held together by the hopes of plunder, and marching under a banner whereon is written 'to the victors belong the spoils.'" Everywhere there seemed to be unkindness, unrest, or indifference.
Nevertheless, Van Buren's candidacy had been so persistently and systematically worked up by the President that, from the moment of his inauguration as Vice President, his succession to the Presidency was accepted as inevitable. It is doubtful if a man ever slipped into an office more easily than Martin Van Buren secured the Presidency. That there might be no failure at the last moment, a national democratic convention, the second one in the history of the party, was called to nominate him at Baltimore, in May, 1835, eighteen months before the election. When the time came, South Carolina, Alabama, and Illinois were unrepresented; Tennessee had one delegate, and Mississippi and Missouri only two each; but Van Buren's nomination followed with an ease and a unanimity that caused a smile even among the office-holding delegates.
Indeed, slavery was the only thing in sight to disturb Van Buren. At present, it was not larger than a cloud "like a man's hand," but the agitation had begun seriously to disturb politicians. After the North had emerged from the Missouri struggle, chafed and mortified by the treachery of its own representatives, the rapidly expanding culture of cotton, which found its way in plenty to northern seaports, had apparently silenced all opposition. A few people, however, had been greatly disturbed by the arguments of a small number of reformers, much in advance of their time, who were making a crusade against the whole system of domestic slavery. Some of these men won honoured names in our history. One of them was Benjamin Lundy. In 1815, when twenty-six years old, Lundy organised an anti-slavery association, known as the "Union Humane Society," and, in its support, he had traversed the country from Maine to Tennessee, lecturing, editing papers, and forming auxiliary societies. He was a small, deaf, unassuming Quaker, without wealth, eloquence, or marked ability; but he had courage, tremendous energy, and a gentle spirit. He had lived for a time in Wheeling, Virginia, where the horrors, inseparable from slavery, impressed him very much as the system in the British West Indies had impressed Zachary Macaulay, father of the distinguished essayist and historian; and, like Macaulay, he ever after devoted his time and his abilities to the generous task of rousing his countrymen to a full sense of the cruelties practised upon slaves.
In 1828, he happened to meet William Lloyd Garrison. Garrison's attention had not previously been drawn to the slavery question, but, when he heard Lundy's arguments, he joined him in Baltimore, demanding, in the first issue of The Genius, immediate emancipation as the right of the slave and the duty of the master. William Lloyd Garrison was young then, not yet twenty-three years of age, but he struck hard, and soon found himself in jail, in default of the payment of fifty dollars fine and costs for malicious libel. At the end of forty-nine days, Arthur Tappan, of New York City, paid the fine, and Garrison, returning to Boston, issued the first number of The Liberator on January 1, 1830.
This opened the agitation in earnest. Garrison treated slavery as a crime, repudiating all creeds, churches, and parties which taught or accepted the doctrine that an innocent human being, however black or down-trodden, was not the equal of every other and entitled to the same inalienable rights. The South soon heard of him, and the Georgia Legislature passed an act offering a reward of five thousand dollars for his delivery into that State. Indictments of northern men by southern grand juries now became of frequent occurrence, one governor making requisition upon Governor Marcy for the surrender of Arthur Tappan, although Tappan had never been in a Southern State. The South, finding that long-distance threats, indictments, and offers of reward accomplished nothing, waked into action its northern sympathisers, who appealed with confidence to riot and mob violence. In New York City, the crusade opened in October, 1833, a mob preventing the organisation of an anti-slavery society at Clinton Hall. Subsequently, on July 4, 1834, an anti-slavery celebration in Chatham Street chapel was broken up, and five days later, the residence of Lewis Tappan was forced open and the furniture destroyed. These outrages were followed by the destruction of churches, the dismantling of schoolhouses, and the looting of dwellings, owned or used by coloured people. In October, 1835, a committee of respectable citizens of Utica, headed by Samuel Beardsley, then a congressman and later chief justice of the State, broke up a meeting called to organise a state anti-slavery society, and destroyed the printing press of a democratic journal which had spoken kindly of Abolitionists. The agitators, however, were in no wise dismayed or disheartened. It would have taken a good deal of persecution to frighten Beriah Green, or to confuse the conscience of Arthur Tappan.
In the midst of such scenes came tidings that slavery had been abolished in the British West Indies, and that the Utica indignity had been signalised by the conversion of Gerrit Smith. Theretofore, Smith had been a leading colonisationist--thereafter he was to devote himself to the principles of abolitionism. Gerrit Smith, from his earliest years, had given evidence of precocious and extraordinary intelligence. Thurlow Weed pronounced him "the handsomest, the most attractive, and the most intellectual young man I ever met." Smith was then seventeen years old--a student in Hamilton College. "He dressed à la Byron," continues Weed, "and in taste and manners was instinctively perfect."[284] His father was Peter Smith, famous in his day as one of the largest landowners in the United States; and, although this enormous estate was left the son in his young manhood, it neither changed his simple, gentle manners, nor the purpose of his noble life.[285] By profession, Gerrit Smith was a philanthropist, and in his young enthusiasm he joined the American Colonisation Society, organised in 1817, for the purpose of settling the western coast of Africa with emancipated blacks. It was a pre-eminently respectable association. Henry Clay was its president, and prominent men North and South, in church and in state, approved its purpose and its methods. In 1820 it purchased Sherbro Island; but finding the location unfortunate, other lands were secured in the following year at Cape Mesurado, and about a thousand emigrants sent thither during the next seven years. Gerrit Smith, however, found the movement too slow, if not practically stranded, by the work of the cotton-gin and the doctrine of Calhoun, that "the negro is better off in slavery at the South than in freedom elsewhere." So, in 1830, he left the society to those whose consciences condemned slavery, but whose conservatism restrained them from offensive activity. The society drifted along until 1847, when the colony, then numbering six or seven thousand, declared itself an independent republic under the name of Liberia. In the meantime, Smith, unaided and alone, had provided homes in northern States, on farms of fifty acres each, for twice as many emancipated blacks, his gifts aggregating over two hundred thousand acres.
[Footnote 284: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 31.]
[Footnote 285: "Many years ago I was riding with Gerrit Smith in northern New York. He suddenly stopped the carriage, and, looking around for a few minutes, said: 'We are now on some of my poor land, familiarly known as the John Brown tract;' and he then added, 'I own eight hundred thousand acres, of which this is a part, and all in one piece.' Everybody knows that his father purchased the most of it at sales by the comptrollers of state for unpaid taxes. He said he owned land in fifty-six of the sixty counties in New York. He was also a landlord in other States."--H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 189.]
Gerrit Smith's conversion to abolitionism helped the anti-slavery cause, much as the conversion of St. Paul benefited the Christian church. He brought youth, courage, enthusiasm, wealth, and marked ability. Although alienated from him for years because of his peculiar creed, Thurlow Weed refers in loving remembrance to "his great intellect, genial nature, and ample fortune, which were devoted to all good works." When the people of Utica, his native town, broke up the meeting called to form a state anti-slavery society, Smith promptly invited its projectors to his home at Peterborough, Madison County, where the organisation was completed. He was thirty-three years old then, and from that day until Lincoln's proclamation and Lee's surrender freed the negro, he never ceased to work for the abolition of slavery. The state organisation, nourished under his fostering care, led to greater activity. Anti-slavery societies began to form in every county and in most of the towns of some counties. Abolitionism did not take the place of anti-Masonry, which was now rapidly on the wane; but it awakened the conscience, setting people to thinking and, then, to talking. The great contest to abolish slavery in the British West Indies, led by the Buxtons, the Wilberforces, and the Whitbreads, had aroused public indignation in the United States, as well as in England, by the overwhelming proofs that men and women were being constantly flogged; and that branding female slaves on the breast with red-hot iron, was used as a means of punishment, as well as of identification. Other more revolting evidences of the horrors, which seemed to be the inevitable accompaniment of the slave system, found lodgment in American homes through the eloquence of the noted English abolition lecturer, George Thompson, then in this country; until the cruelties, characterising slavery in Jamaica, were supposed and believed by many to be practised in the Southern States.
Naturally enough, the principal avenue between the promoter of anti-slavery views and the voter was the United States mails, and these were freighted with abolition documents. It is likely that Harrison Gray Otis, the wealthy and aristocratic mayor of Boston, did not exaggerate when he advised the southern magistrate, who desired the suppression of Garrison's Liberator, that "its office was an obscure hole, its editor's only visible auxiliary a negro boy, and his supporters a few insignificant persons of all colours;"[286] but the Southerners knew that from that "obscure hole" issued a paper of uncompromising spirit, which was profoundly impressing the people of the United States, and their journals and orators teemed with denunciations. The Richmond Whig characterised Abolitionists as "hell-hounds," warning the northern merchants that unless these fanatics were hung they would lose the benefit of southern trade. A Charleston paper threatened to cut out and "cast upon the dunghill" the tongue of any one who should lecture upon the evils or immorality of slavery. The Augusta Chronicle declared that if the question be longer discussed the Southern States would secede and settle the matter by the sword, as the only possible means of self-preservation. A prominent Alabama clergyman advised hanging every man who favoured emancipation, and the Virginia Legislature called upon the non-slave-holding States to suppress abolition associations by penal statutes.
[Footnote 286: Horace Greeley, The American Conflict, Vol. 1, p. 122, note.]
In the midst of such sentiments, it was evident to Van Buren, whose election depended upon the Southern States, that something definite must be done, and that nothing would be considered definite by the South which did not aim at the total abolition of the anti-slavery agitator. Accordingly, his friends held meetings in every county in the State, adopting resolutions denouncing them as "fanatics and traitors to their country," and indorsing Van Buren "as a patriot opposed to the hellish abolition factions and all their heresies." Van Buren himself arranged for the great meeting at Albany at which Governor Marcy presided. "I send you the inclosed proceedings of the citizens of Albany," wrote Van Buren to the governor of Georgia, "and I authorise you to say that I concur fully in the sentiments they advance."
In commenting upon the Albany meeting, Thurlow Weed, with the foresight of a prophet, wrote in the Evening Journal: "This question of slavery, when it becomes a matter of political controversy, will shake, if not unsettle, the foundations of our government. It is too fearful, and too mighty, in all its bearings and consequences, to be recklessly mixed up in our partisan conflicts."[287] When the Legislature convened, in January, 1836, Governor Marcy took up the question in his message. "I cannot doubt," he said, "that the Legislature possesses the power to pass such penal laws as will have the effect of preventing the citizens of this State, and residents within it, from availing themselves, with impunity, of the protection of its sovereignty and laws, while they are actually employed in exciting insurrection and sedition in a sister State, or engaged in treasonable enterprises, intending to be executed therein."[288] Not content with this show of loyalty to the South on the part of his friends, Van Buren secured the support of Silas Wright and Nathaniel P. Tallmadge for the bill, then pending in the United States Senate, prohibiting postmasters from knowingly transmitting or delivering any documents or papers relating to the abolition of slavery, and when the measure, on a motion for engrossment, received a tie vote, Van Buren cast the decisive vote in the affirmative.[289]
[Footnote 287: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 319.]
[Footnote 288: Governors' Messages, January 5, 1836.]
[Footnote 289: "When the bill came to a vote in the Senate, although there was really a substantial majority against it, a tie was skilfully arranged to compel Van Buren, as Vice President, to give the casting vote. White, the Southern Democratic candidate so seriously menacing him, was in the Senate, and voted for the bill. Van Buren must, it was supposed, offend the pro-slavery men by voting against the bill, or offend the North and perhaps bruise his conscience by voting for it. When the roll was being called, Van Buren, so Benton tells us, was out of the chair, walking behind the colonnade at the rear of the Vice President's seat. Calhoun, fearful lest he might escape the ordeal, eagerly asked where he was, and told the sergeant-at-arms to look for him. But Van Buren was ready, and at once stepped to his chair and voted for the bill. His close friend, Silas Wright of New York, also voted for it. Benton says he deemed both the votes to be political and given from policy. So they probably were.... Van Buren never deserved to be called a 'Northern man with Southern principles.' But this vote came nearer to an excuse for the epithet than did any other act of his career."--Edward M. Shepard, Life of Martin Van Buren, p. 277.]
Van Buren's prompt action gave him the confidence and support of three-fourths of the slave-holding States, without losing his hold upon the Democracy of the free States. Indeed, there was nothing new that the Whigs could oppose to Van Buren. They were not ready to take the anti-slavery side of the issue, and questions growing out of the bank controversy had practically been settled in 1832. This, therefore, was the situation when the two parties in New York assembled in convention, in September, 1836, to nominate state candidates. Marcy and John Tracy were without opposition. From the first moment he began to administer the affairs of the State, Marcy must have felt that he had found his work at last.
The Whigs were far from being united. Henry Clay's disinclination to become a nominee for President resulted in two Whig candidates, Hugh L. White of Tennessee, the favourite of the southern Whigs, and William Henry Harrison, preferred by the Eastern, Middle, and Western States. This weakness was soon reflected in New York. Thurlow Weed was full of forebodings, and William H. Seward found his law office more satisfactory than a candidate's berth. Like Clay he was perfectly willing another should bear the burden of inevitable defeat. So the Whigs put up Jesse Buel for governor, Gamaliel H. Barstow for lieutenant-governor, and an electoral ticket favourable to Harrison.
Jesse Buel was not a brilliant man. He was neither a thinker, like Seward, nor an orator, like Granger; but he was wise, wealthy, and eminently respectable, with enough of the statesman in him to be able to accept established facts and not to argue with the inexorable. Years before, he had founded the Albany Argus, editing it with ability and great success. Through its influence he became state printer, succeeding Solomon Southwick, after the latter's quarrel with Governor Tompkins over the Bank of America. This was in 1813. Three years later Thurlow Weed, then a young man of nineteen, worked for him as a journeyman printer. "From January till April," he writes, "I uniformly reached the office before daylight, and seldom failed to find Mr. Buel at his case, setting type by a tallow candle and smoking a long pipe." Buel made so much money that the party managers invited him to let others, equally deserving, have a turn at the state printing. So he went into the Assembly, distinguishing himself as an able, practical legislator. But he gradually drew away from the Democrats, as their financial policy became more pronounced; and upon the organisation of the Whig party gave it his support. Had he chosen he might have been its candidate for governor in 1834; and it is difficult to understand why he should have accepted, in 1836, with little expectation of an election, what he declined two years before when success seemed probable.
Gamaliel H. Barstow had been a Clintonian and an anti-Clintonian, a follower and a pursuer of Van Buren, an Adams man and an Anti-Mason--everything, in fact, except a Federalist. But, under whatever standard he fought, and in whatever body he sat, he was a recognised leader, full of spirit, fire, and force. In 1824, he had stood with James Tallmadge and Henry Wheaton at the head of the Adams party; in 1831, he had accompanied John C. Spencer and William H. Seward to the national anti-masonic convention at Baltimore; and, in the long, exciting debate upon the bill giving the people power to choose presidential electors, he exhibited the consummate shrewdness and sagacity of an experienced legislator. There was nothing sinister or vindictive about him; but he had an unsparing tongue, and he delighted to indulge it. This is what he did in 1836. Having turned his back upon the Democratic party, the campaign to him became an occasion for contrasting the past and "its blighting Regency majorities" with the future of a new party, which, no doubt, seemed to him and to others purer and brighter, since the longer it was excluded from power the less opportunity it had for making mistakes.
But 1836 was a year of great prosperity. The undue depression of 1835 was now succeeded by commercial activity and an era of expansion and inflation. Visionary schemes were everywhere present. Real estate values doubled, farms were platted into village lots, wild lands were turned into farms, and a new impulse was given to legitimate and illegitimate enterprises. Stocks rose, labour went up, farm products sold at higher prices, and the whole country responded to the advantages of the money plethora. Democracy rode on the crest of the wave, and Jackson's financial policy was accepted with joy.
Nevertheless the Whig party, hoping to strengthen its numbers in Congress, did not relax its zeal. When the vote, however, revealed nearly thirty thousand majority for Marcy[290] and the Van Buren electoral ticket, with ninety-four Democrats in the Assembly and only one Whig in the Senate, it made Thurlow Weed despair for the Republic.
[Footnote 290: William L. Marcy, 166,122; Jesse Buel, 136,648--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
II. SEWARD ELECTED GOVERNOR
1836-1838
The overwhelming defeat of the Whigs, in 1836, left a single rift in the dark cloud through which gleamed a ray of substantial hope. It was plain to the most cautious business man that if banking had been highly remunerative, with the United States Bank controlling government deposits, it must become more productive after Jackson had transferred these deposits to state institutions; and what was plain to the conservative banker, was equally patent to the reckless speculator. The legislatures of 1834 and 1835, therefore, became noted as well as notorious for the large number of bank charters granted. As the months passed, increased demands for liberal loans created an increasing demand for additional banks, and the greater the demand the greater the strife for charters. Under the restraining law of the State, abundant provision had been made for a fair distribution of bank stocks; but the dominant party, quick to take an advantage helpful to its friends, carefully selected commissioners who would distribute it only among their political followers. At first it went to merchants or capitalists in the locality of the bank; but gradually, Albany politicians began to participate, and then, prominent state officers, judges, legislators and their relatives and confidential friends, many of whom resold the stock at a premium of twenty to twenty-five per cent. before the first payment had been made. Thus, the distribution of stock became a public scandal, deplored in the messages of the Governor and assailed by the press. "The unclean drippings of venal legislation," the New York Evening Post called it. But no remedy was applied. The Governor, in spite of his regrets, signed every charter the Legislature granted, and the commissioners, as if ignorant of the provisions to secure a fair distribution of the stock, continued to evade the law with boldness and great facility.
Members of the Democratic party in New York City, who believed that banking, like any other business, ought to be open to competition, had organised an equal rights party in 1834 to oppose all monopolies, and the bank restraining law in particular. Several meetings were held during the summer. Finally, in October, both factions of Tammany Hall attempted forcibly to control its proceedings, and, in the contest, the lights were extinguished. The Equal Righters promptly relighted them with loco-foco or friction matches and continued the meeting. From this circumstance they were called Locofocos, a name which the Whigs soon applied to the whole Democratic party.
The Equal Rights party was not long-lived. Two years spanned its activity, and four or five thousand votes measured its strength; but, while it lasted, it was earnest and the exponent of good principles. In 1836, these people held a state convention at Utica, issued a declaration of principles, and nominated a state and congressional ticket. In New York City, the centre of their activity, Frederick A. Tallmadge was put up for state senator and Edward Curtis for Congress, two reputable Whigs; and, to aid them, the Whig party fused successfully with the Equal Righters, electing their whole ticket. This victory was the one ray of hope that came to the Whigs out of the contest of 1836. It proved that some people were uneasy and resentful.
But other Whig victories were soon to follow. Reference has already been made to the unprecedented prosperity that characterised the year 1836. This era of expansion and speculative enterprises, which began with the transfer of government deposits, continued at high pressure under the influence of the newly chartered banks. With such a money plethora, schemes and projects expanded and inflated, until success seemed to turn the heads of the whole population. So wild was the passion for new enterprises, that one had only to announce a scheme to find people ready to take shares in it. Two per cent. a month did not deter borrowers who expected to make one hundred per cent. before the end of the year. In vain did the Governor inveigh against this "unregulated spirit of speculation." As the year advanced, men grew more reckless, until stocks and shares were quickly purchased at any price without the slightest care as to the risk taken.
The beginning of the end of this epoch of insane speculation was felt, early in the spring of 1837, by a money pressure of unexampled severity. Scarcely had its effect reached the interior counties, before every bank in the country suspended specie payments. Then confidence gave way, and tens of thousands of people, who had been wealthy or in comfortable circumstances, waked up to the awful realisation of their bankruptcy and ruin. The panic of 1837 reached the proportions of a national calamity. Most men did not then know the reason for the crash, and the knowledge of those who did, brought little comfort. But, gradually, the country recognised that the prosperity of a nation is not increased in proportion to the quantity of paper money issued, unless such currency be maintained at its full value, convertible, at pleasure, into hard cash--the money standard of the world.
It so happened that the Legislature had not adjourned when the crash came, and, without a moment's delay, it suspended for one year the section of the Safety Fund act forbidding banks to issue notes after refusing to pay them in coin on demand; but it refused to suspend the act, passed in March, 1835, prohibiting the issue or circulation of bills under the denomination of five dollars. This left the people without small bills, and, as New York banks dared not issue them, necessity forced into circulation foreign bills, issued by solvent and insolvent banks, the losses from which fell largely upon the poorer classes who could not discriminate between the genuine and the spurious. So great was the inconvenience and loss suffered by the continuance of this act, that the people petitioned the Governor to call an extra session of the Legislature for its repeal; but Marcy declined, for the reason that the Legislature had already refused to give the banks the desired authority. Thus, the citizens of New York, staggering under a panic common to the whole country, were compelled to suffer the additional hardships of an irredeemable, and, for the most part, worthless currency, known as "shin-plasters."
In the midst of these "hard times," occurred the election in November, 1837. The New York municipal election, held in the preceding spring and resulting, with the help of the Equal Righters, in the choice of a Whig mayor, had prepared the way for a surprise; yet no one imagined that a political revolution was imminent. But the suffering people were angry, and, like a whirlwind, the Whigs swept nearly every county in the State. Of one hundred and twenty-eight assemblymen, they elected one hundred and one, and six of the eight senators. It happened, too, that as the triennial election of sheriffs and clerks occurred this year, the choice of these officers swelled the triumph into a victory that made it the harder to overthrow. In a moment, the election of 1837 had given the Whigs a powerful leverage in local contests, enabling them to build up a party that could be disciplined as well as organised. To add to their strength, the Legislature, when it convened, in January, 1838, proceeded to take the "spoils." Luther Bradish was chosen speaker, Orville L. Holley surveyor-general, and Gamaliel L. Barstow state treasurer. It also suspended for two years the act prohibiting banks from issuing small bills, passed a general banking law, and almost unanimously voted four millions for enlarging the Erie canal.
Although the spring elections of 1838 showed a decided falling off in the Whig vote, hopes of carrying the State in November were so well founded that Whig candidates for governor appeared in plenty. Looking back upon the contest from a distance, especially with the present knowledge of his superlative fitness for high place, it seems strange that William H. Seward should not have had an open way in the convention. But Francis Granger had also won the admiration of his party by twice leading a forlorn hope. Amidst crushing defeat he had never shown weariness, and his happy disposition kept him in friendly touch with his party. The Chenango people were especially ardent in his support. Twice he had forced their canal project through a hostile Assembly, and they did not forget that, in the hour of triumph, Seward opposed it. Besides, Granger had distinguished himself in Congress, resisting the policy of Jackson and Van Buren with forceful argument and ready tact. He was certainly a man to be proud of, and his admirers insisted with great pertinacity that he should now be the nominee for governor.
There was another formidable candidate in the field. Luther Bradish had proved an unusually able speaker, courteous in deportment, and firm and resolute in his rulings at a time of considerable political excitement. He had entered the Assembly from Franklin in 1828, and, having early embraced anti-Masonry with Weed, Granger, and Seward, was, with them, a leader in the organisation of the Whig party. The northern counties insisted that his freedom from party controversies made him peculiarly available, and, while the supporters of other candidates were quarrelling, it was their intention, if possible, to nominate him. Seward and Granger were eager for the nomination, but neither seems to have encouraged the ill-will which their followers exhibited. Indeed, Seward evidenced a disposition to withdraw; and he would doubtless have done so, had not his friends, and those of Granger, thought it better to let a convention decide. As the campaign grew older, the canvass proceeded with asperity. Granger's adherents accused Seward of an unjust conspiracy to destroy him, and of having canvassed the State, personally or by agents, to secure the prize even at the cost of a party division. They charged him with oppressing the settlers in Chautauqua, with editing the Albany Journal, with regulating the Bank of the United States, and controlling the movements of Henry Clay. "I am already so wearied of it," Seward wrote, "that, if left to myself, I should withdraw instantly and forever. I am ill-fitted for competition with brethren and friends. But with a clear conscience and greater magnanimity than there is manifested toward me, I shall go safely through all this storm."[291]
[Footnote 291: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 366.]
The confidence disclosed in the closing sentence was due largely to his confidence in Thurlow Weed. The editor of the Albany Journal seriously desired to take no part in the choice of delegates, since his personal and political relations with all the candidates were intimate and confidential; but he had known Granger longer than the others, and, if controlled by personal friendship, he must have favoured the Ontario candidate. Weed, however, believed that Seward's nomination would awaken greater enthusiasm, especially among young men, thus giving the ticket its best chance of success. At the last moment, therefore, he declared in favour of the Auburn statesman.
The sequel showed that his help came none too soon. Four informal ballots were taken, and, on the following day the formal and final one. The first gave Seward 52, Granger 39, and Bradish 29, with 4 for Edwards of New York. This was supposed to be Granger's limit. On the second ballot, Bradish's friends transferred thirteen votes to him, making Seward 60, Granger 52, Bradish 10, and Edwards 3. If this was a surprise to the friends of Seward, the third ballot was a tremendous shock, for Seward fell off to 59, and Granger got 60. Bradish had 8. Then Weed went to work. Though he had understood that Granger, except in a few counties, had little strength, the last ballot plainly showed him to be the popular candidate; and during an intermission between the third and fourth ballots, the Journal's editor exhibited an influence few men in the State have ever exercised. The convention was made up of the strongest and most independent men in the party. Nearly all had held seats in the state or national legislature, or had occupied other important office. Experience had taught them to act upon their own convictions. The delegates interested in the Chenango Valley canal were especially obstinate and formidable. "Weed," said one of them, "tell me to do anything else; tell me to jump out of the window and break my neck, and I will do it to oblige you; but don't ask me to desert Granger!"[292] Yet the quiet, good-natured Weed, his hand softly purring the knee of his listener as he talked--never excited, never vehement, but sympathetic, logical, prophetic--had his way. The fourth ballot gave Seward 67, Granger 48, Bradish 8. The work was done. When the convention reassembled the next morning, on motion of a warm supporter of Granger, the nomination was made unanimous, and Bradish was named for lieutenant-governor by acclamation.
[Footnote 292: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 373.]
Much disappointment was exhibited by Granger's friends, especially the old anti-Mason farmers who were inclined to reproach Weed with disloyalty. Granger himself stoically accepted defeat and zealously supported the ticket. He had said to a departing delegate, "if either Mr. Seward or Mr. Bradish attain a majority at the informal ballot, my friends must give the successful competitor their united support."[293] How heartily Seward would have responded under like circumstances is evidenced by his action when a premature report went forth of Granger's selection. Being informed of it, Seward at once told his friends that Auburn must be the first to ratify, and immediately set to work preparing resolutions for the meeting.
[Footnote 293: Ibid., p. 374.]
Thurlow Weed was pre-eminently a practical politician. He believed in taking advantage of every opportunity to strengthen his own party and weaken the adversary, and he troubled himself little about the means employed. He preferred to continue the want of small bills for another year rather than allow the opposite party to benefit by a repeal of the obnoxious law; he approved Van Buren's course in the infamous Fellows-Allen controversy; and, had he been governor in place of John Jay in 1800, the existing Legislature would undoubtedly have been reconvened in extra session, and presidential electors chosen favourable to his own party, as Hamilton wanted. But, at the bottom of his nature, there was bed-rock principle from which no pressure could swerve him. He could exclaim with Emerson, "I will say those things which I have meditated for their own sake and not for the first time with a view to that occasion." In these words is the secret of his relation to the Whig party. He asked no office, and he gave only the ripe fruit of his meditative life. It is not to be supposed that, in 1838, he saw in the young man at Auburn the astute United States Senator of the fifties; or the still greater secretary of state of the Civil War; but he had seen enough of Seward to discern the qualities of mind and heart that lifted him onto heights which extended his horizon beyond that of most men, enabling him to keep his bearing in the midst of great excitement, and, finally, in the presence of war itself. Seward saw fewer things, perhaps, than the more active and eloquent Granger, but Weed knew that he saw more deeply.[294]
[Footnote 294: "Apart from politics, I liked Seward, though not blind to his faults. His natural instincts were humane and progressive. He hated slavery and all its belongings, though a seeming necessity constrained him to write, in 1838, to this intensely pro-slavery city, a pro-slavery letter, which was at war with his real, or at least with his subsequent convictions. Though of Democratic parentage, he had been an Adams man, an anti-Mason, and was now thoroughly a Whig. The policy of more extensive and vigorous internal improvement had no more zealous champion. By nature, genial and averse to pomp, ceremony, and formality, few public men of his early prime were better calculated to attract and fascinate young men of his own party, and holding views accordant on most points with his.... Weed was of coarser mould and fibre than Seward--tall, robust, dark-featured, shrewd, resolute, and not over-scrupulous--keen-sighted, though not far-seeing."--Horace Greeley, Recollections of a Busy Life, pp. 311, 312.]
The Democratic state convention assembled at Herkimer on September 12, and unanimously renominated William L. Marcy and John Tracy. Marcy had made an able governor for three consecutive terms. His declaration that "to the victors belong the spoils" had not impaired his influence, since all parties practised, if they did not preach it; and, although he stultified himself by practically recommending and finally approving the construction of the Chenango canal, which he bitterly opposed as comptroller, he had lost no friends. Canal building was in accord with the spirit of the times. A year later, he had recommended an enlargement of the Erie canal; but when he discovered that the Chenango project would cost two millions instead of one, and the Erie enlargement twelve millions instead of six, he protested against further improvements until the Legislature provided means for paying interest on the money already borrowed. He clearly saw that the "unregulated spirit of speculation" would lead to ruin; and, to counteract it, he appealed to the Legislature, seeking to influence the distribution of bank stock along lines set forth in the law. But Marcy failed to enforce his precepts with the veto. In refusing, also, to reassemble the Legislature, for the repeal of the Small Bills act, the passage of which he had recommended in 1835, he gave the Evening Post opportunity to assail him as "a weak, cringing, indecisive man, the mere tool of a monopoly junto--their convenient instrument."
Marcy held office under difficult conditions. The panic, coming in the summer of 1837, was enough to shatter the nerves of any executive; but, to the panic, was now added the Canadian rebellion which occurred in the autumn of 1837. Though not much of a rebellion, William L. McKenzie's appeal for aid to the friends of liberty aroused hundreds of sympathetic Americans living along the border. Navy Island, above the Falls of Niagara, was made the headquarters of a provisional government, from which McKenzie issued a proclamation offering a reward for the capture of the governor-general of Canada and promising three hundred acres of land to each recruit.
The Canadian authorities effectually guarded the border, and destroyed the Caroline, presumably an insurgent steamer, lying at Schlosser's dock on the American side. In the conflict, one member of the crew was killed, and several wounded. The steamer proved to be an American vessel, owned by New York parties, and its destruction greatly increased the indignation against Canada; but Governor Marcy did not hesitate to call upon the people to refrain from unlawful acts within the territory of the United States; and, to enforce his proclamation, supplied General Scott, now in command of the Canadian frontier, with a force of militia. The American troops quickly forced the abandonment of Navy Island, scattered the insurgents and their allies to secret retreats, and broke up the guerrilla warfare. The loss of life among the patriots, due to their audacity and incompetent leadership, was considerable, and the treatment of prisoners harsh and in some instances inhuman. Many young men of intelligence and character were banished for life to Van Dieman's Land, McKenzie was thrown into a Canadian dungeon, and, among others, Van Schoulty, a brave young officer and refugee from Poland, who led an unsuccessful attack upon Prescott, was executed. Small as was the uprising, it created an intense dislike of Marcy among the friends of those who participated in it.
Still another political splinter was festering in Marcy's side. Several leading Democrats, who had sustained Jackson in his war upon the United States Bank, and in his removal of the deposits, refused to adopt Van Buren's sub-treasury scheme, proposed to the extra session of Congress, convened in September, 1837. This measure meant the disuse of banks as fiscal agents of the government, and the collection, safekeeping, and disbursement of public moneys by treasury officials. The banks, of course, opposed it; and thousands who had shouted, "Down with the United States Bank," changed their cry to "Down with Van Buren and the sub-treasury scheme." Among those opposing it, in New York, Nathaniel P. Tallmadge, a Democratic United States senator, took the lead, calling a state convention to meet at Syracuse. This convention immediately burned its bridges. It denounced Van Buren, it opposed Marcy, and it indorsed Seward. Behind it were bank officers and stockholders who were to lose the privilege of loaning the money of the United States for their own benefit, and the harder it struck them the more liberally they paid for fireworks and for shouters.
If trouble confronted the Democrats, discouragement oppressed the Whigs. Under the direction of Gerrit Smith the Abolitionists were on the war-path, questioning Seward as to the propriety of granting fugitive slaves a fair trial by jury, of abolishing distinctions in constitutional rights founded solely on complexion, and of repealing the law authorising the importation of slaves into the State and their detention as such during a period of nine months. Seward avowed his firm faith in trial by jury and his opposition to all "human bondage," but he declined making ante-election pledges. He preferred to wait, he said, until each case came before him for decision. Seward undoubtedly took the wise course; but he did not satisfy the extremists represented by Smith, and many of the Whig leaders became panic-stricken. "The Philistines are upon us," wrote Millard Fillmore, who was canvassing the State. "I now regard all as lost irrevocably. We shall never be able to burst the withes. Thank God, I can endure it as long as they, but I am sick of our Whig party. It can never be in the ascendant."[295]
[Footnote 295: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 60.]
Francis Granger was no less alarmed. He estimated the Abolitionist vote at twenty thousand, "and before the grand contest of 1840," he wrote Weed, "they will control one-fourth the votes of the State. They are engaged in it with the same honest purpose that governed the great mass of Anti-Masons."[296] The young candidate at Auburn was also in despair. "I fear the State is lost," he wrote Weed on November 4. "This conclusion was forced upon me strongly by news from the southern tier of counties, and is confirmed by an analogy in Ohio. But I will not stop to reason on the causes. Your own sagacity has doubtless often considered them earlier and more forcibly than mine."[297]
[Footnote 296: Ibid., p. 61.]
[Footnote 297: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 61.]
But Horace Greeley did not share these gloomy forebodings. He was then engaged in editing the Jeffersonian, a weekly journal of eight pages, which had been established in February solely as a campaign newspaper. His regular business was the publication of the New Yorker, a journal of literature and general intelligence. During the campaign he consented to spend two days of each week at Albany making up the Jeffersonian, which was issued from the office of the Evening Journal, and he was doing this work with the indefatigable industry and marvellous ability that marked his character.
Greeley had battled for a place in the world after the manner of Thurlow Weed. He was born on a New Hampshire farm, he had worked on a Vermont farm, and for a time it seemed to him as if he must forever remain on a farm; but after a few winters of schooling he started over the Vermont hills to learn the printer's trade. A boy was not needed in Whitehall, and he pushed on to Poultney. There he found work for four years until the Northern Spectator expired. Then he went back to the farm. But newspaper life in a small town had made him ambitious to try his fortunes in a city, and, journeying from one printing office to another, he finally drifted, in 1831, at the age of twenty, into New York.
Up to this time Greeley's life had resembled Weed's only in his voracious appetite for reading newspapers. He cared little for the boys about town and less for the sports of youth; he could dispense with sleep, and wasted no time thinking about what he should eat or wear; but books, and especially newspapers, were read with the avidity that a well-fed threshing machine devours a stack of wheat. He seemed to have only one ambition--the acquisition of knowledge and the career of a man of letters, and in his efforts to succeed, he ignored forms and social usages, forgot that he had a physical body to care for, and detested man-worship. Standing at last before a printer's case on Broadway, he was able to watch, almost from the beginning, the great political drama in which he was destined to play so great a part. Seward had just entered the State Senate; Weed, having recently established the Evening Journal, was massing the Anti-Masons and National Republicans for their last campaign; William Lloyd Garrison had issued the first number of the Liberator; Gerrit Smith, already in possession of his father's vast estate, still clung to the Liberian colonisation scheme; and Van Buren, not yet returned from England, was about entering upon the last stage of his phenomenally successful political career. Politicians for the first time disturbed about the tariff, the bank, and internal improvements, had come to the parting of the ways; the old order of things had ended under John Quincy Adams--the new had just commenced under Andrew Jackson. But the young compositor needed no guide-post to direct his political footsteps. In 1834, he had established the New Yorker and those who read it became Whigs. His mind acted upon other minds of a certain constitution with wonderful magnetism, attracting thousands of readers by his marvellous gift of expression and the broad sympathies and clear discernments that characterised his writings. He had his own ideas about the necessity for reforms, and he seems easily to have fallen a victim to countless delusions and illusions which young visionaries and gray-headed theorists brought to him; but, in spite of remonstrances and crushing opposition, he stood resolutely for whatever awoke the strongest emotions of his nature.
Thurlow Weed had been a constant reader of the New Yorker. He did not know the name of its editor and had never taken the trouble to inquire, but when a cheap weekly Whig newspaper was needed for a vigorous campaign in 1838, the editor of the New Yorker, whoever he might be, seemed the proper man to edit and manage it. Going to New York, he called at the Ann Street office and found himself in the presence of a young man, slender, light-haired, slightly stooping, and very near-sighted, who introduced himself as Horace Greeley. At the moment, he was standing at the case, with coat off and sleeves rolled up, setting type with the ease and rapidity of an expert. "When I informed him of the object of my visit," says Weed, "he was, of course, surprised, but evidently gratified. Nor was his surprise and gratification diminished to learn that I was drawn to him without any other reason or information but such as I had derived from the columns of the New Yorker. He suggested the Jeffersonian as the name for the new paper, and the first number appeared in February, 1838."[298]
[Footnote 298: Autobiography of Thurlow Weed, p. 466.]
It is one of the privileges of genius to discern the genius of others; but even Thurlow Weed could not have dreamed that he was giving opportunity to a man whose name was to rank higher than his own in history. There was a certain affinity between the intellectual nature of the two men, and they had now a common object. Both were journalists of tremendous energy, indomitable industry, and marvellous gifts; but Weed was a politician, Greeley a political preacher. Weed's influence lay in his remarkable judgment, his genius for diplomacy, and his rare gift of controlling individuals by personal appeal and by the overpowering mastery of his intellect; Greeley's supremacy grew out of his broad sympathies with the human race and his matchless ability to write. Weed's field of operations was confined largely to the State of New York and to delegates and men of influence who assemble at national conventions; Greeley preached to the whole country, sweeping along like a prairie fire and converting men to his views as easily as steel filings are attracted to the magnet. From the outset he was above dictation. He lacked judgment, and at times greatly grieved the friends who were willing to follow him through fire and flood; but once his mind was made up he surrendered his understanding, his consciousness of convictions, of duty, and of public good, to no man or set of men. "I trust we can never be enemies," he once wrote Weed, "but better anything than I should feel the weight of chains about my neck, that I should write and act with an eye to any man's pleasure, rather than to the highest good."[299]
[Footnote 299: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 97.]
As the editor of the Jeffersonian, which now quickly won a multitude of readers, he did his work with marked ability, discussing measures calmly and forcibly, and with an influence that baffled his opponents and surprised his friends. Greeley seems never to have been an immature writer. His felicity of expression and ability to shade thought, with a power of appeal and invective that belongs to experience and mature age, came to him, as they did to Hamilton, before he was out of his teens, and whether he was right or whether he was wrong, he was always the most interesting, always the most commanding figure in American journalism in the epoch-making political controversies of his day.
The Whigs thought it a happy omen that election day, November 7, came this year on the anniversary of General Harrison's victory at Tippecanoe. As the returns came in Seward's friends grew more elated, and on Saturday, the 11th, Weed covered the entire first page of the Evening Journal with the picture of an eagle, having outspread wings and bearing in its beak the word "Victory." It was the first appearance in politics of this American bird, which was destined to play a part in all future celebrations of the kind. The completed returns showed that the Whigs had elected Seward and Bradish by ten thousand four hundred and twenty-one majority,[300] five of the eight senators, and nearly two-thirds of the assemblymen. "Well, dear Seward," wrote Weed, "we are victorious; God be thanked--gratefully and devoutly thanked."[301] Seward was no less affected. "It is a fearful post I have coveted," he wrote; "I shudder at my temerity.... Indeed, I feel just now as if your zeal had been blind; but I may, perhaps, get over this. God grant, at all events, that I be spared from committing the sin of ingratitude. I hate it as the foulest in the catalogue."[302]
[Footnote 300: William H. Seward, 192,882; William L. Marcy, 182,461.--Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]
[Footnote 301: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 1, p. 379.]
[Footnote 302: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 61.]
Marcy seemed to accept his defeat good-naturedly. "Even before the ballot-boxes were closed," he wrote, facetiously, "I had partly persuaded myself to engage in a work for my posterity, by writing the history of the rise, progress, and termination of the Regency. It will embrace the transactions of the golden days of the Republic (Empire State). It began with my entrance into public life, and terminates with my exit from it. The figures in the tableau will not be of the largest size, but the ascendancy of honest men, for such I think them to have been (Ilium fuit), will be interesting on account of great rarity." But, to the same friend, a few weeks later, he took a desponding view, expressing the fear that the power which had passed from the Democratic party would not return to as honest hands. His financial condition, too, caused him much uneasiness. He had given eighteen years to the State, he said, the largest portion of an active and vigorous life, and now found himself poorer than when he took office. "If my acquisitions in a pecuniary way have probably been less and my labours and exertions greater," he asks, "what compensating advantages are to be brought into the calculation to balance the account?" An office-holder rarely asks such a question until thrown out of a position; while in office, it is evident he thinks the privilege of holding it sufficient compensation; otherwise, it may be presumed, he would resign. Marcy, however, was not forgotten. Indeed, his political career had scarcely begun, since the governorship became only a stepping-stone to continued honours. Within a few months, President Van Buren appointed him, under the convention of April, 1839, to the Mexican Claims Commission, and a few years later he was to become a member of two Cabinets.