I took the oath as Senator, my colleague, Benjamin F. Wade, president pro tem. of the Senate, administering it. I became chairman of the committee on finance by the voluntary retirement of Mr. Fessenden. I knew this had been his purpose during the session just closed. He complained of his health, and that the confinement and labor of the position he held added to his infirmity. At the same time it was agreed that the duties of the committee should be divided by referring all appropriations to a committee on appropriations, and I was to choose between the two committees. The House of Representatives had already divided the labors of the committee of ways and means, a corresponding committee to that on finance, among several committees, and the experiment had proved a success. I preferred the committee on finance, and remained its chairman until I became Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Fessenden took the easy and pleasant position of chairman of the committee on public buildings and grounds, and held that position until he died in September, 1869. I have already expressed my opinion of his remarkable ability as a debater and as a statesman of broad and conservative views. His only fault was a hasty temper too often displayed, but as often regretted by him.
Congress adjourned on the 30th of March, to meet again on the 3rd of July. The Senate was called to a special session by proclamation of the President on the 1st day of April, 1867. It remained in session until the 20th of April and then adjourned sine die.
I did not remain until the close of the session, but about the 10th of April sailed from New York for Europe in the steamer "City of Antwerp." I went for needed rest, a change of air and scene, and had in view, as one of the attractions of the voyage, a visit to the exposition at Paris in that year. My associates on the ocean were Colonel Morrow, United States Army, and John A. Kasson, Member of Congress from Iowa, and we remained together until I left London.
I had no plan, route or business, except to go where I drifted with such companions as I met. The only limitation as to time was the duty of returning to meet the adjourned session of the Senate in July. I have no memoranda in respect to the voyage and preserved no letters about it. Still, the principal scenes and events are impressed on my mind and I will narrate them as I now recall them.
The passage on the ocean was a favorable one. We had some rain but no winds that disturbed my digestion. But few on the vessel were seasick, and these mainly so from imagination. The captain, whose name I do not recall, was a jolly Englishman, but a careful, prudent and intelligent officer. I sat by his side at his table. After leaving port we soon took our places at table for our first meal on board. He inquired of me if I was a good sailor. I told him I would be as regular in my attendance at meals as he. He laughed and said he would like to wager some wine on that. I cheerfully accepted his bet, and, true to my promise, I did not miss a meal during the voyage, while he three or four times remained at his post on deck when the air was filled with fog or the waves were high. He paid the bet near the end of the voyage, and a number of his passengers, including Morrow and Kasson, shared in the treat.
I can imagine no life more pleasing than a tranquil, but not too tranquil, sea, with a good ship well manned, with companions you like, but not too many. The quiet and rest, the view of the ocean, the sense of solitude, the possibility of danger, all these broken a little by a quiet game of whist or an interesting book—this I call happiness. All these I remember to have enjoyed on this, my fifth trip on the ocean.
In due time we arrived at Queenstown in Ireland. It was about the time a party of Irishmen, in some town in England rescued some of their countrymen from a van in charge of English constables, one or more of whom were killed or wounded. Morrow, Kasson and I concluded we would spend a few days in "Ould Ireland." Morrow and Kasson believed they were of Irish descent, though remotely so as their ancestors "fought in the Revolution." We remained in and about Cork for two or three days. We visited and kissed the Blarney Stone, saw the Lakes of Killarney, and drove or walked about the interesting environs of Cork and Queenstown. We sought no acquaintance with anyone.
We were all about the age of forty, physically sound, and both Morrow and Kasson had the military air and step of soldiers. We soon became conscious that we were under surveillance. One day an officer called at our lodgings and frankly told us that there was so much excitement about Fenian disturbances in England, and such political ferment in Ireland, that an examination of the baggage of passengers was required and he wished to examine ours. I told him who we were, and introduced him to Morrow and Kasson, and offered my trunk for inspection. They did the same, Kasson producing also a small pistol from his valise. The officer had heard of that pistol. Kasson had fired it at the birds hovering about the vessel. This had been reported to the police. The officer took the pistol and it was returned to Kasson some days after at Dublin. Morrow ridiculed the pistol and told the officer that Kasson could not hit or hurt him at ten paces away, but the officer was only half satisfied. We soon after went to Dublin, but we felt that we were under suspicion. All Americans were then suspected of sympathizing with the Irish. We told our consul at Dublin of our adventures at Cork, and he said we were lucky in not being arrested. We went to a steeple chase a few miles from Dublin, where gentlemen rode their own horses over a long and difficult route, leaping barriers and crossing streams. We enjoyed the scene very much and mingled freely in the great crowd, but always feeling that we were watched. The next day we started to cross the channel to Holyhead.
We took the steamer at Dublin Bay and found aboard a large company of well-dressed passengers, such as we would find on a summer excursion from New York. Morrow, who was a handsome man of pleasing manners and address, said he could pick out Americans from the crowd. I doubted it. He said: "There is an American," pointing out a large, well-built man, who seemed to be known by the passengers around him. I said he was an Englishman. Morrow stepped up to him and politely said that he had a wager with a friend that he was an American. "Not by a d——d sight," replied the Englishman. Morrow apologized for the intrusion, but the gentleman changed his tone and said that his abrupt answer was caused by a letter he had lately received from a nephew of his whom he had sent to America to make his fortune. His nephew had written him now that the rebels were put down, the next thing to do would be to put down "old England." Morrow said there was too much of that kind of gasconade in America, and that after our desperate struggle at home we would not be likely to engage in one with England.
We arrived safely in London. In my first visit in 1859, with my wife, we were sight-seers. Now I sought to form acquaintance with men whose names were household words in all parts of the United States. By the courtesy of our consul general at Liverpool, Thomas H. Dudley, I met John Bright, Disraeli, and many others less conspicuous in public life. I have already mentioned my breakfast with Gladstone during this visit. Mr. Dudley, then in London, invited Mr. Bright to a dinner as his principal guest. Of all the men I met in London, Mr. Bright impressed me most favorably. Finely formed physically, he was also mentally strong. He was frank and free in his talk and had none of the hesitation or reserve common with Englishmen. He was familiar with our war and had no timidity in the expression of his sympathy for the Union cause. If we ever erect a monument to an Englishman, it should be to John Bright. I heard Disraeli speak in the House of Commons and was introduced to him at a reception at Lord Stanley's. In the ten days I spent in London I saw as much of social life as could be crowded into that time. Charles Francis Adams was then United States minister at London, and I am indebted to him for many acts of kindness. When we were Members of the House of Representatives together he had the reputation of being cold and reserved and he was not popular with his fellow Members, but in London he was distinguished for his hospitality to Americans. He certainly was very kind to me, entertaining me at dinner and taking pains to introduce me to many peers and members whose names were familiar to me. While receptions are very common in London during the session, the Englishman prefers dinners as a mode of entertainment. It is then he really enjoys himself and gives pleasure to his guests. The sessions of parliament, however, interfere greatly with dinners. The great debates occur during dining hours, so that, as Mr. Adams informed me, it was difficult to arrange a dinner that would not be broken up somewhat by an unexpected debate, or a division in the House of Commons. The precedence of rank had to be carefully observed. The unsocial habit of not introducing guests to each other tended to restrain conversation and make the dinner dull and heavy. Still the forms and usages in social life in London are much like those in Washington. But here the ordinary sessions of each House of Congress terminate before six o'clock, leaving the evening hours for recreation.