The “Fateful year of ’99” upon its coming in, found the Republic of
Washington in dire and dangerous straits. The commercial and industrial
boom had spent its force, and now the frightful evils of a debased
currency, coupled with demoralizing effects of rampant paternalism, were
gradually strangling the land to death. Capital, ever timid and
distrustful in such times, hid itself in safe deposit vaults, or fled to
Europe. Labor, although really hard pressed and lacking the very
necessities of life, was loudmouthed and defiant. Socialism and
Anarchism found willing ears into which to pour their burning words of
hatred and malevolence, and the consequence was that serious rioting
broke out in the larger cities of the North, often taxing the capacities
of the local authorities to the utmost.
It was bruited abroad that violent dissensions had arisen in the
Cabinet, the young President giving signs of a marked change of mind,
and like many a man who has appealed to the darker passions of the human
heart, he seemed almost ready to exclaim: “I stand alone. The spirits I
have called up are no longer obedient to me. My country, oh, my country,
how willingly would I give my life for thee, if by such a sacrifice I
could restore thee to thy old time prosperity.”
For the first he began to realize what an intense spirit of sectionalism
had entered into this “revolutionary propaganda.” He spoke of his fears
to none save to his wise and prudent helpmate.
“I trust you, beloved,” she whispered, as she pressed the broad, strong
hands that held her enclasped.
“Ay, dear one, but does my country?” came in almost a groan from the
lips of the youthful ruler.
Most evident was it, that thus far the South had been the great gainer
in this struggle for power. She had increased her strength in the Senate
by six votes; she had regained her old time prestige in the House; one
of her most trusted sons was in the Speaker’s chair, while another
brilliant Southron led the administration forces on the floor. Born as
she was for the brilliant exercise of intellectual vigor, the South was
of that strain of blood which knows how to wear the kingly graces of
power so as best to impress the “common people.” Many of the men of the
North had been charmed and fascinated by this natural pomp and inborn
demeanor of greatness and had yielded to it.
Not a month had gone by that this now dominant section had not made some
new demand upon the country at large. Early in the session, at its
request, the internal revenue tax which had rested so long upon the
tobacco crop of the South, and poured so many millions of revenue into
the national treasury, was wiped from the statute books with but a
feeble protest from the North.
But now the country was thrown into a state bordering upon frenzy by a
new demand, which, although couched in calm and decorous terms, nay,
almost in the guise of a petition for long-delayed justice to
hard-pressed and suffering brethren, had about it a suppressed, yet
unmistakable tone of conscious power and imperiousness which well became
the leader who spoke for “that glorious Southland to which this Union
owes so much of its greatness and its prestige.”
Said he: “Mr. Speaker, for nearly thirty years our people, although left
impoverished by the conflict of the states, have given of their
substance to salve the wounds and make green the old age of the men who
conquered us. We have paid this heavy tax, this fearful blood money
unmurmuringly. You have forgiven us for our bold strike for liberty that
God willed should not succeed. You have given us back our rights, opened
the doors of these sacred halls to us, called us your brothers, but
unlike noble Germany who was content to exact a lump sum from “la belle
France,” and then bid her go in peace and freedom from all further
exactions, you have for nearly thirty years laid this humiliating war
tax upon us, and thus forced us year in and year out to kiss the very
hand that smote us. Are we human that we now cry out against it? Are we
men that we feel no tingle in our veins after these long years of
punishment for no greater crime than that we loved liberty better than
the bonds of a confederation laid upon us by our fathers? We appeal to
you as our brothers and our countrymen. Lift this infamous tax from our
land, than which your great North is ten thousand times richer. Do one
of two things: Either take our aged and decrepit soldiers by the hand
and bless their last days with pensions from the treasury of our common
country, for they were only wrong in that their cause failed, or remove
this hated tax and make such restitution of this blood money as shall
seem just and equitable to your soberer and better judgment.”
To say that this speech, of which the foregoing is but a brief extract,
threw both Houses of Congress into most violent disorder, but faintly
describes its effect. Cries of treason! treason! went up; blows were
exchanged and hand to hand struggles took place in the galleries,
followed by the flash of the dread bowie and the crack of the ready
pistol. The Republic was shaken to its very foundations. Throughout the
North there was but a repetition of the scenes that followed the firing
upon Sumter. Public meetings were held, and resolutions passed calling
upon the Government to concentrate troops in and about Washington, and
prepare for the suppression of a second Rebellion.
But gradually this outbreak of popular indignation lost some of its
strength and virulence, for it was easy to comprehend that nothing would
be gained at this stage of the matter by meeting a violent and unlawful
demand with violence and unwise counsels. Besides, what was it any way
but the idle threat of a certain clique of unscrupulous politicians?
The Republic stood upon too firm a foundation to be shaken by mere
appeals to the passions of the hour. To commit treason against our
country called for an overt act. What had it to dread from the mere
oratorical flash of a passing storm of feeling?
It is hard to say what the young President thought of these scenes in
Congress. So pale had he grown of late that a little more of pallor
would pass unnoted, but those who were wont to look upon his face in
these troublous times report that in the short space of a few days the
lines in his countenance deepened perceptibly, and that a firmer and
stronger expression of will-power lurked in the corners of his wide
mouth, overhung his square and massive chin, and accentuated the
vibrations of his wide-opened nostrils. He was under a terrible strain.
When he had caught up the sceptre of power, it seemed a mere bauble in
his strong grasp, but now it had grown strangely heavy, and there was a
mysterious pricking at his brow, as if that crown of thorns which he had
not willed should be set upon the heads of others, were being pressed
down with cruel hands upon his own.