My Memories of Eighty Years Part 2

Governor Seymour made no reply. He and the other Democratic leaders thought the president uncouth, unlettered, and very weak.

The phrase "please write me at least as long a letter as this"

produced an impression upon the scholarly, cultured, cautious, and diplomatic Seymour which was most unfavorable to its author.

Seymour acknowledged the receipt of the letter and promised to make a reply, but never did.

Seymour's resentment was raised to fever heat when General Burnside, in May, 1863, arrested Clement L. Vallandigham. The enemies of the war and peace at any price people, and those who were discouraged, called ma.s.s meetings all over the country to protest this arrest as an outrage. A ma.s.s meeting was called in Albany on the 16th of May. Erastus Corning, one of the most eminent Democrats in the State, presided.

I was in Albany at the time and learned this incident. One of Governor Seymour's intimate friends, his adviser and confidant in personal business affairs was Charles Cook, who had been comptroller of the State and a State senator. Cook was an active Republican, a very shrewd and able man. He called on the governor and tried to persuade him not to write a letter to the Vallandigham meeting, but if he felt he must say something, attend the meeting and make a speech. Cook said: "Governor, the country is going to sustain ultimately the arrest of Vallandigham. It will be proved that he is a traitor to the government and a very dangerous man to be at large. Whatever is said at the meeting will seriously injure the political future of the authors. If you write a letter it will be on record, so I beg you, if you must partic.i.p.ate, attend the meeting and make a speech. A letter cannot be denied; it can always be claimed that a speech has been misreported."

The Governor wrote the letter, one of the most violent of his utterances, and it was used against him with fatal effect when he ran for governor, and also when a candidate for president.

On July 11th the draft began in New York City. It had been denounced as unconst.i.tutional by every shade of opposition to Mr. Lincoln's administration and to the prosecution of the war.

The attempt to enforce it led to one of the most serious riots in the history of the city, and the rage of the rioters was against the officers of the law, the headquarters of the draft authorities, and princ.i.p.ally against the negroes. Every negro who was caught was hung or burned, and the negro orphan asylum was destroyed by fire. The governor did his best to stop the rioting. He issued a proclamation declaring the city in a state of insurrection, and commanded obedience to the law and the authorities.

In this incident again the governor permitted his opposition to the war to lead him into political indiscretion. He made a speech from the steps of the City Hall to the rioters. He began by addressing them as "My friends." The governor's object was to quiet the mob and send them to their homes. So instead of saying "fellow citizens" he used the fatal words "my friends." No two words were ever used against a public man with such fatal effect.

Every newspaper opposed to the governor and every orator would describe the horrors, murders, and destruction of property by the mob and then say: "These are the people whom Governor Seymour in his speech from the steps of the City Hall addressed as 'my friends.'"

The Vallandigham letter and this single utterance did more harm to Governor Seymour's future ambitions than all his many eloquent speeches against Lincoln's administration and the conduct of the war.

The political situation, which had been so desperate for the national administration, changed rapidly for the better with the victory at Gettysburg, which forced General Lee out of Pennsylvania and back into Virginia, and also by General Grant's wonderful series of victories at Vicksburg and other places which liberated the Mississippi River.

Under these favorable conditions the Republicans entered upon the canva.s.s in the fall of 1863 to reverse, if possible, the Democratic victory the year before. The Republican State ticket was:

Secretary of State ..... Chauncey M. Depew.

Comptroller ..... Lucius Robinson.

Ca.n.a.l Commissioner ..... Benjamin F. Bruce.

Treasurer ..... George W. Schuyler.

State Engineer ..... William B. Taylor.

Prison Inspector ..... James K. Bates.

Judge of the Court of Appeals ..... Henry S. Selden.

Attorney-General ..... John Cochran.

The canva.s.s was one of the most interesting of political campaigns.

The president was unusually active, and his series of letters were remarkable doc.u.ments. He had the ear of the public; he commanded the front page of the press, and he defended his administration and its acts and replied to his enemies with skill, tact, and extreme moderation.

Public opinion was peculiar. Military disasters and increasing taxation had made the position of the administration very critical, but the victories which came during the summer changed the situation.

I have never known in any canva.s.s any one incident which had greater effect than Sheridan's victory in the Shenandoah Valley, and never an adventure which so captured the popular imagination as his ride from Washington to the front; his rallying the retreating and routed troops, reforming them and turning defeat into victory.

The poem "Sheridan's Ride," was recited in every audience, from every platform, and from the stage in many theatres and created the wildest enthusiasm.

My friend, Wayne MacVeagh, who was at Yale College with me, had succeeded as a radical leader in defeating his brother-in-law, Don Cameron, and getting control for the first time in a generation against the Cameron dynasty of the Republican State organization of Pennsylvania. He had nominated a radical ticket, with Andrew G. Curtin as a candidate for governor.

MacVeagh wrote to me, saying: "You are running at the head of the Republican ticket in New York. Your battle is to be won in Pennsylvania, and unless we succeed you cannot. Come over and help us."

I accepted the invitation and spent several most exciting and delightful weeks campaigning with Governor Curtin and his party.

The meetings were phenomenal in the mult.i.tudes which attended and their interest in the speeches. I remember one dramatic occasion at the city of Reading. This was a Democratic stronghold; there was not a single Republican office-holder in the county.

The only compensation for a Republican accepting a nomination and conducting a canva.s.s, with its large expenses and certain defeat, was that for the rest of his life he was given as an evidence of honor the t.i.tle of the office for which he ran, and so the county was full of "judges, Mr. District Attorneys, State Senators, and Congressmen" who had never been elected.

We arrived at Reading after midday. The leading street, a very broad one, was also on certain days the market-place. A friend of the governor, who had a handsome house on this street, had the whole party for luncheon. The luncheon was an elaborate banquet. Governor Curtin came to me and said: "You go out and entertain the crowd, which is getting very impatient, and in about twenty minutes I will send some one to relieve you." It was raining in torrents; the crowd shouted to me encouragingly: "Never mind the rain; we are used to that, but we never heard you." As I would try to stop they would shout: "Go ahead!" In the meantime the banquet had turned into a festive occasion, with toasts and speeches. I had been speaking over two hours before the governor and his party appeared. They had been dining, and the Eighteenth Amendment had not been dreamed of. I was drenched to the skin, but waited until the governor had delivered his twenty-minute speech; then, without stopping for the other orators, I went over to the house, stripped, dried myself, and went to bed.

Utterly exhausted with successive days and nights of this experience, I did not wake until about eight o'clock in the evening. Then I wandered out in the street, found the crowd still there, and the famous John W. Forney making a speech. They told me that he had been speaking for four hours, delivering an historical address, but had only reached the administration of General Jackson. I never knew how long he kept at it, but there was a tradition with our party that he was still speaking when the train left the next morning.

Governor Curtin was an ideal party leader and candidate. He was one of the handsomest men of his time, six feet four inches in height, perfectly proportioned and a superb figure. He never spoke over twenty minutes, but it was the talk in the familiar way of an expert to his neighbors. He had a cordial and captivating manner, which speedily made him the idol of the crowd and a most agreeable companion in social circles. When he was minister to Russia, the Czar, who was of the same height and build, was at once attracted to him, and he took a first place among the diplomats in influence.

When I returned to New York to enter upon my own canva.s.s, the State and national committees imposed upon me a heavy burden. Speakers of State reputation were few, while the people were clamoring for meetings. Fortunately I had learned how to protect my voice. In the course of the campaign every one who spoke with me lost his voice and had to return home for treatment. When I was a student at Yale the professor in elocution was an eccentric old gentleman named North. The boys paid little attention to him and were disposed to ridicule his peculiarities. He saw that I was specially anxious to learn and said: "The princ.i.p.al thing about oratory is to use your diaphragm instead of your throat." His lesson on that subject has been of infinite benefit to me all my life.

The programme laid out called upon me to speak on an average between six and seven hours a day. The speeches were from ten to thirty minutes at different railway stations, and wound up with at least two meetings at some important towns in the evening, and each meeting demanded about an hour. These meetings were so arranged that they covered the whole State. It took about four weeks, but the result of the campaign, due to the efforts of the orators and other favorable conditions, ended in the reversal of the Democratic victory of the year before, a Republican majority of thirty thousand and the control of the legislature.

In 1864 the political conditions were very unfavorable for the Republican party, owing to the bitter hostility between the conservative and radical elements. Led by such distinguished men as Thurlow Weed and Henry J. Raymond, on the one side, and Horace Greeley, with an exceedingly capable body of earnest lieutenants on the other, the question of success or defeat depended upon the harmonizing of the two factions.

Without having been recognized by the politicians or press of the State, Reuben E. Fenton, who had been for ten years a congressman from the Chatauqua district, had developed in Congress remarkable ability as an organizer. He had succeeded in making Galusha A. Grow speaker of the House of Representatives, and had become a power in that body. He had behind him the earnest friendship and support of the New York delegation in the House of Representatives and had not incurred the enmity of either faction in his own State. His nomination saved the party in that campaign.

As an ill.u.s.tration how dangerous was the situation, though the soldiers' vote in the field was over one hundred thousand and almost unanimously for the Republican ticket, the presidential and gubernatorial candidates received less than eight thousand majority, the governor leading the president.

The re-election of Mr. Lincoln and the election Reuben E. Fenton over Governor Seymour made our State solidly Republican, and Governor Fenton became at once both chief executive and party leader. He had every quality for political leadership, was a shrewd judge of character, and rarely made mistakes in the selection of his lieutenants. He was a master of all current political questions and in close touch with public opinion. My official relations with him as secretary of state became came at once intimate and gratifying. It required in after-years all the masterful genius of Roscoe Conkling and the control of federal patronage granted to him by President Grant to break Fenton's hold upon his party.

Governor Fenton was blessed with a daughter of wonderful executive ability, singular charm, and knowledge of public affairs. She made the Executive Mansion in Albany one of the most charming and hospitable homes in the State. Its influence radiated everywhere, captured visitors, legislators, and judges, and was a powerful factor in the growing popularity and influence of the governor.

One of the most interesting of political gatherings was the Democratic convention, which met at Tredwell Hall in Albany in the fall of 1864, to select a successor to Governor Seymour.

The governor had declared publicly that he was not a candidate, and that under no conditions would he accept a renomination. He said that his health was seriously impaired, and his private affairs had been neglected so long by his absorption in public duties that they were in an embarra.s.sing condition and needed attention.

The leaders of the convention met in Dean Richmond's office and selected a candidate for governor and a full State ticket. When the convention met the next day I was invited to be present as a spectator. It was supposed by everybody that the proceedings would be very formal and brief, as the candidates and the platform had been agreed upon. The day was intensely hot, and most of the delegates discarded their coats, vests, and collars, especially those from New York City.

When the time came for the nomination, the platform was taken by one of the most plausible and smooth talkers I ever heard.

He delivered a eulogy upon Governor Seymour and described in glowing terms the debt the party owed him for his wonderful public services, and the deep regret all must have that he felt it necessary to retire to private life. He continued by saying that he acquiesced in that decision, but felt it was due to a great patriot and the benefactor of the party that he should be tendered a renomination. Of course, they all knew it would be merely a compliment, as the governor's position had been emphatically stated by himself. So he moved that the governor be nominated by acclamation and a committee appointed to wait upon him at the Executive Mansion and ascertain his wishes.

When Mr. Richmond was informed of this action, he said it was all right but unnecessary, because the situation was too serious to indulge in compliments.

In an hour the delegation returned, and the chairman, who was the same gentleman who made the speech and the motion, stepped to the front of the platform to report. He said that the governor was very grateful for the confidence reposed in him by the convention, and especially for its approval of his official actions as governor of the State and the representative of his party at the national convention, that in his long and intense application to public duties he had impaired his health and greatly embarra.s.sed his private affairs, but, but, he continued with emphasis. . . He never got any further. Senator Shafer, of Albany, who was unfriendly to the governor, jumped up and shouted: "d.a.m.n him, he has accepted!"

The convention, when finally brought to order, reaffirmed its complimentary nomination as a real one, with great enthusiasm and wild acclaim.

When the result was reported to Mr. Richmond at his office, I was told by one who was present that Richmond's picturesque vocabulary of indignation and denunciation was enriched to such a degree as to astonish and shock even the hardened Democrats who listened to the outburst.

A committee was appointed to wait on the governor and request him to appear before the convention. In a little while there stepped upon the platform the finest figure in the State or country.

Horatio Seymour was not only a handsome man, with a highly intellectual and expressive face of mobile features, which added to the effect of his oratory, but he never appeared unless perfectly dressed and in the costume which was then universally regarded as the statesman's apparel. His patent-leather boots, his Prince Albert suit, his perfectly correct collar and tie were evidently new, and this was their first appearance. From head to foot he looked the aristocrat. In a few minutes he became the idol of that wild and overheated throng. His speech was a model of tact, diplomacy, and eloquence, with just that measure of restraint which increased the enthusiasm of the hearers. The convention, which had gathered for another purpose, another candidate, and a new policy, hailed with delight its old and splendid leader.

Commodore Vanderbilt had a great admiration for Dean Richmond.

The commodore disliked boasters and braggarts intensely. Those who wished to gain his favor made the mistake, as a rule, of boasting about what they had done, and were generally met by the remark: "That amounts to nothing." Mr. Tillinghast, a western New York man and a friend of Richmond, was in the commodore's office one day, soon after Richmond died. Tillinghast was general superintendent of the New York Central and had been a sufferer from being stepped on by the commodore when he was lauding his own achievements and so took the opposite line of extreme moderation. The commodore asked Tillinghast, after praising Mr. Richmond very highly, "How much did he leave?" "Oh," said Tillinghast, "his estate is a great disappointment, and compared with what it was thought to be it is very little." "I am surprised," remarked the commodore, "but how much?" "Oh, between five or six millions," Tillinghast answered. For the first time in his life the commodore was thrown off his guard and said: "Tillinghast, if five or six million of dollars is a disappointment, what do you expect in western New York?" At that time there were few men who were worth that amount of money.

Governor Seymour made a thorough canva.s.s of the State, and I was appointed by our State committee to follow him. It was a singular experience to speak and reply to the candidate the day after his address. The local committee meets you with a very complete report of his speech. The trouble is that, except you are under great restraint, the urgency of the local committee and the inevitable temptations of the reply under such conditions, when your adversary is not present, will lead you to expressions and personalities which you deeply regret.

When the canva.s.s was over and the governor was beaten, I feared that the pleasant relations which had existed between us were broken. But he was a thorough sportsman. He sent for and received me with the greatest cordiality, and invited me to spend a week-end with him at his home in Utica. There he was the most delightful of hosts and very interesting as a gentleman farmer. In the costume of a veteran agriculturist and in the farm wagon he drove me out mornings to his farm, which was so located that it could command a fine view of the Mohawk Valley. After the inspection of the stock, the crops, and buildings, the governor would spend the day discoursing eloquently and most optimistically upon the prosperity possible for the farmer. To his mind then the food of the future was to be cheese. There was more food value in cheese than in any known edible article, animal or vegetable.

It could sustain life more agreeably and do more for longevity and health.

No one could have imagined, who did not know the governor and was privileged to listen to his seemingly most practical and highly imaginative discourse, that the speaker was one of the ablest party managers, shrewdest of politicians, and most eloquent advocates in the country, whose whole time and mind apparently were absorbed in the success of his party and the fruition of his own ambitions.

As we were returning home he said to me: "You have risen higher than any young man in the country of your age. You have a talent and taste for public life, but let me advise you to drop it and devote yourself to your profession. Public life is full of disappointments, has an unusual share of ingrat.i.tude, and its compensations are not equal to its failures. The country is full of men who have made brilliant careers in the public service and then been suddenly dropped and forgotten. The number of such men who have climbed the hill up State Street to the capitol in Albany, with the applause of admiring crowds whom none now can recall, would make a great army."

He continued by telling this story: "In the war of 1812 the governor and the legislature decided to bring from Canada to Albany the remains of a hero whose deeds had excited the admiration of the whole State. There was an imposing and continuous procession, with local celebrations all along the route, from the frontier to the capital. The ceremonies in Albany were attended by the governor, State officers, legislature, and judges, and the remains were buried in the capitol park. No monument was erected.