The insanity and death of Mr. Greeley cast a gloom over the election for victors as well as vanquished. Mr. Greeley's mind was weakened by domestic affliction, and by the desertion of Tribune readers, and when crushing defeat at the polls gave the coup-de-grace to his political prospects, his once vigorous intellect yielded under the strain. Like a dying gladiator, mortally wounded, but with courage unquenched, he seized once more the editorial blade with which he had dealt so many powerful blows in the past for justice and for truth; but nature was not equal to the task, and the weapon fell from his nerveless grasp. His last words were: "The country is gone; the Tribune is gone, and I am gone." General Grant attended the funeral of his gifted and hapless competitor, and the nation joined in honor and eulogy of the great editor whose heart was always true to humanity, and whose very failings leaned to virtue's side. Fortunately Mr. Greeley's irresponsible utterance was not prophetic either as to the country or the Tribune. Mr. Whitelaw Reid succeeded to the editorial chair, and has ably kept the Tribune in the front rank of American journals.
Mr. Greeley's last editorial expression pleaded with the victors in behalf of justice and fair dealing for the South. General Grant himself is said to have arrived at the conclusion before the close of his second term, that the Federal troops should be withdrawn from the Southern States, and sagacious Republicans discerned in the growth of Democratic sentiment both North and South a warning that the people were becoming tired of bayonet government ten years after Appomattox. The election of 1876, when the Democrats had a popular majority, and the decision between Rutherford B. Hayes, Republican, and Samuel J. Tilden, Democrat, depended on a single vote, emphasized the popular protest against military rule in time of peace, and when the Electoral Commission gave a verdict in favor of General Hayes, the new President speedily withdrew the National troops from the reconstructed States.
While the country witnessed deep agitation and difference of opinion regarding reconstruction in the South, there was no difference of public sentiment regarding the vigorous, far-sighted and thoroughly American policy of the government in dealing with foreign powers. One of the first steps of Secretary Seward after the close of the war was to demand in courteous language that the French should evacuate Mexico. Napoleon dared not challenge the United States by answering no. General Philip H. Sheridan was on the Rio Grande with fifty thousand men, anxious to cross over and fight; a million veterans were ready to obey the summons to battle, and Generals Grant and Sherman would willingly have followed in the footsteps of Scott and Taylor. The French troops were withdrawn. Maximilian, deceived as to the strength of his cause with the natives, refused to accompany Bazaine across the ocean, and the month of May, 1867, saw the usurping emperor shut up with a small force in Queretaro, surrounded by an army of forty thousand Mexican avengers.
In those final days of his life and reign the hapless Austrian prince exhibited a courage and nobility of character which showed that the blood of Maria Theresa was not degenerate in his veins. He faced death with more than reckless daring; he shared in all the privations of his faithful adherents, and he was preparing to cut his way out through the host of besiegers, at the head of his men, when treachery betrayed him to the enemy.
Miguel Lopez was the Benedict Arnold of Queretaro; personal immunity and two thousand gold ounces the price. Lopez held the key of Queretaro—the convent of La Cruz. Maximilian had been his generous patron and friend, and had appointed him chief of the imperial guard. Lopez discerned the approaching downfall of his sovereign, and resolved to save himself by delivering up that sovereign to the enemy. On the night of May 14, the Liberal troops were admitted to La Cruz, and Queretaro was at the mercy of the besiegers.
Maximilian made a last stand on the "Hill of the Bells." Successful resistance was impossible. The bullet he prayed for did not come, and the emperor and his officers were prisoners. In vain the Princess Salm-Salm, representing one of the proudest families of Europe, bent her knees before the Indian President of Mexico, and pleaded for the life of Maximilian. "I am grieved, madam," said Juarez, "to see you thus on your knees before me; but if all the kings and queens of Europe were in your place, I could not spare that life. It is not I who take it. It is the people and the law, and if I should not do their will, the people would take it, and mine also."
"Boys, aim well—aim at my heart"—was Maximilian's request to his executioners. "Oh man!" was his last cry as he fell, the victim of his own ambition, and of Louis Napoleon's perfidy. The volley which pierced his breast was the knell of the Bonaparte dynasty. Gravelotte was but little more than three years from Queretaro.