It is one of the tragedies of history that in the procession of events, the accumulation of incidents, year by year and generation by generation, famous men of any period so rapidly disappear.
At the close of the Civil War there were at least a score of generals in the North, and as many in the South, whose names were household words. About fifty-five years have passed since the war closed, and the average citizen knows only two of them—Grant and Lee.
One of the last acts of General Grant was to tender to Senator Conkling the position of chief justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. Conkling had gained from the senatorship and the leadership of his party a great reputation, to which subsequent service in the Senate could add little or nothing. He was in his early forties, in the prime of his powers, and he would have had before him, as chief justice of this great court, a long life of usefulness and distinction.
Conkling was essentially an advocate, and as an advocate not possessing the judicial temperament. While there was a great surprise that he declined this wonderful opportunity, we can see now that the environment and restrictions of the position would have made it impossible for this fiery and ambitious spirit. It was well known that General Grant, so far as he could influence the actions of the national Republican convention, was in favor of Senator Conkling as his successor. The senator's friends believed, and they made him believe, that the presidency was within his grasp.
When the national convention met it was discovered that the bitterness between the two leaders, Blaine and Conkling, made harmony impossible. The bitterness by that time was on Conkling's side against Blaine. With the latter's make-up, resentment could not last very long. It is an interesting speculation what might have happened if these two leaders had become friends. It is among the possibilities that both might have achieved the great object of their ambitions and been presidents of the United States.
The outstanding feature of that convention in the history of those interesting gatherings was the speech of Colonel Robert G. Ingersoll, nominating Mr. Blaine. In its effect upon the audience, in its reception by the country, and by itself as an effort of that kind, it stands unprecedented and unequalled.
As usual in popular conventions, where the antagonism of the leaders and the bitterness of their partisanship threatens the unity of the party, the result was the nomination of a "dark horse," and the convention closed its labors by presenting to the country General Rutherford B. Hayes.
President Hayes, although one of the most amiable, genial, and companionable of our presidents, with every quality to attach men to him and make warm friendships, was, nevertheless, one of the most isolated. He inherited all the business troubles, economic disorganization, and currency disturbances which grew out of the panic of 1873. He was met with more bankruptcy than had ever occurred in our business history.
With rare courage and the most perfect good nature, he installed essential reforms, which, in the then condition of party organization and public sentiment, practically offended everybody. He threw the extreme radicals of his party into a frenzy of rage by wiping out the "carpet-bag" governments and restoring self-government for the South. He inaugurated civil-service reform, but in doing so antagonized most of the senators and members of the House.
When he found that the collector of the port of New York, Chester A. Arthur, and the surveyor, Alonzo B. Cornell, were running their offices with their vast patronage on strictly machine lines, and that this had the general approval of party leaders, he removed them and appointed for their successors General Edwin A. Merritt and Silas W. Burt, with instructions to remove no one on account of politics, and to appoint no one except for demonstrated efficiency for the place. He pursued the same policy in the Internal Revenue and Post-Office Departments. This policy threatened the primacy of the Conkling machine.
President Hayes had a very strong Cabinet. The secretary of state, William M. Evarts, and the secretary of the treasury, John Sherman, were two of the ablest men in the country. Evarts was the leader of the national bar, and in crystallized mentality had no equal in the profession or outside of it. Sherman was the foremost and best-informed economist, and also a great statesman. In close consultation with Sherman, Hayes brought about the resumption of specie payment. The "green-backers," who were for unlimited paper, and the silver men, who were for unlimited coinage of silver, and who were very numerous, joined the insurgent brigade.
While Mr. Hayes retired from the presidency by what might be called unanimous consent, he had created conditions which made possible the success of his party in 1880.
It was a refreshing experience to meet the president during these troublous times. While everybody else was excited, he was perfectly calm. While most of the great men at the Capitol were raging, he, at the other end of the avenue, was placid and serene. He said once to me: "It is a novel experience when you do what you think right and best for the country to have it so generally criticised and disapproved. But the compensation is that you expect antagonism and disapproval and would think something was the matter with your decisions if you did not receive them."
The general abuse to which he was subjected from so many sources affected the public's view of him. After he had left the presidency he told me that he thought it was the duty of an ex-president to utilize the prestige which belonged to the office in the aid of education. "I have found," he said, "that it helps enormously in colleges and schools to have lectures, lessons, etc., in history and patriotism, and behind them the personality of an ex-president of the United States."
As an illustration of how distinguished men, when out of power, no longer interest our people, I remember I met Mr. Hayes one day in front of a fruit display of a well-known grocery establishment, and after greeting said to the groceryman: "That is ex-President Hayes. Don't you want to meet him?" The groceryman replied: "I am not interested in him, but I have the finest collection of pears in the city and want to sell you some."
The Capitol was full of the rich and racy characterizations, epigrams, and sarcasms which Senator Conkling was daily pouring out upon President Hayes, and especially Secretary Evarts. By all the rules of senatorial courtesy in those machine days, a member of the Cabinet from New York should have been a friend of its United States senator. Mr. Evarts was too big a man to be counted in any other class or category except his own. Of course, all these criticisms were carried to both the president and the secretary of state. The president never mentioned them, and I never heard Evarts, though I met him frequently, make any reply but once.
Dining with Mr. Evarts, who entertained charmingly, a very distinguished English jurist among the guests, here on a special mission, said: "Mr. Secretary, I was at the Senate to-day and heard Senator Conkling speaking. His magnificent personal appearance, added to his fine oratory, must make him one of the most formidable advocates at your bar and in your courts." The English judge thought, of course, that Mr. Evarts, as the leader of the American Bar and always in the courts, would know every lawyer of distinction. Mr. Evarts dryly replied: "I never saw Mr. Conkling in court."
It is always dangerous to comment or narrate a racy story which involves the personal affliction of anybody. Dining with Mr. Evarts one night was also a very distinguished general of our Civil War, who had been an important figure in national politics. He was very curious to know about Mr. Tilden, and especially as to the truth of a report that Mr. Tilden had a stroke of paralysis, and appealed to me, as I was just from New York. I narrated a story which was current at the time that Mr. Tilden had denied the report by saying to a friend: "They say I cannot lift my left hand to my head." He then put his right hand under the left elbow and shot the left one easily up to his face and said: "See there, my left has reached its goal."
I saw that Mr. Evarts was embarrassed at the anecdote and discovered afterwards that the distinguished guest had recently had a similar stroke on his left side and could propel his left arm and hand only with the assistance of his right.
My old bogie of being put into office arose again in the senatorial election of 1882. The legislature, for the first time in a generation, was entirely leaderless. The old organization had disappeared and a new one had not yet crystallized.
Mr. Evarts was anxious to be senator, and I pledged him my support. Evarts was totally devoid of the arts of popular appeal. He was the greatest of lawyers and the most delightful of men, but he could not canvass for votes. Besides, he was entirely independent in his ideas of any organization dictation or control, and resented both. He did not believe that a public man should go into public office under any obligations, and resented such suggestions.
A large body of representative men thought it would be a good thing for the country if New York could have this most accomplished, capable, and brilliant man in the United States Senate. They urged him strongly upon the legislature, none of whose members knew him personally, and Mr. Evarts would not go to Albany.
The members selected a committee to come down to New York and see Mr. Evarts. They went with the idea of ascertaining how far he would remember with gratitude those who elected him. Their visit was a miserable failure. They came in hot indignation to my office and said they did not propose to send such a cold and unsympathetic man as their representative to Washington and earnestly requested my consent to their nominating me at the caucus the next morning.
The committee telephoned to Albany and received the assent of every faction of their party to this proposition. Then they proposed that when the caucus met, Mr. Evarts, of course, should receive complimentary speeches from his friends. Meanwhile others would be nominated, and then a veteran member, whom they designated, should propose me in the interest of harmony and the union of the party, whereat the sponsors of the other candidate would withdraw their man, and I be nominated by acclamation. My answer was a most earnest appeal for Mr. Evarts. Then Mr. Evarts's friends rallied to his support and he was elected.
I place Mr. Evarts in the foremost rank as a lawyer, a wit, and a diplomat. He tried successfully the most famous cases of his time and repeatedly demonstrated his remarkable genius. As a general railway counsel and, therefore, as an administrator in the retaining of distinguished counsels, I met with many of the best men at the bar, but never any with such a complete and clarified intellect as William M. Evarts. The mysteries of the most complicated cases seemed simple, the legal difficulties plain, and the solution comprehensible to everybody under his analysis.
Mr. Evarts was the wittiest man I ever met. It is difficult to rehabilitate in the sayings of a wit the complete flavor of the utterance. It is easier with a man of humor. Evarts was very proud of his efforts as a farmer on his large estate in Vermont. Among his prizes was a drove of pigs. He sent to Chief Justice Morrison R. Waite a copy of his eulogy on Chief Justice Salmon P. Chase, Waite's predecessor, and at the same time a ham, saying in his letter: "My dear Chief Justice, I send you to-day one of my prize hams and also my eulogy on Chief Justice Chase, both the products of my pen."
The good things Mr. Evarts said would be talked of long after a dinner. I remember on one occasion his famous partner, Mr. Choate, who was a Harvard man, while Evarts was a graduate from Yale, introduced Mr. Evarts by saying that he was surprised that a Yale man, with all the prejudices of that institution against the superior advantages of Harvard, should have risked the coats of his stomach at a Harvard dinner. Mr. Evarts replied: "When I go to a Harvard dinner I always leave the coats of my stomach at home."
Mr. Evarts once told me when I was visiting him at his country place that an old man whom he pointed out, and who was sawing wood, was the most sensible philosopher in the neighborhood. Mr. Evarts said: "He is always talking to himself, and I asked him why." His answer was: "I always talk to myself in preference to talking to anybody else, because I like to talk to a sensible man and to hear a man of sense talk."
The triumph of the Democrats in Maine in the September election, 1880, had a most depressing effect upon the Republicans and an equally exhilarating one upon the Democrats. The paralyzing effect of the simple utterances in popular elections almost makes one think that every candidate should follow Matthew Quay's famous advice to his candidate for governor: "Beaver, keep your mouth shut."
In the campaign when General Winfield Scott ran for the presidency, he began an important communication by stating that he would answer as soon as he had taken a hasty plate of soup. That "hasty plate of soup" appeared in cartoons, was pictured on walls, etc., in every form of ridicule, and was one of the chief elements of his defeat.
When towards the close of the canvass Garfield had succeeded in making the tariff the leading issue, General Hancock was asked what were his views on the tariff. (You must remember that the general was a soldier and had never been in politics.) The general answered: "The tariff was a purely local issue in Pennsylvania." The whole country burst into a gale of laughter, and Hancock's campaign had a crack which was never mended.
There never were two more picturesque opponents than General Garfield and General Hancock. Hancock was the idol of the Army of the Potomac, and everybody remembered McClellan's despatch after one of the bloodiest battles of the Peninsula campaign: "Hancock was superb to-day." He was an exceedingly handsome man and one of the finest figures in uniform in the whole country.
General Garfield also presented a very fine appearance. He was a large man, well-proportioned, and with very engaging manners. He also had an unusual faculty for attractive public addresses, not only on politics, but many subjects, especially education and patriotism. I never can forget when the news of Lincoln's assassination reached New York. The angry and dangerous crowd which surged up and down Broadway and through Wall Street threatened to wreck the banking and business houses which were supposed to be sympathetic with the Confederates.
Garfield suddenly appeared on the balcony of the Custom House in Wall Street and succeeded in stilling the crowd. With a voice that reached up to Trinity Church he urged calmness in thought and action, deprecated any violence, and then, in an impassioned appeal to hopefulness notwithstanding the tragedy, exclaimed impulsively: "God reigns and the Republic still lives."
I was requested by some friends to visit General Garfield and see how he felt on the political situation, which during the campaign of 1880 did not look hopeful. I took the next train, spent the day with him, and was back in New York the following day.
When I left the train at Cleveland in the morning the newsboys pushed at me a Cleveland Democratic daily, with a rooster's picture covering the whole front page, and the announcement that the Democrats had carried Maine. The belief was universal then that "as Maine goes so goes the Union," and whichever party carried that State in the September election, the country would follow in the presidential contest in November.
I took the next train to Mentor, the residence of General Garfield. I found at the station a score or more of country wagons and carriages waiting for passengers. I said to the farmers: "Will any of you take me up to General Garfield's residence?" One of them answered: "We will all take you up this morning, but if you had come yesterday you would have had to wait your turn."
It was a startling instance of the variableness of public opinion. Delegations from everywhere, on their way to extend greetings to the candidate, had read the morning papers and turned back, deciding not to go.
I found Garfield struggling bravely to overcome the depression which he felt. He was in close touch with the situation everywhere, and discussed it with discrimination and hopefulness.
The most affecting incident occurred while I was talking with him. His mother passed through the room and, patting him on the back, said: "James, the neighbors think it is all right; they are raising a banner at the corner."
Two old soldier friends came in, and the noonday dinner was a rare
intellectual feast. The general was a brilliant conversationalist.
His mind turned first to the accidents of careers. He asked me if
there was not a time in my early struggles when if Providence had
offered a modest certainty I would not have exchanged the whole
future for it, and then continued: "There was a period in my early
struggles as a teacher when, if I had been offered the principalship
of an endowed academy, with an adequate salary, with the condition
that I must devote myself to its interests and abandon everything
else, I am quite sure I would have accepted."
Of course, the hopeful application of this incident to the Maine defeat was that, no such offer having been made or accepted, he had made a glorious career in the army, rising to the head of the General Staff, and for twenty years had been the leading figure in the House of Representatives, and was now a recently elected United States senator and chosen candidate for president.
Then he turned to the instances where victory had been plucked from defeat in battles. After citing many instances he gave a word picture of the Battle of Chickamauga which was the finest thing of the kind I have ever heard or ever read.
After his two comrades left I told him of the interest which my friends were taking in his canvass, and that I would add their contribution to the campaign committee. The general instantly was exultant and jubilant. He fairly shouted: "Have I not proved to you all day that there is always a silver lining to the cloud, and that the darkest hour is just before dawn?"
It was one of the sources of General Garfield's success as an orator that he was very emotional and sentimental. He happily carried with him amid all struggles and disappointments, as well as successes in the making of a career, the buoyant, hopeful, companionable, and affectionate interests which characterize the ambitious senior who has just left college to take his plunge into the activities of life.
So far as our State was concerned, a great deal turned upon the attitude of Senator Conkling. His great and triumphant speech of four hours at the Academy of Music in New York brought all his friends into line, but the greatest help which General Garfield received was from the generous, unselfish, and enthusiastic support of General Grant.
General Grant had been the leading candidate in the convention which finally nominated Garfield, but he voluntarily appeared upon the platform in several States and at Garfield's home. His brief but most effective speeches gathered around Garfield not only the whole of the old-soldier vote but those who had become disaffected or indifferent because of the result of the national Republican convention.
There probably was no canvass where the Republican orator ever had so many opportunities for the exercise of every faculty which he possessed. His candidate had made an excellent record as a soldier in the field and as a statesman in Congress, as an educator and a popular speaker on questions of vital interest, while the opposition presented abundant opportunities for attack.
After the presidential election came the meeting of the New York State legislature for the choosing of a United States senator. The legislature was overwhelmingly Republican, and the organization or machine Republicans were in a large majority. The assembly was organized and the appointment of committees used to make certain the election of an organization man.
A very unusual thing happened. The forces of the organization were divided between two candidates: Thomas C. Platt and Richard Crowley. Mr. Conkling had not declared his preference for either, as they were both devoted friends of his, though he had the power to have made a selection and have that selection accepted by the legislature. Vice-President-elect Chester A. Arthur appeared as manager for Mr. Crowley. Platt conducted his own canvass.
I was called to a meeting in New York, where Mr. Blaine, secretary of state, was present. Mr. Blaine said that administration managers had made a thorough canvass of the legislature and they had found that I was the only one who could control enough anti-organization votes to be elected, and, therefore, General Garfield and his friends had decided that I must enter the race. I did not want to do it, nor did I want the senatorship at that time. However, it seemed a plain duty. A canvass showed that Mr. Platt, Mr. Crowley, and myself had about an equal number of votes. Of course, Mr. Blaine's object was, knowing that Senator Conkling would be hostile to the administration, to prevent his having a colleague who would join with him, and thus place the State of New York against the policies of the incoming president.
After the canvass had been going on for some time, Mr. Platt came to me and asked why I was in it. I told him frankly that I was in it to see, if possible, that the senator-elect should support the administration. He said: "Very well, I will do that."
I immediately called together my supporters. Mr. Platt appeared before them and stated that if elected he would support the president and his administration in every respect. He was asked if he would vote for the confirmation of appointees whom the president might select who were specially in disfavor with Senator Conkling, conspicuously Senator William H. Robertson. Mr. Platt said, "Yes, I will." My friends all went over to him and he was elected.
General Garfield was inaugurated in March, 1881, and his difficulties began with his Cabinet. Senator Conkling, who saw clearly that with Blaine in the Cabinet his organization was in danger in New York, did not want any of his friends to accept a Cabinet position. The navy was offered to Levi P. Morton, but at the request of Senator Conkling he declined.
When the time came for appointments in the Custom House of New York, General Garfield sent in the name of William H. Robertson, who was the leader of the anti-machine forces in the State. Mr. Conkling at once demanded that Mr. Platt should join with him in inducing the Senate to reject the nomination. Under the rule of senatorial courtesy the Senate would undoubtedly have done this if the two New York senators had acted together. Mr. Platt told Mr. Conkling of his pledge to the members of the legislature, and that he must abide by it, and, as he told me, suggested to Mr. Conkling that, as he always had been his friend and did not want any breach with him, the only thing to be done, consistent with honor, was for both of them to resign and go back to the legislature for re-election, with a mandate which should enable them to reject the appointment of Judge Robertson and all similar appointments.
As the legislature was overwhelmingly Republican, and the organization had a large majority, it seemed to both senators that they would be returned immediately. But it is singular how intense partisanship will blind the ablest and shrewdest politicians. Senators Conkling and Platt were among the ablest and most capable political managers of their time. What they did not reckon with was that the people of the State of New York, or, rather, the Republicans of the State, having just elected a president, would not view favorably the legislature of the State sending two senators to embarrass their own administration. There was hardly a newspaper in the State or in the country that did not take a hostile attitude.
Mr. Blaine again came to New York and insisted upon my entering the canvass, and that I was the only one who could get the whole of the anti-organization vote.
With the Democrats voting for their own candidate, and the anti-organization men voting for me, it was impossible for any one to have a majority. The fight was most bitter. The ineffectual ballotting went on every day for months. Then Garfield was assassinated. The leader of the Conkling forces came to me and said: "You have a majority of the Republican members now voting for you. Of course, the antagonism has become so great on your candidacy that we cannot vote for you, but if you will withdraw, we will go into caucus."
I instantly accepted the proposition, saw my own people, and we selected Warner Miller to represent the administration, and Congressman Lapham, a very able and capable lieutenant of Mr. Conkling, to represent the organization. The caucus unanimously nominated them and they were elected. Senator Conkling immediately settled in New York to practise law and retired from political activities.
It is the irony of fate that General Garfield, who did more than any other statesman to bring the public from its frenzy after the murder of Lincoln back to a calm and judicious consideration of national conditions, should himself be the victim, so soon after his inauguration, of an assassin.
Lincoln was assassinated in April, after his second inauguration in March, while Garfield was shot in the railway station at Washington July 2, following his inauguration. The president was removed to a cottage at Long Branch, N. J., and lingered there with great suffering for over two months.
I was living at Long Branch that summer and going up and down every day to my office in New York. The whole country was in alternate emotions of hope and despair as the daily bulletins announced the varying phases of the illustrious patient's condition. The people also were greatly impressed at his wonderful self-control, heroic patience, endurance, and amiability.
It was the experience of a lifetime in the psychology of human nature to meet, night after night, the people who gathered at the hotel at Long Branch. Most of them were office-seekers. There were those who had great anticipations of Garfield's recovery, and others, hidebound machinists and organization men, who thought if Garfield died and Vice-President Arthur became president, he would bring in the old order as it existed while he was one of its chief administrators.
There were present very able and experienced newspaper men, representing every great journal in the country. The evening sessions of these veteran observers of public men were most interesting. Their critical analysis of the history and motives of the arriving visitors would have been, if published, the most valuable volume of "Who's Who" ever published. When President Garfield died the whole country mourned.
Chester A. Arthur immediately succeeded to the presidency. It had been my good fortune to know so well all the presidents, commencing with Mr. Lincoln, and now the occupant of the White House was a lifelong friend.
President Arthur was a very handsome man, in the prime of life, of superior character and intelligence, and with the perfect manners and courtesies of a trained man of the world. A veteran statesman who had known most of our presidents intimately and been in Congress under many of them said, in reviewing the list with me at the recent convention at Chicago: "Arthur was the only gentleman I ever saw in the White House."
Of course, he did not mean exactly that. He meant that Arthur was the only one of our presidents who came from the refined social circles of the metropolis or from other capitals, and was past master in all the arts and conventionalities of what is known as "best society." He could have taken equal rank in that respect with the Prince of Wales, who afterwards became King Edward VII.
The "hail-fellow-well-met" who had been on familiar terms with him while he was the party leader in New York City, found when they attempted the old familiarities that, while their leader was still their friend, he was President of the United States.
Arthur, although one of the most rigid of organization and machine men in his days of local leadership, elevated the party standards by the men whom he drew around himself. He invited into party service and personal intimacy a remarkable body of young, exceedingly able and ambitious men. Many of those became distinguished afterwards in public and professional life. The ablest of them all was a gentleman who, I think, is now universally recognized both at home and abroad as the most efficient and accomplished American diplomat and lawyer—Elihu Root.
There is no career so full of dramatic surprises as the political. President Hayes put civil-service reform upon its feet, and without the assistance of necessary laws vigorously enforced its principles. Among the victims of his enforcement was General Arthur, whom he relieved as collector of the port of New York. To the surprise of every one and the amazement of his old friends, one of the first acts of President Arthur was to demand the enactment of a civil-service law, which had originated with the Civil Service Association, and whose most prominent members were George William Curtis and Carl Schurz.
The president's urgency secured the passage of the measure. He then appointed a thoroughgoing Civil Service Commission, and during his term lived up to every requirement of the system. In doing this he alienated all his old friends, and among them General Grant, ex-Senator Conkling, Thomas C. Platt, and also Mr. Blaine, whom he had asked to remain in the Cabinet as secretary of state. Among them was also John Sherman, whom he had equally wished to retain as secretary of the treasury.
Arthur's administration, both in domestic affairs and in its foreign policies, meets the approval of history and the impartial judgment of posterity. But he was not big enough, nor strong enough, to contend with the powerful men who were antagonized, especially by his civil-service-reform tendencies. When the Republican convention met in 1884 and nominated a new ticket, it was universally recognized by everybody, including the president, that his political career had closed.
President Arthur was one of the most delightful of hosts, and he made the White House the centre of refined hospitality and social charm. He was a shrewd analyst of human nature and told stories full of humor and dramatic effect of some of his contemporaries.
General Arthur, while Republican party leader in New York, invited me to a dinner given him by a friend who had just returned from a hunting trip with a large collection of fine game. With the exception of myself, all the guests were active leaders in the State machine.
During the dinner the general said to me: "While we draft you every fall to help in our canvass, after we have nominated our ticket we miss you in our councils and we need you."
"Well," I replied, "I do not know what the matter is, nor why Senator Conkling should have a continuing hostility, which I only feel when the time comes around to elect delegates to the State convention."
The general continued: "We are unable to find out either. However, it is absurd, and we are going to see that you are a delegate to the national convention, and we want you to be at the State convention at Utica."
I went to Albany, knowing that there would be a conference at the Executive Mansion, with General Arthur, Governor Cornell, and Senator Conkling, to lay out a programme for the convention. I met the then secretary of the State committee, Mr. Johnson, and told him about my conversation with General Arthur. He said he was going to attend the conference and would report to me.
When Mr. Johnson returned he told me that General Arthur, Governor Cornell, and others had strongly urged my being a delegate, and that Senator Conkling became very indignant and said that he did not want me back in the organization, and that it was a matter of indifference on what side I was. It is needless to say that I did not attend the convention at Utica.
Mr. Johnson also told me that among other things decided upon was that if General Grant should be nominated for a third term, the old machine under Senator Conkling would be made stronger than ever; that the men who had come to the front during President Hayes's administration as members of the State Senate and assembly and of Congress would be retired, and that another State paper would be established which would wipe out the Albany Evening Journal, because it had sustained President Hayes and his policies.
While the convention was in session at Utica I had an interview with Mr. George Dawson, who was editor of the Albany Evening Journal and he became convinced that he had nothing to lose by entering at once into an open antagonism, if there was any way by which it could be made effective.
I said to Mr. Dawson: "The only salvation for those who have been benefited during the era of liberty occasioned by President Hayes's civil-service policies is to prevent the national convention adopting the unit rule."
The unit rule is that if the majority of the delegates from any State make a decision, the chairman of the delegation shall cast the entire vote of the delegation from the State for the result arrived at by the majority, whether it be a candidate or a policy. Under the unit rule I have seen a bare majority of one vote for a candidate, and then the chairman of the delegation cast the entire vote for the candidate, though the minority were very hostile to him.
The delegates of the State convention at Utica returned to Albany that night. Many of them were State senators whose decapitation was assured if the old machine supported by federal patronage was revived. State Senator Webster Wagner was one of them. He and I chartered a train and invited the whole State delegation to go with us to Chicago. In the preliminary discussions, before the national convention met, twenty-six out of seventy-eight delegates decided to act independently.
Wayne MacVeagh, a lifelong friend of mine, had a strong following in the Pennsylvania delegation, and after he learned our position brought over also his people. Emory Storrs, who led the Illinois delegation, came to me and said that if we would not boom Elihu B. Washburne, who was a candidate for the nomination, we would have the Illinois vote. The result of the canvass was that the convention decided against the unit rule. This released so many individual delegates to independent action that the field was cleared and nobody had majority. The leading candidates were General Grant, James G. Blaine, and John Sherman.
In the history of convention oratory the nominating speeches of Senator Conkling for General Grant, and James A. Garfield for John Sherman take the highest rank. Conkling took a lofty position on the platform. His speech was perfectly prepared, delivered with great dramatic effect, and received universal applause on the floor and in the gallery.
General Garfield, on the other hand, also a fine-looking man and a practised orator, avoided the dramatic element, in which he could not compete with Conkling, but delivered a speech along the line of the average thought and general comprehension of his audience that made a great impression. It was a common remark: "He has nominated himself."
There were among the audience thousands of Blaine enthusiasts. No public man since Lincoln ever had such enthusiastic, devoted, and almost crazy followers as Mr. Blaine. These enthusiasts were waiting to raise the roof and secure the nomination of their candidate when the chosen orator should present their favorite.
The gentleman selected to present Mr. Blaine was eminent in business and great enterprises, but I doubt if he had ever spoken before except to a board of directors. Of course, in that vast hall such a man was fearfully handicapped and could not be very well heard. He closed by naming his candidate somewhat like this: "I now have the pleasure and honor of proposing as the candidate of this convention that eminent statesman, James S. Blaine." Nearly every one in the convention knew that Mr. Blaine's middle name was Gillespie.
The Blaine followers, whose indignation had been growing throughout the speech, because they expected the very highest type of oratory for their favorite, shouted in chorus, "G., you fool, G!"
When General Garfield was voted for, he indignantly repudiated the votes as an imputation upon his honor, as he was there to nominate his friend, John Sherman. Senator George F. Hoar, of Massachusetts, presided at the convention. He interrupted Garfield by calling him to order, as it was not in order to interrupt the calling of the roll, and he did so for fear that Garfield would go so far as to say he would not accept the nomination if it were made. On the last ballot State after State, each striving to get ahead of the other, changed its vote from Sherman or Blaine to Garfield, and he was nominated.
I sat close to him as a visitor to the Ohio delegation. It was a curious exhibit of the ambition of a lifetime suddenly and unexpectedly realized by a highly sensitive and highly wrought-up man. He was so overcome that he practically had to be carried out of the convention by his friends.
Senator Conkling was very indignant at the result and expressed his anger with his usual emphasis and picturesqueness. The Ohio leaders were then anxious to placate New York, but Conkling would have nothing to do with them. They then came to us, who had been opposed to the unit rule, and wanted suggestions as to which New Yorker they should select for vice-president. Levi P. Morton was suggested. Mr. Morton said he would accept if Senator Conkling was willing to agree to it, and that he would not act without the senator's acquiescence, as he was an organization man. The senator refused his consent, and told Mr. Morton that no friend of his would go on the ticket.
It was then suggested that they try General Arthur, who was Conkling's first lieutenant and chairman of the Republican State Committee of New York. Senator Conkling made the same answer to General Arthur, but he frankly said to Conkling: "Such an honor and opportunity comes to very few of the millions of Americans, and to that man but once. No man can refuse it, and I will not." And so General Arthur was nominated for vice-president.
Grover Cleveland was a remarkable man. He had more political courage of the General Jackson type than almost any man who ever held great responsible positions. He defied Tammany Hall while governor of the State, and repeatedly challenged the strongest elements of his party while president. Threats of defeat or retaliation never moved him. If he had once made up his mind and believed he was right, no suggestions of expediency or of popularity had any influence on him.
In personal intercourse he made friends and had great charm. The campaign against him when he ran for governor of New York was ruthlessly conducted. I considered the actions of his enemies as unfair and that they would react in the canvass. I studiously discredited all in my speeches, and begged our people not to feature them.
I knew Mr. Cleveland, and as an evidence of my appreciation of his character and ability, when the office of general counsel of the New York Central Railroad at Buffalo became vacant, I offered it to him, saying: "I am exceedingly anxious that you should accept this place. I think, by an adjustment of the administration of your office, you can retain your private practice, and this will add about fifteen thousand dollars a year to your income."
Mr. Cleveland replied: "I have a very definite plan of life and have decided how much work I can do without impairing my health, and how much of additional responsibility I can assume. I have accumulated about seventy-five thousand dollars and my practice yields me an income which is sufficient for my wants and a prudent addition for my old age to my capital. No amount of money whatever would tempt me to add to or increase my present work."
I doubt if there were many lawyers in the United States who had that philosophy or control of their ambitions. His annual income from his profession was considerably less than the compensation offered by the general counselship of the New York Central.
Cleveland was most satisfactory as president in his quick and decisive judgment upon matters presented to him. There were no delays, no revisions; in fact, no diplomatic methods of avoiding a disagreeable decision. He told you in the briefest time and in the clearest way what he would do.
A great social leader and arbiter in social affairs in New York was very desirous that the president should reverse his judgment in regard to an appointment affecting a member of his family. I gave him a letter which procured him a personal and confidential interview. When he came back to me he said: "That is the most extraordinary man I ever saw. After he had heard me through, he said he understood the matter thoroughly and would not change his opinion or action. He has no social position and never had. I tried to present its attractions and my ability to help him in that regard, but he only laughed; yes, he positively laughed."
While President Hayes had difficulty with civil-service reform and incurred the hostility of the Republican organization and machine men, the situation with him was far less difficult than it was with Cleveland, who was a sincere civil-service reformer, and also an earnest Democrat. While a Democratic senator from Ohio, Mr. Pendleton, had passed a bill during the Hayes administration for reform in the civil service, the great majority of the Democratic party believed in Secretary Marcy's declaration that "to the victors belong the spoils."
There was an aggravation, also, growing out of the fact that the Democrats had been out of office for twenty-four years. We can hardly visualize or conceive now of their hunger for office. The rule for rescuing people dying of starvation is to feed them in very small quantities, and frequently. By trying this, the president became one of the most unpopular of men who had ever held office; in fact, so unpopular among the Democratic senators and members of the House that a story which Zebulon Vance, of North Carolina, told went all over the country and still survives. Vance, who had a large proportion of the citizens of North Carolina on his waiting list, and could get none of them appointed, said that the situation, which ought to be one of rejoicing at the election of a president by his own party, was like that of a client of his who had inherited a farm from his father. There were so many difficulties about the title and getting possession of it and delay, that the son said: "I almost wished father had not died."
However, Mr. Cleveland, in his deliberate way did accomplish the impossible. He largely regained favor with his party by satisfying their demands, and at the same time so enlarged the scope of civil-service requirements as to receive the commendation of the two great leaders of the civil-service movement—George William Curtis and Carl Schurz.
President Cleveland entered upon his second term with greater popularity in the country than most of his predecessors. When he retired from office, it was practically by unanimous consent. It is among the tragedies of public life that he lost entirely the confidence of his party and, in a measure, of the whole people by rendering to his country the greatest public service.
A strike of the men on the railroads tied up transportation. Railroads are the arteries of travel, commerce, and trade. To stop them is to prevent the transportation of provisions or of coal, to starve and freeze cities and communities. Cleveland used the whole power of the federal government to keep free the transportation on the railways and to punish as the enemies of the whole people those who were trying to stop them. It was a lesson which has been of incalculable value ever since in keeping open these great highways.
He forced through the repeal of the silver purchasing law by every source and pressure and the unlimited use of patronage. His party were almost unanimous for the silver standard and resented this repeal as a crime, but it saved the country from general bankruptcy. Except in the use of patronage to help his silver legislation, he offended his party by improving the civil service and retaining Theodore Roosevelt as head of the Civil Service Commission. These crises required from the president an extraordinary degree of courage and steadfastness.
While Mr. Cleveland was in such unprecedented popular disfavor when he retired to private life, his fame as president increases through the years, and he is rapidly assuming foremost position in the estimation of the people.
Mr. Cleveland had a peculiar style in his speeches and public documents. It was criticised as labored and that of an essayist. I asked him, after he had retired to private life, how he had acquired it. He said his father was a clergyman and he had been educated by him largely at home. His father was very particular about his compositions and his English, so that he acquired a ministerial style. The result of this was that whenever any of the members of the local bar died, he was called upon to write the obituary resolutions.
To take a leap over intervening years: After Mr. Cleveland retired from his second term I used to meet him very frequently on social occasions and formal celebrations. He soon left the practice of law and settled in Princeton, where he did great and useful service, until he died, as trustee of the university and a lecturer before the students.
Riding in the same carriage with him in the great procession at the funeral of General Sherman, he reminisced most interestingly in regard to his experiences while president. Every little while there would break out a cheer and then a shout in the crowd of one of the old campaign cries: "Grover, Grover, four years more." Mr. Cleveland remarked: "I noticed while president a certain regularity and recrudescence of popular applause, and it was the same in every place I visited." That cry, "Grover, Grover, four years more!" would occur every third block, and during our long ride the mathematical tradition was preserved.