Despotism and Democracy: A Study in Washington Society and Politics

by Molly Elliot Seawell

Crane, with Annette and the two children, had returned to Circleville immediately after the adjournment of Congress, and immediately, on reaching home, he had been beset with a temptation, against which he had made a short, hard fight, and then was conquered, and gave up all the honesty of his soul as regards politics. One week after his return to Circleville, he had received overtures for peace from Governor Sanders, and a meeting between them had been arranged.

It took place in a neighbouring city, in the private parlour of a hotel. The two men were entirely alone. Sanders, a bull-dog of a man, came out frankly and told Crane that, by the cutthroat policy they were pursuing, they were simply playing into Senator Bicknell’s hands, and depriving the State of its just weight with the National Committee in the year of a Presidential convention. His proposition was a large one, but was put in a few words. The Governor began by freely admitting that Crane had got the best of him in the matter of the senatorial appointment—the politicians were agreed on that. But all men make blunders, and Governor Sanders proposed to atone for the blunder he had made about the senatorship by joining forces with Crane instead of opposing him further. It was plain that there was a strong revolt against Senator Bicknell, and a split was inevitable among the chiefs as soon as the Legislature met, which would elect a senator. When this break came, new alignments must be made, and Governor Sanders believed and said that if he and Crane should join forces they could oust Senator Bicknell and get control of the machine.

At the mention of Senator Bicknell’s name, Crane changed countenance, and mumbled something about his political obligations to the Senator. Sanders met this by saying that it was his opinion, if Senator Bicknell were not ousted, there would be grave danger that the party would lose the State at the next election; and, in any event, there must be a new arrangement of forces, and he was simply proposing to take advantage of the inevitable. He then went on to explain briefly his plan. The protocols must provide that Governor Sanders should throw all his strength toward getting Crane the party nomination for the short senatorial term in January, and second Crane’s efforts to succeed himself. In return, Crane was to devote all his energies toward securing the Governor’s election two years hence to succeed Senator Bicknell. Meanwhile, Senator Bicknell was nursing a very robust and promising Vice-presidential boom, which must, of course, be strangled in the cradle. Nothing must be heard of it at the next Presidential convention a year hence; but four years hence, when both Crane and Sanders would be in the Senate, it would be time enough to decide which one would strive for it. The geographical position of the State and the uncertainty of the elections for many years past would put them in a very good strategic position either to capture the Vice-presidential nomination or to dictate it to the convention; and that was a prize which could be held in reserve.

The success of the whole, however, depended upon keeping Senator Bicknell in the dark, for although he had not displayed the qualities of a truly great boss, like Senator Standiford, yet he was a man of considerable force, well liked, a gentleman, and a favourite in his party. If he suspected the plotting of an insurrection against him, he might in two years’ time overthrow it completely; but he was an unsuspicious man—a bad thing in a boss—and could be easily deluded into believing that no effort was necessary on his part to hold his own. For that reason, the warfare between Sanders and Crane should be ostensibly kept up. Especially must this be the case in selecting delegates to the National Convention. Senator Bicknell’s aspirations for the Vice-presidential nomination must be frosted on the apparent ground of dissensions among the leaders in the State—but as soon as the election was over they could come together and have four years’ amicable struggle to prove whether Sanders or Crane should be seriously put forward for the Vice-presidential nomination five years hence.

Crane listened to this nefarious scheme with disgust—a disgust in which a great longing was strangely and violently mingled. Every word that Sanders said was true; Crane knew that perfectly well. The machine was going to pieces—there could be no doubt of that—and Crane, with accurate knowledge of conditions, saw that the Governor’s plan, although far-reaching, was quite practicable. The whole thing, however, hinged upon keeping Senator Bicknell in the dark. If it had been a free, fair fight, the Governor and himself might be worsted. Senator Bicknell might be considered the founder of Crane’s political fortunes, and had certainly treated him with great kindness, and had procured his advancement; but then, it was a question whether the great law of necessity would not compel Crane to go with Sanders. Senator Bicknell would not, if he could, ruin Crane, but Governor Sanders was fully capable of it, and would, if he could. Indeed, Sanders conveyed as much.

“Of course,” he said, carelessly, as he lighted a cigar, “you would have to be very circumspect in every way from now on. Voters, you know, are easily offended. As a matter of business, purely, I shall mention to you that there has been some talk about your leaving your wife at home during your time spent in Washington. I have heard that, except for the short visit she paid you during the extra session, she has not been there since the first session at which you took your seat. Of course, everybody knows that it is all straight between you, but it was a mistake on your part, just the same. It will give your enemies a handle against you.”

Crane grew pale. How strange it was that in all those years he had never been conscious of the supreme folly of his behaviour! It had not once occurred to him until that evening in Washington, hardly more than a month ago!

“Mrs. Crane remained by choice in Circleville on account of the children,” replied Crane, “and because my salary as a congressman doesn’t admit of my having my family there as I would wish—particularly as I had some debts to pay, and my house in Circleville has a mortgage on it.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Mr. Crane. All of us who know you do. I was not speaking of the views of your friends, but of your enemies, on the subject. However, if money is the consideration, I think I could guarantee your senatorial term in good style; nothing extravagant, you know, but enough to put your mind at ease. Your notes, with my indorsement, would be accepted at any bank in the State, and the matter could be kept quiet.”

It was the old story—making chains out of his necessities. And they were very great. Crane spoke of paying his debts. He had scarcely made any reduction in the principal, and had only succeeded in paying the interest—which, with his living expenses, of which his own were twice as much as Annette’s and the children’s, and his small life-insurance, had galloped away with his five thousand a year. And if he should lose the nomination—there was not much danger of that now, but everything was possible with a machine and a man like Governor Sanders.