As Clay sat down, James Buchanan rose to reply, admitting that it was the part of prudence to remain silent after the Whig orator had “enchanted the attention of his audience.” Fluent, logical, if not eloquent, he followed Clay’s speech point by point, rehashing with him the Bank controversy—leading up to the removal of the deposits and the vote of censure—defending Jackson at every step. If Jackson’s act was one of tyranny, unconstitutional, aimed at civil liberty, why, he demanded, “had the Whigs merely censured him without giving him the opportunity to reply? Why had they not done their duty and instituted impeachment proceedings? True, they insisted that they had not imputed any criminal motive to the President—”
Clay was instantly on his feet, hotly insisting that “personally he had never acquitted the President of improper intentions.” To which the courtly Buchanan replied with a compliment to the Kentuckian’s “frank and manly nature,” and passed on.
The Whigs now attempted to adjourn, but Benton’s drilled forces were on hand to vote down Bayard’s motion, and the debate proceeded. Other speakers followed, men of lesser light, while the Senators themselves, satiated with the arguments, began to pass out in twos and threes to regale and refresh themselves in Benton’s room. Such of the Whigs as were not too bitter were cordially invited to partake of the feast, and some accepted. Clay sent some of his friends to the committee room to ascertain the nature of the attraction, and the emissaries lingered too long over the meat, and especially the drink, and he became furious. With the coming of night the curious packed the corridors and lobbies, and the great chandelier which lighted the little chamber shed its glow on the gay dresses of the ladies of fashion, many of whom had been admitted to the floor.
As the hour grew late, and there was a pause in the debate, the eyes of all were fixed on Webster, who sat gloomily in his seat. He glanced around to see if others proposed to speak, then rose to make the final protest. An eye-witness tells us that “his dark visage assumed a darker hue”; that “his deep-toned voice seemed almost sepulchral.”[935] As was his custom, he spoke with more moderation than Clay, Calhoun, or Preston, and was all the more impressive on that account. He refrained from hysterical denunciations, and from comparisons with the degenerate days of Rome. “But,” he said, “we make up our minds to behold the spectacle which is to ensue. We collect ourselves to look on in silence while a scene is exhibited which, if we do not regard it as a ruthless violation of a sacred instrument, would appear to us to be but little elevated above the character of a contemptible farce. This scene we shall behold, and hundreds of American citizens—as many as may crowd into these lobbies and galleries—will behold it also—with what feelings I do not undertake to say.”
Reiterating, then, his protest, he concluded: “Having made this protest, our duty is performed. We rescue our own names, characters, and honor from all participation in this matter; and whatever the wayward character of the times, the headlong and plunging spirit of party devotion, or the fear or the love of power, may have been able to bring about elsewhere, we desire to thank God that we have not, as yet, overcome the love of liberty, fidelity to true republican principles, and a sacred regard for the Constitution, in that State whose soil was drenched to a mire by the first and best blood of the Revolution.”
While Webster was speaking, two Whig Senators, realizing that the contest had degenerated into a trial of nerves and muscle, went to Benton with the suggestion that nothing could be gained by delaying the vote.[936] When no one rose to continue the argument at the conclusion, there was a moment of silence and then the cry of “Question” rose. The roll was called, with forty-three Senators in their seats, five absent, and the resolution was passed by a vote of 24 to 19.
Benton instantly demanded the execution of the order of the Senate. While the clerk was out to get the original journal, Benton, in perfect ecstasy, ostentatiously congratulated persons in the lower gallery, until the glowering countenance of Balie Peyton warned him of a possible explosion.[937] But the Tennessee firebrand was not the only person in the gallery, or, for that matter, on the floor, with a deadly hate of Benton in the heart. The galleries remained true to the Bank and Biddle, and some of the Senators, having freely indulged themselves, were in a quarrelsome mood. Fear was entertained for Benton’s life by some of his friends, including his wife. Just previous to the vote, Senator Linn had brought in pistols for the defense, if required, and Mrs. Benton, seriously alarmed, took her place by her husband’s side on the floor. As the clerk returned with the record, the defeated statesmen, pretending to a patriotism that could not look upon the “deed,” filed out of the chamber—all but Hugh Lawson White who never deserted his post. As the President pro tem announced that the “deed” was done, the hitherto sullen and silent gallery broke into groans, hisses, imprecations. Enraged and excited, Benton sprang to his feet with the demand that the “ruffians” that caused the disturbance be apprehended and brought to the bar. “I hope the sergeant-at-arms will be directed to enter the gallery, and seize the ruffians.... Let him seize the Bank ruffians. I hope they will not be suffered to insult the Senate as they did when it was under the power of the Bank of the United States when ruffians, with arms upon them, insulted us with impunity.... Here is one just above me that may easily be identified—the Bank ruffians!”
Thus the ringleader was dragged to the bar. But here was a diversion that had not entered into the agreement as to details at Boulanger’s on Saturday night, and the wrangle that followed ended in the discharge of the culprit from custody. As the vote to discharge was announced, the person in custody demanded to be heard. “Begone!” cried King, in the chair—and the incident was closed. But Benton’s blood was hot, and on leaving the Capitol he encountered Clay, whom he suspected of having instigated the gallery disturbance, and a bitter altercation resulted. But after the two men, personally not unfriendly and related by marriage, had exercised their vituperative vocabulary, Benton insisted on seeing Clay home, and did not leave until three in the morning when Clay had sought his couch. Thus ended a dramatic episode—so dramatic and historic that on the following morning Webster requested Henry A. Wise to prepare a description which was afterwards given in an address at Norfolk.[938]
The triumph, we may be sure, was sweet to the stricken veteran in the White House. Within a week he invited all his senatorial friends and their wives to an elaborate dinner. Hovering on the verge of the grave, he dragged himself from his bed to greet his guests, accompanied them to the dining-room, seated Benton in his place at the head of the table, and retired to his couch, while the celebration below continued until a late hour.