For a number of years, instead of taking my usual vacation in
travel or at some resort, I spent a few weeks in the fall in the
political canvass as a speaker. In the canvass of 1868 I was
associated with Senator Roscoe Conkling, who desired an assistant,
as the mass meetings usually wanted at least two and probably
three hours of speaking, and he limited himself to an hour.
General Grant was at the height of his popularity and the audiences
were enormous. As we had to speak every day and sometimes several
times a day, Mr. Conkling notified the committees that he would not
speak out of doors, and that they must in all cases provide a hall.
When we arrived at Lockport, N. Y., the chairman of the committee,
Burt Van Horn, who was the congressman from the district, told
the senator that at least twenty thousand people from the town,
and others coming from the country on excursion trains, had filled
the Fair Grounds. Conkling became very angry and told the
congressman that he knew perfectly well the conditions under which
he came to Lockport, and that he would not speak at the
Fair Grounds. A compromise was finally effected by which the
senator was to appear upon the platform, the audience be informed
that he would speak in the Opera House, and I was to be left to
take care of the crowd. The departure of the senator from the
grounds was very dramatic. He was enthusiastically applauded
and a band preceded his carriage.
For some reason I never had such a success as in addressing that
audience. Commencing with a story, which was new and effective,
I continued for two hours without apparently losing an auditor.
Upon my return to the hotel I found the senator very indignant.
He said that he had gone to the Opera House with the committee;
that, of course, no meeting had been advertised there, but a band
had been placed on the balcony to play, as if it were a dime
museum attraction inside; that a few farmers' wives had straggled
in to have an opportunity to partake from their baskets their
luncheons, and that he had left the Opera House and returned
to the hotel. The committee coming in and narrating what had
occurred at the Fair Grounds, did not help his imperious temper.
The committee begged for a large meeting, which was to be held in
the evening, but Conkling refused and ordered me to do the same,
and we left on the first train. The cordial relations which had
existed up to that time were somehow severed and he became
very hostile.
General Grant, as president, of course, never had had experience
or opportunity to know anything of practical politics. It was
said that prior to his election he had never voted but once, and
that was before the war, when he voted the Democratic ticket
for James Buchanan.
All the senators, representatives, and public men who began to
press around him, seeking the appointment to office of their
friends, were unknown to him personally. He decided rapidly
whom among them he could trust, and once having arrived at that
conclusion, his decision was irrevocable. He would stand by a
friend, without regard to its effect upon himself, to the last ditch.
Of course, each of the two United States senators, Conkling and
Fenton, wanted his exclusive favor. It is impossible to conceive of
two men so totally different in every characteristic. Grant liked
Conkling as much as he disliked Fenton. The result was that he
transferred the federal patronage of the State to Senator Conkling.
Conkling was a born leader, very autocratic and dictatorial. He
immediately began to remove Fenton officials and to replace them
with members of his own organization. As there was no civil
service at that time and public officers were necessarily active
politicians, Senator Conkling in a few years destroyed the
organization which Fenton had built up as governor, and became
master of the Republican party in the State.
The test came at the State convention at Saratoga. Senator Conkling
at that time had become hostile to me, why I do not know, nor
could his friends, who were most of them mine also, find out.
He directed that I must not be elected a delegate to the convention.
The collector of the port of New York, in order to make that
decree effective, filled my district in Westchester County with
appointees from the Custom House.
Patronage, when its control is subject to a popular vote, is
a boomerang. The appointment of a citizen in a town arouses
the anger of many others who think they are more deserving.
I appealed to the farmers with the simple question whether old
Westchester should be controlled by federal authority in a purely
State matter of their own. The result of the appeal was
overwhelming, and when the district convention met, the Custom
House did not have a single delegate.
The leader of the Custom House crowd came to me and said: "This
is a matter of bread-and-butter and living with us. It is nothing
to you. These delegates are against us and for you at the
convention. Now, we have devised a plan to save our lives. It is
that the three delegates elected shall all be friends of yours.
You shall apparently be defeated. A resolution will be passed
that if either delegate fails to attend or resigns, the other two
may fill the vacancy. One of these will resign when the convention
meets and you will be substituted in his place. In the meantime
we will send out through the Associated Press that you have been
defeated." I did not have the heart to see these poor fellows
dismissed from their employment, and I assented to the proposition.
When we arrived at the convention Governor Cornell, then State
chairman, called to order. I arose to make a motion, when he
announced: "You, sir, are not a member of this convention." My
credentials, however, under the arrangement made in Westchester,
convinced him that he was misinformed. The Conkling side selected
for their chairman Andrew D. White, and the other side selected
me. Upon careful canvass of the votes we had a clear majority.
There were several delegations which were controlled by federal
office-holders. It is at this point that patronage becomes
overwhelmingly effective. Several of those office-holders were
shown telegrams from Washington, which meant their removal unless
they did as directed by Senator Conkling. When the convention
met the next day, the office-holders kept their heads on their
shoulders, and my dear and valued old friend, Andrew D. White,
was elected chairman of the convention.
I asked the leader of the federal crowd from Westchester how he
explained my getting into the convention. "Oh," he said, "that
was easy. Our people gained so many delegates by offers of
patronage and threats of removal that when I told them you had
bought my delegates away from me, they believed it without
question, and we are all safe in our places in the Custom House."
My success was entirely due to the farmers' indignation at federal
dictation, and the campaign did not cost me a dollar.
Roscoe Conkling was created by nature for a great career. That
he missed it was entirely his own fault. Physically he was the
handsomest man of his time. His mental equipment nearly approached
genius. He was industrious to a degree. His oratorical gifts
were of the highest order, and he was a debater of rare power and
resources. But his intolerable egotism deprived him of vision
necessary for supreme leadership. With all his oratorical power
and his talent in debate, he made little impression upon the country
and none upon posterity. His position in the Senate was a masterful
one, and on the platform most attractive, but none of his speeches
appear in the schoolbooks or in the collections of great orations.
The reason was that his wonderful gifts were wholly devoted to
partisan discussions and local issues.
His friends regarded his philippic against George W. Curtis at
the Republican State convention at Rochester as the high-water
mark of his oratory. I sat in the seat next to Mr. Curtis when
Conkling delivered his famous attack. His admirers thought this
the best speech he ever made, and it certainly was a fine effort,
emphasized by oratory of a high order, and it was received by them
with the wildest enthusiasm and applause.
The assault upon Mr. Curtis was exceedingly bitter, the denunciation
very severe, and every resource of sarcasm, of which Mr. Conkling
was past master, was poured upon the victim. His bitterness was
caused by Mr. Curtis's free criticism of him on various occasions.
The speech lasted two hours, and it was curious to note its effect
upon Mr. Curtis. Under the rules which the convention had adopted,
he could not reply, so he had to sit and take it. The only feeling
or evidence of being hurt by his punishment was in exclamations
at different points made by his assailant. They were: "Remarkable!"
"Extraordinary!" "What an exhibition!" "Bad temper!" "Very
bad temper!"
In the long controversy between them Mr. Curtis had the advantages
which the journalist always possesses. The orator has one
opportunity on the platform and the publication the next day in
the press. The editor--and Mr. Curtis was at that time editor
of Harper's Weekly--can return every Saturday and have an exclusive
hearing by an audience limited only by the circulation of his
newspaper and the quotations from it by journalistic friends.
The speech illustrated Conkling's methods of preparation. I used
to hear from the senator's friends very frequently that he had
added another phrase to his characterization of Curtis. While
he was a ready debater, yet for an effort of this kind he would
sometimes devote a year to going frequently over the ground, and
in each repetition produce new epigrams, quotable phrases, and
characterizations.
There used to be an employee of the State committee named Lawrence.
He was a man of a good deal of receptive intelligence and worshipped
the senator. Mr. Conkling discovered this quality and used
Lawrence as a target or listening-post. I have often had Lawrence
come to my office and say: "I had a great night. The senator
talked to me or made speeches to me until nearly morning." He told
me that he had heard every word of the Curtis philippic many times.
Lawrence told me of another instance of Conkling's preparation for
a great effort. When he was preparing the speech, which was to
bring his friends who had been disappointed at the convention
to the support of General Garfield, he summoned Lawrence for
clerical work at his home. Lawrence said that the senator would
write or dictate, and then correct until he was satisfied with the
effort, and that this took considerable time. When it was completed
he would take long walks into the country, and in these walks
recite the whole or part of his speech until he was perfect
master of it.
This speech took four hours in delivery in New York, and he held
the audience throughout this long period. John Reed, one of
the editors of the New York Times, told me that he sat on the
stage near Conkling and had in his hands the proofs which had
been set up in advance and which filled ten columns of his paper.
He said that the senator neither omitted nor interpolated a word
from the beginning to the end. He would frequently refer apparently
to notes on his cuffs, or little memoranda, not that he needed
them, but it was the orator's always successful effort to create
impression that his speech is extemporaneous, and the audience
much prefer a speech which they think is such.
Senator Conkling held an important position in a critical period
of our country's history. If his great powers had been devoted
in the largest way to the national constructive problems of the
time, he would have been the leader of the dominant party and
president of the United States. Instead, he became the leader
of a faction in his own State only, and by the merciless use
of federal patronage absolutely controlled for twelve years the
action of the State organization.
All the young men who appeared in the legislature or in county
offices who displayed talent for leadership, independence, and
ambition were set aside. The result was remarkable. While prior
to his time there were many men in public life in the State with
national reputation and influence, this process of elimination
drove young men from politics into the professions or business,
and at the close of Senator Conkling's career there was hardly
an active member of the Republican party in New York of national
reputation, unless he had secured it before Mr. Conkling became
the autocrat of New York politics. The political machine in the
Republican party in his Congressional district early in his career
became jealous of his growing popularity and influence, both at
home and in Congress. By machine methods they defeated him and
thought they had retired him permanently from public life.
When I was elected secretary of state I received a note from
Mr. Conkling, asking if I would meet him. I answered: "Yes,
immediately, and at Albany." He came there with Ward Hunt,
afterwards one of the associate justices of the Supreme Court
of the United States. He delivered an intense attack upon machine
methods and machine politics, and said they would end in the
elimination of all independent thought, in the crushing of all
ambition in promising young men, and ultimate infinite damage
to the State and nation. "You," he said, "are a very young man for
your present position, but you will soon be marked for destruction."
Then he stated what he wanted, saying: "I was defeated by the
machine in the last election. They can defeat me now only by
using one man of great talent and popularity in my district. I want
you to make that man your deputy secretary of state. It is the
best office in your gift, and he will be entirely satisfied."
I answered him: "I have already received from the chiefs of the
State organization designations for every place in my office,
and especially for that one, but the appointment is yours and
you may announce it at once."
Mr. Conkling arose as if addressing an audience, and as he stood
there in the little parlor of Congress Hall in Albany he was
certainly a majestic figure. He said: "Sir, a thing that is
quickly done is doubly done. Hereafter, as long as you and I
both live, there never will be a deposit in any bank, personally,
politically, or financially to my credit which will not be subject
to your draft."
The gentleman whom he named became my deputy. His name was
Erastus Clark. He was a man of ability and very broad culture,
and was not only efficient in the performance of his duties, but
one of the most delightful of companions. His health was bad,
and his friends were always alarmed, and justifiably so, about him.
Nevertheless, I met him years afterwards in Washington, when
he was past eighty-four.
At Mr. Conkling's request Mr. Clark made an appointment for a
mutual visit to Trenton Falls, a charming resort near Utica. We
spent the week-end there, and I saw Mr. Conkling at his best.
He was charming in reminiscence, in discussion, in his
characterization of the leading actors upon the public stage,
and in varying views of ambitions and careers.
When the patronage all fell into his hands after the election of
General Grant, he pressed upon me the appointment of postmaster
of the city of New York. It was difficult for him to understand
that, while I enjoyed politics and took an active part in
campaigns, I would not accept any office whatever. He then
appointed one of the best of postmasters, who afterwards became
postmaster-general, but who was also one of the most efficient
of his lieutenants, General Thomas L. James.
When Mr. Conkling was a candidate for United States senator I was
regarded as a confidential friend of Governor Fenton. The governor
was one of the most secretive of men, and, therefore, I did not
know his views to the candidate, or whether he had preferences.
I think he had no preferences but wished Conkling defeated, and
at the same time did not want to take a position which would incur
the enmity of him or his friends.
One night there was a great public demonstration, and, being
called upon, I made a speech to the crowd, which included the
legislature, to the effect that we had been voiceless in the
United States Senate too long; that the greatest State in the
Union should be represented by a man who had demonstrated his
ability to all, and that man was Mr. Conkling. This created an
impression that I was speaking for the governor as well as myself,
and the effect upon the election was great. Mr. Conkling thought
so, and that led to his pressing upon me official recognition.
How the breach came between us, why he became persistently hostile
during the rest of his life, I never knew. President Arthur,
Governor Cornell, and other of his intimate friends told me that
they tried often to find out, but their efforts only irritated him
and never received any response.
Senator Conkling's peculiar temperament was a source of great
trouble to his lieutenants. They were all able and loyal, but
he was intolerant of any exercise on their part of independent
judgment. This led to the breaking off of all relations with the two
most distinguished of them--President Arthur and Governor Cornell.
A breach once made could not be healed. A bitter controversy
in debate with Mr. Blaine assumed a personal character. In the
exchanges common in the heat of such debates Blaine ridiculed
Conkling's manner and called him a turkey-cock. Mutual friends
tried many times to bring them together. Blaine was always
willing, but Conkling never.
Conkling had a controversy which was never healed with Senator Platt,
who had served him long and faithfully and with great efficiency.
During the twenty years in which Platt was leader, following
Senator Conkling, he displayed the reverse qualities. He was
always ready for consultation, he sought advice, and was tolerant
of large liberty of individual judgment among his associates. He
was always forgiving, and taking back into confidence those with
whom he had quarrelled.
One summer I was taking for a vacation a trip to Europe and had
to go aboard the steamer the night before, as she sailed very
early in the morning. One of my staff appeared and informed me
that a very serious attack upon the New York Central had been
started in the courts and that the law department needed outside
counsel and asked whom he should employ. I said: "Senator
Conkling." With amazement he replied: "Why, he has been bitterly
denouncing you for months." "Yes, but that was politics," I said.
"You know the most brilliant lawyer in the United States might come
to New York, and unless he formed advantageous associations with
some of the older firms he could get no practice. Now, this suit
will be very conspicuous, and the fact that Senator Conkling is
chief counsel for the Central will give him at once a standing
and draw to him clients." His appearance in the case gave him
immediate prominence and a large fee.
Senator Conkling's career at the bar was most successful, and
there was universal sorrow when his life ended in the tragedy
of the great blizzard.