Part 22

A confidence in his resources, springing from no vain estimate of his power but the legitimate off-spring of previous SEVERE MENTAL DISCIPLINE, sustained and excited him. He had gauged his opponents, his subject and HIMSELF.

He was, too, at this period in the very prime of manhood. He had reached middle-age--an era in the life of man when the faculties, physical or intellectual, may be supposed to attain their fullest organization and most perfect development. Whatever there was in him of intellectual energy and vitality the occasion, his full life and high ambition might well bring forth. He never arose on an ordinary occasion to address an ordinary audience more self-possessed. There was no tremulousness in his voice or manner; nothing hurried, nothing simulated. The calmness of superior strength was visible everywhere; in countenance, voice and bearing. A deep-seated conviction of the extraordinary character of the emergency and of his ability to control it seemed to possess him wholly. If an observer more than ordinarily keen-sighted detected at times something like exultation in his eye, he presumed it sprang from the excitement of the moment and the anticipation of victory. The anxiety to hear the speech was so intense, irrepressible and universal that no sooner had the vice-president assumed the chair that a motion was made and unanimously carried to postpone the ordinary preliminaries of senatorial action and take up immediately the consideration of the resolution.

Mr. Webster arose and addressed the Senate. His exordium is known by heart everywhere. "Mr. President when the mariner has been tossed about for many days in thick weather and on an unknown sea he naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of the sun to take his latitude and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from his true course. Let us imitate this prudence and before we float further on the waves of this debate refer to the point from which we departed that we may at least be able to form some conjecture where we now are. I ask for the reading of the resolutions."

Calm, resolute, impressive was this opening speech. There wanted no more to enchain the attention. There was a spontaneous though silent expression of eager attention as the orator concluded these opening remarks. And while the clerk read the resolution many attempted the impossibility of getting nearer the speaker. Every head was inclined closer toward him, every ear turned in the direction of his voice--and that deep, sudden, mysterious silence followed which always attends fullness of emotion. From the sea of upturned faces before him the orator beheld his thought, reflected as from a mirror. The varying countenance, the suffused eye, the earnest smile and ever attentive look assured him of the intense interest excited. If among his hearers there were some who affected indifference at first to his glowing thoughts and fervant periods, the difficult mask was soon laid aside and profound, undisguised, devout attention followed.

In truth, all sooner or later, voluntarily, or in spite of themselves were wholly carried away by the spell of such unexampled eloquence. Those who had doubted Mr. Webster's power to cope with and overcome his opponent were fully satisfied of their error before he had proceeded far in this debate. Their fears soon took another direction. When they heard his sentences of powerful thought towering in accumulated grandeur one above the other as if the orator strove Titan-like to reach the very heavens themselves, they were giddy with an apprehension that he would break down in his flight. They dared not believe that genius, learning--any intellectual endowment however uncommon, that was simply mortal--could sustain itself long in a career seemingly so perilous. They feared an Icarian fall. No one surely who was present, could ever forget the awful burst of eloquence with which the orator apostrophized the old Bay State which Mr. Hayne had so derided, or the tones of deep pathos in which her defense was pronounced:--

"Mr. President: I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts. There she is--behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her history, the world knows it by heart. The past at least is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill, and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons falling in the great struggle for independence now lie mingled with the soil of every State from New England to Georgia, and there they will remain forever. And sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives in the strength of its manhood and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it, if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it, if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure it will stand in the end by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked, it will stretch forth its arm with whatever vigor it may still retain over the friends who gather around it and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the proudest monuments of its own glory and on the very spot of its origin."

No New England heart but throbbed with vehement emotion as Mr. Webster dwelt upon New England sufferings, New England struggles, and New England triumphs during the war of the Revolution. There was scarcely a dry eye in the Senate; all hearts were overcome; grave judges and men grown old in dignified life turned aside their heads to conceal the evidence of their emotion.

We presume that none but those present can understand the excitement of the scene. No one who was present can, it seems, give an adequate description of it. No word-painting can convey the deep, intense enthusiasm, the reverential attention of that vast assembly, nor limner transfer to canvas their earnest, eager, awe-struck countenances. Though language were as subtle and flexible as thought it would still be impossible to represent the full idea of the occasion. Much of the instantaneous effect of the speech arose of course from the orator's delivery--the tones of his voice, his countenance and manner. These die mostly with the occasion, they can only be described in general terms.

"Of the effectiveness of Mr. Webster's manner in many parts," says Mr. Everett, himself almost without a peer as an orator, "it would be in vain to attempt to give any one not present the faintest idea. It has been my fortune to hear some of the ablest speeches of the greatest living orators on both sides of the water, but I must confess I never heard anything which so completely realized my conception of what Demosthenes was when he delivered the oration for the Crown."

Could there be higher praise than this? Keen nor Kemble nor any other masterly delineator of the human passions ever produced a more powerful impression upon an audience or swayed so completely their hearts. No one ever looked the orator as he did; in form and feature how like a god! His countenance spake no less audibly than his words. His manner gave new force to his language. As he stood swaying his right arm like a huge tilt-hammer, up and down, his swarthy countenance lighted up with excitement, he appeared amid the smoke, the fire, the thunder of his eloquence like Vulcan in his armory forging thoughts for the gods!

Time had not thinned nor bleached his hair; it was as dark as the raven's plumage, surmounting his massive brow in ample folds. His eye always dark and deep-set enkindled by some glowing thought shown from beneath his somber overhanging brow like lights in the blackness of night from a sepulcher. No one understood better than Mr. Webster the philosophy of dress; what a powerful auxiliary it is to speech and manner when harmonizing with them. On this occasion he appeared in a blue coat, a buff vest, black pants and white cravat; a costume strikingly in keeping with his face and expression. The human face never wore an expression of more withering, relentless scorn than when the orator replied to Hayne's allusion to the "Murdered Coalition"--a piece of stale political trumpery well understood at that day.

"It is," said Mr. Webster, "the very cast off slough of a polluted and shameless press. Incapable of further mischief it lies in the sewer, lifeless and despised. It is not now, sir, in the power of the honorable member to give it dignity or decency by attempting to elevate it and introduce it into the Senate. He cannot change it from what it is--an object of general disgust and scorn. On the contrary, the contact, if he choose to touch it, is more likely to drag him down, down, down to the place where it lies itself." He looked as he spoke these words as if the thing he alluded to was too mean for scorn itself, and the sharp stinging enunciation made the words still more scathing. The audience seemed relieved, so crushing was the expression of his face which they held onto as 'twere spell-bound--when he turned to other topics. But the good-natured yet provoking irony with which he described the imaginary, though life-like scene of direct collision between the marshaled army of South Carolina under General Hayne on the one side, and the officers of the United States on the other, nettled his opponent even more than his severe satire, it seemed so ridiculously true.

With his true Southern blood Hayne inquired with some degree of emotion if the gentleman from Massachusetts intended any personal imputation by such remarks? To which Mr. Webster replied with perfect good humor, "Assuredly not, just the reverse!" The variety of incident during the speech, and the rapid fluctuation of passions, kept the audience in continual expectation and ceaseless agitation. The speech was a complete drama of serious comic and pathetic scenes, and though a large portion of it was argumentative--an exposition of constitutional law--yet grave as such portion necessarily must be, severely logical and abounding in no fancy or episode, it engrossed throughout undivided attention. The swell of his voice and its solemn roll struck upon the ears of the enraptured hearers in deep and thrilling cadence as waves upon the shore of the far-resounding sea.

The Miltonic grandeur of his words was the fit expression of his great thoughts and raised his hearers up to his theme, and his voice exerted to its utmost power penetrated every recess or corner of the Senate--penetrated even the ante-rooms and stairways, as in closing he pronounced in deepest tones of pathos these words of solemn significance: "When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on States dissevered, discordant, belligerent, on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood.

"Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic now known and honored throughout the earth; still full, high, advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a stripe erased nor polluted, not a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as 'What is all this worth?' nor those other words of folly and delusion: 'Liberty first and Union afterwards,' but everywhere spread all over it characters of living light blazing on all of its ample folds as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens that other sentiment dear to every American heart: 'LIBERTY AND UNION NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE!'"

The speech was over but the tones of the orator still lingered on the ear, and the audience, unconscious of the close, retained their positions. Everywhere around seemed forgetfulness of all but the orator's presence and words. There never was a deeper silence; the feeling was too overpowering to allow expression by voice or hand. But the descending hammer of the chair awoke them with a start, and with one universal, long drawn, deep breath, with which the over-charged heart seeks relief, the crowded assembly broke up and departed.

In the evening President Jackson held a levee at the White House. It was known in advance that Mr. Webster would attend it, and hardly had the hospitable doors of the mansion been thrown open, when the crowd that had filled the Senate-Chamber in the morning rushed in and occupied the room, leaving a vast and increasing crowd at the entrance. On all previous occasions the general himself had been the observed of all observers. His receptions were always gladly attended by large numbers, and to these he himself was always the chief object of attraction on account of his great military and personal reputation, official position, gallant bearing, and courteous manners. But on this occasion the room in which he received his company was deserted as soon as courtesy to the president permitted.

Mr. Webster was in the East room and thither the whole mass hurried. He stood almost in the center of the room pressed upon by surging crowds eager to pay him deference. Hayne, too, was there, and with others went up and complimented Mr. Webster on his brilliant effort. In a subsequent meeting between the two rival debators Webster challenged Hayne to drink a glass of wine with him, saying as he did so, "General Hayne I drink to your health, and I hope that you may live a thousand years." "I shall not live more than one hundred if you make another such a speech," Hayne replied.

To this day Webster's speech is regarded as the master-piece of modern eloquence--unsurpassed by even the mightiest efforts of either Pitt, Fox or Burke--a matchless intellectual achievement and complete forensic triumph. It was to this great, triumphant effort that Mr. Webster's subsequent fame as a statesman was due.

Upon the election of General Harrison to the presidency Mr. Webster was offered his choice of the places in the cabinet, a recognition of ability probably never accorded to any other man before or since. He finally accepted the office of Secretary of State. Our relation with England demanded prompt attention. The differences existing between the two nations relative to the Northern boundary could not be disregarded, and Mr. Webster and Lord Ashburton brought about a treaty which was equally honorable and advantageous to the countries. He was also able later to contribute much toward the settlement of the Oregon boundary question through private channels of influence, though holding no official position at the time.

In 1847 he started on a tour of the Southern States, being well received throughout; especially in Charleston, Columbia, Augusta and Savannah was as well received, but his health failing him in the latter city, he was obliged to abandon his project of making a tour of the whole South. He became Secretary of State under Mr. Fillmore. This position he held at his death which occurred at Marshfield, on the 24th day of October, 1852. Funeral orations were delivered throughout the country in great numbers.

He was a man of commanding figure, large but well proportioned. His head was of unusual size, his eyes deep-seated and lustrious, and had a voice powerful yet pleasing; his action, while not remarkably graceful, was easy and impressive. His social tastes were very strong and he possessed marked conversational power. He lived in an age of great legislators and it is needless to add that he was excelled in statesmanship by none.

Professor Ticknor, speaking in one of his letters of the intense excitement with which he listened to Webster's Plymouth address, says: "Three or four times I thought my temples would burst with the gush of blood, for after all you must know I am aware it is no connected and compact whole, but a collection of broken fragments, of burning eloquence to which his manner gave ten fold force. When I came out I was almost afraid to come near him. It seemed to me that he was like the mount that might not be touched, and that burned with fire."

ANDREW JACKSON.

Of all the Presidents of the United States Andrew Jackson was, perhaps, the most peculiar. He was of Scotch-Irish descent, his parents coming to this country in 1765 from Ireland and settling in the northern part of South Carolina on the Waxhaw Creek. They had been very poor in the old country, his father tilling a small farm while the mother was a weaver of linen. His father never owned land in America, and died soon after he arrived in this country, little Andrew being born about the time of his death. One would hardly be justified in supposing young Jackson would one day be ruler of a great nation, rising as he did from such a beginning, yet such are the possibilities in our glorious republic.

His mother wished to make a preacher of him, but his boyhood is represented as mischievous; to say the least, his belligerent nature breaking out in childhood, and his mother's fond hope was signally defeated. He was passionately fond of athletic sports, and was excelled by none of his years. The determination he evinced in every undertaking guided by his maxim of "Ask nothing but what is right--submit to nothing wrong," seemed to be the key-note of his success, for he was not addicted to books, and his education was limited.

Being an eye-witness of the horrible massacre perpetrated by the bloody Tarlton at the Waxsaw settlement his patriotic zeal was terribly awakened, and at the tender age of thirteen we find him among the American forces, and his military career begins at Hanging Rock, where he witnesses the defeat of Sumter, and he is soon a prisoner of the enemy. The English officer ordered him to black his boots; at this all the lion in young Jackson is aroused, and he indignantly refuses, whereupon the officer strikes him twice with his sword, inflicting two ugly wounds, one on his arm, the other on his head. He had the small-pox while a prisoner, but his mother effected his exchange, and after a long illness he recovered, but his brother died of the same disease.

Soon after his mother was taken from him--his other brother was killed at Stono; thus left alone in the world he began a reckless course, which must have been his ruin but for a sudden change for the better, when he began the study of law at Salisbury, North Carolina, and before he was twenty was licensed to practice.