Pine to Potomac

by E. K. Cressey

Mr. Blaine. “Yes, sir; I am correct. I had a personal recollection of the date, and I have further certified it by documentary evidence, which I sent for and now hold in my hand.”

Of course the man squirmed and tried to escape, but he was held by a firm hand to the grave discrepancy of which he had been guilty, involving the governors of all the loyal states in an instigation of which they were guiltless as a body of men, in convention assembled. Then he tried to escape by asserting that the governors were on at Washington, laboring with the president to secure the same end. But he was assured most emphatically, that such was not the case, as they all were extremely busy, and no time for a week’s excursion to Washington.

Governor Washburn, of Maine, had invited Mr. Blaine to accompany him to this meeting of the governors, but pressure of duties forbade.

Mr. Blaine closed the little contest for supremacy, with the Kentucky gentleman, with this single sentence: “The anachronism into which my friend has been led, and which I have thus pointed out, is quite as conclusive in the premises as Mr. Weller hoped the alibi would prove in the celebrated Pickwickian trial.”

A pleasant thing about the episode is that Mr. Boutwell, of Massachusetts, afterwards President Grant’s secretary of the treasury, yielded his own time upon the floor to Mr. Blaine, for the friendly tilt in the interest of the Union, and the pending war-measure.

It proved conclusively that congress is no place for a Fourth of July oration, but for clear heads, well-managed tongues, and brave hearts, such as Mr. Blaine seems never to be without.

A long session of congress was being held on into the middle of summer, and many of the old laws relating to slavery were being abolished, among them one that related to the coastwise slave trade, which was interlaced with the coastwise trade of rightful commerce. It comprised thirty-two sections, so bound up together as to make a sort of a code on the subject. It, of course, bore directly upon the shipping interests of Maine, and brought Mr. Blaine to his feet more than once during the discussion. The effort was made to revise them in the interest of New York city, and so discriminate sharply against New England ports. The condition of that city, at this time, was very bad politically. It was about the time of the draft-riots, when Tilden addressed the mob, calling the rioters “My friends.” Of course Mr. Blaine was thoroughly informed, and he made a strong point against the measure of the New York member, Mr. Brooks. “To-day,” he said, “in New York city, the sentiment is anti-American, and were it submitted to voters of the city of New York now, whether they would have Jeff Davis president, or a loyal Republican Union man, North, Jeff Davis would have thirty thousand votes ahead,” and a voice said, “What of that?” And Mr. Brooks, the gentleman from New York, admitted that there were fifty thousand majority now in New York city opposed to Abraham Lincoln.

This was six months and seven days after the Proclamation of Emancipation, and showed that, though the great heart of that noble state beat true, and, as was a fact, had sent about two hundred thousand troops to the war, yet the mass in the city, left behind, were weakening largely the Union cause. It was a feature of the struggle with slavery continually felt, not only in congress, but in the execution of laws for the strengthening of the cause.

In reply to “What of that?”—that is, what of it if Jeff Davis could receive thirty thousand majority in New York city—he said: “Just this: if gentlemen suppose that the whole country will contribute to the prosperity and growth of the city under such circumstances, they are under a perfect delusion,” and then he went for the man who said “What of that?” in his own princely style.

He encounters first “Sunset” Cox, then of Ohio, now of New York, the wit of the House, and there is a perfect fusilade of questionings and replies, sharp retorts and pertinent sallies, and though they are after him from all sides, Cox, Randall, Arnold, Brooks, yet he holds his position with a fearless hand, standing firm as an admiral on the deck of his flag-ship in the squadron, amid the boom and smoke, the thunder, and flash, and roar of a naval engagement; just as intrepid, just as grand; no twitching of nerve, or faltering of muscle; he is commander of the situation, and never strikes his flag.