THE THIRTY-SIXTH CONGRESS
When the famous Thirty-sixth Congress met for its long session, December
5, 1859, the whole country was in ferment over the execution of John
Brown. "An indiscreet move in any direction," wrote ex-President Tyler
from his plantation, "may produce results deeply to be deplored. I
fear the debates in Congress, and above all the Speaker's election. If
excitement prevails in Congress, it will add fuel to the flame which
already burns so terrifically."[5] He, and all patriots, might well
have been afraid of increased excitement. It was evident from the first
hour that the atmosphere was heavily charged. The House resolved itself
into a great debating society, in which the only questions were: "Is
slavery right or wrong? Shall it, or shall it not, be allowed in the
territories?" The foray of the zealot and fanatic aggravated the fury
of the combatants.
The member from Mississippi—L. Q. C. Lamar (afterwards Supreme Court
Justice of the United States)—threw an early firebrand by announcing
on the floor of the House, "The Republicans are not guiltless of the
blood of John Brown, his co-conspirators, and the innocent victims of
his ruthless vengeance." Lawrence Keitt of South Carolina declared: "The
South asks nothing but its rights. I would have no more, but as God is
my judge, I would shatter this republic from turret to foundation-stone
before I would take a tittle less." Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania
retorted: "I do not blame gentlemen of the South for using this threat
of rending God's creation from foundation to turret. They have tried it
fifty times, and fifty times they have found weak and recreant tremblers
in the North who have been affected by it, and who have acted from
those intimidations." Such were a few, by comparison with those that
rapidly followed, of the wild utterances of the hour. This occurred on
the second day of the session. The House was in an uproar! Members from
their seats crowded down into the aisles, and the clerk was powerless to
preserve order. "A few more such scenes," said one, "and we shall hear
the crack of the revolver and see the gleam of brandished blade."
In this spirit Congress proceeded to ballot for its Speaker, and
balloted for two months (until February 1), before Mr. Sherman was
abandoned (having withdrawn his name) and a compromise effected by the
election of Mr. Pennington, who represented neither extreme of party.
During these two months everything was said that could be said to fan
the flame. Hot disputes were accentuated by bitter personal remarks.
One day a pistol accidentally fell from the pocket of a member from
New York, and, thinking it had been drawn with the intention of using
it, some of the members were wild with passion, crying excitedly
for the sergeant-at-arms, and turning the House into a pandemonium.
John Sherman, who had been the unlucky bone of contention, made this
remarkable statement: "When I came here I did not believe that the
slavery question would come up; and but for the unfortunate affair of
Brown at Harper's Ferry I do not believe that there would have been any
feeling on the subject. Northern men came here with kindly feelings, no
man approving the foray of John Brown, and every man willing to say so,
every man willing to admit it as an act of lawless violence."
Four years before this stormy election, Banks had been chosen Speaker
after a contest longer by a few days than this. Then, as now, slavery
was the point at issue; but "good humor and courtesy had marked the
previous contest where now were acrimony and defiance.... Then threats
of disunion were received with laughter; now they were too manifestly
sincere to be treated lightly." In four years the breach between North
and South, once only a rift in the rock, had become a yawning chasm.
What might it not become in four years more?
Not foreseeing the rapid change of public sentiment, the Democrats had,
four years before, selected Charleston for the meeting of the convention
to name their candidate for the presidency. Accordingly, on April 23,
the party was convened in the "hotbed of disunion."
The Northern Democrats had heard much of the splendor and elegance
in which Charlestonians lived, and of the Arabian hospitality of the
South, which could ignore all animosities over the bread and salt. But
Charleston turned a cold shoulder to its guests from the North. All
hearts, however, and all homes were opened to the Southerners. They
dined with the aristocrats, drove with richly dressed ladies in gay
equipages, and were entertained generally with lavish hospitality. All
this tended to widen the breach between the sections.
When the delegates left their fair entertainers for the sessions of
the convention, the ladies repaired to old St. Michael's Episcopal
Church, where prayers, specially ordered for the success and prosperity
of the South, were daily offered. "At the same time fervent abolition
preachers at the North were praying for a disruption of the Charleston
convention."
Judge Douglas had written a platform that was not acceptable to
the South. After its adoption seven delegates from Southern states
declared their purpose of secession. The convention, seeing that it was
impossible to reach any result, adjourned May 3, to meet at Baltimore
the 18th of June. The seceders resolved to meet at Richmond the second
Monday of May. This initial movement awakened the alarm of at least
one devoted son of the South. Alexander Stephens wrote to a friend:
"The leaders intended from the beginning to rule or ruin.... Envy,
hate, jealousy, spite—these made war in heaven, which made devils of
angels, and the same passions will make devils of men. The Secession
movement was instigated by nothing but bad passions. Patriotism, in my
opinion, had no more to do with it than love of God had with the other
revolt."[6] In conversation with his friend Johnston, shortly after the
adjournment of the Convention, Stephens said, "Men will be cutting one
another's throats in a little while. In less than twelve months we shall
be in a war, and that the bloodiest in history. Men seem to be utterly
blinded to the future."[7]
The nomination of Lincoln and Hamlin on a purely sectional platform
aroused such excitement all over the land, that the Senate and House
of Representatives gave themselves entirely to speeches on the state of
the country. Read at this late day, many of them appear to be the high
utterances of patriots, pleading with each other for forbearance. Others
exhausted the vocabulary of coarse vituperation. "Nigger thief," "slave
driver," were not uncommon words. Others still, although less unrefined,
were not less abusive. Newspapers no longer reported a speech as calm,
convincing, logical, or eloquent,—these were tame expressions. The
terms now in use were: "a torrent of scathing denunciation," "withering
sarcasm," "crushing invective," the orator's eyes, the while, "blazing
with scorn and indignation." Young members ignored the salutation of
old Senators. Mr. Seward's smile after such a rebuff was maddening! No
opportunity for scornful allusion was lost. My husband was probably the
first Congressman to wear "the gray," a suit of domestic cloth having
been presented to him by his constituents. Immediately a Northern member
said, in an address on the state of the country, "Virginia, instead of
clothing herself in sheep's wool, had better don her appropriate garb
of sackcloth and ashes." In pathetic contrast to these scenes were
the rosy, cherubic little pages, in white blouses and cambric collars,
who flitted to and fro, bearing, with smiling faces, dynamic notes and
messages from one Representative to another. They represented the future
which these gentlemen were engaged in wrecking—for many of these boys
were sons of Southern widows, who even now, under the most genial skies,
led lives of anxiety and struggle. Thoroughly alarmed, the women of
Washington thronged the galleries of the House and the Senate Chamber.
From morning until the hour of adjournment we would sit, spellbound, as
one after another drew the lurid picture of disunion and war.
Our social lines were now strictly drawn between North and South.
Names were dropped from visiting lists, occasions avoided on which we
might expect to meet members of the party antagonistic to our own. My
friend Mrs. Douglas espoused all her husband's quarrels and distinctly
"cut" his opponents. There were very few boxes to be had at our little
theatre—and the three best were usually secured by Mrs. Douglas, Miss
Harriet Lane, and Mrs. John R. Thompson. The feud between the President
and Judge Douglas was bitter, and Mrs. Douglas never appeared at Miss
Lane's receptions in the winter of 1859-1860. One evening we were all
in our theatre boxes, Miss Lane next to us, and I the guest of Mrs.
Douglas. Mr. Porcher Miles, member from South Carolina, who had opposed
Judge Douglas's nomination, appeared at the door of our box. Instantly
Mrs. Douglas turned and said, "Sir, you have made a mistake. Your visit
is intended for next door!" "Madam," said Mr. Miles, "I presumed I
might be permitted to make my respects to Mrs. Pryor, for whom my call
was intended." I had the benefit, of course, of the private opinions
of each, and was able to be the friend of each. "This, I suppose,
is Southern chivalry," said my fair friend. "It savors, I think, of
ill-bred impertinence." "I had supposed her a lady," said Mr. Miles, "or
at least a woman of the world. She behaved like a rustic—an _ingénue_."
I could but receive their confidences in silence, perfectly well knowing
that both were in the wrong. Both were betrayed by the mad passions of
the hour—passions which caused older heads to misunderstand, mislead,
and misbehave! "I am the most unpopular man in the country," said Judge
Douglas (one of the presidential candidates); "I could walk from Boston
to Chicago by the light of my own burning effigies,—and I guess you all
know how much Virginia loves me."
I had the good fortune to retain some of my Northern friends. The
family of the Secretary of State was loyal to me to the end. When
my husband was once embroiled in a violent quarrel, growing out of
sectional feeling, General Cass sent his granddaughter, pretty Lizzie
Ledyard (my prime favorite), with his love to bid me "take heart," that
"all would turn out right." Mrs. Douglas never abated one jot of her
gentle kindness, although she knew we belonged to a party adverse to
her husband. Mrs. Horace Clark's little brown ponies stopped as often
as ever at my door to secure me for a drive down the avenue and a seat
beside her in the House. She had been a Miss Vanderbilt and was now wife
of a member from New York. All of them were prompt to congratulate me
upon my husband's speech on "the state of the country," and to praise
it with generous words as "calm, free from vituperation, eloquent in
pleading for peace and forbearance."
The evening after this speech was delivered, we were sitting in the
library on the first floor of our home, when there was a ring at
the door-bell. The servants were in a distant part of the house, and
such was our excited state that I ran to the door and answered the
bell myself. It was snowing fast, a carriage stood at the door, and
out of it bundled a mass of shawls and woollen scarfs. On entering,
a manservant commenced unwinding the bundle, which proved to be the
Secretary of State, General Cass! We knew not what to think. He was
seventy-seven years old. Every night at nine o'clock it was the custom
of his daughter, Mrs. Canfield, to wrap him in flannels and put him
to bed. What had brought him out at midnight? As soon as he entered,
before sitting down, he exclaimed: "Mr. Pryor, I have been hearing
about secession for a long time—and I would not listen. But now I am
frightened, sir, I am frightened! Your speech in the House to-day gives
me some hope. Mr. Pryor! I crossed the Ohio when I was sixteen years
old with but a pittance in my pocket, and this glorious Union has made
me what I am. I have risen from my bed, sir, to implore you to do what
you can to avert the disasters which threaten our country with ruin."
Never was a spring more delightful than that of 1860. The Marine Band
played every Saturday in the President's grounds, and thither the
whole world repaired, to walk, or to sit in open carriages, and talk of
everything except politics. Easy compliments to the ladies fell from
the lips of the men who could apply to each other in debate abuse too
painful to remember. Sometimes we would be invited for the afternoon
to sit on the veranda of the White House—and who could fail to mark the
ravages of anxiety and care upon the face of the President! All the more
because he insistently repeated that he was never better—that he slept
finely and enjoyed the best health. Nevertheless, if one chanced to
stand silently near him in a quiet corner, he might be heard to mutter,
"Not in my time—not in my time." Not in his time let this dear Union be
severed, this dear country be drowned in blood.
On other afternoons we visited Mr. and Mrs. Robert E. Lee at Arlington,
or drove out to Georgetown through the fragrant avenue of blossoming
crab-apples, or to Mrs. Gales's delightful house for tea, returning
in the soft moonlight. Everybody in Washington dined early. Congress
usually adjourned at four o'clock, and my little boys were wont to be
on the roof of our house, to watch for the falling of the flag over the
House of Representatives, the signal that we might soon have dinner. The
evening meal was late, usually handed. It was considered not "stylish"
to serve it at a table. A servant would enter the drawing-room about
eight o'clock, with a tray holding plates and little doilies. Another
would bring in buttered biscuits and chipped beef or ham, and a third
tray held cups of tea and coffee. Some delicate sweet would follow.
Little tables of Chinese lacquer were placed between two or more
ladies, and lucky was the man who would be invited to share one of
them. Otherwise he must improvise a rest for his plate on his trembling
knees. "Take care! Your plate will fall," I said to one. "Fall! I wish
it would—and _break_! The only thing that worries me is when the blamed
thing takes to rolling. Why, I have chased plates all around the room
until I thought they were bewitched or held the secret of perpetual
motion!" These suppers were very conversational, and one did not mind
their being so light. There would be punch and sandwiches at eleven.
Such were the pleasant happenings that filled our days—clouded now by
the perils which we could not ignore after the warnings to which we
listened at the Capitol. We were conscious of this always in our round
of visits, receptions, dinners, and balls, with the light persiflage
and compliments still in our ears.
But when late evening came, the golden hour of reunion in the library
on the first floor of our home was marked by graver talk. There would
assemble R. M. T. Hunter, Muscoe Garnett, Porcher Miles, L. Q. C. Lamar,
Boyce, Barksdale of Mississippi, Keitt of South Carolina, with perhaps
some visitors from the South. Then Susan would light her fires and show
us the kind of oysters that could please her "own white folks," and
James would bring in lemons and hot water with some choice brand of old
Kentucky.
These were not convivial gatherings. These men held troubled
consultations on the state of the country—the real meaning and intent
of the North, the half-trusted scheme of Judge Douglas to allow the
territories to settle for themselves the vexed question of slavery
within their borders, the right of peaceable secession. The dawn would
find them again and again with but one conclusion—they would stand
together: "Unum et commune periclum una salus!"
But Holbein's spectre was already behind the door, and had marked his
men! In a few months the swift bullet for one enthusiast, for another
(the least considered of them all), a glorious death on the walls of
a hard-won rampart—he the first to raise his colors and the shout of
victory; for only one, or two, or three, the doubtful boon of existence
after the struggle was all over; for _all_ survivors, memories that made
the next four years seem to be the sum of life—the only real life—beside
which the coming years would be but a troubled dream.
The long session did not close until June, and in the preceding month
Abraham Lincoln was chosen candidate by the Republican party for the
presidency, and Stephen A. Douglas by the Democrats. The South had
also a candidate, and hoping to make things better, the ruffled-shirt
gentry—the Old-Line Whigs—had also named their man.
My little boys and I were glad to go home to Virginia. A season of
perfect happiness awaited them, with their sisters and the dear old
people whom they called grandfather and grandmother. Under the shade
of the trees, and in the veranda covered with Lamarque roses, who could
dream of war?
In the hot and bitter campaign that ensued we are told that "Douglas
took the _unusual course_ for a presidential candidate of visiting
different parts of the country and discussing the political issues and
their personal bearings. Speaking on all occasions, from the platform of
the railroad car, the balcony of the hotel, at monster mass-meetings,
he said much that was trivial and undignified, but he also said much
that was patriotic, unselfish, and pregnant with constitutional wisdom.
Coldly received at the South, where he was looked upon as a renegade,
he aroused great enthusiasm at the North, and his personal presence
was the only feature that gave any life to the struggle against the
Republicans."[8]
The words "irrepressible conflict" were much in evidence during this
campaign. Seward adopted them, and made speeches characterized as
his "Irrepressible Conflict Speeches."[9] Seward reaffirmed almost
everywhere the declaration of the "irrepressible conflict," and when
challenged because of the term, he "maintained that the Republicans
simply reverted to the theory and practice of their fathers," giving no
hint of a quotation.
The authorship of these words has always been credited to Mr. Seward.
Their true origin may be found in the address of Mr. Lincoln, delivered
at Cincinnati, Ohio, in September, 1859. On page 262 of the volume
published by Follett, Foster, & Co. in 1860, entitled "Political Debates
between Hon. Abraham Lincoln and Hon. Stephen A. Douglas," may be found
the following extract from Mr. Lincoln's speech:—
"I have alluded in the beginning of these remarks to the fact
that Judge Douglas has made great complaint of my having
expressed the opinion that this Government 'cannot endure
permanently half slave and half free.' He has complained of
Seward for using different language, and declaring that there
is an 'irrepressible conflict' between the principles of free
and slave labor. [A voice: 'He says it is not original with
Seward. That is original with Lincoln.'] I will attend to that
immediately, sir. Since that time, Hickman of Pennsylvania
expressed the same sentiment. He has never denounced Mr.
Hickman; why? There is a little chance, notwithstanding that
opinion in the mouth of Hickman, that he may yet be a Douglas
man. That is the difference! It is not unpatriotic to hold
that opinion, if a man is a Douglas man.
"But neither I, nor Seward, nor Hickman is entitled to the
enviable or unenviable distinction of having first expressed
that idea. That same idea was expressed by the _Richmond
Enquirer_ in Virginia, in 1856, quite two years before it was
expressed by the first of us. And while Douglas was pluming
himself that in his conflict with my humble self, last year,
he had 'squelched out' that fatal heresy, as he delighted to
call it, and had suggested that if he only had had a chance
to be in New York and meet Seward he would have 'squelched' it
there also, it never occurred to him to breathe a word against
Pryor. I don't think that you can discover that Douglas ever
talked of going to Virginia to 'squelch' out that idea there.
No. More than that. That same Roger A. Pryor was brought to
Washington City and made the editor of the _par excellence_
Douglas paper, after making use of that expression, which in
us is so unpatriotic and heretical."
Before we returned to Washington Mr. Lincoln was elected President of
the United States.