The subject of this brief memorial had barely begun to be an actor in
the great scenes where his part could not have failed to be a prominent
one. The nation did not have time to recognize him. His death, aside
from the shock with which the manner of it has thrilled every bosom, is
looked upon merely as causing a vacancy in the delegation of his State,
which a new member may fill as creditably as the departed. It will,
perhaps, be deemed praise enough to say of Cilley, that he would have
proved himself an active and efficient partisan. But those who knew him
longest and most intimately, conscious of his high talents and rare
qualities, his energy of mind and force of character, must claim much
more than such a meed for their lost friend. They feel that not merely
a party nor a section, but our collective country, has lost a man who
had the heart and the ability to serve her well. It would be doing
injustice to the hopes which lie withered upon his untimely grave, if,
in paying a farewell tribute to his memory, we were to ask a narrower
sympathy than that of the people at large. May no bitterness of party
prejudices influence him who writes, nor those, of whatever political
opinions, who may read!
Jonathan Cilley was born at Nottingham, N. H., on the 2d of July, 1802.
His grandfather, Colonel Joseph Cilley, commanded a New Hampshire
regiment during the Revolutionary War, and established a character for
energy and intrepidity, of which more than one of his descendants have
proved themselves the inheritors. Greenleaf Cilley, son of the
preceding, died in 1808, leaving a family of four sons and three
daughters. The aged mother of this family, and the three daughters, are
still living. Of the sons, the only survivor is Joseph Cilley, who was
an officer in the late war, and served with great distinction on the
Canadian frontier. Jonathan, being desirous of a liberal education,
commenced his studies at Atkinson Academy, at about the age of
seventeen, and became a member of the freshman class of Bowdoin College,
Brunswick, Me., in 1821. Inheriting but little property from his
father, he adopted the usual expedient of a young New-Englander in
similar circumstances, and gained a small income by teaching a country
school during the winter months both before and, after his entrance at
college.
Cilley's character and standing at college afforded high promise of
usefulness and distinction in after-life. Though not the foremost
scholar of his class, he stood in the front rank, and probably derived
all the real benefit from the prescribed course of study that it could
bestow on so practical a mind. His true education consisted in the
exercise of those faculties which fitted him to be a popular leader.
His influence among his fellow-students was probably greater than that
of any other individual; and he had already made himself powerful in
that limited sphere, by a free and natural eloquence, a flow of
pertinent ideas in language of unstudied appropriateness, which seemed
always to accomplish precisely the result on which he had calculated.
This gift was sometimes displayed in class meetings, when measures
important to those concerned were under discussion; sometimes in mock
trials at law, when judge, jury, lawyers, prisoner, and witnesses were
personated by the students, and Cilley played the part of a fervid and
successful advocate; and, besides these exhibitions of power, he
regularly trained himself in the forensic debates of a literary society,
of which he afterwards became president. Nothing could be less
artificial than his style of oratory. After filling his mind with the
necessary information, he trusted everything else to his mental warmth
and the inspiration of the moment, and poured himself out with an
earnest and irresistible simplicity. There was a singular contrast
between the flow of thought from his lips, and the coldness and
restraint with which he wrote; and though, in maturer life, he acquired
a considerable facility in exercising the pen, he always felt the tongue
to be his peculiar instrument.
In private intercourse, Cilley possessed a remarkable fascination. It
was impossible not to regard him with the kindliest feelings, because
his companions were intuitively certain of a like kindliness on his
part. He had a power of sympathy which enabled him to understand every
character, and hold communion with human nature in all its varieties.
He never shrank from the intercourse of man with man; and it was to his
freedom in this particular that he owed much of his subsequent
popularity among a people who are accustomed to take a personal interest
in the men whom they elevate to office. In few words, let us
characterize him at the outset of life as a young man of quick and
powerful intellect, endowed with sagacity and tact, yet frank and free
in his mode of action, ambitious of good influence, earnest, active, and
persevering, with an elasticity and cheerful strength of mind which made
difficulties easy, and the struggle with them a pleasure. Mingled with
the amiable qualities that were like sunshine to his friends, there were
harsher and sterner traits, which fitted him to make head against an
adverse world; but it was only at the moment of need that the iron
framework of his character became perceptible.
Immediately on quitting college, Mr. Cilley took up his residence in
Thomaston, and began the study of law in the office of John Ruggles,
Esq., now a senator in Congress. Mr. Ruggles being then a prominent
member of the Democratic party, it was natural that the pupil should
lend his aid to promote the political views of his instructor,
especially as he would thus uphold the principles which he had cherished
from boyhood. From year to year, the election of Mr. Ruggles to the
State legislature was strongly opposed. Cilley's services in overcoming
this opposition were too valuable to be dispensed with; and thus, at a
period when most young men still stand aloof from the world, he had
already taken his post as a leading politician. He afterwards found
cause to regret that so much time had been abstracted from his
professional studies; nor did the absorbing and exciting nature of his
political career afford him any subsequent opportunity to supply the
defects of his legal education. He was admitted an attorney-at-law in
1829, and in April of the same year was married to Miss Deborah Prince,
daughter of Hon. Hezekiah Prince of Thomaston, where Mr. Cilley
continued to reside, and entered upon the practice of his profession.
In 1831, Mr. Ruggles having been appointed a judge of the court of
common pleas, it became necessary to send a new representative from
Thomaston to the legislature of the State. Mr. Cilley was brought
forward as the Democratic candidate, obtained his election, and took his
seat in January, 1832. But in the course of this year the friendly
relations between Judge Ruggles and Mr. Cilley were broken off. Time
former gentleman, it appears, had imbibed the idea that his political
aspirations (which were then directed towards a seat in the Senate of
the United States) did not receive all the aid which he was disposed to
claim from the influence of his late pupil. When, therefore, Mr. Cilley
was held up as a candidate for re-election to the legislature, the whole
strength of Judge Ruggles and his adherents was exerted against him.
This was the first act and declaration of a political hostility, which
was too warm and earnest not to become, in some degree, personal, and
which rendered Mr. Cilley's subsequent career a continual struggle with
those to whom he might naturally have looked for friendship and support.
It sets his abilities and force of character in the strongest light, to
view him, at the very outset of public life, without the aid of powerful
connections, an isolated young man, forced into a position of hostility,
not merely with the enemies of his party, but likewise with a large body
of its adherents, even accused of treachery to its principles, yet
gaining triumph after triumph, and making his way steadily onward.
Surely his was a mental and moral energy which death alone could have
laid prostrate.
We have the testimony of those who knew Mr. Cilley well, that his own
feelings were never so embittered by those conflicts as to prevent him
from interchanging the courtesies of society with his most violent
opponents. While their resentments rendered his very presence
intolerable to them, he could address them with as much ease and
composure as if their mutual relations had been those of perfect
harmony. There was no affectation in this: it was the good-natured
consciousness of his own strength that enabled him to keep his temper:
it was the same chivalrous sentiment which impels hostile warriors to
shake hands in the intervals of battle. Mr. Cilley was slow to withdraw
his confidence from any man whom he deemed a friend; and it has been
mentioned as almost his only weak point, that he was too apt to suffer
himself to be betrayed before he would condescend to suspect. His
prejudices, however, when once adopted, partook of the depth and
strength of his character, and could not be readily overcome. He loved
to subdue his foes; but no man could use a triumph more generously than
he.
Let us resume our narrative. In spite of the opposition of Judge
Ruggles and his friends, combined with that of the Whigs, Mr. Cilley was
re-elected to the legislature of 1833, and was equally successful in
each of the succeeding years, until his election to Congress. He was
five successive years the representative of Thomaston. In 1834, when
Mr. Dunlap was nominated as the Democratic candidate for governor, Mr.
Cilley gave his support to Governor Smith, in the belief that the
substitution of a new candidate had been unfairly effected. He
considered it a stratagem intended to promote the election of Judge
Ruggles to the Senate of the United States. Early in the legislative
session of the same year, the Ruggles party obtained a temporary triumph
over Mr. Cilley, effected his expulsion from the Democratic caucuses,
and attempted to stigmatize him as a traitor to his political friends.
But Mr. Cilley's high and honorable course was erelong understood and
appreciated by his party and the people. He told them, openly and
boldly, that they might undertake to expel him from their caucuses; but
they could not expel him from the Democratic party: they might
stigmatize him with any appellation they might choose; but they could
not reach the height on which he stood, nor shake his position with the
people. But a few weeks had elapsed, and Mr. Cilley was the
acknowledged head and leader of that party in the legislature. During
the same session, Mr. Speaker Clifford (one of the friends of Judge
Ruggles) being appointed attorney-general, the Ruggles party were
desirous of securing the election of another of their adherents to the
chair; but, as it was obvious that Mr. Cilley's popularity would gain
him the place, the incumbent was induced to delay his resignation till
the end of the term. At the session of 1835, Messrs. Cilley, Davee, and
McCrote being candidates for the chair, Mr. Cilley withdrew in favor of
Mr. Davee. That gentleman was accordingly elected; but, being soon
afterwards appointed sheriff of Somerset County, Mr. Cilley succeeded
him as speaker, and filled the same office during the session of 1836.
All parties awarded him the praise of being the best presiding officer
that the house ever had.
In 1836, he was nominated by a large portion of the Democratic electors
of the Lincoln Congressional District as their candidate for Congress.
That district has recently shown itself to possess a decided Whig
majority; and this would have been equally the case in 1836, had any
other man than Mr. Cilley appeared on the Democratic side. He had
likewise to contend, as in all the former scenes of his political life,
with that portion of his own party which adhered to Mr. Ruggles. There
was still another formidable obstacle, in the high character of Judge
Bailey, who then represented the district, and was a candidate for
re-election. All these difficulties, however, served only to protract
the contest, but could not snatch the victory from Mr. Cilley, who
obtained a majority of votes at the third trial. It was a fatal
triumph.
In the summer of 1837, a few months after his election to Congress, I
met Mr. Cilley for the first time since early youth, when he had been to
me almost as an elder brother. The two or three days which I spent in
his neighborhood enabled us to renew our former intimacy. In his person
there was very little change, and that little was for the better. He
had an impending brow, deep-set eyes, and a thin and thoughtful
countenance, which, in his abstracted moments, seemed almost stern; but,
in the intercourse of society, it was brightened with a kindly smile,
that will live in the recollection of all who knew him. His manners had
not a fastidious polish, but were characterized by the simplicity of one
who had dwelt remote from cities, holding free companionship with the
yeomen of the land. I thought him as true a representative of the
people as ever theory could portray. His earlier and later habits of
life, his feelings, partialities, and prejudices, were those of the
people: the strong and shrewd sense which constituted so marked a
feature of his mind was but a higher degree of the popular intellect.
He loved the people and respected them, and was prouder of nothing than
of his brotherhood with those who had intrusted their public interests
to his care. His continual struggles in the political arena had
strengthened his bones and sinews: opposition had kept him ardent;
while success had cherished the generous warmth of his nature, and
assisted the growth both of his powers and sympathies. Disappointment
might have soured and contracted him; but it appeared to me that his
triumphant warfare had been no less beneficial to his heart than to his
mind. I was aware, indeed, that his harsher traits had grown apace with
his milder ones; that he possessed iron resolution, indomitable
perseverance, and an almost terrible energy; but these features had
imparted no hardness to his character in private intercourse. In the
hour of public need, these strong qualities would have shown themselves
the most prominent ones, and would have encouraged his countrymen to
rally round him as one of their natural leaders.
In his private and domestic relations, Mr. Cilley was most exemplary;
and he enjoyed no less happiness than he conferred. He had been the
father of four children, two of whom were in the grave, leaving, I
thought, a more abiding impression of tenderness and regret than the
death of infants usually makes on the masculine mind. Two boys--the
elder, seven or eight years of age; and the younger, two--still remained
to him; and the fondness of these children for their father, their
evident enjoyment of his society, was proof enough of his gentle and
amiable character within the precincts of his family. In that bereaved
household, there is now another child, whom the father never saw. Mr.
Cilley's domestic habits were simple and primitive to a degree unusual,
in most parts of our country, among men of so eminent a station as he
had attained. It made me smile, though with anything but scorn, in
contrast to the aristocratic stateliness which I have witnessed
elsewhere, to see him driving home his own cow after a long search for
her through the village. That trait alone would have marked him as a
man whose greatness lay within himself. He appeared to take much
interest in the cultivation of his garden, and was very fond of flowers.
He kept bees, and told me that he loved to sit for whole hours by the
hives, watching the labors of the insects, and soothed by the hum with
which they filled the air. I glance at these minute particulars of his
daily life, because they form so strange a contrast with the
circumstances of his death. Who could have believed, that, with his
thoroughly New England character, in so short a time after I had seen
him in that peaceful and happy home, among those simple occupations and
pure enjoyments, he would be stretched in his own blood, slain for an
almost impalpable punctilio!
It is not my purpose to dwell upon Mr. Cilley's brief career in
Congress. Brief as it was, his character and talents had more than
begun to be felt, and would soon have linked his name with the history
of every important measure, and have borne it onward with the progress
of the principles which he supported. He was not eager to seize
opportunities of thrusting himself into notice; but, when time and the
occasion summoned him, he came forward, and poured forth his ready and
natural eloquence with as much effect in the councils of the nation as
he had done in those of his own State. With every effort that he made,
the hopes of his party rested more decidedly upon him, as one who would
hereafter be found in the vanguard of many a Democratic victory. Let me
spare myself the details of the awful catastrophe by which all those
proud hopes perished; for I write with a blunted pen and a head
benumbed, and am the less able to express my feelings as they lie deep
at heart, and inexhaustible.
On the 23d of February last, Mr. Cilley received a challenge from Mr.
Graves of Kentucky, through the hands of Mr. Wise of Virginia. This
measure, as is declared in the challenge itself, was grounded on Mr.
Cilley's refusal to receive a message, of which Mr. Graves had been the
bearer, from a person of disputed respectability; although no exception
to that person's character had been expressed by Mr. Cilley; nor need
such inference have been drawn, unless Mr. Graves were conscious that
public opinion held his friend in a doubtful light. The challenge was
accepted, and the parties met on the following day. They exchanged two
shots with rifles. After each shot, a conference was held between the
friends of both parties, and the most generous avowals of respect and
kindly feeling were made on the part of Cilley towards his antagonist,
but without avail. A third shot was exchanged; and Mr. Cilley fell dead
into the arms of one of his friends. While I write, a Committee of
Investigation is sitting upon this affair: but the public has not waited
for its award; and the writer, in accordance with the public, has formed
his opinion on the official statement of Messrs. Wise and Jones. A
challenge was never given on a more shadowy pretext; a duel was never
pressed to a fatal close in the face of such open kindness as was
expressed by Mr. Cilley: and the conclusion is inevitable, that Mr.
Graves and his principal second, Mr. Wise, have gone further than their
own dreadful code will warrant them, and overstepped the imaginary
distinction, which, on their own principles, separates manslaughter from
murder.
Alas that over the grave of a dear friend, my sorrow for the bereavement
must be mingled with another grief,--that he threw away such a life in
so miserable a cause! Why, as he was true to the Northern character in
all things else, did be swerve from his Northern principles in this
final scene? But his error was a generous one, since he fought for what
he deemed the honor of New England; and, now that death has paid the
forfeit, the most rigid may forgive him. If that dark pitfall--that
bloody grave--had not lain in the midst of his path, whither, whither
might it not have led him! It has ended there: yet so strong was my
conception of his energies, so like destiny did it appear that he should
achieve everything at which he aimed, that even now my fancy will not
dwell upon his grave, but pictures him still amid the struggles and
triumphs of the present and the future.
1838.