an active part in it. This cannot be doubted, however, that if he had
been thirty years younger he would either have won distinction as a
commander or have fallen on the, field of honor. The best contribution
from the Howe family to the war was Julia Ward Howe's "Battle Hymn of the
Republic." The war was a grand moral struggle, a conflict of historical
forces; and neither Lowell, Emerson, nor Whittier expressed this so fully
and with such depth of feeling as Mrs. Howe. There are occasions when
woman rises superior to man, and this was one of them. It was evidently
inspired by the John Brown song, that simple martial melody; but it rises
above the personal and temporal into the universal and eternal. Its
measure has the swing of the Greek tragic chorus, extended to embrace the
wider scope of Christian faith, and its diction is of an equally classic
purity and vigor. The last stanza runs:
"In the beauty of the lily Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me.
As he died to make men holy let us die to make men free;
As we go marching on."
This was the fine fruit of Mrs. Howe's early religious faith. It welled
up in her nature from a deep undercurrent, which few would have suspected
who only met her at Sam G. Ward's dinner parties and other fashionable
entertainments. Yet, there was always a quiet reserve in her laughter,
and her wittiest remarks were always followed by a corresponding
seriousness of expression. Although she studied Spinoza, admired Emerson,
and attended meetings of the Radical Club on Chestnut Street, she never
separated herself from the Church, and always expressed her dissent from
any opinion that seemed to show a lack of reverence.
On a certain occasion when a member of the club spoke of newspapers as
likely to supersede the pulpit, Mrs. Howe replied to him: "God forbid
that should happen. God forbid we should do without the pulpit. It is the
old fable of the hare and the tortoise. We need the hare for light
running, but the slow, steady tortoise wins the goal at last." Religious
subjects, however, were not so much discussed at the Radical Club as
philosophy and politics,--and in these Mrs. Howe felt herself very much
at home.
On another occasion, when a member of the club said that he was prepared,
like Emerson, to accept the universe, Mrs. Howe interposed with the
remark that it was Margaret Fuller who accepted the universe; she "was
not aware that the universe had been offered to Emerson." She said this
because Margaret Fuller was a woman.
Once, when writing for the newspapers was under discussion, Mrs. Howe
remarked that in that kind of composition one felt prescribed like St.
Simeon Stylites by the limitations of the column.
One of the best of her witty poems describes Boston on a rainy day, and
is called "Expluvior," an innocent parody on Longfellow's "Excelsior,"
which, by the way, ought to have been called Excelsius.
"The butcher came a walking flood,
Drenching the kitchen where he stood.
'Deucalion, is your name?' I pray.
'Moses,' he choked and slid away.
_Expluvior_,"
is one of the most characteristic verses; but in the last stanza she
wishes to construct a dam at the foot of Beacon Hill and cause a flood
that would sweep the rebel sympathizers out of Boston.
The office of the Blind Asylum was formerly near the middle of Bromfield
Street on the southern side. This is now historic ground. Between 1850
and 1870 some of the most important national councils were held there in
Dr. Howe's private office. It was the first place that Sumner went to in
the morning and the last place that Governor Andrew stopped before
returning to his home at night. There Dr. Howe and George L. Stearns
consulted with John Brown concerning measures for the defence of Kansas;
and there Howe, Stearns, and Bird concerted plans for the election of
Andrew in 1860, and for the re-election of Sumner in 1862. It was a
quiet, retired spot in the midst of a hustling city, where a celebrated
man could go without attracting public attention.
Chevalier Howe outlived Sumner just one year, and Wilson followed him not
long after.
THE WAR GOVERNOR.
Sebago is one of the most beautiful of the New England lakes, and has
been celebrated in Longfellow's verse for its curiously winding river
between the upper and the lower portion, as well as for the Indian
traditions connected with it. John A. Andrew's grandfather, like
Hawthorne's father, lived in Salem and both families emigrated to Sebago,
the former locating himself in the small town of Windham. At the time
when Hawthorne was sailing his little boat on the lake, at the age of
fourteen, John Andrew was in his nurse's arms,--born May 31, 1818. Like
Hawthorne and Longfellow he went to Bowdoin College, but did not
distinguish himself there as a scholar,--had no honors at commencement.
We are still in ignorance concerning his college life, what his interests
were, and how he spent his time; but Andrew never cared much for anything
which had not an immediate and practical value. Greek and Latin, merely
for their own sake as ancient languages, did not appeal to him; nor did
the desiccated history and cramping philosophy of those days attract him
more strongly. Yet he ultimately developed one of the finest of American
intellects.
[Illustration: JOHN A. ANDREW]
He was admitted to the Suffolk bar at the age of twenty-two. He had
already formed decided opinions on the slavery question. The practitioner
with whom he studied was precisely the opposite of Andrew,--a brilliant
scholar, but formal and unsympathetic. Although a young man of fine
promise he was soon excelled by his less learned but more energetic
pupil. At the age of twenty-six we find Andrew presiding at a convention
of Free-soilers, the same which nominated Dr. S. G. Howe for Congress.
Why he did not appear in politics between 1844 and 1859 is something of a
mystery, which may be explained either by his devotion to his profession
or his unwillingness to make politics a profession. He was in constant
communication with Charles Francis Adams, Frank W. Bird, and other
leading independents, and played a part in the election of Sumner as well
as at various nominating conventions; but he apparently neither sought
office nor was sought for it. It may have been a modest conscientiousness
of his own value, which prevented the acceptance of public honors until
he was prepared to claim the best; but the fact is difficult to account
for on any supposition.
Neither was his success at the bar remarkable. He never earned a large
income, and died comparatively poor. There were few who cared to meet him
in debate, yet his legal scholarship was not exceptional, and his
political opinions may have proved an impediment to him in a city which
was still devoted to Webster and Winthrop. Moreover, his kindness of
heart prompted him to undertake a large number of cases for which he
received little or no remuneration. As late as 1856 he was known as the
poor man's lawyer rather than as a distinguished pleader. One cannot help
reflecting what might have been John A. Andrew's fortune if he had been
born in Ohio or Illinois. In the latter State he would have proved a most
important political factor; for he was fully as able a speaker as
Douglas, and he combined with this a large proportion of those estimable
qualities which we all admire in Abraham Lincoln. He had not the wit of
Lincoln, nor his immense fund of anecdote, which helped so much to make
him popular, but the cordial manners and manly frankness of Andrew were
very captivating. He would have told Douglas to his face that he was a
demagogue, as Mirabeau did to Robespierre, and would have carried the
audience with him. It certainly seems as if he would have risen to
distinction there more rapidly than in old-fashioned, conventional
Boston.
Governor Andrew was an inch shorter than the average height of man, and
much resembled Professor Child in personal appearance. He was a larger
man than Professor Child, and his hair was darker, but he had the same
round, good-humored face, with keen penetrating eyes beneath a brow as
finely sculptured as that of a Greek statue, and closely curling hair
above it. He was broad-shouldered, remarkably so, and had a strong figure
but not a strong constitution. His hands were soft and as white as a
woman's; and though his step was quick and elastic he disliked to walk
long distances, and was averse to physical exercise generally.
He also resembled Professor Child in character,--frank without bluntness;
sincere both formally and intellectually,--full to the brim of moral
courage. He was not only kind-hearted, but very tender-hearted, so that
his lips would quiver on occasions and his eyes fill with tears,--what
doctors improperly call a lachrymose nature; but in regard to a question
of principle or public necessity he was as firm as Plymouth Rock. Neither
did he deceive himself, as kindly persons are too apt to do, in regard to
the true conditions of the case in hand. He would interrogate an
applicant for assistance in as judicious a manner as he would a witness
in a court room. He never degenerated into the professed philanthropist,
who makes a disagreeable and pernicious habit of one of the noblest
attributes of man. "A mechanical virtue," he would say, "is no virtue at
all."
The impressions of youth are much stronger and more enduring than those
of middle life, and I still remember Andrew as he appeared presiding at
the meeting for the benefit of John Brown's wife and daughters in
November, 1859. This was his first notable appearance before the public,
and nothing could have been more daring or more likely to make him
unpopular; and yet within twelve months he was elected Governor. His
attitude and his whole appearance was resolute and intrepid. He had set
his foot down, and no power on earth could induce him to withdraw it. A
clergyman who had been invited to speak at the meeting had at first
accepted, but being informed by some of his parishioners that the thing
would not do, declined with the excuse that he had supposed there would
be two sides to the question. "As if," said Andrew, "there could be two
sides to the question whether John Brown's wife and daughters should be
permitted to starve." Thomas Russell, Judge of the Superior Court, sat
close under the platform, clapping his hands like pistol shots.
John A. Andrew's testimony before the Harper's Ferry investigating
committee has a historical value which Hay and Nicolay, Wilson, and
Von Holst would have done well to have taken into consideration; but the
definitive history of the war period is yet to be written. There was no
reason why Andrew should have been summoned. He had never met John Brown
but once--at a lady's house in Boston--and had given him twenty-five
dollars without knowing what was to be done with it. Jefferson Davis and
the other Southern members of the committee evidently sent for him to
make capital against the Republican party, but the result was different
from what they anticipated. Andrew told them squarely that the Harper's
Ferry invasion was the inevitable consequence of their attempt to force
slavery on Kansas against the will of its inhabitants, and that the
Pottawatomie massacre, whether John Brown was connected with it or not,
was not so bad in its moral effect as the assault on Sumner. It was what
they might expect from attempting to tyrannize over frontier farmers. It
is not to be supposed that such men will be governed by the nice sense of
justice of an eastern law court.
His testimony in regard to the personal magnetism of John Brown is of
great value; but he also admitted that there was something about the old
man which he could not quite understand,--a mental peculiarity which may
have resulted from his hard, barren life, or the fixedness of his
purpose.
Andrew had already been elected to the Legislature, and had taken his
seat there in January, 1860. Almost in an instant he became the leader of
his party in the House. Always ready to seize the right moment, he united
the two essential qualities of a debater, a good set speech and a
pertinent reply. Perfectly fearless and independent, he was exactly the
man to guide his party through a critical period. There were few in the
house who cared to interfere with him.
Andrew was chairman of the Massachusetts delegation at the Chicago
Convention in May, and although he voted for Seward he was directly
instrumental in the nomination of Lincoln. It is said to have been at his
suggestion that the Massachusetts delegation called together the
delegations of those States that defeated Fremont in 1856, and inquired
of them which of the candidates would be most certain to carry their
constituencies; and with one accord they all answered Lincoln. Thus
Lincoln's nomination was practically assured before the voting began.
It has been repeatedly asserted that the nomination of Andrew for
Governor was the result of a general popular movement; but this was
simply impossible. He was chiefly known to the voters of the State at
that time as the presiding officer of a John Brown meeting, and that was
quite as likely to retard as to advance his interests. He had, however,
become a popular leader in the Legislature, and the fact that Governor
Banks was opposed to him and cast his influence in favor of a Pittsfield
candidate, left a sort of political vacuum in the more populous portion
of the State, which Frank W. Bird and Henry L. Pierce took advantage of
to bring his name forward. Sumner and Wilson threw their weight into the
scales, and Andrew was easily nominated; but he owed this to Frank W.
Bird more than to any other supporter.
In the New York _Herald_ of December 20, 1860, there was the
following item: "Governor-elect Andrew, of Massachusetts, and George L.
Stearns have gone to Washington together, and it is said that the object
of their visit is to brace up weak-kneed Republicans." This was one
object of their journey, but they also went to survey the ground and see
what was the true state of affairs at the Capital. Stearns wrote from
Washington to the Bird Club: "The watchword here is 'Keep quiet,'" a
sentence full of significance for the interpretation of the policy
pursued by the Republican leaders that winter. Andrew returned with the
conviction that war was imminent and could not be prevented. His
celebrated order in regard to the equipment of the State militia followed
immediately, and after the bombardment of Fort Sumter this was looked
upon as a true prophecy. He foresaw the difficulty at Baltimore, and had
already chartered steamships to convey regiments to Washington, in case
there should be a general uprising in Maryland.
Both Sumner and Wilson opposed the appointment of General Butler to the
command of the Massachusetts Volunteers, and preferred Caleb Gushing, who
afterwards proved to be a more satisfactory member of the Republican
party than Butler; but, on the whole, Andrew would seem to have acted
judiciously. They were both bold, ingenious and quick-witted men, but it
is doubtful if Gushing possessed the dash and intrepidity which Butler
showed in dealing with the situation at Baltimore. That portion of his
military career was certainly a good success, and how far he should be
held responsible for the corrupt proceedings of his brother at New
Orleans I do not undertake to decide.
It is likely that Governor Andrew regretted his choice three weeks later,
when General Butler offered his services to the Governor of Maryland to
suppress a slave insurrection which never took place, and of which there
was no danger then or afterwards. A sharp correspondence followed between
the Governor and the General, in which the latter nearly reached the
point of insubordination. For excellent reasons this was not made public
at the time, and is little known at the present day; but General Butler
owed his prominence in the war wholly to Governor Andrew's appointment.
Another little-known incident was Andrew's action in regard to the
meeting in memory of John Brown, which was held on December 2, 1861, by
Wendell Phillips, F. B. Sanborn and others, who were mobbed exactly as
Garrison was mobbed thirty years earlier. The Mayor would do nothing to
protect them, and when Wendell Phillips went to seek assistance from
Andrew the latter declined to interfere. It would be a serious matter to
interfere with the Mayor, and he did not feel that the occasion demanded
it. Moreover he considered the celebration at that time to be prejudicial
to the harmony of the Union cause. Phillips was already very much
irritated and left the Governor's office in no friendly mood. Andrew
might have said to him: "You have been mobbed; what more do you want?
There is no more desirable honor than to be mobbed in a good cause."
Governor Andrew's appointments continued to be so favorable to the
Democrats that Martin F. Conway, the member of Congress from Kansas,
said: "The Governor has come into power with the help of his friends, and
he intends to retain it by conciliating his opponents." It certainly
looked like this; but no one who knew Andrew intimately would believe
that he acted from interested motives. Moreover it was wholly unnecessary
to conciliate them. It is customary in Massachusetts to give the Governor
three annual terms, and no more; but Andrew was re-elected four times,
and it seemed as if he might have had as many terms as Caius Marius had
consulships if he had only desired it.
His object evidently was to unite all classes and parties in a vigorous
support of the Union cause, and he could only do this by taking a number
of colonels and other commissioned officers from the Democratic ranks.
For company officers there was no better recommendation to him than for a
young man to be suspended, or expelled, from Harvard University. "Those
turbulent fellows," he said, "always make good fighters, and," he added
in a more serious tone, "some of them will not be greatly missed if they
do not return." The young aristocrat who was expelled for threatening to
tweak his professor's nose obtained a commission at once.
Another case of this sort was so pathetic that it deserves to be
commemorated. Sumner Paine (named after Charles Sumner), the finest
scholar in his class at Harvard, was suspended in June, 1863, for some
trifling folly and went directly to the Governor for a commission as
Lieutenant. Having an idea that the colored regiments were a particular
hobby with the Governor, he asked for a place in one of them; but Andrew
replied that the list was full; he could, however, give him a Lieutenancy
in the Twentieth Massachusetts, which was then in pursuit of General Lee.
Sumner Paine accepted this, and ten days later he was shot dead on the
field of Gettysburg. Governor Andrew felt very badly; for Paine was not
only a fine scholar but very handsome, and, what is rare among hard
students, full of energy and good spirits.
Governor Andrew tried a number of conclusions, as Shakespeare would call
them, with the National Government during the war, but the most serious
difficulty of this kind resulted from Secretary Stanton's arbitrary
reduction of the pay of colored soldiers from thirteen to eight dollars a
month. This, of course, was a breach of contract, and Governor Andrew
felt a personal responsibility in regard to it, so far as the
Massachusetts regiments were concerned.
He first protested against it to the Secretary of War; but, strange to
say, Stanton obtained a legal opinion in justification of his order from
William Whiting, the solicitor of the War Department. Governor Andrew
then appealed to President Lincoln, who referred the case to Attorney-
General Bates, and Bates, after examining the question, reported
adversely to Solicitor Whiting and notified President Lincoln that the
Government would be liable to an action for damages. The President
accordingly referred this report to Stanton, who paid no attention
whatever to it.
Meanwhile the Massachusetts Legislature had passed an act to make good
the deficiency of five dollars a month to the Massachusetts colored
regiments, but the private soldiers, with a magnanimity that should never
be forgotten, refused to accept from the State what they considered due
them from the National Government. At last Governor Andrew applied to
Congress for redress, declaring that if he did not live to see justice
done to his soldiers in this world he would carry his appeal "before the
Tribunal of Infinite Justice."
Thaddeus Stevens introduced a bill for the purpose June 4,1864, and after
waiting a whole year the colored soldiers received their dues. Andrew
declared in his message to Congress that this affair was a disgrace to
the National Government; and I fear we shall have to agree with him.
[Footnote: At this time there were not less than five thousand officers
drawing pay in the Union armies above the requisite proportion of one
officer to twenty-two privates.]
Sixty years ago Macaulay noticed the injurious effects on oratory of
newspaper publication. Parliamentary speeches were written to be read
rather than to be listened to. It was a peculiarity of Andrew, however,
that he wrote his letters and even his messages to the Legislature as if
he were making a speech. In conversation he was plain, sensible and
kindly.
He made no pretensions to oratory in his public addresses, but his
delivery was easy, clear, and emphatic. At times he spoke rather rapidly,
but not so much so as to create a confused impression. I never knew him
to make an _argumentum ad hominem_, nor to indulge in those
rhetorical tricks which even Webster and Everett were not wholly free
from. He convinced his hearers as much by the fairness of his manner as
by anything that he said.
The finest passage in his speeches, as we read them now, is his tribute
to Lincoln's character in his address to the Legislature, following upon
Lincoln's assassination. After describing him as the man who had added
"martyrdom itself to his other and scarcely less emphatic claims to human
veneration, gratitude and love," he continued thus: "I desire on this
grave occasion to record my sincere testimony to the unaffected
simplicity of his manly purpose, to the constancy with which he devoted
himself to his duty, to the grand fidelity with which he subordinated
himself to his country, to the clearness, robustness, and sagacity of his
understanding, to his sincere love of truth, his undeviating progress in
its faithful pursuit, and to the confidence which he could not fail to
inspire in the singular integrity of his virtues and the conspicuously
judicial quality of his intellect."
Could any closer and more comprehensive description be given of Andrew's
own character; and is there another statement so appreciative in the
various biographies of Lincoln?
The instances of his kindness and helpfulness were multitudinous, but
have now mostly lapsed into oblivion. During his five years in office it
seemed as if every distressed man, woman, and child came to the Governor
for assistance. William G. Russell, who declined the position of Chief
Justice, once said of him: "There was no better recommendation to
Andrew's favor than for a man to have been in the State's prison, if it
could only be shown that he had been there longer than he deserved."
Andrew considered the saving of a human soul more important than rescuing
a human life. That he was often foiled, deceived, and disappointed in
these reformatory attempts is perfectly true; but was it not better so
than never to have made them? For a long time he had charge of an
intemperate nephew, who even sold his overcoat to purchase drink; but the
Governor never deserted the fellow and cared for him as well as he could.
This is the more significant on account of Andrew's strong argument
against prohibitory legislation, which was the last important act of his
life.