I refer to the men you name. They [meaning Baird, Murphy, Kean, Stokes] differ from the others in this, that they are in control of the government of the state while the others are not, and cannot be if the present Democratic ticket is elected.
In reply to Mr. Record's question: "Will you join me in denouncing the Democratic 'overlords' as parties to a political boss system?" Doctor Wilson replied: "Certainly I will join you in denouncing them—or any one of either party who attempts any outrages against the Government and public morality."
At this time I was in close touch with the managers of the Wilson campaign, including Smith, Nugent, and Davis. While they admired the fine strategy that lay back of the Democratic candidate's reply to Mr. Record, they looked upon it as a mere gesture upon the part of Mr. Wilson and scorned to believe that his reply to Mr. Record constituted a challenge to their leadership. They did not show any evidences of dismay or chagrin at the courageous attitude taken by Doctor Wilson. They simply smiled and shrugged their shoulders and said: "This is a great campaign play."
CHAPTER VIII
THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN
The final meeting of the gubernatorial campaign was held in a large auditorium in Newark, New Jersey, where the last appeal was made by the Democratic candidate. It was a meeting filled with emotionalism such as I had never seen in a campaign before. The Democratic candidate, Woodrow Wilson, had covered every section of the state and it was easy for even the casual observer to note the rising tide in his favour. The campaign had, indeed, become a crusade; his eloquence and sledge-hammer blows at the opposition having cut our party lines asunder. I was present at the final meeting and took my place in the wings of the theatre or auditorium, alongside of Senator Smith, the Democratic chieftain who a few weeks before had, in a masterful fashion, manipulated the workings of the Convention at Trenton in such a way as to make the Doctor's nomination possible. Mr. Wilson's speech on this occasion was a profession of faith in the people, in the plain people, those "whose names never emerged into the headlines of newspapers." When he said in a delightful sort of banter to his audience, "I want you to take a sportsman's chance on me," there went up a shout of approval which could be heard as far as the hills of old Bergen.
The peroration of his final speech, spoken in a tone of voice that seemed not only to reach every ear but, in fact, to touch every heart, was as follows:
We have begun a fight that, it may be, will take many a generation to complete, the fight against privilege; but you know that men are not put into this world to go the path of ease. They are put into this world to go the path of pain and struggle. No man would wish to sit idly by and lose the opportunity to take part in such a struggle. All through the centuries there has been this slow, painful struggle forward, forward, up, up, a little at a time, along the entire incline, the interminable way which leads to the perfection of force, to the real seat of justice and honour.
There are men who have fallen by the way; blood without stint has been shed; men have sacrificed everything in this sometimes blind, but always instinctive and constant struggle, and America has undertaken to lead the way; America has undertaken to be the haven of hope, the opportunity for all men.
Don't look forward too much. Don't look at the road ahead of you in dismay. Look at the road behind you. Don't you see how far up the hill we have come? Don't you see what those low and damp miasmatic levels were from which we have slowly led the way? Don't you see the rows of men come, not upon the lower level, but upon the upper, like the rays of the rising sun? Don't you see the light starting and don't you see the light illuminating all nations?