From the moment Tompkins became governor in 1807 the strongest ambition of his mind was success in the great game of politics; and, although never a good hater, his capacity for friendship depended upon whether the success of his own career was endangered by the association. Having laid Clinton in the dust, his eye rested upon John Armstrong, who had recently won the appointment of secretary of war. Armstrong had been recalled from Paris at the request of Napoleon, just in time to get in the way of both Clinton and Tompkins. At first he was a malcontent, grumbling at Madison, and condemning the conduct of public affairs generally; but, after the declaration of war, he supported the Administration, and, on July 6, 1812, to the surprise and indignation of Clinton, he accepted a brigadiership, with command of New York City and its defences. Then came the period of danger and urgency following the surrender of Detroit, and Armstrong, on the 6th of February, 1813, to the great embarrassment of Tompkins, obtained quick promotion to the head of the war department.

There seems to have been no reason why Tompkins should have harboured the feeling of rivalry toward Armstrong that he cherished for Clinton. The former was simply a pretentious occupier of high places, without real ability for great accomplishment. His little knowledge of the theory and practice of war was learned on the staff of General Gates, who, Bancroft says, "had no fitness for command and wanted personal courage." It was while Armstrong was dwelling in the tent of this political, intriguing adventurer, that he wrote the celebrated "Newburgh Letters," stigmatised by Washington. These events, coupled with his want of scruples and known capacity for intrigue and indolence, made him an object of such distrust that the Senate, in spite of his social and political connections, barely confirmed him.

Could Tompkins, looking two years into the future, have foreseen Armstrong passing into disgraceful retirement after the capture of the city of Washington, he might easily have dismissed all rivalry from his mind; but just now the two men who seemed to stand most in his way were Armstrong and Spencer. He thought Spencer in too close and friendly alliance with Armstrong, and that Armstrong, whose strength in the State greatly depended upon Spencer's influence, was the only obstacle in his path to the White House. Thus there arose in his mind a sentiment of rivalry for Armstrong, and a strong feeling of distrust and dislike for Spencer. The latter, who now possessed little more real liking for Tompkins than Clinton did, soon understood the Governor's feeling toward him; and he also learned that Van Buren, with an intellect for organisation and control far superior to anything the Republicans of the State had heretofore known, had come into the political game to stay.

By phenomenal luck, DeWitt Clinton's good fortune still continued to attend him. In April, 1813, the Federalists had again carried the Assembly, and, although without senators in the middle and western districts to serve upon the Council of Appointment, Clinton found a friend in Henry A. Townsend, who answered the purpose of a Federalist. Townsend would support Jonas Platt for a judgeship if Clinton was retained as mayor.

Townsend had come into the Senate in 1810 as a Clinton Republican, but his brief legislative career had not been as serene as a summer's day. He fell out with Tompkins and Spencer when he fell in with Thomas and Southwick, and whether or not the favours distributed by the Bank of America actually became a part of his assets, the bank's opponents took such violent exception to his vote that poor Townsend had little to hope for from that faction of his party. It was commonly believed at the time, therefore, that a desire to please Clinton and possibly to gain the favour of Federalists in the event of their future success, influenced him to support Platt, conditional on the retention of Clinton. It is quite within the range of probability that some such motive quickened his instinct for revenge and self-preservation, although it led to an incident that must have caused Clinton keen regret and mental anguish.

Townsend's Republican colleague in the Council was none other than Morgan Lewis, who saw an opportunity of creating trouble by nominating Richard Riker as an opposing candidate to Platt. Tompkins had probably something to do with making this nomination—or, at all events, with giving his friend Lewis the idea of bringing it forward just then. Surely, they thought, Clinton would reverence Riker, who acted as second in the Swartout duel and recently headed the committee to promote his election to the Presidency. Clinton felt the sting of his enemies. There was a time when Clinton had supported Tompkins against Lewis; now Lewis, in supporting Tompkins against Clinton, was thrusting the latter through with a two-edged knife; for if Townsend voted for Riker, the Federalists would drop Clinton; if he voted for Platt, Riker would drop him. In vain did Clinton wait for Riker to suggest some avenue of escape. The plucky second wanted a judgeship which meant years of good living, as much as Clinton wanted the mayoralty that might be lost in another year. Clinton had not yet drunk the dregs of the bitter cup. False friends and their unpaid security debts were still to bankrupt him; but he had already seen enough to know that the setting sun is not worshipped. Under these circumstances his friendship for Riker was not strong enough to induce him to throw away his last chance of holding the mayoralty and its fat fees; and so when Townsend voted for Platt, Riker's affection for Clinton turned to hate.



CHAPTER XX

A GREAT WAR GOVERNOR

1812-1815

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXI

CLINTON OVERTHROWN

1815

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXII

CLINTON'S RISE TO POWER

1815-1817

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXIII

BUCKTAIL AND CLINTONIAN

1817-1819

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XXIV

RE-ELECTION OF RUFUS KING

1819-1820

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

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

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