RECONSTRUCTION: THE LAST ACT
We turn back to the course of national politics. The Republican triumph
of 1872 was followed by an overwhelming reverse at the Congressional
election of 1874. There was a growing impression of maladministration at
Washington. The Credit Mobilier scandal--the easy acceptance by
Congressmen of financial favors from the managers of the Union Pacific
Railway, followed by disingenuous denials--had especially discredited
the party in power. There had been a great financial reverse in 1873,
such as is always charged in the popular mind against the ruling powers.
The South had increased its Democratic vote. So from various causes, in
the new House the Republicans passed from a majority of one hundred to a
minority of forty; with New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and even
Massachusetts, in the Democratic column.
But the clique of bitter partisans and radicals, with whom President
Grant had become closely associated, if they took warning from the
election, drew the inference that they must make good use of the brief
time left them in the final term of the old Congress. While the
Louisiana imbroglio was still seething, the President sent a message, in
February, 1875, recommending that the State government of Arkansas be
declared illegal. It had held an unquestioned tenure for two years, and
the proposal to oust it was simply in the interest of its two Senators,
Powell Clayton and Stephen W. Dorsey, who belonged to the Grant faction.
At the same time there was brought forward a comprehensive measure,
popularly known as the "Force bill," bringing every form of violence or
intimidation of the blacks within the jurisdiction of the United States
courts; putting elections under supervision and control of the Federal
officials, and giving the President large power for the supervision of
the _habeas corpus_. Another long debated measure aimed at the fuller
enforcement of civil rights--a bill good in itself, said the moderate
Republicans; better if a part of a general pacification; but with its
present accompaniment it is "civil rights prodded in with bayonets." In
the Republican press of the country, and in the party in Congress as
well as the opposition, the battle over these measures was hot. The
administration organ in Washington gave big type and prominent display
to the paragraph: "The passage of the bill"--the Force bill--"is
required to preserve to the Republican party the electoral vote of the
Southern States." The President's personal influence was used to its
limits. Butler's unscrupulous tactics were all employed. But the weight,
if not the numbers, of the House Republicans, rose in opposition. Forty
of them, including Garfield, Dawes, the Hoars, Hawley, Hale, Pierce,
Poland, and Kasson, joined with the Democrats under the able leadership
of Samuel J. Randall. In the House, brains and conscience were beaten by
patronage; the bill went through. But it went no further,--in spite of
Morton and Conkling the Senate served again the useful function of
obstruction. The Arkansas bill was beaten in the House. Only the Civil
Rights bill became a law. Independence among Republicans had saved the
party from its most dangerous leadership.
It was perhaps this result, following the reverse of 1874, that
disinclined Grant to further interference in the South, and held his
hand when Governor Ames asked aid in Mississippi. The Louisiana business
had so shown the risks of Federal intervention in local affairs, that
even the best friends of the freedmen began to recognize that the
States were most safely left to themselves. But the sectional fires were
not left to die unfanned. When the new Congress met, 1875-6, the
Democrats showed themselves conservative enough. They chose two
excellent Northern men as speakers: Michael C. Kerr, of Indiana, and
upon his death Randall, of Pennsylvania; and they showed themselves
chiefly concerned to probe administrative abuses, which, in truth,
needed heroic surgery. But for these prosaic matters Blaine, now leader
of the opposition, substituted a far more lively tune, when a bill for
universal amnesty at the South was brought before the House. There was
no serious Republican opposition, but Blaine saw his opportunity,--he
moved that sole exception be made of Jefferson Davis, and on that text
he roused Northern passion by the story of Andersonville, goaded to
exasperation the "Confederate brigadiers" among his listeners, and made
himself most conspicuous for the time among the Republican leaders. He
eclipsed the foremost of the Grant clique, Morton and Conkling, who
after a little fruitless third-term talk were both hoping to be legatees
of the Grant influence in the approaching Presidential convention. But
at the eleventh hour a cloud swept over Blaine's prospects, in charges
of discreditable receipt of favors from railroads looking for political
aid. The testimony was conflicting, but Blaine's palpable seizure of his
own letters from a hostile witness was hardly outweighed even by his
spectacular vindication of his acts before the House. A sudden illness
stopped the investigation; and later his transference to the Senate
postponed its renewal until it frustrated his ambition in 1884. The
convention in 1876 met at Cincinnati, with Blaine the favorite, and
Morton and Conkling dividing the Grant strength. The reform element, led
by George William Curtis, supported Benjamin F. Bristow, of Kentucky,
who had made an honorable record as Secretary of the Treasury, by
attacking powerful rings, which through their connection with the
President's friends succeeded in driving Bristow out of office. The
choice of the convention fell on Rutherford B. Hayes, Union general,
governor of Ohio, leader of a State campaign in 1875 which had been a
decisive victory for sound money, and a man highly acceptable to the
reformers. Against him the Democrats nominated Samuel J. Tilden, of New
York, a statesman in his aims and the craftiest of politicians in his
means; tolerant of Tammany Hall while it was a necessary factor
in the party, but leader in the fierce and skilful assault which
drove the Tweed ring from power. As Governor he had attacked
and routed a formidable gang of plunderers connected with the canal
management. On the issues which to thoughtful men were becoming
paramount,--administrative reform and sound finance,--he offered as good
promise as did Governor Hayes.
The two men, and the elements supporting them, stood for the new
politics instead of the old,--the replacement of the war issues and
their sequels by the matters of clean administration, sound currency,
and interests common alike to the whole nation. But the Republican
leaders found their best campaign material in what the slang of the time
called "waving the bloody shirt,"--reviving the cry of abuse of the
freedmen, suppression of the negro vote, and the need of national
protection for the nation's wards. It was out of keeping with Hayes's
record, and with his later performances,--but he let the campaign take
its way, and the sectional temper that was roused provided the
atmosphere in which the next act of the drama was played.
Election day came: the returns indicated the election of Tilden;
Democrats went to bed jubilant and Republicans regretful. Then, just
before the night-editor of the New York _Times_ put his paper to press
at 3 A.M., he noticed that the returns from South Carolina, Louisiana,
and Florida were hardly more than conjectural, and, on the chance of
making his tables more complete, he sent a neighborly inquiry to the
Republican headquarters as to whether they had definite returns from
those States. The inquiry came to the ears of a little knot of the party
managers, among them Zachariah Chandler, chairman of the national
committee. He caught at it,--"the Democrats are not sure of those
States,--we have a chance." Instantly--so the story goes--he sent
dispatches to the party managers in the three States, "Claim
everything." So they did--and so did he. Next morning, following the
first announcement of Tilden's election, came the assertion that the
Republicans had carried South Carolina, Louisiana and Florida--which
would give Hayes a majority of one vote in the electoral college. All
hung on the vote in those three States,--no, on the counting of the
votes! The returning-board of Louisiana, which had before been so
useful, was in full working order; Florida was similarly equiped; South
Carolina was in much the same case. The boards had authority to throw
out the entire vote of districts where there was proof that intimidation
had tainted the election. The business of merely counting the votes
might be supplemented by the operation of throwing out enough districts
to leave the prize with the party that did the counting. It soon
appeared that the returning boards could be trusted by their friends.
With all reasonable speed, they threw out enough votes to give all the
doubtful States to Hayes. In each of these States an indignant and
protesting opposition sent in a counter set of returns giving the
electoral vote to Tilden. And any one of the three States would be
enough to insure Tilden's election.
The controversy extended to the state governments--in South Carolina,
both Wade Hampton and Chamberlain claimed the Governorship, and each
had a Legislature organized to support him. The case was the same in
Louisiana, with Nichols and Packard. President Grant refused recognition
or active support to either party; but United States troops kept the
peace, and their presence prevented the Democratic claimants from
summarily ousting their opponents.
The whole country was in a storm of excitement. The returning-boards had
done their counting,--but who was to judge the judges? Who was to decide
which of the returns of Presidential electors were the valid ones? They
were to be passed on by the two Houses of Congress in joint session. But
the Senate was Republican, the Representatives were Democratic,--what if
they disagreed as to the returns? The President of the Senate is to
decide, claimed the Republicans,--on very slender grounds, it must be
said. The House of Representatives, said the Democrats,--with more
plausible yet doubtful argument. The deadlock was alarming. Then the
emergency was met with a self-control, a resourcefulness and efficiency,
worthy of the best that is claimed for the American character. By
general agreement of the moderate men of both parties, a special
tribunal was constituted for the occasion. It consisted of five
Senators, five Representatives, and five Justices of the Supreme Court.
The Congressmen were evenly divided between the two parties. The
justices were two and two, with the fifth place assigned to David Davis,
an independent. It was an ideal division. But at the critical moment,
Davis was chosen by the Illinois Legislature to the Senate, so that he
could not act. As a substitute, Justice Joseph Bradley, was put on the
commission. He was a Republican, but in the generous temper which had
risen to meet the emergency, there was a general feeling that party
lines would be forgotten by the tribunal. The commission consisted of
Justices Bradley, Miller, Strong, Field and Clifford; Senators Edmunds,
Morton, Frelinghuysen, Bayard and Sherman; Representatives G. F. Hoar,
Garfield, Payne, Hunton and Abbott.
The two Houses proceeded to count the electoral votes in the usual form,
and whenever the return was contested the case was referred to the
commission and debated before it. Each side had its ablest lawyers to
plead; for the one party, Evarts, Kasson, McCrary, Stoughton and
Matthews; for the other, O'Conor, Black, Field and Tucker. The
commission then made its decision; and the result was reported to the
two Houses for their acceptance. In the pleading, the Republicans took
their stand on legality and the Democrats on equity. The Democrats
claimed as the question at issue, For whom did the majority of the
people of the State give their votes? The Republicans made it, Whom does
the official authority of the State certify as elected? When the
commission came to vote, on the preliminary questions, it was apparent
that the party line was just as rigid among its members as between the
advocates who pled. And it was clear that the Republicans stood upon the
narrowest possible construction of the case before them. For example, in
the case of Louisiana, it was moved, first, that evidence be admitted
that the returning body was an unconstitutional body and its acts void.
No, said the Republican eight. Moved, next, that evidence be admitted
that the board was illegal because its acting members were all of one
party,--No. Moved, that evidence be admitted that the board threw out
votes dishonestly and fraudulently,--No. In each case, the Republican
eight refused to look a hair's breadth beyond the governor's seal to the
returning board's certificate. In the same way they dealt with Florida
and South Carolina.
Tilden's friends had contrived an ingenious scheme to put the commission
in a dilemma. They had managed that there should be two returns from
Oregon,--a Republican State where one of the three electors chosen was
claimed to be disqualified,--the return bearing the Governor's seal
naming one Democrat along with two Republican electors. They argued,
Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander; if the Governor's seal is
taken as settling everything, we gain the one electoral vote we need;
if, confronted by the Oregon case, the commission decide that they may
go back of the governor's seal,--that opens the three Southern States to
our rightful challenge. But the commission, or its Republican members,
were not to be so easily posed; in the case of Oregon, they accepted the
seal of the Secretary of State, certifying the three Republicans. As the
Springfield _Republican_ bluntly put it, "The electoral commission
decided that there was no way of recovering the stolen goods in the
Louisiana case; it has found a way of restoring the Oregon vote to its
rightful owner."
That the goods were stolen, at least in Louisiana, there can scarcely at
this day be any doubt. Whether the commission did its duty in declining
to investigate and right the wrong may be debated, but the judgment of
history will probably say that neither equity nor statesmanship, but
partisanship guided the decision. Undoubtedly in Louisiana, and probably
in Florida, the returning board deliberately threw out some thousands of
votes for no other reason than to change the State's vote, and the
Presidency. The commission refused to correct or even investigate the
wrong, on the plea of scrupulous respect for State rights. A great
victory for the principle of local rights, argues Senator Hoar in his
autobiography. Possibly. But it is also open to say, that the general
government having tolerated and supported an iniquitous local oligarchy,
a special and supreme tribunal of the nation allowed that oligarchy to
decide the Presidency by a fraud.
The popular judgment of the matter at the North was largely affected by
the belief that the frauds of the Republicans were offset by
intimidation on the part of the Democrats. In various parts of the
South, notably in Mississippi and South Carolina, and probably in
Louisiana, there was a wide terrorizing of the negro Republicans. "One
side was about as bad as the other," was a common feeling. A year or two
later, the New York _Tribune_ unearthed and translated a number of
cipher telegrams, which disclosed that while the dispute over the result
was going on, agents high in the confidence of the Democratic leaders
made efforts to buy up a returning board or a presidential elector. So
both parties were badly smirched, and the election and its sequel
furnished one of the most desperate and disreputable passages in
American politics.
Yet the better sentiment of the country, triumphant in the creation of
the commission, but baffled by its partisan action, shone clear again
when the decision was deliberately and calmly accepted by the beaten
party. Congress had reserved to itself the power to reverse by a
concurrent vote of both Houses the commission's decision upon any State.
But each decision was accepted by a party vote, except that in the case
of Louisiana two Massachusetts Republicans, Julius H. Seelye and Henry
L. Pierce, spoke and voted against their party. But when the final count
gave a majority to Hayes, the formal declaration of the result was
supported by all save about eighty irreconcilables, chiefly Northern
Democrats, who were overborne in a stormy night session. It had become
simply a question between order and anarchy, and the party of order, by
a strange chance, was led for the occasion by Fernando Wood, the
"copperhead" of earlier days. For the body of the Southern Democrats,
Henry Watterson spoke manly words, accepting the inevitable with
resolution and dignity. But among the influences that weighed with the
Southern Congressmen was the assurance from Hayes's friends that as
President he would make an end of military interference in the South. In
the giving of the assurance there was nothing unworthy, for the
withdrawal of the troops was dictated by the whole logic of recent
events, and was in keeping with Hayes's convictions.
So, quickly following the inauguration of President Hayes came the
withdrawal of the blue-coats from South Carolina and Louisiana and the
Republican State governments tumbled like card houses. Nicholls took the
governorship in New Orleans and Hampton in Columbia. But it was not by
this act alone that the new President inaugurated a new régime. He
called to his Cabinet as postmaster-general, David M. Key, of Tennessee,
who had fought for the Confederacy. Schurz, liberal and reformer of the
first rank, was given the department of the interior. Evarts in the
State department; Devens, of Massachusetts, as attorney-general; Sherman
in the treasury, to complete the work of resumption; McCrary, of Iowa,
and Thompson, of Indiana, for the war and navy; and Blaine, Morton,
Conkling, Chandler,--nowhere. The administration went steadily on its
way, little loved by the old party chiefs; under some shadow from the
character of its title; but doing good work, achieving resumption of
specie payments; ending the administrative scandals which had grown
worse to the end of Grant's term; reforming the civil service. It was a
peaceful and beneficent revolution, and in its quiet years the Southern
turmoils subsided, and for better or for worse South Carolina and
Mississippi worked out their own way as New York and Ohio worked out
theirs.