These circumstances left the party to find such leadership as it could in Congress, and the leadership it found was a triangular fight—Benton, Cass and Calhoun. Benton had remarkable powers and seldom failed to be a Democrat, a Senator and a patriot, but he was egotistical, moody, overbearing, passionate; he despised Cass, he more than hated Calhoun, and he treated his fellow-Democrats in general as minions. Cass, a courtier and somewhat a scholar, lacked parliamentary experience, drew more timidity than courage from his Presidential hopes, and possessed no political convictions to reinforce his talents. Calhoun’s high character, rare intellectual strength and frank, affable manners made him personally the most influential man at the capital; but his judgment was erratic, and he aimed to stand aloof, with a following of about four Senators, as a balance-of-power faction. He was intensely narrow, too. For him there seemed to be only one region in the world; only one state in the south, and only one public man there. Cass was loyal to the administration, Benton helpful but domineering, and Calhoun unfriendly. Not a very firm tripod, this, to support a government engaged in war. With almost all the Democrats, politics—that is to say, offices—held the stage, and country occupied the background. Dissatisfaction with Polk’s appointments increased the confusion. Indeed, a “passion” for getting jobs invaded the sacred halls of legislation, and the President found not less than twenty men voting against his measures to avenge personal disappointments.[24]
THE WHIGS IN CONGRESS
Whig harmony and efficiency were happily not impaired by these allurements of the fleshpots, for the Executive did not belong to their party; but their numberless inconsistencies proved most embarrassing, and the necessity of satisfying public sentiment, and throwing the responsibility upon the administration, by voting supplies for hostilities they denounced, weakened them. No absurdities, however, were too glaring, no contradictions too thorny for what they termed their “patriotic sublimity” to ignore or surmount. They denounced the war enough to incriminate themselves when they supported it, and they supported it enough to stultify themselves when they condemned it. Combining the views of several groups, one discovered a line of policy truly remarkable: the attack upon Mexico was unconstitutional and wicked, but it should be carried on; so let us halt, send an embassy, and proffer again the negotiations that Mexico has repeatedly and recently spurned.[25]
The success of the government’s military and fiscal policies in comparison with what had been predicted, and the freedom of our commerce from Mexican and European molestation were troublesome facts; but hopes of disaster could still be entertained, and prophecies of woe still be chanted. Constructive statesmanship, they held, was not their affair. The country’s difficulties occasioned them but slight concern. On that score their detachment was charming.
“I heard a lion in the lobby roar;
Say, Mr. Speaker, shall we shut the door
And keep him out, or shall we let him in
And see if we can get him out again?”
In fact they found it most agreeable to hear savage growls and roars, and proclaim that all responsibility belonged to the Democrats. To heighten the turmoil Taylor and Scott were in politics, where they should not have been, and they had active and hopeful friends in Congress. Many of the Whigs, indeed, felt quite ready to put up “Old Zack” for President and “Old Whitey” for Vice President, if only they could injure Polk and whip the Democrats thereby; and their opponents, understanding the game, fended off with no more scruple.[25]
The speeches, which ran on almost interminably, were often able, sometimes eloquent, almost always prejudiced, and quite always deficient in information. Indeed, a multitude of essential or important data were wholly unknown. The same facts, the same errors, the same arguments, the same epithets, the same laudable sentiments and the same ignoble aims presented themselves over and over again. Assertions and denials, proofs and refutations, accusations and answers, flings and retorts pursued and were pursued. There was what the Public Ledger called “an everlasting begging of the question”—taking premises for granted and reaching conclusions that any one could accept, if he pleased. “How glad I shall be when I escape from the region of speeches—and get into the region of [undisguised] pigs and calves,” Senator Fairfield had exclaimed a few months earlier; and no doubt many felt in the same way now.[26]