CHAPTER XLIV. POLITICIANS, AUTHORS, AND HUMORISTS.
Bluff Ben Wade, a Senator from Ohio, was the champion of the North in the upper house during the prolonged debates on the Kansas- Nebraska Bill. Dueling had long been regarded as a lost art in the Northern States, but Mr. Wade determined that he would accept a challenge should one be sent him, or defend himself should he be attacked. But no one either assaulted or challenged him, although he gave his tongue free license.
One day Senator Badger spoke plaintively of slavery from a Southern point of view. In his childhood, he said, he was nursed by an old negro woman, and he grew to manhood under her care. He loved his "old black mammy," and she loved him. But if the opponents of the Kansas-Nebraska bill were triumphant, and he wished to go to either of those Territories, he could not take his "old black mammy" with him. Turning to Mr. Wade, he exclaimed: "Surely, you will not prevent me from taking my old black mammy with me?" "It is not," remarked the Senator from Ohio, dryly, "that he cannot take his old black mammy with him that troubles the mind of the Senator, but that if we make the Territories free, he cannot sell the old black mammy when he gets her there."
The future leader of the Great Rebellion, Senator Jefferson Davis, had then assumed the leadership of the Southern Senators and their Northern allies. His best friends were forced to admit that his bearing, even toward them, had become haughty, and his manners imperious. His thin, spare figure, his almost sorrowful cast of countenance, composed, however, in an invariable expression of dignity, gave the idea of a body worn by the action of the mind, an intellect supporting in its prison of flesh the pains of constitutional disease, and triumphing over physical confinement and affliction. His carriage was erect—there was a soldierly affectation, of which, indeed, the hero of Buena Vista gave evidence through his life, having the singular conceit that his genius was military and fitter for arms than for the council. He had a precise manner, and an austerity that was at first forbidding; but his voice was always clear and firm. Although not a scholar in the pedantic sense of the term, and making no pretensions to the doubtful reputation of the sciolist, his reading was classical and varied, his fund of illustration large, and his resources of imagery plentiful and always apposite.
Senator Robert W. Johnson—"Bob Johnson," every one called him— had made many friends while a member of the House, and was one of the most popular Senators. He was a man of generous feeling, honorable impulses, and a cheerful humor, which had endeared him to the homely backwoodsmen of his State. He was a fine speaker, pouring forth fact and argument with an earnestness that riveted attention, and lighting up the dull path of logic with the glow of his captivating fancy, while he spiced his remarks with the idiosyncrasies of frontier oratory, familiar and quaint illustrations, and blunt truth. At heart he loved the Union, but he could not stand up against the public sentiment of his State.
Henry Bowen Anthony was the first Republican Senator who had not been identified with the Abolitionists. Before he had been a week in the Senate, he was graciously informed that the Southern Senators recognized him as a gentleman, and proposed to invite him to their houses. "I can enter no door," sturdily replied the man of Quaker ancestry, "which is closed against any Northern Senator." Mr. Anthony was at that time a very handsome man, with jet black hair, blue eyes, and a singularly sweet expression of countenance. His editorial labors on the Providence Journal had given him a rare insight into men and politics, which qualified him for Senatorial life. He was soon a favorite in Washington society, wit and general information embellishing his brilliant conversation, while his social virtues gave to his life a daily beauty.
Ostensibly to negotiate a postal treaty, but really to see what could be done about an international copyright between Great Britain and the United States, came Anthony Trollope, Esq. He was a short, stout old gentleman, with a round, rosy face and snow-white hair, who loved to talk, and who talked well. His mother, Mrs. Frances Trollope, had written a cruelly sarcastic book on the manners and customs of Americans in 1830, and he was somewhat dogmatic in his criticisms of what he saw and heard. He shone especially at gentlemen's evening parties, at which he narrated anecdotes about Macaulay, Dickens, and Thackeray, and of his own exploits in "'unting," which he regarded as the noblest of all pastimes.
Mike Walsh was not only a demagogue, but an incorrigible joker. He used frequently to visit Washington after the expiration of his Congressional term, and was in the city after the close of the summer session of the Thirty-fifth Congress. Judge Douglas was also there, busily engaged in advancing his Presidential prospects. One evening, as Walsh was sitting in front of the Kirkwood House, he remarked that the weather looked threatening, but that he hoped it would prove good on account of the serenade that was to be given to Judge Douglas that night. The thing took at once, and he visited all the hotels, and in casual conversations broached the serenade, and the fact that the Marine Band had been engaged for the occasion. When ten o'clock P. M. came there were not less than six or seven hundred people in front of Judge Douglas's new residence; and as the streets had been newly opened and were still unpaved, the mud was ankle deep. There were also some thirty or forty hacks and a number of private carriages; and as the Judge and his beautiful and accomplished wife had heard of the intended ovation, they had prepared for the emergency by taking up the parlor carpets and setting out a collation for the sovereigns. But, alas! no Marine Band appeared; and as eleven o'clock came and no music, the crowd began slowly to thin out, until at last it got whispered around that Mike Walsh had something to do with the getting up of the serenade, when, amid curses and loud guffaws, there was a general stampede of the crowd.
In the midst of the stormy debates at the Capitol, there was an entertainment where men of both sections fraternized. It was a "wake" at the house of Mr. John Coyle, the cashier of the National Intelligencer, whose Milesian blood had prompted him to pay Hibernian honors to the memory of one who had often been his guest. The funereal banquet had been postponed, however, in true Irish style, when it had been ascertained that the deceased was not dead, and in due time the guests were again invited, to honor him whom they had mourned—Albert Pike, of Arkansas. There he was, with stalwart form, noble features, waving hair, and a patriarchal beard —at once the Kit North and the Körner of America.
After a neat welcome by the host, uprose the erudite dignitary of the State Department, and he read, in deep, full tones, an obituary sketch of the supposed deceased, which he had prepared upon the receipt of the sad news. Pike's remarks, in reply, were touchingly beautiful, especially when he expressed his delight at having read kind notices of himself from those whom he had feared were his enemies, and his hopes that all enmity between him and his fellow- men might remain buried in that tomb to which he had been consigned. Jack Savage then sang a song (to the tune of "Benny Havens, O!"), describing a forced visit of "the fine Arkansas gentleman" to the Stygian shore, where he craved permission of Pluto to return to earth for one night at Coyle's:
"'Are you not dead?' the King then said.
'Well, what of that? said he,
'If I am dead, I've not been waked, and buried dacently.'
'And why,' the monarch cried,
'Desire again to share life's toils?'
'For the sake of one good frolic more,
'Even at Johnny Coyle's.'
One spree at Johnny Coyle's; one spree at Johnny Coyle's;
And who would not be glad to join a spree at Johnny Coyle's?"
Pluto then enumerated the good cheer and good company, and "Horace and Anacreon in vain would have him stay." But the gentleman from Arkansas demonstrated that they were all surpassed at Johnny Coyle's. The recital of the genial qualities of various gentlemen named enlisted Proserpine, who urged Pluto to let him go, that he might return, bringing his friends with him.
"And so the Queen at last prevailed, as women always do,
And thus it comes that once again this gentleman's with you;
He's under promise to return, but that he means to brake,
And many another spree to have besides the present wake.
One spree at Johnny Coyle's, etc."
This song was followed by a story, and that story by a song, and it was nearly daylight in the morning before the guests separated.
The Sons of Malta, a secret order which sprang into existence during Mr. Buchanan's Administration, was a remarkable institution. The original object of the organization was the capture of Cuba, and many prominent military men of the South were the leading spirits in the movement; but the filibustering was soon abandoned, and a newspaper man, who had been initiated, conceived the idea of making "some fun for the boys." The whole business of initiation, etc., was transformed into a series of the most stupendous practical jokes and outrageously comical proceedings ever dreamed of. The Order spread rapidly all over the Union. At Washington the lodge fitted up Marini's Hall in luxurious style, with carpets, cushioned seats, and an expensive paraphernalia. Many Senators and Representatives who had been initiated at their respective homes were regular attendants, and there was no lack of candidates, until a sedate citizen, enraged by the disclosure of his domestic infidelity, denounced the whole affair as a gigantic "sell."
While the Order was on the high tide of prosperity Mr. Buchanan was asked if he would receive a delegation of the Sons of Malta, representing twenty different States. Mr. Buchanan was a zealous Freemason—having gone up into the Royal Arch degree—and thinking that the institution resembled Freemasonry, he named an hour for the visit. The members of the delegation were promptly on hand, and after they had taken their position along one side of the East Room, Mr. Buchanan entered. The spokesman addressed him in a short speech, in which he eulogized the Order as composed of Union-loving citizens, associated for charitable purposes.
Mr. Buchanan listened attentively, and said in reply: "Gentlemen of the Sons of Malta, I feel grateful for the honor you have done me in making this visit. I do not know much about the Order, but I have no doubt of its charitable objects and its patriotism. In your praiseworthy object of charity I would say, God speed you in so noble an enterprise. We are told that Faith, Hope, and Charity are the links that bind us together in social Union. Faith and Hope may pass away, but Charity endures forever. I do not feel that there is any danger of the dissolution of the Union by the oppression of one portion of our country upon another; for should that period unhappily arrive, the people, who made it, will preserve it. Again, allow me cordially to thank you for this visit, and I would be most happy to take each one of you by the hand as representatives of the Sons of Malta from all parts of the Union." So solemn was the scene that several portly delegates were evidently convulsed with emotion (or secret laughter), and the Union was regarded as safe. Owners of ships, stocks, States, and the Order took courage.
[Facsimile] Geo. Bancroft GEORGE BANCROFT was born at Worcester, Mass., October 3d, 1800; graduated at Harvard College, 1817; was Secretary of the Navy under President Polk, 1843-1846; was Minister to Great Britain, 1846- 1849; to Prussia, 1867-1871; to Germany, 1871-1874.
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