estimate of himself, and to put him in possession of that place, in
their consideration, which he has the hardihood to claim. And the
observation is just, to this extent: if the individual does not respect
himself, probably no one else will take that trouble. But in a country
where universal suffrage reigns, it may be doubted whether the elevation
of an ordinary man indicates any recognition of the justice of his
claims. On the contrary, they may be endorsed precisely because they are
false: that is, because he really possesses no other title to the
support of common men, than that which is founded upon fellow-feeling or
sympathy of character. Many a man, therefore, who receives his election
as a compliment from the voters, if he understood the motives of their
action, would throw up his office in disgust; for in a large majority of
cases, the popular choice, so far from being an assertion of the
candidate's peculiar fitness to be singled out from among his brethren,
is only a declaration that neither talent nor character entitles him to
the distinction. The cry that a man is "one of the people," will bring
him great strength at the ballot-box: but this is a phrase which means
very different things, according as it is used by the candidate or the
voter; and, in many cases, if they could thoroughly understand each
other, the latter would not give his support, and the former would not
ask it.
These remarks are applicable to all stages of society's progress; for,
if the world were so enlightened, that, in the scale of intellect, such
a man as Daniel Webster could only be classed as an idiot, there would
still be the "ignorant vulgar," the "uneducated classes." Society is one
entire web--albeit woven with threads of wool and silk, of silver and
gold: turn it as you will, it must all turn together; and if a whirlwind
of enlightenment should waft it to the skies, although each thread would
be immeasurably above its present condition, the relation of one to
another would still be the same. If the baser wool should be transmuted
into gold, the very same process would refine and sublimate the precious
metal, in a corresponding ratio; and the equilibrium of God's appointed
relations would remain undisturbed.
But it is more especially in the primitive periods, before the great
political truths become household words, and while the reign of law and
municipal organization is a vague and distant thing, that most citizens
shrink from official duties. Diffidence, in this matter is,
fortunately, a disease which time will alleviate--a youthful weakness,
which communities "outgrow," as children do physical defects; and, I
believe, of late years, few offices have "gone begging," either east or
west of the great barrier of the Allegheny.
In the earlier periods of its history, we have seen that the western
country was peculiarly situated. The settlements were weak and the
population small; with the exception of a few narrow fields, in the
vicinity of each frontier fort, or stockade, the land was a wilderness,
held in undisturbed possession by the savages and wild beasts. The great
struggle, which we call the Revolution, but which was, in fact, only a
justifiable and successful rebellion, had exhausted the force and
drained the coffers of the feeble federal government; had plunged the
infant states into enormous debts; and the only means of paying these
were the boundless but unclaimed lands of the west, which the same
causes rendered them unable to protect. The scattered settlements on the
Mississippi side of the Alleghenies, were thus left to their own scanty
resources; and the distance was so great, that, had the older states
been able to afford assistance, the delays and losses attendant upon its
transmission across so wide a tract of wilderness, would have made it
almost nugatory.
In those times, therefore, though a few were looking forward to separate
political organization and the erection of new states, the larger number
of the western people were too constantly occupied with their defence,
to give much attention to internal politics. Such organization as they
had was military, or patriarchal: the early pioneer, who had
distinguished himself in the first explorations of the country, or by
successfully leading and establishing a new settlement, as he became the
commander of the local fort, was also the law-giver of the community.
The pressure of external danger was too close to allow a very liberal
democracy in government; and, as must be the case in all primitive
assemblages of men, the counsels and commands of him whom they knew to
be the _most able_, were always observed. He who had proven himself
competent to lead was, therefore, the leader _ipso facto_ and _de jure_;
and the evidence required was the performance of such exploits, and the
display of such courage and sagacity, as were necessary to the defence,
well-being, and protection of the community.
It is obvious that no mere pretender could exhibit these proofs; and
that, where they were taken as the sole measure of a man's worth,
dexterity with a rifle must be of more value than the accomplishments of
a talker--Indian-fighting a more respectable occupation than
speech-making. Small politicians were, therefore, very small men, and
saying that one had "a turn for politics," would have been equivalent to
calling him a vagabond. The people had neither time nor patience to
listen to declamation--the man who rose in a public assembly, and called
upon his neighbors to follow him in avenging a wrong, made the only
speech they cared to hear. "Preambles and resolutions" were unmeaning
formalities--their "resolutions" were taken in their own minds, and, to
use their own expressive words, they executed them "without preamble."
An ounce of lead was worth more than a pound of advice; and, in the
vindication of justice, a "charge" of gunpowder was more effectual than
the most tedious judicial harangue. It is, even now, a proud, but
well-founded boast, of western men, that these traits have been
transmitted to them from their fathers--that they are more remarkable
for _fighting_ than for _wrangling_, for _acting_ than for _talking_.
In such a state of society, civil offices existed scarcely in name, and
were never very eagerly sought. That which makes official station
desirable is obedience to its authority, and if the title of "captain"
gave the idea of more absolute power than that of "sheriff," one would
rather command a company of militia than the "_posse comitatus_."
Besides, the men of the frontier were simple-hearted and unambitious,
desiring nothing so much as to be "left alone," and willing to make a
compact of forbearance with the whole world--excepting only the Indians.
They had never been accustomed to the restraints of municipal
regulations, they were innocent of the unhealthy pleasures of
office-holding, or the degrading impulses of office-seeking. Their lives
had given them little or no knowledge of these things; experience had
never suggested their importance, for their acquaintance with life was,
almost exclusively, such as could be acquired in the woods and forest
pathways.
But as time rolled away, and the population of the country became more
dense--as the pressure of external danger was withdrawn, and the
necessities of defence grew less urgent--the rigor of military
organization came gradually to be somewhat irksome. The seeds of civil
institutions began to germinate among the people, while the extending
interests of communities required corresponding enactments and
regulations. The instincts of social beings, love of home and family,
attachment to property, the desire of tranquillity, and, perhaps, a
leaven of ambition for good estimation among neighbors, all combined to
open men's eyes to the importance of peaceful institutions. The day of
the rifle and scalping-knife passed away, and justice without form--the
rule of the elementary strong-hand--gave place to order and legal
ceremony.
Then first began to appear the class of politicians, though, as yet,
office-seeking had not become a trade, nor office-holding a regular
means of livelihood. Politics had not acquired a place among the arts,
nor had its professors become the teachers of the land. There were few,
indeed, who sought to fill civil stations; and, although men's
qualifications for office were, probably, not any more rigidly examined
then than now, those who possessed the due degree of prominence, either
deemed themselves, or were believed by their fellow-citizens, peculiarly
capable of discharging such functions. They were generally men who had
made themselves conspicuous or useful in other capacities--who had
become well or favorably known to their neighbors through their zeal,
courage, sagacity, or public spirit. A leader of regulators, for
example, whose administration of his dangerous powers had been marked by
promptitude and severity, was expected to be equally efficient when
clothed with more regular authority. A captain of rangers, whose
enterprises had been remarkable for certainty and _finish_, would, it
was believed, do quite as good service, in the capacity of a civil
officer. A daring pioneer, whose courage or presence of mind had saved
himself and others from the dangers of the wilderness, was supposed to
be an equally sure guide in the pathless ways of politics. Lawyers were
yet few, and not of much repute, for they were, for the most part,
youthful adventurers, who had come into the field long before the
ripening of the harvest.
There was another class, whose members held prominent positions, though
they had never been distinguished for the possession of any of the
qualifications above enumerated. These might be designated as the
_noisy_ sort--loud-talking, wise-looking men, self-constituted oracles
and advice-givers, with a better opinion of their own wisdom than any
one else was willing to endorse. Such men became "file-leaders," or
"pivot-men," because the taciturn people of the west, though inclined to
undervalue a mere talker, were simple-minded enough to accept a man's
valuation of his own powers: or easy-tempered enough to spare themselves
the trouble of investigating so small a matter. It was of little
consequence to them, whether the candidate was as wise as he desired to
be thought; and since, in political affairs, they knew of no interest
which they could have in disputing it, for _his_ gratification they were
willing to admit it. These were halcyon days for mere pretenders--though
for no very flattering reason: since their claims were allowed chiefly
because they were not deemed worth controverting. Those days, thanks to
the "progress of intelligence!" are now gone by: the people are better
acquainted with the natural history of such animals, and--witness, ye
halls of Congress!--none may now hold office except capable, patriotic,
and disinterested men!
Nor must we be understood to assert that the primitive politician was
the reverse of all this, save in the matter of capability. And, even in
that particular, no conception of his deficiency ever glimmered in his
consciousness. His own assumption, and the complaisance of his
fellow-citizens, were inter-reactive, mutually cause and effect. _They_
were willing to confirm his valuation of his own talents: _he_ was
inclined to exalt himself in their good opinion. Parallel to this, also,
was the oracular tone of his speech: the louder he talked, the more
respectfully silent were his auditors; and the more attentive _they_
became, the noisier _he_ grew. Submission always encourages oppression,
and admiration adds fuel to the fire of vanity. Not that the politician
was precisely a despot, even over men's opinions: the application of
that name to him would have been as sore a wound to his self-respect as
the imputation of horse-stealing. He was but an oracle of opinion, and
though allowed to dictate in matters of thought as absolutely as if
backed by brigades of soldiers, he was a sovereign whose power existed
only through the consent of his subjects.
In personal appearance, he was well-calculated to retain the authority
intrusted to him by such men. He was, in fact, an epitome of all the
physical qualities which distinguished the rugged people of the west:
and between these and the moral and intellectual, there is an invariable
correspondence--as if the spirit within had moulded its material
encasement to the planes and angles of its own "form and pressure."
National form and feature are the external marks of national character,
stamped more or less distinctly in different individuals, but, in the
aggregate, perfectly correspondent and commensurate. The man, therefore,
who possesses the national traits of character in their best
development, will be, also, the most faithful representative of his race
in physical characteristics. At some periods, there are whole classes of
these types; and if there be any _one_ who embodies the character more
perfectly than all others, the tranquillity of the age is not calculated
to draw him forth. But in all times of trouble--of revolution or
national ferment--the perfect Man-emblem is seen to rise, and (which is
more to the purpose) is sure to stand at the head of his fellows: for he
who best represents the character of his followers, becomes, by God's
appointment, their leader. To this extent, the _vox populi_ is the _vox
Dei_; and the unfailing success of every such man, throughout his
appointed term, is the best possible justification of the choice.
What was Washington, for example, but an epitome of the steady and noble
qualities combined of cavalier and puritan, which were then coalescing
in the American character? And what more perfect correspondence could be
conceived between the moral and intellectual and the physical outlines?
What was Cromwell but _the Englishman_, not only of his own time, but of
all times? And the testimony of all who saw him, what is it, but that a
child, who looked upon him, could not fail to see, in his very
lineaments, the great and terrible man he was? And Napoleon, was he
aught but an abridgment of the French nation, the sublimate and "proof"
essence of French character? Not one, of all the great men of history,
has possessed, so far as we know, a physical constitution more perfectly
representing, even in its advancing grossness, both the strength and
weakness of the people he led.
In tranquil times, these things are not observed in one individual more
than in others of his class, and we are, therefore, not prepared to
decide whether, at such periods, _the one man_ exists. The great
Leviathan, the king of all the creatures of the ocean, rises to the
surface only in the tumult of the storm; his huge, portentous form, lies
on the face of the troubled waters only when the currents are changed
and the fountains of the deep are broken up.
Nature does no superfluous work, and it may require the same causes
which produce the storm to organize its Ruler. If a great rebellion is
boiling among men, the mingling of the elements is projecting, also, the
Great Rebel: if a national cause is to be asserted, the principles upon
which it rests will first create its appropriate Exponent. But when no
such agitation is on the point of breaking out--when the crisis is not
near, and the necessity for such greatness distant--national character
probably retains its level; and though there be no _one_ whom the people
will recognise as the arch-man, the representatives, losing in intensity
what they gain in numbers, become a class. They fill the civil stations
of the country, and are known as men of mark--their opinions are
received, their advice accepted, their leading followed. No one of them
is known instinctively, or trusted implicitly, as the leader of Nature's
appointment: yet they are, in fact, the exponents of their time and
race, and in exact proportion to the degree in which they possess the
character, will they exhibit, also, the physical peculiarities.
Thus it was at the time of which we are writing, with the class to which
belonged the politician, and a description of his personal appearance,
like that of any other man, will convey no indistinct impression of his
internal character.
Such a description probably combined more characteristic adjectives than
that of any other personage of his time--adjectives, some of which were
applicable to many of his neighbors, respectively, but _all_ of which
might be bestowed upon him _only_. He was tall, gaunt, angular, swarthy,
active, and athletic. His hair was, invariably, black as the wing of the
raven; even in that small portion which the cap of raccoon-skin left
exposed to the action of sun and rain, the gray was but thinly
scattered; imparting to the monotonous darkness only a more iron
character. As late as the present day, though we have changed in many
things, light-haired men seldom attain eminence among the western
people: many of our legislators are _young_ enough, but none of them are
_beardless_. They have a bilious look, as if, in case of illness, their
only hope would lie in calomel and jalap. One might understand, at the
first glance, that they are men of _talent_, not of _genius_; and that
physical energy, the enduring vitality of the body, has no
inconsiderable share in the power of the mind.
Corresponding to the sable of the hair, the politician's eye was usually
small, and intensely black--not the dead, inexpressive jet, which gives
the idea of a hole through white paper, or of a cavernous socket in a
death's-head; but the keen, midnight darkness, in whose depths you can
see a twinkle of starlight--where you feel that there is meaning as well
as color. There might be an expression of cunning along with that of
penetration--but, in a much higher degree, the blaze of irascibility.
There could be no doubt, from its glance, that its possessor was an
excellent hater; you might be assured that he would never forget an
injury or betray a friend.
A stoop in the shoulders indicated that, in times past, he had been in
the habit of carrying a heavy rifle, and of closely examining the ground
over which he walked; but what the chest thus lost in depth it gained in
breadth. His lungs had ample space in which to play--there was nothing
pulmonary even in the drooping shoulders. Few of his class have ever
lived to a very advanced age, but it was not for want of
iron-constitutions, that they went early to the grave. The same services
to his country, which gave the politician his prominence, also shortened
his life.
From shoulders thus bowed, hung long, muscular arms--sometimes, perhaps,
dangling a little ungracefully, but always under the command of their
owner, and ready for any effort, however violent. These were terminated
by broad, bony hands, which looked like grapnels--their grasp, indeed,
bore no faint resemblance to the hold of those symmetrical instruments.
Large feet, whose toes were usually turned in, like those of the Indian,
were wielded by limbs whose vigor and activity were in keeping with the
figure they supported. Imagine, with these peculiarities, a free, bold,
rather swaggering gait, a swarthy complexion, and conformable features
and tones of voice: and--excepting his costume--you have before your
fancy a complete picture of the early western politician.
But the item of costume is too important to be passed over with a mere
allusion. As well might we paint a mountain without its verdant
clothing, its waving plumes of pine and cedar, as the western man
without his picturesque and characteristic habiliments. The first, and
indispensable article of dress, was the national hunting-shirt: a
garment whose easy fit was well-adapted, both to the character of his
figure and the freedom of his movements. Its nature did not admit much
change in fashion: the only variations of which it was capable, were
those of ornament and color. It might be fringed around the cape and
skirt, or made plain; it might be blue, or copper-colored--perhaps
tinged with a little madder. And the variety of material was quite as
limited, since it must be of either jeans or deer-skin.
Corresponding to this, in material, style, and texture, he wore, also, a
pair of wide pantaloons--not always of precisely the proper length for
the limbs of the wearer, but having invariably a broad waistband, coming
up close under the arms, and answering the purpose of the modern vest.
People were not so dainty about "set" and "fit," in those days, as they
have since become; and these primitive integuments were equally
well-adapted to the figure of any one to whose lot they might fall. In
their production, no one had been concerned save the family of the
wearer. The sheep which bore the wool, belonged to his own flock, and
all the operations, subsequent to the shearing, necessary to the
ultimate result of shaping into a garment, had been performed by his
wife or daughter. Many politicians have continued this affectation of
plainness, even when the necessity has ceased, on account of its effect
upon the masses; for people are apt to entertain the notion, that
decent clothing is incompatible with mental ability, and that he who is
most manifestly behind the improvements of the time, is best qualified
for official stations.
A neck-cloth, or cravat, was never seen about the politician's throat;
and for the same reason of expediency: for these were refinements of
affectation which had not then been introduced; and a man who thus
compassed his neck, could no more have been elected to an office, than
if he had worn the cap and bells of a Saxon jester. The shirt-bosoms of
modern days were in the same category; and _starch_ was an article
contraband to the law of public sentiment--insomuch that no epithet
expressed more thorough contempt for a man, than the graphic word
"starched." A raccoon-skin cap--or, as a piece of extravagant finery, a
white-wool hat--with a pair of heavy shoes, not unfrequently without the
luxury of hose--or, if with them, made of blue-woollen yarn, from the
back of a sheep of the aforesaid flock--completed the element of
costume.
He was not very extravagantly dressed, as the reader sees; but we can
say of him--what could not be as truly spoken of many men, or, indeed,
of many women, of this day--that his clothing bore distinct reference to
his character, and was well-adapted to his "style of beauty." In fact,
everything about him, form, face, manners, dress, was in "in keeping"
with his characteristics.
In occupation, he was usually a farmer; for the materials of which
popular tribunes are made in later times--such as lawyers, gentlemen of
leisure, and pugnacious preachers--were not then to be found. The
population of the country was thoroughly agricultural; and though (as I
believe I have elsewhere observed) the rural people of the west were
neither a cheerful nor a polished race, as a class, they possess, even
yet, qualities, which, culminating in an individual, eminently fit him
for the _role_ of a noisy popular leader.
But a man who is merely fitted to such a position, is a very different
animal to one qualified to give laws for the government of the citizen.
After all our vain boasting, that public sentiment is the law of our
land, there is really a very broad distinction between forming men's
opinions and controlling their action. If the government had been so
organized, that the pressure of popular feeling might make itself felt,
directly, in the halls of legislation, our history, instead of being
that of a great and advancing nation, would have been only a chronicle
of factious and unstable violence. It does not follow, that one who is
qualified to lead voters at the polls, or, as they say here, "on the
stump," will be able to embody, in enlightened enactments, the sentiment
which he contributes to form, any more than that the tanner will be able
to shape a well-fitting boot from the leather he prepares. "_Suum cuique
proprium dat Natura donum_."[82] A blacksmith, therefore, is not the
best manufacturer of silver spoons, a lawyer the ablest writer of
sermons, nor either of them necessarily the safest law-maker.
But those things to which his qualifications were appropriate, the
politician did thoroughly and well. For example, he was a skilful
farmer--at least in the leading branches of that calling, though he gave
little or no attention to the merely ornamental. For the latter, he had
neither time nor inclination. Even in the essentials, it was only by
working, as he expressed it, "to the best advantage,"--that is,
contriving to produce the largest amount of results with the least
expenditure of labor and patience--that he got sufficient leisure to
attend to his public duties; and as for "inclination," no quaker ever
felt a more supreme contempt for mere embellishment.