The Southern people said they were going out of the Union; we implored them to stay, by the common memories of the Revolution, by an apparent common destiny; by the love of man, but they refused to listen to us—rushed past us, and appealed to the arbitrament of the sword; and now I, for one, say by the decision of the sword let them abide.
Now, I want to show how mean the American people were in 1861. The vile and abominable institution of slavery had so corrupted us that we did not know right from wrong. It crept into the pulpit until the sermon became the echo of the bloodhound's bark. It crept upon the bench, and the judge could not tell whether the corn belonged to the man that raised it, or to the fellow that did not, but he rather thought it belonged to the latter. We had lost our sense of justice. Even the people of Indiana were so far gone as to agree to carry out the Fugitive Slave Law. Was it not low-lived and contemptible? We agreed that if we found a woman ninety-nine one hundredths white, who, inspired by the love of liberty, had run away from her masters, and had got within one step of free soil, we would clutch her and bring her back to the dominion of the Democrat, the bloodhound and the lash. We were just mean enough to do it. We used to read that some hundreds of years ago a lot of soldiers would march into a man's house, take him out, tie him to a stake driven into the earth, pile fagots around him, and let the thirsty flames consume him, and all because they differed from him about religion. We said it was horrible; it made our blood run cold to think of it; yet at the same time many a magnificent steamboat floated down the Mississippi with wives and husbands, fragments of families torn asunder, doomed to a life of toil, requited only by lashes upon the naked back, and branding irons upon the quivering flesh, and we thought little of it. When we set out to put down the Rebellion the Democratic party started up all at once and said, "You are not going to interfere with slavery, are you?" Now, it is remarkable that whenever we were going to do a good thing, we had to let on that we were going to do a mean one. If we had said at the outset, "We will break the shackles from four millions of slaves" we never would have succeeded. We had to come at it by degrees. The Democrats scented it out. They had a scent keener than a bloodhound when anything was going to be done to affect slavery. "Put down rebellion," they said, "but don't hurt slavery." We said, "We will not; we will restore the Union as it was and the Constitution as it is." We were in good faith about it. We had no better sense then than to think that it was worth fighting for, to preserve the cause of quarrel—the bone of contention—so as to have war all the time. Every blow we struck for slavery was a blow against us. The Rebellion was simply slavery with a mask on. We never whipped anybody but once so long as we stood upon that doctrine; that was at Donelson; and the victory there was not owing to the policy, but to the splendid genius of the next President of the United States. After a while it got into our heads that slavery was the cause of the trouble, and we began to edge up slowly toward slavery. When Mr. Lincoln said he would destroy slavery if absolutely necessary for the suppression of the Rebellion, people thought that was the most radical thing that ever was uttered. But the time came when it was necessary to free the slaves, and to put muskets into their hands. The Democratic party opposed us with all their might until the draft came, and they wanted negroes for substitutes; and I never heard a Democrat object to arming the negroes after that.
[The speaker from this point presented the history of the
Republican policy of reconstruction, and touched lightly on
the subject of the national debt. He glanced at the
finances, reviewing in the most scathing manner the history
and character of Seymour, paid a most eloquent tribute to
the character and public services of General Grant, and
closed with the following words: ]
The hero of the Rebellion, who accomplished at Shiloh what Napoleon endeavored at Waterloo; who captured Vicksburg by a series of victories unsurpassed, taking the keystone from the rebel arch; who achieved at Missionary Ridge a success as grand as it was unexpected to the country; who, having been summoned from the death-bed of rebellion in the West, marched like an athlete from the Potomac to the James, the grandest march in the history of the world. This was all done without the least flourish upon his part. No talk about destiny—without faith in a star—with the simple remark that he would "fight it out on that line," without a boast, modest to bashfulness, yet brave to audacity, simple as duty, firm as war, direct as truth—this hero, with so much common sense that he is the most uncommon man of his time, will be, in spite of Executive snares and Cabinet entanglements, of competent false witnesses of the Democratic party, the next President of the United States. He will be trusted with the Government his genius saved.
SPEECH AT CINCINNATI.*
* The nomination of Blaine was the passionately dramatic
scene of the day. Robert G. Ingersoll had been fixed upon to
present Blaine's name to the Convention, and, as the result
proved, a more effective champion could not have been
selected in the whole party conclave.
As the clerk, running down the list, reached Maine, an
extraordinary event happened. The applause and cheers which
had heretofore broken out in desultory patches of the
galleries and platform, broke in a simultaneous, thunderous
outburst from every part of the house.
Ingersoll moved out from the obscure corner and advanced to
the central stage. As he walked forward the thundering
cheers, sustained and swelling, never ceased. As he reached
the platform they took on an increased volume of sound, and
for ten minutes the surging fury of acclamation, the wild
waving of fans, hats, and handkerchiefs transformed the
scene from one of deliberation to that of a bedlam of
rapturous delirium. Ingersoll waited with unimpaired
serenity, until he should get a chance to be heard. * * *
And then began an appeal, impassioned, artful, brilliant,
and persuasive. * * *
Possessed of a fine figure, a face of winning, cordial
frankness, Ingersoll had half won his audience before he
spoke a word. It is the attestation of every man that heard
him, that so brilliant a master stroke was never uttered
before a political Convention. Its effect was indescribable.
The coolest-headed in the hall were stirred to the wildest
expression. The adversaries of Blaine, as well as his
friends, listened with unswerving, absorbed attention.
Curtis sat spell-bound, his eyes and mouth wide open, his
figure moving in unison to the tremendous periods that fell
in a measured, exquisitely graduated flow from the
Illinoisan's smiling lips. The matchless method and manner
of the man can never be imagined from the report in type. To
realize the prodigious force, the inexpressible power, the
irrestrainable fervor of the audience requires actual sight.
Words can do but meagre justice to the wizard power of this
extraordinary man. He swayed and moved and impelled and
restrained and worked in all ways with the mass before him
as if he possessed some key to the innermost mechanism that
moves the human heart, and when he finished, his fine, frank
face as calm as when he began, the overwrought thousands
sank back in an exhaustion of unspeakable wonder and
delight.—Chicago Times, June 16, 1876.
SPEECH NOMINATING BLAINE.
June 75, 1876.
MASSACHUSETTS may be satisfied with the loyalty of Benjamin H. Bristow; so am I; but if any man nominated by this convention can not carry the State of Massachusetts, I am not satisfied with the loyalty of that State. If the nominee of this convention cannot carry the grand old Commonwealth of Massachusetts by seventy-five thousand majority, I would advise them to sell out Faneuil Hall as a Democratic headquarters. I would advise them to take from Bunker Hill that old monument of glory.
The Republicans of the United States demand as their leader in the great contest of 1876 a man of intelligence, a man of integrity, a man of well-known and approved political opinions. They demand a statesman; they demand a reformer after as well as before the election. They demand a politician in the highest, broadest and best sense—a man of superb moral courage. They demand a man acquainted with public affairs—with the wants of the people; with not only the requirements of the hour, but with the demands of the future. They demand a man broad enough to comprehend the relations of this Government to the other nations of the earth. They demand a man well versed in the powers, duties and prerogatives of each and every department of this Government. They demand a man who will sacredly preserve the financial honor of the United States; one who knows enough to know that the national debt must be paid through the prosperity of this people; one who knows enough to know that all the financial theories in the world cannot redeem a single dollar; one who knows enough to know that all the money must be made, not by law, but by labor; one who knows enough to know that the people of the United States have the industry to make the money, and the honor to pay it over just as fast as they make it.