New England was strong in her pride and confidence in her brilliant son, and had won many promises for Reed, but small revolts here and there made his hold precarious, and the defection of Congressman Manley of Maine at the very moment when his influence and assistance was most necessary seriously and dangerously affected Reed’s chances. Appalled by the mighty array that favored McKinley, the Maine Congressman deserted the New England favorite and dismay and disorganization took possession of their camp.
Much there was of this preliminary skirmishing among the partisans of all the available ones, but in it all a potent fact was staring at the fight, and became so apparent that it was at last candidly acknowledged.
The feeling for Governor William McKinley of Ohio was constantly gathering strength. The pressure from outside was too strong to withstand. For weeks before the convention the Republican public had been shouting McKinley, and in a tone that could not be ignored. The voice and the force of the people pressed hard upon the convention. The newspapers teemed with his praise; his face and record were constantly being presented; buttons bearing his portrait and mottoes that epitomized his principles were seen everywhere, in city, town and country, and thousands who had been, theretofore, but little interested in politics became enthusiastic champions of the man from Ohio.
William McKinley had been before the people, not as a candidate for President, but as the ardent advocate of measures that intelligent persons thought more of national prosperity than of partisan politics. The quick-seeing people had heard and read of his plans for redeeming the country and casting off its burden of distress, “Hard Times,” and this had brought the tide of public favor and endorsement.
With this and all the excellent qualities of the man, in which the people had been instructed, wise, sagacious, far-seeing and powerful friends, adepts in the science of politics, who made no mistakes, took the matter in hand, before the convention had assembled, and then into it, at the proper time, and they kept the front of the fight well aligned and unbroken to victory.
The movement for McKinley was skillfully presented as that of “the masses against the bosses.” In some respects that was what it was. The bosses fought for others in the convention, but the will of the people carried. The pressure of the masses was for McKinley, and though the people stood on the outside the avalanche of popular opinion swept over all. The politicians opposed the “Ohio idea” and fought desperately. Platt, the most adroit of them all, threatened, cajoled, combined and bluffed. Reed’s managers tried tact, diplomacy, compromise and all else available, the opponents of McKinley of all elements held all sorts of “star chamber” sessions time and time again, and on the night before the convention planned together until daylight endeavoring to fix some combination to defeat McKinley, but Mark Hanna, the manager of the McKinley campaign, kept in the even tenor of his way, doing his work as past master of political strategy, smiled and feared not. Certain safety gave him ease, and masterly he held his way with coolness and calculation.
It was evident from the first that there was only one dangerous rock upon which the great convention might split. There were those in the convention from the far West, whose local interests in silver would overcome party fealty and the question of a gold standard of currency or unlimited silver coinage was one that required strong, unfailing nerve to face it. As strong a factor as the tariff always was and always will be, it was temporarily relegated to the background, as there was not a possibility of serious dissension upon the question of protection, for which the party of the convention naturally stood, under any circumstances.
But unquestionably there was a wide variance in many quarters between the “gold” and “silver” men. While the East and the older sections of our country were uncompromising in their demand for gold as the single standard, some of the Republicans beyond the Mississippi insisted upon a plank acknowledging silver, and open threats were made that in case of refusal they would bolt the convention and affiliate with the party representing their views. The question was as to how far this disaffection extended. The pages immediately following will answer that question.
Meanwhile Governor McKinley at his home in Canton, Ohio, gave no sign. The lessons of former candidates who had undone themselves by tongue or pen were not lost upon him, and he remained resolutely mute. He was referred to as the “wabbling candidate,” and some of his earlier expressions were quoted against him; but nothing sufficed to draw him out. He quietly bided his time, and who shall say he was not wise?
It was about half an hour past noon, on Tuesday, June 16, 1896, that the eleventh national convention of the Republican party was called to order by the Hon. Thomas Henry Carter, chairman of the Republican National Committee. The tremendous structure, known as the Auditorium or Convention Hall, is capable of accommodating an immense assemblage, and it is estimated that more than 40,000 visitors had flocked to St. Louis. Fortunately the torrid weather for which the Mound City is noted and dreaded held off, though it gave a taste of its terrible power to smite before final adjournment came.