[Footnote 368: "To understand the issue presented by the Wilmot Proviso it must be observed that its advocates sustained it on the distinct ground that, as slavery had been abolished throughout the Mexican Republic, the acquisition of territory without prohibiting slavery would, on the theory asserted by the Southern States, lead to its restoration where it had ceased to exist, and make the United States responsible for its extension to districts in which universal freedom had been established by the fundamental law."—Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John A. Dix, Vol. 1, p. 205.]

Hostilities between the Hunkers and Barnburners, growing out of the slavery question, began at the Democratic state convention, which convened at Syracuse, September 7, 1847.[369] Preceding this meeting both factions had been active, but the Hunkers, having succeeded in seating a majority of the delegates, promptly voted down a resolution embodying the principle of the Wilmot Proviso. Then the Barnburners seceded. There was no parleying. The breach opened like a chasm and the secessionists walked out in a body. This action was followed by an address, charging that the anti-slavery resolution had been defeated by a fraudulent organisation, and calling a mass convention for October 26, "to avow their principles and consult as to future action." This meeting became a gathering of Martin Van Buren's friends. It did not nominate a ticket, which would have defeated the purpose of the secession; but, by proclaiming the principles of Free-soil, it struck the keynote of popular sentiment; divided the Democratic party, and let the Whigs into power by thirty thousand majority. It made Millard Fillmore comptroller, Christopher Morgan secretary of state, Alvah Hunt treasurer, Ambrose L. Jordan attorney-general, and Hamilton Fish lieutenant-governor to fill the vacancy occasioned by Addison Gardiner's election to the new Court of Appeals. The president of this seceders' mass-meeting was Churchill C. Cambreling, an old associate of Martin Van Buren, but its leader and inspiration was John Van Buren. He drafted the address to the people, his eloquence made him its chief orator, and his enthusiasm seemed to endow him with ubiquity.

[Footnote 369: "In the fall of 1847 I was a spectator at the Democratic state convention, held in Syracuse. The great chiefs of both factions were on the ground, and never was there a fiercer, more bitter and relentless conflict between the Narragansetts and Pequods than this memorable contest between the Barnburners and Hunkers. Silas Wright was the idol of the Barnburners. He had died on the 27th of the preceding August—less than two weeks before. James S. Wadsworth voiced the sentiments of his followers. In the convention some one spoke of doing justice to Mr. Wright. A Hunker sneeringly responded, 'It is too late; he is dead.' Springing upon a table Wadsworth made the hall ring as he uttered the defiant reply: 'Though it may be too late to do justice to Silas Wright, it is not too late to do justice to his assassins.' The Hunkers laid the Wilmot Proviso upon the table, but the Barnburners punished them at the election."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 159.]

John Van Buren was unlike the ordinary son of a President of the United States. He did not rely upon the influence or the prestige of his father.[370] He was able to stand alone—a man of remarkable power, who became attorney-general in 1845, and for ten years was a marked figure in political circles, his bland and convulsing wit enlivening every convention and adding interest to every campaign. But his chief interest was in his profession. He was a lawyer of great distinction, the peer and often the opponent of Charles O'Conor and William H. Seward. "He possessed beyond any man I ever knew," said Daniel Lord, "the power of eloquent, illustrative amplification, united with close, flexible logic."[371]

[Footnote 370: "There could hardly be a wider contrast between two men than the space that divided the Sage of Lindenwald from Prince John. In one particular, however, they were alike. Each had that personal magnetism that binds followers to leaders with hooks of steel. The father was grave, urbane, wary, a safe counsellor, and accustomed to an argumentative and deliberate method of address that befitted the bar and the Senate. Few knew how able a lawyer the elder Van Buren was. The son was enthusiastic, frank, bold, and given to wit, repartee, and a style of oratory admirably adapted to swaying popular assemblies. The younger Van Buren, too, was a sound lawyer."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 175.]

[Footnote 371: History of the Bench and Bar of New York, Vol. 1, p. 505.]

John Van Buren had, as well, a picturesque side to his life. In college he was expert at billiards, the centre of wit, and the willing target of beauty. Out of college, from the time he danced with the Princess Victoria at a court ball in London at the age of twenty-two, to the end of his interesting and eventful life, he was known as "Prince John." His remarkable gifts opened the door to all that was ultra as well as noble. He led in the ballroom, he presided at dinners, he graced every forum, and he moved in the highest social circles. Men marvelled at his knowledge, at his unfailing equanimity, and at his political strength; but even to those who were spellbound by his eloquence, or captivated by his adroit, skilful conduct of a lawsuit, he was always "Prince John." There was not a drop of austerity or intolerance or personal hatred in him. The Dutch blood of his father, traced from the Princes of Orange to the days of the New Netherland patroons, kept him within the limits of moderation if not entirely unspotted, and his finished manners attracted the common people as readily as they charmed the more exclusive.

John Van Buren's acceptance of Free-soilism did not emanate from a dislike of slavery; nor did Free-soil principles root themselves deeply in his nature. His father had opposed the admission of Texas, and the son, in resentment of his defeat, hoping to make an anti-slavery party dominant in the State, if not in the nation, proclaimed his opposition to the extension of slavery. But, after the compromise measures of 1850 had temporarily checked the movement, he fell back into the ranks of the Hunkers, aiding President Pierce's election, and sustaining the pro-slavery administration of Buchanan. In after years Van Buren frequently explained his connection with the Free-soil revolt by telling a story of the boy who was vigorously removing an overturned load of hay at the roadside. Noticing his wild and rapid pitching, a passer-by inquired the cause of his haste. The boy, wiping the perspiration from his brow as he pointed to the pile of hay, replied, "Stranger, dad's under there!"

But whatever reasons incited John Van Buren to unite with the Free-soilers, so long as he advocated their principles, he was the most brilliant crusader who sought to stay the aggressiveness of slavery. From the moment he withdrew from the Syracuse convention, in the autumn of 1847, until he finally accepted the compromise measures of 1850, he was looked upon as the hope of the Barnburners and the most dangerous foe of the Hunkers. Even Horatio Seymour was afraid of him. He did not advocate abolition; he did not treat slavery in the abstract; he did not transcend the Free-soil doctrine. But he spoke with such power and brilliancy that Henry Wilson, afterward Vice President, declared him "the bright particular star of the revolt."[372] He was not an impassioned orator. He spoke deliberately, and rarely with animation or with gesture; and his voice, high pitched and penetrating, was neither mellow nor melodious. But he was marvellously pleasing. His perennial wit kept his audiences expectant, and his compact, forceful utterances seemed to break the argument of an opponent as a hammer shatters a pane of glass. So great was his popularity at this time, that his return to the Democratic party became a personal sorrow to every friend of the anti-slavery cause. "Indeed, such was the brilliant record he then made," says Henry Wilson, "that had he remained true to the principles he advocated, he would unquestionably have become one of the foremost men of the Republican party, if not its accepted leader."[373]

[Footnote 372: Henry Wilson, Rise and Fall of the Slave Power of the United States, Vol. 2, p. 142.]

[Footnote 373: Ibid., p. 142.]

Several historic conventions followed the secession of the Barnburners. Each faction held a state convention to select delegates to the Democratic national convention which met in Baltimore on May 22, 1848, and, on the appointed day, both Hunkers and Barnburners presented full delegations, each claiming admission to the exclusion of the other.[374] It was an anxious moment for Democracy. New York held the key to the election; without its vote the party could not hope to win; and without harmony success was impossible. To exclude either faction, therefore, was political suicide, and, in the end, the vote was divided equally between them. To the politician, anxious for party success and hungry for office, perhaps no other compromise seemed possible. But the device failed to satisfy either side, and Lewis Cass was nominated for President without the participation of the State that must elect or defeat him.

[Footnote 374: "The Barnburners made the Monumental City lurid with their wrath, frightening the delegates from the back States almost out of their wits."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 162. "Or, as one man said in a speech, 'the regular delegates might occupy half a seat apiece, provided each of them would let a Hunker sit on his lap.'"—Ibid., p. 161.]

Returning home, the Barnburners issued an address, written by Samuel J. Tilden, who fearlessly called upon Democrats to act independently. This led to the famous convention held at Utica in June. Samuel Young presided, Churchill C. Cambreling was conspicuous on the stage, David Dudley Field read a letter from Martin Van Buren condemning the platform and the candidate of the Baltimore convention, and Benjamin F. Butler, Preston King, and John Van Buren illuminated the principles of the Free-soil party in speeches that have seldom been surpassed in political conventions. In the end Martin Van Buren was nominated for President.

This assembly, in the ability and character of its members, contained the better portion of the party. Its attitude was strong, defiant, and its only purpose apparently was to create a public sentiment hostile to the extension of slavery. Nevertheless, it was divided into two factions, one actuated more by a desire to avenge the alleged wrongs of Van Buren, than to limit slavery. To this class belonged Churchill C. Cambreling, Samuel J. Tilden, John A. Dix, Sanford E. Church, Dean Richmond, John Cochrane, Benjamin F. Butler, and the Van Burens. On the anti-slavery side, Preston King, David Dudley Field, James S. Wadsworth, and William Cullen Bryant were conspicuous. Seven years later, these men were quick to aid in the formation of the Republican party; while the former, for the most part, continued with the Democratic party. But, whatever the motives that prompted them, their action strengthened the Buffalo convention[375] which met on August 9, 1848, giving an impetus to the anti-slavery cause too strong for resentment or revenge to guide it.

[Footnote 375: "The nomination of Cass for the Presidency by the Democrats and Taylor by the Whigs led to the Buffalo convention of 1848. Pro-slavery Democrats were there to avenge the wrongs of Martin Van Buren. Free-soil Democrats were there to punish the assassins of Silas Wright. Pro-slavery Whigs were there to strike down Taylor because he had dethroned their idol, Henry Clay, in the Philadelphia convention. Anti-slavery Whigs were there, breathing the spirit of the departed John Quincy Adams. Abolitionists of all shades of opinion were present, from the darkest type to those of a milder hue, who shared the views of Salmon P. Chase."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, pp. 162-63.]

There have been many important meetings in the history of American politics, but it may well be doubted if any convention, during the struggle with slavery, ever exalted the hearts of those who took part in it more than did this assembly of fearless representatives of the Free-soil party in Buffalo, the Queen City of the Lakes. The time was ripe for action, and on that day in August, men eminent and to grow eminent, sought the shade of a great tent on the eastern shore of Lake Erie. Among them were Joshua R. Giddings, the well-known Abolitionist; Salmon P. Chase, not yet famous, but soon to become a United States senator with views of slavery in accord with William H. Seward; and Charles Francis Adams who had already associated his name with that of his illustrious father in the growth of anti-slavery opinions in New England. Chase presided over the convention and Adams over the mass-meeting. At the outset, it was boldly asserted that they had assembled "to secure free soil for a free people;" and in closing they thrilled the hearts of all hearers with the memorable declaration that rang throughout the land like a blast from a trumpet, "We inscribe on our banner Free Soil, Free Speech, Free Labour, and Free Men." It was a remarkable convention in that it made no mistakes. Lewis Cass represented the South and its purposes, while Zachary Taylor lived in the South and owned four hundred slaves. Neither of these men could be supported; but, in the end, rather than put a fourth candidate into the field, it was resolved unanimously to indorse Martin Van Buren for President and Charles Francis Adams for Vice President. Daniel Webster ridiculed the idea of "the leader of the Free-spoil party becoming the leader of the Free-soil party;" but Charles Sumner, whose heart was in the cause, declared that "it is not for the Van Buren of 1838 that we are to vote, but for the Van Buren of to-day—the veteran statesman, sagacious, determined, experienced, who, at an age when most men are rejoicing to put off their armour, girds himself anew and enters the list as a champion of freedom."[376] To give further dignity and importance to the Free-soil movement, the nomination of John P. Hale, made by the Abolitionists in the preceding November, was withdrawn, and John A. Dix, then a Democratic senator, accepted the Barnburners' nomination for governor.[377]

[Footnote 376: Charles Sumner, Works, Vol. 2, p. 144.

"It will be remembered that Van Buren, in his inaugural as President, pledged himself to veto any bill for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, unless sanctioned by Maryland and Virginia. Anti-slavery men took great umbrage to this pledge, and while Butler at the Buffalo convention was graphically describing how the ex-President, now absorbed in bucolic pursuits at his Kinderhook farm, had recently leaped a fence to show his visitor a field of sprouting turnips, one of these disgusted Abolitionists abruptly exclaimed, 'Damn his turnips! What are his present opinions about the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia?' 'I was just coming to that subject,' responded the oily Barnburner, with a suave bow towards the ruffled Whig. 'Well, you can't be a moment too quick in coming to it,' replied the captious interlocutor."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 164.]

[Footnote 377: "General Dix disapproved of the design to make separate nominations, thinking it unwise, and foreseeing that it would increase the difficulty of bringing about a reconciliation. But that he, a Democrat of the old school, should find himself associated with gentlemen of the Whig party, from whom he differed on almost every point, was a painful and distressing surprise. He was willing, if it must be so, to go with his own section of the Democratic party, though deeming their course not the wisest. But when it came to an alliance with Whigs and Abolitionists he lost all heart in the movement. This accounts for his strong expressions in after years to justify himself from the charge of being an Abolitionist and false to his old faith."—Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John A. Dix, Vol. 1, p. 239.]

The Hunkers were aghast. The movement that let the Whigs into power in 1847 had suddenly become a national party, with the most famous and distinguished Democrat at its head, while the old issues of internal improvement, the tariff, and the independent treasury were obscured by the intensity of the people's opposition to the extension of slavery. The Hunkers controlled the party machinery—the Barnburners held the balance of power. To add to the bitterness of the situation, Edwin Croswell, after a quarter of a century of leadership, had retired from editorial and political life, leaving no one who could fill his place. When the Democratic state convention assembled at Syracuse, therefore, it spent itself in rhetorical denunciation of the rebellious faction, and wasted itself in the selection of Reuben H. Walworth for governor and Charles O'Conor for lieutenant-governor. Neither was a popular nomination. Walworth was the last of the chancellors. He came into notice as an ardent Bucktail in the days of DeWitt Clinton, and, upon the retirement of Chancellor Kent in 1828 succeeded to that important and lucrative office. He was a hard worker and an upright judge; but he did not rank as a great jurist. The lawyers thought him slow and crabbed, and his exclusion from the office at the age of fifty-nine, after the adoption of the new Constitution in 1846, was not regretted. But Chancellor Walworth had two traits which made him a marked figure in the Commonwealth—an enthusiasm for his profession that spared no labour and left no record unsearched; and an enthusiastic love for the Church.

Of Charles O'Conor's remarkable abilities, mention occurs elsewhere. His conservatism made him a Democrat of the extreme school. In the Slave Jack case and the Lemmon slave case, very famous in their day, he was counsel for the slave-holders; and at the close of the Civil War he became the attorney for Jefferson Davis when indicted for treason. O'Conor's great power as a speaker added much to the entertainment of the campaign of 1848, but whether he would have beaten his sincere, large-hearted, and affectionate Whig opponent had no third party divided the vote, was a mooted question at the time, and one usually settled in favour of the Chautauquan.

The Whigs had reason to be hopeful. They had elected Young in 1846 by eleven thousand, and, because of the Barnburner secession, had carried the State in 1847 by thirty thousand. Everything indicated that their success in 1848 would be no less sweeping. But they were far from happy. Early in June, 1846, long before the capture of Monterey and the victory of Buena Vista, the Albany Evening Journal had suggested that Zachary Taylor was in the minds of many, and in the hearts of more, for President in 1848. Thurlow Weed went further. He sent word to the brilliant officer that he need not reply to the numerous letters from men of all political stripes offering their support, since the presidential question would take care of itself after his triumphant return from Mexico. But, in the spring of 1848, the question became embarrassing. Taylor was a slave-holder. Many northern Whigs were deeply imbued with anti-slavery sentiments, and the action of the Free-soilers was increasing their sensitiveness. "What plagues me most of all," wrote Washington Hunt to Weed, "is to think how I, after all I have said against slavery and its extension, am to look the Wilmot Proviso people in the face and ask them to vote for a Southern slave-holder."[378] Yet Taylor was a conquering hero; and, although little was known of his political sentiments or sympathies, it was generally believed the Democrats would nominate him for President if the Whigs did not.

[Footnote 378: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 165.]

As the year grew older it became apparent that Henry Clay was the choice of a large portion of the Whigs of the country. Besides, Daniel Webster had reappeared as a candidate; Winfield Scott had the support of his former New York friends; and Horace Greeley, "waging a quixotic war against heroes," as Seward expressed it, was sure of defeating Taylor even if shaken in his confidence of nominating Clay. "I hope you see your way through this difficulty," Hunt again wrote Weed. "You are like a deacon I know. His wife said it always came natural to him to see into the doctrine of election."[379] Weed believed that Zachary Taylor, if not nominated by the Whigs, would be taken up by the Democrats, and he favoured the Southerner because the election of Jackson and Harrison convinced him that winning battles opened a sure way to the White House. But Thurlow Weed was not a stranger to Taylor's sympathies. He had satisfied himself that the bluff old warrior, though a native of Virginia and a Louisiana slave-holder, favoured domestic manufactures, opposed the admission of Texas, and had been a lifelong admirer of Henry Clay; and, with this information, he went to work, cautiously as was his custom, but with none the less energy and persistence. Among other things, he visited Daniel Webster at Marshfield to urge him to accept the nomination for Vice President. The great statesman recalled Weed's similar errand in 1839, and the memory of Harrison's sudden death now softened him into a receptive mood; but the inopportune coming of Fletcher Webster, who reported that his father's cause was making tremendous progress, changed consent into disapproval, and for the second time in ten years Webster lost the opportunity of becoming President.

[Footnote 379: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 167.]

When the Whig national convention met in Philadelphia on June 8, Thurlow Weed did not doubt the ability of Taylor's friends to nominate him; but, in that event, several prominent delegates threatened to bolt. It was an anxious moment. The success of the Whig party and the ascendancy of Weed's leadership in New York were at stake. It was urged by the anti-slavery men with great vehemence that Taylor was a "no-party man," and that as a born Southerner and large slave-holder he could not be trusted on the slavery question. But when the five candidates were finally placed in nomination, and a single ballot taken, it was found, as Weed had predicted, that the hero of Buena Vista was the one upon whom the Whigs could best unite. With few exceptions, the friends of Clay, Webster, Scott, and John M. Clayton could go to Taylor better than to another, and on the fourth ballot, amidst anger and disappointment, the latter was nominated by sixty majority.

For the moment, the office of Vice President seemed to go a-begging, as it did in the convention of 1839 after the defeat of Henry Clay. Early in the year Seward's friends urged his candidacy; but he gave it no encouragement, preferring to continue the practice of his profession, which was now large and lucrative. John Young, who thought he would like the place, sent a secret agent to Mexico with letters to Taylor. Young's record as governor, however, did not commend him for other honours, and the scheme was soon abandoned. As the summer advanced Abbott Lawrence of Massachusetts became the favourite; and for a time it seemed as if his nomination would be made by acclamation; but, after Taylor's nomination and Clay's defeat, many delegates promptly declared they would not have "cotton at both ends of the ticket"—referring to Taylor as a grower and Lawrence as a manufacturer of cotton. In this crisis, and after a stormy recess, John A. Collier, a leading lawyer of Binghamton, who had served in the Twenty-second Congress and one year as state comptroller, suddenly took the platform. In a stirring speech, in which he eloquently pictured the sorrow and bitterness of Clay's friends, he hopefully announced that he had a peace-offering to present, which, if accepted, would, in a measure, reconcile the supporters of all the defeated candidates and prevent a fatal breach in the party. Then, to the astonishment of the convention, he named Millard Fillmore for Vice President, and asked a unanimous response to his nomination. This speech, though not pitched in a very exalted key, was so subtile and telling, that it threw the convention into applause. Collier recalled Fillmore's fidelity to his party; his satisfactory record in Congress, especially during the passage of the tariff act of 1842; his splendid, if unsuccessful canvass, as a candidate for governor in 1844, and his recent majority of thirty-eight thousand for comptroller, the largest ever given any candidate in the State. At the time, it looked as if a unanimous response might be made; but the friends of Lawrence rallied, and at the close of the ballot Fillmore had won by only six votes. For Collier, however, it was a great triumph, giving him a reputation as a speaker that later efforts did not sustain.

To anti-slavery delegates, the Philadelphia convention was a disappointment. It seemed to lack courage and to be without convictions or principles. Like its predecessor in 1839 it adopted no resolutions and issued no address. The candidates became its platform. In voting down a resolution in favour of the Wilmot Proviso, many delegates believed the party would prove faithless on the great issue; and fifteen of them, led by Henry Wilson of Massachusetts, proposed a national convention of all persons opposed to the extension of slavery, to be held at Buffalo early in August. "It is fortunate for us," wrote Seward, "that the Democratic party is divided."[380] But the New Yorkers, some of whom found encouragement in the nomination of Fillmore, who had thus far been inflexible upon the slavery question, patiently waited for the result of the Whig state convention, which met at Utica on the 14th of September. By this time, as Seward and Weed predicted, Taylor's nomination had grown popular. Greeley, soon to be a candidate for Congress, advised the Tribune's readers to vote the Whig ticket, while the action of the Buffalo convention, though it united the anti-slavery vote, assured a division of the Democratic party more than sufficient to compensate for any Whig losses. Under these circumstances, the Utica convention assembled with reasonable hopes of success. It lacked the spirit of the band of resolute Free-soilers, who met in the same place on the same day and nominated John A. Dix for governor and Seth M. Gates of Wyoming for lieutenant-governor; but it gave no evidence of the despair that had settled upon the convention of the Hunkers in the preceding week.

[Footnote 380: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 71.]

One feature of the Whig state convention is worthy of notice. The great influence of the Anti-Renters who held the balance of power in the convention of 1846 had disappeared. The Governor's anti-rent friends urged his renomination with the earnest voice of a brave people; but John Young was destined to be the comet of a season only. His course in respect to appointments and to the Mexican War had alienated Thurlow Weed, and his pardon of the anti-rent rioters estranged the conservative Whigs. Although a shrewd politician, with frank and affable manners, as an administrative officer he lacked the tact displayed so abundantly as a legislator; and its absence seriously handicapped him. Twenty delegates measured his strength in a convention that took forty-nine votes to nominate. Under the Taylor administration, Young received an appointment as assistant treasurer in New York City—the office given to William C. Bouck in 1846—but his career may be said to have closed the moment he promised to pardon a lot of murderous rioters to secure an election as governor. With that, he passed out of the real world of state-craft into the class of politicians whose ambition and infirmities have destroyed their usefulness. He died in April, 1852, at the age of fifty.

Hamilton Fish was the favourite candidate for governor in the Utica convention. His sympathies leaned toward the conservatives of his party; but the moderation of his speech and his conciliatory manners secured the good wishes of both factions, and he received seventy-six votes on the first ballot. Fish was admittedly one of the most popular young men in New York City. He had never sought or desired office. In 1842, the friends of reform sent him to Congress from a strong Democratic district, and in 1846, after repeatedly and peremptorily declining, the Whig convention, to save the party from disruption, compelled him to take the nomination for lieutenant-governor on the ticket with John Young. In 1847, after Addison Gardiner, by his appointment to the Court of Appeals, had vacated the lieutenant-governorship, the convention, in resentment of Fish's defeat by the Anti-Renters, again forced his nomination for the same office, and his election followed by thirty thousand majority. Fish was now thirty-nine years old, with more than two-score and five years to live. He was to become a United States senator, and to serve, for eight years, with distinguished ability, as secretary of state in the Cabinet of President Grant; yet, in all that period, he never departed from the simple, sincere life that he was living in September, 1848. Writing of him in the Tribune, on the day after his nomination for governor, Horace Greeley voiced the sentiment of men irrespective of party. "Wealthy without pride, generous without ostentation, simple in manners, blameless in life, and accepting office with no other aspiration than that of making power subserve the common good of his fellow citizens, Hamilton Fish justly and eminently enjoys the confidence and esteem of all who know him."[381]

[Footnote 381: New York Tribune, September 15, 1848.]

On the first ballot, George W. Patterson of Chautauqua received eighty-four out of ninety-six votes for lieutenant-governor. In his gentle manners, simple generosity, and moderation of speech, Patterson was not unlike Hamilton Fish. He was a loyal friend of Seward, a constant correspondent of Weed, and a member of the inner circle of governing Whigs; he had been prominent as an Anti-Mason, satisfactory as a legislator, and impartial as a speaker of the Assembly; he was now recognised as a far-sighted, wise, and cautious politician. In guiding the convention to the selection of Hamilton Fish and George W. Patterson, it was admitted that Thurlow Weed's leadership vindicated his sagacity.

The political contest in New York, unlike that in the South and in some Western States, presented the novel feature of three powerful parties in battle array. The Free-soil faction was a strange mixture. Besides Barnburners, there were Conscience Whigs, Proviso Democrats, Land Reformers, Workingmen, and Abolitionists—a formidable combination of able and influential men who wielded the power of absolute disinterestedness, and who kept step with John Van Buren's trenchant and eloquent speeches which resounded through the State. Van Buren was the accepted leader, and in this campaign he reached the height of his reputation. His features were not striking, but in person he was tall, symmetrical, and graceful; and no one in the State could hold an audience with such delightful oratory and lofty eloquence.

The ablest Whig to oppose him was William H. Seward, who frequently followed him in localities where Whigs were likely to act with the Free-soil party. On the slavery question, Seward held views identical with those expressed by Van Buren; but he insisted that every Whig vote cast for the third party was only a negative protest against the slavery party. Real friends of emancipation must not be content with protests. They must act wisely and efficiently. "For myself," he declared, "I shall cast my suffrage for General Taylor and Millard Fillmore, freely and conscientiously, on precisely the same grounds on which I have hitherto voted."[382]

[Footnote 382: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 77.]

As in former presidential years, each party had its flags and banners, its drums and cannon, its bewildering variety of inscriptions and mottoes, and its multitude of speakers charging and countercharging inconsistencies and maladministration. The Whigs accused Cass with having printed two biographies, one for the South, in which he appeared as a slavery extensionist, and one for the North, in which he figured as a Wilmot Provisoist. To this accusation, Democrats retorted that the Whigs opposed annexation in the North and favoured it in the South; denounced the war and nominated its leading general; voted down the Wilmot Proviso in June, and upheld it in July.

In New York, New England, and in some parts of the West, the clear, comprehensive, ringing platform of the anti-slavery party had fixed the issue. Audiences became restless if asked to listen to arguments upon other topics. Opposition to slavery was, at last, respectable in politics. For the first time, none of his party deprecated Seward's advanced utterances upon this question, and from August to November he freely voiced his opinions. The series of professional achievements which began with the Freeman case was still in progress; but he laid them aside that he might pass through his own State into New England, and from thence through New Jersey, Delaware, Pennsylvania, into Ohio, where the result, as shown by the October election, was to be very close.

Seward was now in the fulness of his intellectual power. There was nothing sensational, nothing unfit in his speeches. He believed that the conscience of the people was a better guide than individual ambitions, and he inspired them with lofty desires and filled them with sound principles of action. "There are two antagonistic elements of society in America," said he, in his speech at Cleveland, "freedom and slavery. Freedom is in harmony with our system of government and with the spirit of the age, and is, therefore, passive and quiescent. Slavery is in conflict with that system, with justice, and with humanity, and is, therefore, organised, defensive, active, and perpetually aggressive. Freedom insists on the emancipation and elevation of labour. Slavery demands a soil moistened with tears and blood. These elements divide and classify the American people into two parties. Each of these parties has its court and sceptre. The throne of the one is amid the rocks of the Allegheny Mountains; the throne of the other is reared on the sands of South Carolina. One of these parties, the party of slavery, regards disunion as among the means of defence and not always the last to be employed. The other maintains the Union of the States, one and inseparable, now and forever, as the highest duty of the American people to themselves, to posterity, to mankind. It is written in the Constitution that five slaves shall count equal to three freemen as a basis of representation, and it is written also, in violation of the Divine Law, that we shall surrender the fugitive slave who takes refuge at our fireside from his relentless pursuers. 'What, then,' you say; 'can nothing be done for freedom because the public conscience is inert?' Yes, much can be done—everything can be done. Slavery can be limited to its present bounds; it can be ameliorated; it can and must be abolished, and you and I can and must do it."[383]

[Footnote 383: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 86.]

This presented an epitome of Seward's views when spoken without restraint. His friends thought them "bold" and his opponents denounced them as "most perverse and dogmatic," but, whether bold or perverse, he devoted the chief part of every speech to them. He was not without humour, man's highest gift, but he had more of humanity; he spoke seriously and solemnly, usually to grave, sober, reflecting men of all professions and parties; and, at the end of two hours, dismissed them as if from an evening church service. At Boston, a Whig member of Congress from Illinois spoke with him, principally upon the maladministration of the Democrats and the inconsistencies of Lewis Cass. After the meeting, while sitting in their hotel, the congressman, with a thoughtful air, said to Seward: "I have been thinking about what you said in your speech to-night. I reckon you are right. We have got to deal with this slavery question, and got to give much more attention to it hereafter than we have been doing."[384] This was Seward's first meeting with Abraham Lincoln. The former was then forty-seven years old, the latter thirty-nine.

[Footnote 384: Ibid., p. 80.]

In New York, the campaign could have but one outcome. The Free-soil faction divided the Democratic vote nearly by two, giving Van Buren 120,000, Cass 114,000, and Taylor 218,000. The returns for governor varied but slightly from these figures.[385] In the country at large Taylor secured one hundred and sixty-three electoral votes and Cass one hundred and twenty-seven. But, a Whig majority of one hundred and four on joint ballot in the Legislature, and the election of thirty-one out of thirty-four congressmen, showed the wreckage of a divided Democracy in New York. The Hunkers elected only six assemblymen; the Free-soilers secured fourteen. The Whigs had one hundred and eight. Returns from all the counties and cities in no wise differed. The Hunkers had been wiped out. If the Free-soilers did not get office, they had demonstrated their strength, and exulted in having routed their adversaries. Although Martin Van Buren was not to leave his retirement at Lindenwald, the brilliant son had avenged his father's wrongs by dashing Lewis Cass rudely and ruthlessly to the ground.

[Footnote 385: Hamilton Fish, 218,776; John A. Dix, 122,811; Reuben H. Walworth, 116,811; William Goodell, 1593.—Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]



CHAPTER XII

SEWARD SPLITS THE WHIG PARTY

1849-1850

The Legislature of 1849 became the scene of a contest that ended in a rout. John A. Dix's term as United States senator expired on March 4, and the fight for the succession began the moment the Whig members knew they had a majority.

William H. Seward's old enemies seemed ubiquitous. They had neither forgotten his distribution of patronage, nor forgiven his interest in slaves and immigrants. To make their opposition effective, John A. Collier became a candidate. Collier wanted to be governor in 1838, when Weed threw the nomination to Seward; and, although his election as comptroller in 1841 had restored friendly relations with Weed, he had never forgiven Seward. It added strength to the coalition, moreover, that Fillmore and Collier were now bosom friends. The latter's speech at Philadelphia had made the Buffalonian Vice President, and his following naturally favoured Collier. It was a noisy company, and, for a time, its opposition seemed formidable.

"Fillmore and Collier came down the river in the boat with me," wrote Seward from New York on November 16, 1848. "The versatile people were full of demonstrations of affection to the Vice President, and Mr. Collier divided the honours. The politicians of New York are engaged in plans to take possession of General Taylor before he comes to Washington. Weed is to be supplanted, and that not for his own sake but for mine."[386] As the days passed intrigue became bolder. Hamilton Fish, Washington Hunt, and other prominent members of the party, were offered the senatorship. "I wish you could see the letters I get," Hunt wrote to Weed. "If I wanted to excite your sympathy they would be sufficient. Some say Seward will be elected. More say neither Seward nor Collier will be chosen, but a majority are going for a third man by way of compromise, and my consent is invoked to be number three."[387] Then came the letter, purporting to be written by Seward, declaring that "Collier must be defeated, or our influence with the Administration will be curtailed. You must look to your members, and see the members from Cattaraugus, if possible. I think Patterson will take care of Chautauqua."[388] Out of this forgery grew an acrimonious manifesto from Collier, who professed to believe that Seward was giving personal attention to the work of making himself senator. In the midst of this violent and bitter canvass, Horace Greeley wrote one of his characteristic editorials. "We care not who may be the nominee," said the Tribune of January 24, 1849. "We shall gladly coincide in the fair expression of the will of the majority of the party, but we kindly caution those who disturb and divide us, that their conduct will result only in the merited retribution which an indignant people will visit upon those who prostitute their temporary power to personal pique or selfish purposes."

[Footnote 386: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 87.]

[Footnote 387: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 173.]

[Footnote 388: New York Herald, December 1, 1848.]

Seward was continuously in Baltimore and Washington, studying briefs that had accumulated in his long absence during the campaign; but Weed, the faithful friend, like a sentinel on the watch-tower, kept closely in touch with the political situation. "The day before the legislative caucus," wrote an eye-witness, "the Whig members of the Legislature gathered around the editor of the Evening Journal for counsel and advice. It resembled a President's levee. He remained standing in the centre of the room, conversing with those about him and shaking hands with new-comers; but there was nothing in his manner to indicate the slightest mystery or excitement so common with politicians."[389]

[Footnote 389: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 174.]

The Whig senators met in caucus on January 29, and by a vote of twelve to eleven decided to join the Assembly. Then the fight began. William S. Johnson, a Whig senator from New York City, declared that he would neither vote for Seward in caucus nor support him in the Legislature. "It would be equivalent," he continued, "to throwing a firebrand into the South and aiding in the dissolution of the Whig party and of the Union." Thereupon the eleven withdrew from further participation in the proceedings. When the caucus of the two houses convened, fourteen members declared it inexpedient to support either Seward or Collier; but an informal ballot gave Seward eighty-eight votes and Collier twelve, with twenty-two scattering. Three days later, on joint ballot, Seward received one hundred and twenty-one out of one hundred and thirty Whig votes. "We were always confident that the caucus could have but one result," said the Tribune, "and the lofty anticipations which the prospect of Seward's election has excited will not be disappointed."

Successful as Seward had been in his profession since leaving the office of governor, he was not entirely happy. "I look upon my life, busy as it is, as a waste," he wrote, in 1847. "I live in a world that needs my sympathies, but I have not even time nor opportunity to do good."[390] His warm and affectionate heart seemed to envy the strife and obloquy that came to champions of freedom; yet his published correspondence nowhere directly indicates a desire to return to public life. "You are not to suppose me solicitous on the subject that drags me so unpleasantly before the public," he wrote Weed on January 26, 1849, three days before the caucus. "I have looked at it in all its relations, and cannot satisfy myself that it would be any better for me to succeed than to be beaten."[391] This assumed indifference, however, was written with a feeling of absolute confidence that he was to succeed, a confidence that brought with it great content, since the United States Senate offered the "opportunity" for which he sighed in his despondent letter of 1847. On the announcement of his election, conveyed to him by wire at Washington, he betrayed no feeling except one of humility. "I tremble," he wrote his wife, "when I think of the difficulty of realising the expectations which this canvass has awakened in regard to my abilities."[392] To Weed, he added: "I recall with fresh gratitude your persevering and magnanimous friendship."[393]

[Footnote 390: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 56.]

[Footnote 391: Ibid., p. 97.]

[Footnote 392: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 98.]

[Footnote 393: Ibid., p. 99.]

From the outset, difficulties confronted the new senator. The question of limiting slavery excited the whole country, and one holding his views belonged in the centre of the struggle. But strife for office gave him more immediate embarrassment. Apprehensive of party discord, Thurlow Weed, at a dinner given the Vice President and Senator, had arranged for conferences between them upon important appointments within the State; but Seward's first knowledge of the New York custom-house appointments came to him in an executive session for their confirmation. Seward, as Lincoln afterward said, "was a man without gall," and he did not openly resent the infraction of the agreement; but when Weed, upon reaching Washington, discovered that Fillmore had the ear of the simple and confiding President, he quickly sought the Vice President. Fillmore received him coldly. From that moment began an estrangement between Weed and the Buffalo statesman which was to last until both were grown gray and civil war had obliterated differences of political sentiment. For twenty years, their intimacy had been uninterrupted and constantly strengthening. Even upon the slavery question their views coincided, and, although Fillmore chafed under his growing preference for Seward and the latter's evident intellectual superiority, he had exhibited no impatience toward Weed. But Fillmore was now Vice President, with aspirations for the Presidency, and he saw in Seward a formidable rival who would have the support of Weed whenever the Senator needed it. He rashly made up his mind, therefore, to end their relationship.

With Taylor, Weed was at his ease. The President remembered the editor's letter written in 1846, and what Weed now asked he quickly granted. When Weed complained, therefore, that the Vice President was filling federal offices with his own friends, the President dropped Fillmore and turned to the Senator for suggestions. Seward accepted the burden of looking after patronage. "I detest and loathe this running to the President every day to protest against this man or that,"[394] he wrote; but the President cheerfully responded to his requests. "If the country is to be benefited by our services," he said to the Secretary of the Treasury, "it seems to me that you and I ought to remember those to whose zeal, activity, and influence we are indebted for our places."[395]

[Footnote 394: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 113.]

[Footnote 395: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 175.]

While Weed employed his time in displacing Hunker office-holders with Whigs, the Democratic party was trying to reunite. It called for a bold hand. John Van Buren, with a courage born of genius, had struck it a terrible blow in the face of tremendous odds, the effect of which was as gratifying to the Barnburners as it was disastrous to the Hunkers. But, in 1849, the party professed to believe that a union of the factions would result in victory, since their aggregate vote in 1848 exceeded the Whig vote by sixteen thousand. It is difficult to realise the arguments which persuaded the Barnburners to rejoin their adversaries whom they had declared, in no measured terms, to be guilty of the basest conduct; but, after infinite labour, Horatio Seymour established constructive harmony and practical co-operation. "We are asked to compromise our principles," said John Van Buren. "The day of compromises is past; but, in regard to candidates for state offices, we are still a commercial people. We will unite with our late antagonists."[396]

[Footnote 396: H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 165.]

Seymour and Van Buren did not unite easily. From the first they were rivals. As an orator, Seymour was the more persuasive, logical, and candid—Van Buren the more witty, sarcastic, and brilliant. Seymour was conciliatory—Van Buren aggressive. Indeed, they had little in common save their rare mental and social gifts, and that personal magnetism which binds followers with hooks of steel. But they stood now at the head of their respective factions. When Van Buren, therefore, finally consented to join Seymour in a division of the spoils, the two wings of the party quickly coalesced in the fall of 1849 for the election of seven state officers. The Free-soil faction professed to retain its principles; and, by placing several Abolitionists upon the ticket, nine-tenths of that party also joined the combination. But the spirit of the Free-soiler was absent. The man whose genius and whose eloquence had been the most potent factor in discrediting the Hunkers now had no anti-slavery speeches to make and no anti-slavery resolutions to present. John Van Buren's identification with the great movement, which he prophesied would stand so strong and work such wonders, was destined, after he had avenged the insult to his father, to vanish like a breath. Nor did the coalition of Hunkers, Barnburners, and Abolitionists prove so numerous or so solid that it could sweep the State. It did, indeed, carry the Assembly by two majority, and with the help of a portion of the Anti-Renters, who refused to support their own ticket, it elected four minor state officers; but the Whigs held the Senate, and, with majorities ranging from fifteen hundred to five thousand, chose the comptroller, the secretary of state, and the treasurer. Washington Hunt, the popular Whig candidate for comptroller, led the ticket by nearly six thousand, a triumph that was soon to bring him higher honours.

The Whigs, however, were to have their day of trouble. The election of Taylor and Fillmore had fired the Southern heart with zeal to defend slavery. More than eighty members of Congress issued an address, drawn by John C. Calhoun, rebuking the agitation of the slavery question, insisting upon their right to take slaves into the territories, and complaining of the difficulty of recovering fugitives. The Virginia Legislature affirmed that the adoption and attempted enforcement of the Wilmot Proviso would be resisted to the last extremity, and that the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia would be a direct attack upon the institution of the Southern States. These resolutions were indorsed by Democratic conventions, approved at public meetings, and amplified by state legislatures. In Missouri, Tennessee, and Kentucky the feeling quickly reached fever heat; in the cotton States sentiment boldly favoured "A Southern Confederacy." Sectional interest melted party lines. "The Southern Whigs want the great question settled in such a manner as shall not humble and exasperate the South," said the New York Tribune; "the Southern Democrats want it so settled as to conduce to the extension of the power and influence of slavery."

In the midst of this intense southern feeling Henry Clay, from his place in the United States Senate, introduced the historic resolutions which bear his name, proposing an amicable adjustment of all questions growing out of the subject of slavery. This series of compromises was to admit California, establish territorial governments in the regions acquired from Mexico without provision for or against slavery, pay the debt and fix the western boundary of Texas, declare it inexpedient to abolish slavery in the District of Columbia, deny the right of Congress to obstruct the slave trade between States, and to enact a more stringent fugitive slave law. It was in January, 1850, that Clay opened the memorable debate upon these resolutions, which continued eight months and included Webster's great speech of the 7th of March. When the debate ended in September Zachary Taylor was dead, Millard Fillmore was President, a new Cabinet had been appointed, slavery remained undisturbed in the District of Columbia, Mexico and Utah had become territories open to slave-holders, and a new fugitive slave law bore the approval of the new Chief Executive. During these months the whole country had been absorbed in events at Washington. Private letters, newspapers, public meetings, and state legislatures echoed the speeches of the three distinguished Senators who had long been in the public eye, and who, it was asserted at the time, were closing their life work in saving the Union.

In this discussion, Daniel S. Dickinson favoured compromise; William H. Seward stood firmly for his anti-slavery convictions. The latter spoke on the 11th of March. He opposed the fugitive slave law because "we cannot be true Christians or real freemen if we impose on another a chain that we defy all human power to lay on ourselves;"[397] he declared for the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, "and if I shall be asked what I did to embellish the capital of my country, I will point to her freemen and say—these are the monuments of my munificence;" he antagonised the right to take slaves into new territories, affirming that the Constitution devoted the domain to union, to justice, and to liberty. "But there is a higher law than the Constitution," he said, "which regulates our authority over the domain, and devotes it to the same noble purposes." In treating of threats of disunion he looked with a prophet's eye fourteen years into the future. That vision revealed border warfare, kindred converted into enemies, onerous taxes, death on the field and in the hospital, and conscription to maintain opposing forces. "It will then appear that the question of dissolving the Union is a complex question; that it embraces the fearful issue whether the Union shall stand and slavery be removed by gradual, voluntary effort, and with compensation, or whether the Union shall be dissolved and civil war ensue, bringing on violent but complete and immediate emancipation. We are now arrived at that stage of our national progress when that crisis can be foreseen—when we must foresee it."[398]

[Footnote 397: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 126.]

[Footnote 398: Ibid., p. 127.]

A less fearless and determined nature must have been overwhelmed by the criticism, the censure, and the insulting sneers which this speech provoked. Southern feeling dominated the Senate chamber. Many northern men, sincerely desirous of limiting slavery, preferred giving up the Wilmot Proviso for the sake of peace. Thousands of Whigs regarded dissent from Clay and Webster, their time-honoured leaders, as bold and presumptuous. In reviewing Seward's speech, these people pronounced it pernicious, unpatriotic, and wicked, especially since "the higher law" theory, taken in connection with his criticism of the fugitive slave law, implied that a humane and Christian people could not or would not obey it. But the Auburn statesman resented nothing and retracted nothing. "With the single exception of the argument in poor Freeman's case," he wrote, "it is the only speech I ever made that contains nothing I could afford to strike out or qualify."[399]

[Footnote 399: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 129.]

But Seward's speech did not influence votes. Clay's compromises passed amidst the wildest outbursts of popular enthusiasm. They appealed to a majority of both the great parties as a final settlement of the slavery question. In New York and other cities throughout the State, flags were hoisted, salutes fired, joy bells rung, illuminations flamed at night, and speakers at mass-meetings congratulated their fellow citizens upon the wisdom of a President and a Congress that had happily averted the great peril of disunion.

These exhibitions of gratitude were engrossing the attention of the people when the Whig state convention met at Utica on the 26th of September, 1850. Immediately, the approval of Seward's course assumed supreme importance. Unusual excitement had attended the selection of delegates. The new administration became aggressive. No secret was made of its purpose to crush Thurlow Weed; and when the convention assembled, Hugh Maxwell, collector of the port of New York, and John Young, sub-treasurer, were there to control it. A test vote for temporary chairman disclosed sixty-eight Radicals and forty-one Conservatives present, but in the interest of harmony Francis Granger became the permanent president.

Granger was a man of honour and a man of intellect, whose qualities of fairness and fitness for public life have already been described. When he entered Harrison's Cabinet in 1841, as postmaster-general, the South classed him as an Abolitionist; when he left Congress in 1843, in the fulness of his intellectual strength, his home at Canandaigua became the centre of an admiring group of Whigs who preferred the lead of Clay and the conservative policy of Webster. He now appeared as an ally of President Fillmore. It was natural, perhaps, that in appointing a committee on resolutions, Granger should give advantage of numbers to his own faction, but the Radicals were amazed at the questionable action of his committee. It delayed its report upon the pretext of not being ready, and then, late in the evening, in the absence of many delegates, presented what purported to be a unanimous expression, in which Seward was left practically without mention. As the delegates listened in profound silence the majority became painfully aware that something was wanting, and, before action upon it could be taken, they forced an adjournment by a vote of fifty-six to fifty-one.

The next morning the Radicals exhibited a desire for less harmony and more justice. By a vote of seventy-three to forty-six the original resolutions were recommitted to an enlarged committee, and after nominating Washington Hunt for governor and George J. Cornwell for lieutenant-governor, substitute resolutions were adopted by a vote of seventy-four to forty-two. One difference between the original and the substitute centred in the organisation of new territories. The majority opposed any surrender or waiver of the exclusion of slavery in any act establishing a regular civil organisation; the minority thought that, since it was impossible to secure the Wilmot Proviso, an insistence upon which would prevent any territorial organisation, it would be better to organise them without it, relying upon nature and the known disposition of the inhabitants to follow the lead of California. This difference, however, could probably have been healed had the Radicals not insisted that "the thanks of the Whig party are especially due to William H. Seward for the signal ability and fidelity with which he sustained those beloved principles of public policy so long cherished by the Whigs of the Empire State, expressed in state and county conventions as well as in the votes and instructions of the state legislature." Upon this resolution the Conservatives demanded a roll call, and when its adoption, by the surprising vote of seventy-five to forty, was announced, the minority, amidst the wildest excitement, left the hall in a body, followed by Francis Granger, whose silver gray hair gave a name to the seceders. Their withdrawal was not a surprise. Like the secession of the Barnburners three years before, loud threats preceded action. Indeed, William A. Duer, the Oswego congressman, admitted travelling from Washington to Syracuse with instructions from Fillmore to bolt the approval of Seward. But the secession seemed to disturb only the Silver-Grays themselves, who now drafted an address to the Whigs of the State and called a new convention to assemble at Utica on October 17.

The Democrats in their state convention, which met at Syracuse on September 11, repeated the policy of conciliation so skilfully engineered in 1849 by Horatio Seymour. They received Barnburner delegates, they divided the offices, and they allowed John Van Buren to rule. It mattered not what were the principles of the captivating Prince and his followers so long as they accepted "the recent settlement by Congress of questions which have unhappily divided the people of these States." Thus the Free-soil Barnburners disappeared as a political factor. Some of them continued to avow their anti-slavery principles, but no one had the temerity to mention them in convention. Men deemed it politic and prudent to affect to believe that the slavery question, which had threatened to disturb the national peace, was finally laid at rest. The country so accepted it, trade and commerce demanded it, and old political leaders conceded it. In this frame of mind, delegates found it easy to nominate Horatio Seymour for governor and Sanford E. Church for lieutenant-governor. The next day the Abolitionists, tired of their union with Hunkers and Barnburners, nominated William L. Chaplin and Joseph Plumb.

The convention of the Silver-Grays, held at Utica in October, did not exalt its members. It was simply a protest. A lion-hearted man had presumed to voice his convictions, and, although the convention favoured exercising a liberal spirit of toleration toward the compromise measures, it refused to exercise such a spirit toward William H. Seward, or to tolerate him at all. It gave the President a flattering indorsement for his approval of the fugitive slave law, it accepted Washington Hunt as its nominee for governor, and it listened to several addresses, among them one from James O. Putnam of Buffalo; but the proceedings lacked the enthusiasm that springs from a clear principle, backed by a strong and resolute band of followers. The speech of Putnam, however, attracted wide attention. Putnam was a young man then, less than thirty-three years old, passionately devoted to Daniel Webster, and a personal friend of Millard Fillmore. As a speaker he was polished, smooth, and refined, and even when impassioned kept his passion well within conventional bounds. On this occasion his mellow and far-reaching voice, keyed to the pitch of sustained rhetoric, dropped his well-balanced and finely moulded sentences into the convention amidst hearty applause. He did not then see with the clearness of Seward's vision. He belonged rather to the more enlightened and intelligent conservatives who had begun to feel the ultimate disaster slavery must bring, and who desired that such disaster should be put off as long as possible; but the day was soon to dawn in which he would become a loyal supporter of the principles that were to be forever settled in the civil strife which Seward so vividly portrayed in the speech that created the Silver-Grays.

The recently adopted compromise did not become an issue in the New York campaign of 1850. If its opponents could not approve, they deemed silence wise. The followers of Fillmore in the up-state counties generally acted with the Seward men in support of Washington Hunt; but a great meeting, held at Castle Garden, near the close of the campaign, partially succeeded in uniting Democrats and Administration Whigs in New York City. A letter was read from Daniel Webster, calling upon all good citizens not to rekindle the flames of "useless and dangerous controversy;" resolutions favouring a vigorous enforcement of the fugitive slave law were adopted; and a coalition ticket with Seymour at its head was agreed upon. This meeting, called a great popular protest against demagoguery, opened an aggressive canvass to defeat Hunt and destroy the Syracuse indorsement of Seward by raising the cry that Seward Whigs preferred civil war to a peaceable enforcement of the fugitive slave law. Seward took no part in this campaign. After Congress adjourned on the last day of September, he devoted the short time between the sessions to his law business. His friends, however, were active. Weed attacked the Castle Garden meeting with a bitterness and vigour rarely disclosed in the columns of the Evening Journal, and Greeley poured one broadside after another into what he regarded as the miserable mismanagement, blundering, and confusion of the Administration.

While waiting the result of the election, people were startled into sadness by the sudden death of Samuel Young at the age of seventy-two. He had retired in usual health, but died during the night. His distinguished career, covering nearly two-score years, was characterised by strong prejudices, violent temper, and implacable resentments, which, kept him behind men of less aptitude for public service; but he was always a central figure in any assemblage favoured with his presence. He had a marvellous force of oratory. His, voice, his gestures, his solemn pauses, followed by lofty and sustained declamation, proved irresistible and sometimes overwhelming in their effect. But it was his misfortune to be an orator with jaundiced vision, who seemed not always to see that principles controlled oftener than rhetoric. Yet, he willingly walked on in his own wild, stormy way, apparently enjoying the excitement with no fear of danger. "In his heart there was no guile," said Horace Greeley; "in his face no dough."

It was several weeks after the election, before it was ascertained whether Seymour or Hunt had been chosen. Both were popular, and of about the same age. Washington Hunt seems to have devoted his life to an earnest endeavour to win everybody's good will. At this time Greeley thought him "capable without pretension," and "animated by an anxious desire to win golden opinions by deserving them." He had been six years in Congress, and, in 1849, ran far ahead of his ticket as comptroller. Horatio Seymour was no less successful in winning approbation. He had become involved in the canal controversy, but carefully avoided the slavery question. Greeley found it in his heart to speak of him as "an able and agreeable lawyer of good fortune and competent speaking talent, who would make a highly respectable governor." But 1850 was not Seymour's year. His associates upon the ticket were elected by several thousand majority, and day after day his own success seemed probable. The New York City combine gave him a satisfactory majority; in two or three Hudson river counties he made large gains; but the official count gave Hunt two hundred and sixty-two plurality,[400] with a safe Whig majority in the Legislature. The Whigs also elected a majority of the congressmen. "These results," wrote Thurlow Weed, "will encourage the friends of freedom to persevere by all constitutional means and through all rightful channels in their efforts to restrain the extension of slavery, and to wipe out that black spot wherever it can be done without injury to the rights and interests of others."[401]

[Footnote 400: Washington Hunt, 214,614; Horatio Seymour, 214,352.—Civil List, State of New York (1887), p. 166.]

[Footnote 401: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 189.]



CHAPTER XIII

THE WHIGS' WATERLOO

1850-1852

The Assembly of 1851 has a peculiar, almost romantic interest for New Yorkers. A very young man, full of promise and full of performance, the brilliant editor of a later day, the precocious politician of that day, became its speaker. Henry Jarvis Raymond was then in his thirty-first year. New York City had sent him to the Assembly in 1850, and he leaped into prominence the week he took his seat. He was ready in debate, temperate in language, quick in the apprehension of parliamentary rules, and of phenomenal tact. The unexcelled courtesy and grace of manner with which he dropped the measured and beautiful sentences that made him an orator, undoubtedly aided in obtaining the position to which his genius entitled him. But his political instincts, also, were admirable, and his aptness as an unerring counsellor in the conduct of complicated affairs always turned to the advantage of his party. There came a time, after the assassination of President Lincoln, when he made a mistake so grievous that he was never able to regain his former standing; when he was dropped from the list of party leaders; when his cordial affiliation with members of the Republican organisation ceased; when his removal from the chairmanship of the National Committee was ratified by the action of a state convention; but the sagacity with which he now commented upon what he saw and heard made the oldest members of the Assembly lean upon him. And when he came back to the Legislature in January, 1851, they put him in the speaker's chair.

Raymond seems never to have wearied of study, or to have found it difficult easily to acquire knowledge. He could read at three years of age; at five he was a speaker. In his sixteenth year he taught school in Genesee County, where he was born, wrote a Fourth of July ode creditable to one of double his years, and entered the University of Vermont. As soon as he reached an age to appreciate his tastes and to form a purpose, he began equipping himself for the career of a political journalist. He was not yet twenty-one when he made Whig speeches in the campaign of 1840 and gained employment with Horace Greeley on the New Yorker and a little later on the Tribune. "I never found another person, barely of age and just from his studies, who evinced so much and so versatile ability in journalism as he did," wrote Greeley. "Abler and stronger men I may have met; a cleverer, readier, more generally efficient journalist I never saw. He is the only assistant with whom I ever felt required to remonstrate for doing more work than any human brain and frame could be expected long to endure. His services were more valuable in proportion to their cost than those of any one who ever worked on the Tribune."[402] In 1843, when Raymond left the Tribune, James Watson Webb, already acquainted with the ripe intelligence and eager genius of the young man of twenty-three, thought him competent to manage the Courier and Enquirer, and in his celebrated discussion with Greeley on the subject of socialism he gave that paper something of the glory which twelve years later crowned his labours upon the New York Times.

[Footnote 402: Horace Greeley, Recollections of a Busy Life, pp. 138, 139.]

It was inevitable that Raymond should hold office. The readiness with which he formulated answers to arguments in the Polk campaign, his sympathy with the Free-soil movement, the canal policy, and the common school system, produced a marked impression upon the dawning wisdom of his readers. But it was near the end of his connection with the Courier before he yielded his own desires to the urgent solicitation of the Whigs of the ninth ward and went to the Assembly. He had not yet quarrelled with James Watson Webb. That came in the spring of 1851 when he refused to use his political influence as speaker against Hamilton Fish for United States senator and in favour of the owner of the Courier and Enquirer. His anti-slavery convictions and strong prejudices against the compromise measures of 1850 also rapidly widened the gulf between him and his superior; and when the break finally came he stepped from the speaker's chair into the editorial management of the New York Times, his own paper, pure in tone and reasonable in price, which was destined to weaken the Courier as a political organ, to rival the Tribune as a family and party journal, and to challenge the Herald as a collector of news.

The stormy sessions of the Legislature of 1851 needed such a speaker as Raymond. At the outset, the scenes and tactics witnessed at Seward's election to the Senate in 1849 were repeated in the selection of a successor to Daniel S. Dickinson, whose term expired on the 4th of March. Webb's candidacy was prosecuted with characteristic zeal. For a quarter of a century he had been a picturesque, aggressive journalist, with a record adorned with libel suits and duels—the result of pungent paragraphs and bitter personalities—making him an object of terror to the timid and a pistol target for the fearless. On one occasion, through the clemency of Governor Seward, he escaped a two years' term in state's prison for fighting the brilliant "Tom" Marshall of Kentucky, who wounded him in the leg, and it is not impossible that Jonathan Cilley might have wounded him in the other had not the distinguished Maine congressman refused his challenge because he was "not a gentleman." This reply led to the foolish and fatal fray between Cilley and William J. Graves, who took up Webb's quarrel.

Webb was known as the Apollo of the press, his huge form, erect and massive, towering above the heads of other men, while his great physical strength made him noted for feats of endurance and activity. As a young man he held a minor commission in the army, but in 1827, at the age of twenty-five, he resigned to become the editor of the Courier, which, in 1829, he combined with the Enquirer. For twenty years, under his management, this paper, first as a supporter of Jackson and later as an advocate of Whig policies, ranked among the influential journals of New York. After Raymond withdrew, however, it became the organ of the Silver-Grays, and began to wane, until, in 1860, it lapsed into the World.

Webb's chief title to distinction in political life was allegiance to his own principles regardless of the party with which he happened to be affiliated, and his fidelity to men who had shown him kindness. He followed President Jackson until the latter turned against the United States Bank, and he supported the radical Whigs until Clay, in 1849, defeated his confirmation for minister to Austria; but, to the last, he seems to have remained true to Seward, possibly because Seward kept him out of state's prison, although, in the contest for United States senator in 1851, Hamilton Fish was the candidate of the Seward Whigs. Fish had grown rapidly as governor. People formerly recognised him as an accomplished gentleman, modest in manners and moderate in speech, but his conduct and messages as an executive revealed those higher qualities of statesmanship that ranked him among the wisest public men of the State. Thurlow Weed had accepted rather than selected him for governor in 1848. "I came here without claims upon your kindness," Fish wrote on December 31, 1850, the last day of his term. "I shall leave here full of the most grateful recollections of your favours and good will."[403] This admission was sufficient to dishonour him with the Fillmore Whigs, and, although he became the caucus nominee for senator on the 30th of January, his opponents, marshalled by Fillmore office-holders in support of James Watson Webb, succeeded in deadlocking his election for nearly two months.[404]

[Footnote 403: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 190.]

[Footnote 404: "The Whigs held the Senate by only two majority, and when the day for electing a United States senator arrived, sixteen Whigs voted for Fish, and fifteen Democrats voted for as many different candidates, so that the Fish Whigs could not double over upon them. James W. Beekman, a Whig senator of New York City, who claimed that Fish had fallen too much under the control of Weed, voted for Francis Granger. Upon a motion to adjourn, Beekman voted 'yes' with the Democrats, creating a tie, which the lieutenant-governor broke by also voting in the affirmative. The Whigs then waited for a few weeks, but one morning, when two Democrats were in New York City, they sprung a resolution to go into an election, and, after an unbroken struggle of fourteen hours, Fish was elected. The exultant cannon of the victors startled the city from its slumbers, and convinced the Silver-Grays that the Woolly Heads still held the capitol."—H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 172.]

In the meantime, other serious troubles confronted the young speaker. The Assembly, pursuant to the recommendation of Governor Hunt, passed an act authorising a loan of nine million dollars for the immediate enlargement of the Erie canal. Its constitutionality, seriously doubted, was approved by Daniel Webster and Rufus Choate, and the Whigs, needing an issue for the campaign, forced the bill ahead until eleven Democratic senators broke a quorum by resigning their seats. The Whigs were scarcely less excited than the Democrats. Such a secession had never occurred before. Former legislators held the opinion that they were elected to represent and maintain the interests of their constituents—not to withdraw for the sake of indulging some petulant or romantic impulse because they could not have their own way. Two opposition senators had the good sense to take this view and remain at their post. Governor Hunt immediately called an extra session, and, in the campaign to fill the vacancies, six of the eleven seceders were beaten. Thus reinforced in the Senate, the Whig policy became the law; and, although, the Court of Appeals, in the following May, held the act unconstitutional, both parties got the benefit of the issue in the campaign of 1851.

In this contest the Whigs followed the lead of the Democrats in avoiding the slavery question. The fugitive slave law was absorbing public attention. The "Jerry rescue" had not occurred in Syracuse; nor had the killing of a slave-holder in a negro uprising on the border of an adjoining State advertised the danger of enforcing the law; yet the Act had not worked as smoothly as Fillmore's friends wished. It took ten days of litigation at a cost of more than the fugitive's value to reclaim a slave in New York City. Trustworthy estimates fixed the number of runaways in the free States at fifteen thousand, and a southern United States senator bitterly complained that only four or five had been recaptured since the law's enactment. Enough had been done, however, to inflame the people into a passion. Ralph Waldo Emerson declared the Act "a law which every one of you will break on the earliest occasion—a law which no man can obey, or abet the obeying, without loss of self-respect and forfeiture of the name of gentleman."[405] Seward did not hesitate to publish similar sentiments. "Christendom," he wrote, "might be searched in vain for a parallel to the provisions which make escape from bondage a crime, and which, under vigorous penalties, compel freemen to aid in the capture of slaves."[406] The Albany Evening Journal declared that "the execution of the fugitive slave law violently convulses the foundations of society. Fugitives who have lived among us for many years cannot be seized and driven off as if they belonged to the brute creation. The attempt to recover such fugitives will prove abortive."[407]

[Footnote 405: J.E. Cabot, Life of Emerson, p. 578. Emerson's address at Concord, May 3, 1851.]

[Footnote 406: F.W. Seward, Life of W.H. Seward, Vol. 2, p. 163.]

[Footnote 407: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 185.]

It is impossible to read these expressions without believing that they were written under the inspiration of genuine emotion, and that so long as such conditions continued men of sentiment could think of little else. Danger to the Union, at least assumed danger, could not in any way soften their hearts or change their purposes. Yet the state conventions which met in Syracuse on September 10 and 11, 1851, talked of other things. The Democrats nominated a ticket divided between Hunkers and Barnburners; and, after condemning the Whig management of the canals as lavish, reckless, and corrupt, readopted the slavery resolutions of the previous year. The Whigs likewise performed their duty by making up a ticket of Fillmore and inoffensive Seward men, pledging the party to the enlargement of the Erie canal. Thus it was publicly announced that slavery should be eliminated from the thought and action of parties.

This policy of silence put the Whigs under painful restraint. The rescue of a fugitive at Syracuse by a band of resolute men, led by Gerrit Smith and Samuel J. May, and the killing of a slave-owner at Christiana, Pennsylvania, while attempting to reclaim his property, seriously disturbed the consciences of men who thought as did Emerson and Seward; but not a word appeared in Whig papers about the great underlying question which persistently forced itself on men's thoughts. Greeley wrote of the tariff and the iron trade; Seward spent the summer in Detroit on professional engagements; and Weed, whose great skill had aided in successfully guiding the canal loan through a legislative secession, continued to urge that policy as the key to the campaign as well as to New York's commerce. But after the votes were counted the Whigs discovered that they had played a losing game. Two minor state officers out of eight, with a tie in the Senate and two majority in the Assembly, summed up their possessions. The defeat of George W. Patterson for comptroller greatly distressed his friends, and the loss of the canal board, with all its officers, plunged the whole Whig party into grief. Several reasons for this unexpected result found advocates in the press. There were evidences of infidelity in some of the up-state counties, especially in the Auburn district, where Samuel Blatchford's law partnership with Seward had defeated him for justice of the Supreme Court; but the wholesale proscription in New York City by Administration or "Cotton Whigs," as they were called, fully accounted for the overthrow. It was taken as a declaration of war against Sewardism. "The majorities against Patterson and his defeated associates," said the Tribune, in its issue of November 20, "imply that no man who is recognised as a friend of Governor Seward and a condemner of the fugitive slave law must be run on our state ticket hereafter, or he will be beaten by the Cotton influence in this city." Hamilton Fish took a similar view. "A noble, glorious party has been defeated—destroyed—by its own leaders," he wrote Weed. "Webster has succeeded better under Fillmore than he did under Tyler in breaking up the Whig organisation and forming a third party. I pity Fillmore. Timid, vacillating, credulous, unjustly suspicious when approached by his prejudices, he has allowed the sacrifice of that confiding party which has had no honours too high to confer upon him. It cannot be long before he will realise the tremendous mistake he has made."[408]

[Footnote 408: Thurlow Weed Barnes, Life of Thurlow Weed, Vol. 2, p. 196.]

What Hamilton Fish said the great majority of New York Whigs thought, and in this frame of mind they entered the presidential campaign of 1852. Fillmore, Scott, and Webster were the candidates. Fillmore had not spared the use of patronage to further his ambition. It mattered not that the postmaster at Albany was the personal friend of Thurlow Weed, or that the men appointed upon the recommendation of Seward were the choice of a majority of their party, the proscription extended to all who disapproved the Silver-Grays' bolt of 1850, or refused to recognise their subsequent convention at Utica. Under these circumstances thirst for revenge as well as a desire to nominate a winning candidate controlled the selection of presidential delegates; and in the round-up seven favoured Fillmore, two preferred Webster, while twenty-four supported Scott. Naturally the result was a great shock to Fillmore. The Silver-Grays had been growing heartily sick of their secession, and if they needed further evidence of its rashness the weakness of their leader in his home State furnished it.

Fillmore's strength proved to be chiefly in the South. His vigorous execution of the fugitive slave law had been more potent than his unsparing use of patronage; and when the Whig convention assembled at Baltimore on June 16 the question whether that law should be declared a finality became of supreme importance. Fillmore could not stand on an anti-slavery platform, and a majority of the New Yorkers refused their consent to any sacrifice of principle. But, in spite of their protest, the influence of a solid southern delegation, backed by the marvellous eloquence of Rufus Choate, forced the passage of a resolution declaring that "the compromise acts, the act known as the fugitive slave law included, are received and acquiesced in by the Whig party of the United States as a settlement in principle and substance of the dangerous and exciting questions which they embrace. We insist upon their strict enforcement; and we deprecate all further agitation of the question thus settled, as dangerous to our peace, and will discountenance all efforts to continue or renew such agitation whenever, wherever, or however the attempt may be made." A roll call developed sixty-six votes in the negative, all from the North, and one-third of them from New York.

This was a Fillmore-Webster platform, and the first ballot gave them a majority of the votes cast, Fillmore having 133, Webster 29, Scott 131. The number necessary to a choice was 147. The activity of the Fillmore delegates, therefore, centred in an effort to concentrate the votes of the President and his secretary of state. Both were in Washington, their relations were cordial, and an adjournment of the convention over Sunday gave abundant opportunity to negotiate. When it became manifest that Webster's friends would not go to Fillmore, an extraordinary effort was made to bring the President's votes to Webster. This was agreeable to Fillmore, who placed a letter of withdrawal in the hands of a Buffalo delegate to be used whenever he deemed it proper. But twenty-two Southern men declined to be transferred, while the most piteous appeals to the Scott men of New York met with cold refusals. They professed any amount of duty to their party, but as regards the Fillmore combine they were implacable. They would listen to no terms of compromise while their great enemy remained in the field. Meantime, the Scott managers had not been asleep. In the contest over the platform, certain Southern delegates had agreed to vote for Scott whenever Fillmore reached his finish, provided Scott's friends supported the fugitive slave plank; and these delegates, amidst the wildest excitement, now began changing their votes to the hero of Lundy's Lane. On the fifty-third ballot, the soldier had twenty-six majority, the vote standing: Scott, 159; Fillmore, 112; Webster, 21.

The prophecy of Hamilton Fish was fulfilled. Fillmore now realised, if never before, "the tremendous mistakes he had made." Upon his election as Vice President, and especially after dreams of the White House began to dazzle him, he seemed to sacrifice old friends and cherished principles without a scruple. Until then, the Buffalo statesman had been as pronounced upon the slavery question as Seward; and after he became President, with the tremendous influence of Daniel Webster driving him on, it was not believed that he would violate the principles of a lifetime by approving a fugitive slave law, revolting to the rapidly growing sentiment of justice and humanity toward the slave. But, unlike Webster, the President manifested no feeling of chagrin or disappointment over the result at Baltimore. Throughout the campaign and during the balance of his term of office he bore himself with courage and with dignity. Indeed, his equanimity seemed almost like the fortitude of fatalism. No doubt, he was sustained by the conviction that the compromise measures had avoided civil war, and by the feeling that if he had erred, Clay and Webster had likewise erred; but he could have had no presentiment of the depth of the retirement to which he was destined. He was to reappear, in 1856, as a presidential candidate of the Americans; and, after civil war had rent the country in twain, his sympathy for the Union was to reveal itself early and with ardour. But the fugitive slave law, which, next to treason itself, had become the most offensive act during the ante-war crisis, filled the minds of men with a growing dislike of the one whose pen gave it life, and, in spite of his high character, his long public career, and his eminence as a citizen, he was associated with Pierce and Buchanan, who, as Northern men, were believed to have surrendered to Southern dictation.[409]

[Footnote 409: "When Fillmore withdrew from the presidential office, the general sentiment proclaimed that he had filled the place with ability and honour. He was strictly temperate, industrious, orderly, and of an integrity above suspicion. If Northern people did not approve the fugitive slave law, they at least looked upon it with toleration. It is quite true, however, that after-opinion has been unkind to Fillmore. The judgment on him was made up at a time when the fugitive slave law had become detestable, and he was remembered only for his signature and vigorous execution of it."—James F. Rhodes, History of the United States, Vol. 1, pp. 297, 301.]

In the national convention at Baltimore, which met June 1, 1852, the New York Democrats were likewise destined to suffer by their divisions. Lewis Cass, James Buchanan, and Stephen A. Douglas were the leading candidates; though William L. Marcy and Daniel S. Dickinson also had presidential ambitions. Marcy was a man of different mould from Dickinson.[410] With great mental resources, rare administrative ability, consummate capacity in undermining enemies, and an intuitive sagacity in the selection of friends, Marcy was an opponent to be dreaded. After the experiences of 1847 and 1848, he had bitterly denounced the Barnburners, refusing even to join Seymour in 1849 in his heroic efforts to reunite the party; but when the Barnburners, influenced by the Utica statesman, began talking of him for President in 1852 he quickly put himself in accord with that wing of his party. Instantly, this became a call to battle. The Hunkers, provoked at his apostacy and encouraged by the continued distrust of many Barnburners, made a desperate effort, under the leadership of Dickinson, to secure a majority of the delegates for Cass. The plastic hand of Horatio Seymour, however, quickly kneaded the doubting Barnburners into Marcy advocates; and when the contest ended the New York delegation stood twenty-three for Marcy and thirteen for Cass.

[Footnote 410: "It was certain that Mr. Dickinson could not carry New York.... Governor Marcy was strongly urged in many quarters, and it was thought the State might be carried by him; but many were of the opinion that his friends kept his name prominently before the public with the hope of obtaining a cabinet appointment for him and thus securing the influence of that section of the New York Democracy to which he belonged. This was precisely the result that followed."—Morgan Dix, Memoirs of John A. Dix, Vol. 1, p. 266.]

Dickinson, who had been a steadfast friend of the South, relied with confidence upon Virginia and other Southern States whenever success with Cass seemed impossible. On the other hand, Marcy expected a transfer of support from Buchanan and Douglas if the break came. On the first ballot Cass had 116, Buchanan 93, Douglas 20, and Marcy 27; necessary to a choice, 188. As chairman of the New York delegation, Horatio Seymour held Marcy's vote practically intact through thirty-three ballots; but, on the thirty-fourth, he dropped to 23, and Virginia cast its fifteen votes for Dickinson, who, up to that time, had been honoured only with the vote of a solitary delegate. In the midst of some applause, the New Yorker, who was himself a delegate, thanked his Virginia friends for the compliment, but declared that his adherence to Cass could not be shaken.[411] Dickinson had carefully arranged for this vote. The day before, in the presence of the Virginia delegation, he had asked Henry B. Stanton's opinion of his ability to carry New York. "You or Marcy or any man nominated can carry New York," was the laconic reply. Dickinson followed Stanton out of the room to thank him for his courtesy, but regretted he did not confine his answer to him alone. After Virginia's vote Dickinson again sought Stanton's opinion as to its adherence. "It is simply a compliment," was the reply, "and will leave you on the next ballot," which it did, going to Franklin Pierce. "Dickinson's friends used to assert," continued Stanton, "that he threw away the Presidency on this occasion. I happened to know better. He never stood for a moment where he could control the Virginia vote—the hinge whereon all was to turn."[412]

[Footnote 411: "I could not consent to a nomination here without incurring the imputation of unfaithfully executing the trust committed to me by my constituents—without turning my back on an old and valued friend. Nothing that could be offered me—not even the highest position in the Government, the office of President of the United States—could compensate me for such a desertion of my trust."—Daniel S. Dickinson, Letters and Speeches, Vol. 1, p. 370.]

[Footnote 412: H.B. Stanton, Random Recollections, p. 181.]

In the meantime Marcy moved up to 44. It had been evident for two days that the favourite candidates could not win, and for the next thirteen ballots, amidst the greatest noise and confusion, the convention sought to discover the wisest course to pursue. Seymour endeavoured to side-track the "dark horse" movement by turning the tide to Marcy, whose vote kept steadily rising. When, on the forty-fifth ballot, he reached 97, the New York delegation retired for consultation. Seymour at once moved that the State vote solidly for Marcy; but protests fell so thick, exploding like bombshells, that he soon withdrew the motion. This ended Marcy's chances.[413] On the forty-ninth ballot, North Carolina started the stampede to Pierce, who received 282 votes to 6 for all others. Later in the day, the convention nominated William R. King of Alabama for Vice President, and adopted a platform, declaring that "the Democratic party of the Union will abide by, and adhere to, a faithful execution of the acts known as the compromise measures settled by the last Congress—the act for reclaiming fugitive slaves from service of labour included; which act, being designed to carry out an express provision of the Constitution, cannot with fidelity thereto be repealed, nor so changed as to destroy or impair its efficiency."

[Footnote 413: "Marcy held the war portfolio under Polk, but his conduct of the office had not added to his reputation, for it had galled the Administration to have the signal victories of the Mexican War won by Whig generals, and it was currently believed that the War Minister had shared in the endeavour to thwart some of the plans of Scott and Taylor."—James F. Rhodes, History of the United States, Vol. 1, pp. 246-7.