The Crater; Or, Vulcan's Peak: A Tale of the Pacific

by James Fenimore Cooper

Constitutions, or the fundamental law, the governor went on to say, were meant to be the expression of those just and general principles which should control human society, and as such should prevail over majorities. Constitutions were expressly intended to defend the rights of minorities; since without them, each question, or interest, might be settled by the majority, as it arose. It was but a truism to say that the oppression of the majority was the worst sort of oppression; since the parties injured not only endured the burthen imposed by many, but were cut off from the sympathy of their kind, which can alleviate much suffering, by the inherent character of the tyranny.

There was a great deal of good sense, and much truth in what the governor wrote, on this occasion; but of what avail could it prove with the ignorant and short-sighted, who put more trust in one honeyed phrase of the journal, that flourished about the 'people' and their 'rights,' than in all the arguments that reason, sustained even by revelation, could offer to show the fallacies and dangers of this new doctrine, As a matter of course, the wiles of the demagogue were not without fruits. Although every man in the colony, either in his own person, or in that of his parent or guardian, had directly entered into the covenants of the fundamental law, as that law then existed, they now began to quarrel with its provisions, and to advance doctrines that would subvert everything as established, in order to put something new and untried in its place. Progress was the great desideratum; and change was the hand-maiden of progress. A sort of 'puss in the corner' game was started, which was to enable those who had no places to run into the seats of those who had. This is a favourite pursuit of man, all over the world, in monarchies as well as in democracies; for, after all that institutions can effect, there is little change in men by putting on, or in taking off ermine and robes, or in wearing 'republican simplicity,' in office or out of office; but the demagogue is nothing but the courtier, pouring out his homage in the gutters, instead of in an ante-chamber.

Nor did the governor run into extremes in his attempts to restrain the false reasoning and exaggerations of the demagogue and his deluded, or selfish followers. Nothing would be easier than to demonstrate that their notions of the rights of numbers was wrong, to demonstrate that were their theories carried out in practice, there could be, and would be nothing permanent or settled in human affairs; yet not only did each lustrum, but each year, each month, each week, each hour, each minute demand its reform. Society must be periodically reduced to its elements, in order to redress grievances. The governor did not deny that men had their natural rights, at the very moment he insisted that these rights were just as much a portion of the minority as of the majority. He was perfectly willing that equal laws should prevail, as equal laws did prevail in the colony, though he was not disposed to throw everything into confusion merely to satisfy a theory. For a long time, therefore, he opposed the designs of the new-school, and insisted on his vested rights, as established in the fundamental law, which had made him ruler for life. But "it is hard to kick against the pricks." Although the claim of the governor was in every sense connected with justice, perfectly sacred, it could not resist the throes of cupidity, selfishness, and envy. By this time, the newspaper, that palladium of liberty, had worked the minds of the masses to a state in which the naked pretension of possessing rights that were not common to everybody else was, to the last degree, "tolerable and not to be endured." To such a height did the fever of liberty rise, that men assumed a right to quarrel with the private habits of the governor and his family, some pronouncing him proud because he did not neglect his teeth, as the majority did, eat when they ate, and otherwise presumed to be of different habits from those around him. Some even objected to him because he spat in his pocket-handkerchief, and did not blow his nose with his fingers.

All this time, religion was running riot, as well as politics. The next-door neighbours hated each other most sincerely, because they took different views of regeneration, justification, predestination and all the other subtleties of doctrine. What was remarkable, they who had the most clouded notions of such subjects were the loudest in their denunciations. Unhappily, the Rev. Mr. Hornblower, who had possession of the ground, took a course which had a tendency to aggravate instead of lessening this strife among the sects. Had he been prudent, he would have proclaimed louder than ever "Christ, and him crucified;" but, he made the capital mistake of going up and down, crying with the mob, "the church, the church!" This kept constantly before the eyes and ears of the dissenting part of the population—dissenting from his opinions if not from an establishment—the very features that were the most offensive to them. By "the church" they did not understand the same divine institution as that recognised by Mr. Hornblower himself, but surplices, and standing up and sitting down, and gowns, and reading prayers out of a book, and a great many other similar observances, which were deemed by most of the people relics of the "scarlet woman." It is wonderful, about what insignificant matters men can quarrel, when they wish to fall out. Perhaps religion, under these influences, had quite as much to do with the downfall of the governor, which shortly after occurred, as politics, and the newspaper, and the new lawyer, all of which and whom did everything that was in their power to destroy him.

At length, the demagogues thought they had made sufficient progress to spring their mine. The journal came out with a proposal to call a convention, to alter and improve the fundamental law. That law contained a clause already pointing out the mode by which amendments were to be made in the constitution; but this mode required the consent of the governor, of the council, and finally, of the people. It was a slow, deliberative process, too, one by which men had time to reflect on what they were doing, and so far protected vested rights as to render it certain that no very great revolution could be effected under its shadow. Now, the disaffected aimed at revolution—at carrying out, completely the game of "puss in the corner," and it became necessary to set up some new principle by which they could circumvent the old fundamental law.

This was very easily accomplished in the actual state of the public mind; it was only to carry out the doctrine of the sway of the majority to a practical result; and this was so cleverly done as actually to put the balance of power in the hands of the minority. There is nothing new in this, however, as any cool-headed man may see in this enlightened republic of our own, daily examples in which the majority-principle works purely for the aggrandizement of a minority clique. It makes very little difference how men are ruled; they will be cheated; for, failing of rogues at head-quarters to perform that office for them, they are quite certain to set to work to devise some means of cheating themselves. At the crater this last trouble was spared them, the opposition performing that office in the following ingenious manner.

The whole colony was divided into parishes, which exercised in themselves a few of the minor functions of government. They had a limited legislative power, like the American town meetings. In these parishes, laws were passed, to require the people to vote 'yes' or 'no,' in order to ascertain whether there should, or should not be, a convention to amend the constitution. About one-fourth of the electors attended these primary meetings, and of the ten meetings which were held, in six "yes" prevailed by average majorities of about two votes in each parish. This was held to be demonstration of the wishes of the majority of the people to have a convention, though most of those who staid away did so because they believed the whole procedure not only illegal, but dangerous. Your hungry demagogue, however, is not to be defeated by any scruples so delicate. To work these élites of the colony went, to organise an election for members of the convention. At this election about a third of the electors appeared, the candidates succeeding by handsome majorities, the rest staying away because they believed the whole proceedings illegal. Thus fortified by the sacred principle of the sway of majorities, these representatives of a minority, met in convention, and formed an entirely new fundamental law; one, indeed, that completely subverted the old one, not only in fact, but in theory. In order to get rid of the governor to a perfect certainty, for it was known that he could still command more votes for the office than any other man in the colony, one article provided that no person should hold the office of governor, either prospectively, or perspectively, more than five years, consecutively. This placed Mr. Mark Woolston on the shelf at the next election. Two legislative bodies were formed, the old council was annihilated, and everything was done that cunning could devise, to cause power and influence to pass into new hands. This was the one great object of the whole procedure, and, of course, it was not neglected.

When the new constitution was completed, it was referred back to the people for approval. At this third appeal to the popular voice, rather less than half of all the electors voted, the constitution being adopted by a majority of one-third of those who did. By this simple, and exquisite republican process, was the principle of the sway of majorities vindicated, a new fundamental law for the colony provided, and all the old incumbents turned out of office. 'Silence gives consent,' cried the demagogues, who forgot they had no right to put their questions!

Religion had a word to say in these changes. The circumstance that the governor was an Episcopalian reconciled many devout Christians to the palpable wrong that was done him; and it was loudly argued that a church government of bishops, was opposed to republicanism, and consequently ought not to be entertained by republicans. This charming argument, which renders religious faith secondary to human institutions, instead of human institutions secondary to religious faith, thus completely putting the cart before the horse, has survived that distant revolution, and is already flourishing in more eastern climes. It is as near an approach to an idolatrous worship of self, as human conceit has recently tolerated.

As a matter of course, elections followed the adoption of the new constitution. Pennock was chosen governor for two years; the new lawyer was made judge, the editor, secretary of state and treasurer; and other similar changes were effected. All the Woolston connection were completely laid on the shelf. This was not done so much by the electors, with whom they were still popular, as by means of the nominating committees. These nominating committees were expedients devised to place the power in the hands of a few, in a government of the many. The rule of the majority is so very sacred a thing that it is found necessary to regulate it by legerdemain. No good republican ever disputes the principle, while no sagacious one ever submits to it. There are various modes, however, of defeating all 'sacred principles,' and this particular 'sacred principle' among the rest. The simplest is that of caucus nominations. The process is a singular illustration of the theory of a majority-government. Primary meetings are called, at which no one is ever present, but the wire-pullers and their puppets. Here very fierce conflicts occur between the wire-pullers themselves, and these are frequently decided by votes as close as majorities of one, or two. Making the whole calculation, it follows that nominations are usually made by about a tenth, or even a twentieth of the body of the electors; and this, too, on the supposition that they who vote actually have opinions of their own, as usually they have not, merely wagging their tongues as the wires are pulled. Now, these nominations are conclusive, when made by the ruling party, since there are no concerted means of opposing them. A man must have a flagrantly bad character not to succeed under a regular nomination, or he must be too honest for the body of the electors; one fault being quite as likely to defeat him as the other.