Diary in America, Series Two

by Frederick Marryat

Captain Hamilton, speaking to one of the federalist, or aristocratical party, received the following reply. I have received similar ones in more than fifty instances. “My opinions, and I believe those of the party to which I belonged, are unchanged; and the course of events in this country has been such as to impress only a deeper and more thorough conviction of their wisdom; but, in the present state of public feeling, we dare not express them. An individual professing such opinions would not only find himself excluded from every office of public trust within the scope of his reasonable ambition, but he would be regarded by his neighbours and fellow-citizens with an evil eye. His words and actions would become the objects of jealous and malignant scrutiny, and he would have to sustain the unceasing attacks of a host of unscrupulous and ferocious assailants.”

Mr Cooper says, “The besetting, the degrading vice of America is the moral cowardice by which men are led to truckle to what is called public opinion, though nine times in ten these are mere engines set in motion by opinions the most corrupt and least respectable portion of the community, for the most unworthy purposes. The English are a more respectable and constant (unconstant?) nation than the Americans, as relates to this peculiarity.”

To be popular with the majority in America, to be a favourite with the people, you must first divest yourself of all freedom of opinion; you must throw off all dignity; you must shake hands and drink with every man you meet; you must be, in fact, slovenly and dirty in your appearance, or you will be put down as an aristocrat. I recollect once an American candidate asked me if I would walk out with him? I agreed; but he requested leave to change his coat, which was a decent one, for one very shabby; “for,” says he, “I intend to look in upon some of my constituents, and if they ever saw me in that other coat, I should lose my election.” This cannot but remind the reader of the custom of candidates in former democracies—standing up in the market-place as suppliants in tattered garments, to solicit the “voices” of the people.

That the morals of the nation have retrograded from the total destruction of the aristocracy, both in the government and in society, which has taken place within the last ten years, is most certain.

The power has fallen into the hands of the lower orders, the offices under government have been chiefly filled up by their favourites, either being poor and needy men from their own class, or base and dishonest men, who have sacrificed their principles and consciences for place. I shall enter more fully into this subject hereafter; it is quite sufficient at present to say, that during Mr Adams’ presidency, a Mr Benjamin Walker was a defaulter to the amount of 18,000 dollars, and was in consequence incarcerated for two years. Since the democratic party have come into power, the quantity of defaulters, and the sums which have been embezzled of government money, are enormous, and no punishment of any kind has been attempted. They say it is only a breach of trust, and that a breach of trust is not punishable, except by a civil action; which certainly in the United States is of little avail, as the payment of the money can always be evaded. The consequence is that you meet with defaulters in, I will not say the very best society generally, but in the very best society of some portions of the United States. I have myself sat down to a dinner party to which I had been invited, with a defaulter to government on each side of me. I knew one that was setting up for Congress, and, strange to say, his delinquency was not considered by the people as an objection. An American author (Voice from America) states, “On the 17th June, 1838, the United States treasurer reported to Congress sixty-three defaulters; the total sums embezzled amounting to one million, twenty thousand and odd dollars.”

The tyranny of the majority has completely destroyed the moral courage of the American people, and without moral courage what chance is there of any fixed standard of morality?

M. Tocqueville observes, “Democratic republics extend the practice of currying favour with the many, and they introduce it into a greater number of classes at once: this is one of the most serious reproaches that can be addressed to them. In democratic States organised on the principles of the American republics this is more especially the case, where the authority of the majority is so absolute and irresistible, that a man must give up his rights as a citizen, and almost abjure his quality as a human being, if he intends to stray from the track which it lays down.

“In that immense crowd which throngs the avenues to power in the United States, I found very few men who displayed any of that manly candour, and that masculine independence of opinion, which frequently distinguished the Americans in former times, and which constitutes the leading feature in distinguished characters wheresoever they may be found. It seems, at first sight, as if all the minds of the Americans were formed upon one model, so accurately do they correspond in their manner of judging. A stranger does, indeed, sometimes meet with Americans who dissent from these rigorous formularies; with men who deplore the defects of the laws; the mutability and the ignorance of democracy; who even go so far as to observe the evil tendencies which impair the national character, and to point out such remedies as it might be possible to apply; but no one is there to hear these things beside yourself, and you, to whom these secret reflections are confided, are a stranger and a bird of passage. They are very ready to communicate truths which are useless to you, but they continue to hold a different language in public.” See note 2.

There are a few exceptions—Clay and Webster are men of such power as to be able, to a certain degree, to hold their independence. Dr Channing has proved himself an honour to his country and to the world. Mr Cooper has also great merit in this point and no man has certainly shewn more moral courage, let his case be good or not, than Garrison, the leader of the abolition party.

But with these few and remarkable exceptions, moral courage is almost prostrate in the United States. The most decided specimen I met with to the contrary was at Cincinnati, when a large portion of the principal inhabitants ventured to express their opinion, contrary to the will of the majority, in my defence, and boldly proclaimed their opinions by inviting me to a public dinner. I told them my opinion of their behaviour, and I gave them my thanks. I repeat my opinion and my thanks now; they had much to contend with, but they resisted boldly; and not only from that remarkable instance of daring to oppose public opinion when all others quailed, but from many other circumstances, I have an idea that Cincinnati will one day take an important lead, as much from the spirit and courage of her citizens, as from her peculiarly fortunate position. I had a striking instance to the contrary at St. Louis, when they paraded me in effigy through the streets. Certain young Bostonians, who would have been glad enough to have seized my hand when in the Eastern States, before I had happened to affront the majority, kept aloof, or shuffled away, so as not to be obliged to recognise me. Such have been the demoralising effects of the tyranny of public opinion in the short space of fifty years, and I will now wind up this chapter by submitting to the reader extracts from the two French authors, one of whom describes America in 1782, and the other in 1835.