From Farm Boy to Senator / Being the History of the Boyhood and Manhood of Daniel Webster

by Jr. Horatio Alger

“The next day, the 2d of August, the weather was fine, and the concourse to hear him immense. It was the first time that Faneuil Hall had been draped in mourning. The scene was very solemn, though the light of day was not excluded. Settees had been placed over the whole area of the hall; the large platform was occupied by many of the most distinguished men in New England, and, as it was intended that everything should be conducted with as much quietness as possible, the doors were closed when the procession had entered, and every part of the hall and galleries was filled. This was a mistake in the arrangements; the crowd on the outside, thinking that some space must still be left within, became very uneasy, and finally grew so tumultuous and noisy that the solemnities were interrupted. The police in vain attempted to restore order. It seemed as if confusion would prevail. Mr. Webster perceived that there was but one thing to be done. He advanced to the front of the stage, and said in a voice easily heard above the noise of tumult without and of alarm within, ‘Let those doors be opened.’

“The power and authority of his manner were irresistible; the doors were opened, though with difficulty, from the pressure of the crowd on the outside; but after the first rush everything was quiet, and the order during the rest of the performance was perfect.

“Mr. Webster spoke in an orator’s gown and wore small-clothes. He was in the perfection of his manly beauty and strength, his form filled out to its finest proportions, and his bearing, as he stood before the vast multitude, that of absolute dignity and power. His manuscript lay on a small table near him, but I think he did not once refer to it. His manner of speaking was deliberate and commanding. When he came to the passage on eloquence, and to the words, ‘It is action, noble, sublime, godlike action,’ he stamped his foot repeatedly on the stage, his form seemed to dilate, and he stood, as that whole audience saw and felt, the personification of what he so perfectly described. I never saw him when his manner was so grand and appropriate.

“The two speeches attributed to Mr. Adams and his opponent attracted great attention from the first. Soon they were put into school-books, as specimens of English, and of eloquence. In time men began to believe they were genuine speeches, made by genuine men who were in the Congress of ’76; and at last Mr. Webster received letters asking whether such was the fact or not. In January, 1846, he sent me from Washington a letter he had just received, dated at Auburn, begging him to solve the doubt. With it he sent me his answer, which is published in his works, saying: ‘The accompanying letter and copy of answer respect a question which has been often asked me. I place them in your hands, to serve if similar inquiries should be made of you.’ Two months after, in March of the same year, he sent me a letter from Bangor, in Maine, asking the same question, beginning the note which accompanied it with these words: ‘Here comes another; I cannot possibly answer all of them, one after another.’ Indeed he continued to receive such letters until the edition of his works was published in 1851, though the matter was repeatedly discussed and explained in the newspapers. The fact is, that the speech he wrote for John Adams has such an air of truth and reality about it, that only a genius like Mr. Webster, perfectly familiar with whatever relates to the Revolution, and indeed with its spirit, could have written it.”

There is hardly a schoolboy who reads this book who has not declaimed his famous speech, beginning, ‘Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.’ It is hard to believe that this noble and impressive speech, so true to the sturdy character of Mr. Adams, and so appropriate to the occasion, was written by Mr. Webster one morning, before breakfast, in his library. It is also surprising that the orator was not certain whether it really had merit or not, and read it to Mr. Ticknor for his opinion.

Though parts of this speech are familiar, I shall nevertheless conclude my chapter with the exordium, since it will be read with fresh interest in this connection.

“This is an unaccustomed spectacle. For the first time, fellow citizens, badges of mourning shroud the columns and overhang the arches of this hall. These walls, which were consecrated so long ago to the cause of American liberty, which witnessed her infant struggles, and rang with the shouts of her earliest victories, proclaim now that distinguished friends and champions of that great cause have fallen. It is right that it should be thus. The tears which flow and the honors which are paid when the founders of the republic die give hope that the republic itself may be immortal. It is fit that by public assembly and solemn observance, by anthem and by eulogy, we commemorate the services of national benefactors, extol their virtues, and render thanks to God for eminent blessings, early given and long continued, to our favored country.

“Adams and Jefferson are no more, and we are assembled, fellow citizens, the aged, the middle-aged, and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate of the commonwealth and others, its official representatives, the university, and the learned societies, to bear our part in the manifestations of respect and gratitude which universally pervade the land. Adams and Jefferson are no more. On our fiftieth anniversary, the great day of national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in the midst of echoing and re-echoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names were on all tongues, they took their flight together to the world of spirits.

“If it be true that no one can safely be pronounced happy while he lives, if that event which terminates life can alone crown its honor and its glory, what felicity is here! The great epic of their lives how happily concluded! Poetry itself has hardly closed illustrious lives and finished the career of earthly renown by such a consummation. If we had the power, we could not wish to reverse this dispensation of Divine Providence. The great objects of life were accomplished, the drama was ready to be closed. It has closed; our patriots have fallen; but so fallen, at such age, with such coincidence, on such a day, that we cannot rationally lament that that end has come, which we know could not long be deferred.