Part 12

But the sharpest arrow was still to be shot. I reviewed the Senator's career as a party leader--how he had hurled his anathema against every Republican who would not take his word as law, thus disgusting and alienating one man after another, and was now seeking to read out of the party every man and every newspaper, among them the strongest journal in the State, that supported me. Almost every sentence drew applause. But when I reached my climax, picturing Mr. Drake as a party leader so thinning out his following that he would finally stand "lonesome and forlorn, surrounded by an immensity of solitude, in desolate self-appreciation," the general hilarity became so boisterous and the cheering so persistent, that I had to wait minutes for a chance to proceed. I closed my speech in a pacific strain. There had been talk that, if I were elected, the unseemly spectacle would be presented of two Senators from the same State constantly quarrelling with one another. I did not apprehend anything of the kind. I was sure that if we ever differed, Senator Drake would respect my freedom of opinion, and I certainly would respectfully recognize his. Our watchword would be: "Let us have peace."

When I had finished there was another outbreak of tumultuous applause and a rush for a handshake, the severest I have ever had to go through. With great difficulty I had to work my way to my tavern and to bed, where I lay long awake hearing the jubilant shouts of my friends on the streets. The first report I received in the morning was that Mr. Drake had quickly withdrawn from last night's meeting before its adjournment, had hurried to his hotel, had asked for his bill and the washing he had given out, and when told that his shirts and collars were not yet dry, had insisted upon having them instantly whether wet or dry, and then had hurried to the railroad station for the night train East. The party-dictatorship was over, and its annihilation was proclaimed by the flight of the dictator.

_The Republic's Crowning Honor to an Adopted Son_

That same day the caucus of the Republican members of the Legislature took place. I was nominated for the senatorship on the first ballot, and on motion the nomination was made unanimous. My election by the Legislature followed in due course. No political victory was ever more cleanly won. My whole election expenses amounted only to my board bill at the hotel, and absolutely unencumbered by any promise of patronage or other favor I took my seat in the Senate of the United States on the 4th of March, 1869. My colleague, Mr. Drake, courteously escorted me to the chair of the president of the Senate where I took the oath of office.

I remember vividly the feelings which almost oppressed me as I first sat down in my chair in the Senate chamber. Now I had actually reached the exalted public position to which my boldest dreams of ambition had hardly dared to aspire. I was still a young man, just forty. Little more than sixteen years had elapsed since I had landed on these shores, a homeless waif saved from the wreck of a revolutionary movement in Europe. Then I was enfolded in the generous hospitality of the American people, opening to me, as freely as to its own children, the great opportunities of the new world. And here I was now, a member of the highest law-making body of the greatest of republics. Should I ever be able fully to pay my debt of gratitude to this country, and to justify the honors that had been heaped upon me? To accomplish this, my conception of duty could not be pitched too high. I recorded a vow in my own heart that I would at least honestly endeavor to fulfil that duty; that I would conscientiously adhere to the principle "_Salus populi, suprema lex_"; that I would never be a sycophant of power nor a flatterer of the multitude; that, if need be, I would stand up alone for my conviction of truth and right; and that there would be no personal sacrifice too great for my devotion to the republic.

My first official duty was to witness, with the Senate, the inauguration of General Grant as President of the United States. I stood near the same spot from which, eight years before, I had witnessed the inauguration of Abraham Lincoln. It was a remarkable contrast--then the anxious patriot, in the hour of stress, with pathetic tenderness appealing to the wayward children of the nation; now the victorious soldier speaking in the name of the restored national authority. General Grant's inaugural address, evidently his own work, was somewhat crude in style, but breathed a rugged honesty of purpose. With particular rigor it emphasized our obligations to the national creditor--in striking contrast to Mr. Johnson's last annual message, which had stopped little short of advising downright repudiation.

On the whole, General Grant's accession to the presidency was welcomed by almost everybody with a sense of relief. It put an end to the unseemly, not to say scandalous brawl between the executive and the legislative branches of the national government, which at times came near threatening the peace of the country. It was justly expected to restore the government to its proper dignity and to furnish, if not a brilliant, at least a highly decent and efficient business administration. As General Grant had really not owed his nomination to any set of politicians, nor even, strictly speaking, to his identification with a political party, he enjoyed an independence of position which offered him peculiarly favorable possibilities for emancipating the public service from the grasp of the spoils politician, and the friends of civil service reform looked up to him with great hope.

It was not unnatural that in the absolute absence of political experience he should not only have had much to learn concerning the nature and conduct of civil government, but that he should also have had much to unlearn of the mental habits and the ways of thinking he had acquired in the exercise of almost unlimited military command. This was strikingly illustrated by some remarkable incidents.

_A. T. Stewart and the Law of the Treasury_

As usual, the nominations made by the President for Cabinet offices were promptly ratified by the Senate without being referred to any committee. But after this had been done, it was remembered and reported to President Grant that one of the nominees so confirmed, Mr. A. T. Stewart of New York, whom President Grant had selected for the secretaryship of the treasury, as a person engaged in commerce, was disqualified by one of the oldest laws on the statute-book--in fact, the act of September 2, 1789, establishing the Treasury Department. That this law, which provided that the Treasury Department, having the administration of the custom houses under its control, should not have at its head a merchant or importer in active business, was an entirely proper, indeed, a necessary one, had never been questioned. The next morning, March 6th, I had occasion to call upon President Grant for the purpose of presenting to him a congratulatory message from certain citizens of St. Louis. I found him alone, engaged in writing something on a half-sheet of note-paper. "Mr. President," I said, "I see you are busy, and I do not wish to interrupt you. My business can wait." "Never mind," he answered, "I am only writing a message to the Senate." My business was quickly disposed of, and I withdrew.

In the course of that day's session of the Senate a message from the President was brought in, in which, after quoting the statute of September 2, 1789, the President asked that Mr. Stewart be exempted by joint resolution of the two Houses of Congress from the operation of the law which stood in Mr. Stewart's way. There were some signs of surprise among Senators when the message was read, but Mr. Sherman at once asked unanimous consent to introduce a bill in accordance with the President's wish. But Mr. Sumner objected to the immediate consideration thereof because of its great importance. This stopped further proceedings, and the bill was laid on the table never to be heard of again. However, the President's message had evidently made an impression, and there was forthwith a little council held in the cloakroom, which agreed that some Senator should without delay go to see Mr. Elihu B. Washburn, the new Secretary of State, who was General Grant's intimate friend, and urgently ask him to suggest to the President that, while there was now perfect good feeling all round, it would be prudent for him to drop Mr. Stewart and to abstain from demanding the suspension or the repeal of good laws which he found in his way. Whether Mr. Washburn did carry this admonition to President Grant, I do not know. Probably he did, for Mr. Stewart was promptly dropped. Mr. Boutwell of Massachusetts was made Secretary of the Treasury in Mr. Stewart's place, and the repeal or suspension of the old law was never again heard of.

_A Governor's Right to His Staff_

So this incident passed, harmless. But the cloakroom of the Senate, where Senators amused one another with the gossip of the day, continued to buzz with anecdotes about President Grant's curious notions of the nature and functions of civil government. One of these anecdotes, told by a Senator who was considered one of the best lawyers in that body and one of the most jealous of the character of his profession, was particularly significant. He heard a rumor that President Grant was about to remove a Federal judge in one of the territories of the United States. The Senator happened to know that judge as a lawyer of excellent ability and uncommon fitness for the bench, and he went to the President to remonstrate against so extreme a measure as the removal of a judge unless there were cogent reasons for it connected with the administration of the office. President Grant admitted that, as far as he knew, there was no allegation of the unfitness of the judge, as a judge, "but," he added, "the governor of the territory writes me that he cannot get along with that judge at all, and is very anxious to be rid of him; and I think the governor is entitled to have control of his staff." The Senator closed his story by saying that he found it to be a delicate as well as a difficult job to make the great general in the chair of the President of the United States understand how different the relations between a territorial governor and a Federal judge were from those between a military commander and his staff officers. The anecdote was received by the listeners with a laugh, but the mirth was not far from apprehension. However, there being sincere and perfect goodwill on both sides, things went on pleasantly in the expectation that the military hero at the head of the government would learn what he needed to know and that the men in places of political power would treat him with due consideration and fairness.

_Grant Presses for San Domingo Annexation_

It was a few days later when I met President Grant at an evening reception given by Colonel Forney, the Secretary of the Senate. I was somewhat surprised when I saw the President coming toward me from the opposite side of the room, saying: "Senator, you have not called to see me at the White House for some time, and I have been wanting to speak to you." All I could say in response was that I was very sorry to have missed a conversation I might have had with him, but that I knew him to be a busy man who should not be robbed of his time by merely conventional visits. He repeated that he wished very much to see me. Would I not call upon him at my earliest convenience some evening? I put myself at once at his service, and went to the White House the next night. He received me in the library room and invited me to sit with him on a sofa. He plunged forthwith into the subject he had at heart. "I hear you are a member of the Senate committee that has the San Domingo treaty under consideration," he said, "and I wish you would support the treaty. Won't you do that?" I thought it would be best not to resort to any circumlocution in answering so pointblank a summons, but to be entirely frank. I said I should be sincerely happy to act with his administration whenever and wherever I conscientiously could, but in this case, I was sorry to confess, I was not able to do as he wished, because I was profoundly convinced it would be against the best interests of the republic. Then I gave him some of my dominant reasons; in short, acquisition and possession of such tropical countries with indigestible, unassimilable populations would be highly obnoxious to the nature of our republican system of government; it would greatly aggravate the racial problems we had already to contend with; those tropical islands would, owing to their climatic conditions, never be predominantly settled by people of Germanic blood; this federative republic could not, without dangerously vitiating its vital principles, undertake to govern them by force, while the populations inhabitating them could not be trusted with a share in governing our country; to the difficulties we had under existing circumstances to struggle with in our Southern States, much greater and more enduring difficulties would be added; and for all this the plan offered absolutely no compensating advantages. Moreover, the conversations I had had with Senators convinced me that the treaty had no chance of receiving the two-thirds vote necessary for its confirmation, and I sincerely regretted to see his administration expose itself to a defeat which, as I thought, was inevitable.

_The Liveryman and the Foreign Mission_

I spoke with the verve of sincere conviction, and at first the President listened to me with evident interest, looking at me as if the objections to the treaty which I expressed were quite new to him and made an impression on his mind. But after a little while I noticed that his eyes wandered about the room, and I became doubtful whether he listened to me at all. When I had stopped, he sat silent for a minute or two. I, of course, sat silent too, waiting for him to speak. At last he said in a perfectly calm tone, as if nothing had happened: "Well, I hope you will at least vote for the confirmation of Mr. Jones, whom I have selected for a foreign mission."

I was very much taken aback by this turn of the conversation. Who was Mr. Jones? If the President had sent his nomination to the Senate, it had escaped me. I had not heard of a Mr. Jones as a nominee for a foreign mission. What could I say? The President's request that I should vote for Mr. Jones sounded so child-like and guileless, at the same time implying an apprehension that I might not vote for the confirmation of Mr. Jones, which he had evidently much at heart, that I was sincerely sorry that I could not promptly answer "Yes." I should have been happy to please the President. But I had to tell him the truth. So I gathered myself together and replied that I knew nothing of Mr. Jones, either by personal acquaintance or by report; that it was the duty of the Committee on Foreign Relations to inquire into the qualifications for diplomatic service of the persons nominated for foreign missions and to report accordingly to the Senate, and that if Mr. Jones was found to possess those qualifications, it would give me the most genuine pleasure to vote for him. This closed the conference.

A few days later there was a meeting of the Committee on Foreign Relations. After having disposed of some other business, Charles Sumner, its chairman, said in his usual grave tone: "Here is the President's nomination of Mr. Jones for the mission to Brussels. Can any member of the committee give us any information concerning Mr. Jones?" There was a moment's silence. Then Senator Morton of Indiana, a sarcastic smile flickering over his face--I see him now before me--replied: "Well, Mr. Jones is about the most elegant gentleman that ever presided over a livery stable." The whole committee, except Mr. Sumner, broke out in a laugh. Sumner, with unbroken gravity, asked whether any other member of the committee could give any further information. There was none. Whereupon Mr. Sumner suggested that the nomination be laid over for further inquiry, which was done.

At a subsequent meeting the committee took up the case of Mr. Jones again. It was a matter of real embarrassment to every one of us. We all wished to avoid hurting the feelings of President Grant. There had been no malice in Senator Morton's remark about the elegant gentleman presiding over a livery stable. Morton was one of the staunchest administration men, but he simply could not resist the humor of the occasion. I do not recollect what the result of the "further inquiry" was. I have a vague impression that Mr. Jones turned out to be in some way connected with the street-car lines in Chicago, and to have had much to do with horses, which was supposed to be the link of sympathy between him and President Grant. However reluctant the committee was to wound the President's feelings in so personal a matter, yet it did not think it consistent with its sense of duty and dignity positively to recommend to the Senate to confirm the nomination of Mr. Jones. It therefore, if I remember rightly, reported it back to the Senate without any recommendation, whereupon the Senate indulgently ratified it.

THE FOREGOING ARTICLE WILL BE THE LAST OF THE CARL SCHURZ REMINISCENCES TO APPEAR IN MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE. THE WRITING OF THE MEMOIRS WAS BROKEN OFF AT THIS POINT BY MR. SCHURZ' DEATH, WHICH OCCURRED IN 1906. A CONCLUSION TO THE SERIES, COMPILED BY MR. FREDERIC BANCROFT FROM CARL SCHURZ' NOTES AND LETTERS, WILL APPEAR IN VOLUME III OF THE BOOK, WHICH WILL BE ISSUED IN THE FALL.

A CAVALRY PEGASUS

BY

WILL ADAMS

ILLUSTRATIONS BY DAN SAYRE GROESBECK

The orderly-room was quiet; only the clicking of the Troop Clerk's type-writer broke the stillness in sharp taps. Captain Campbell and Sergeant Stone were at their desks, absorbed in papers. Presently Stone pushed his work aside, and, hunting in a pigeonhole, brought forth a grimy bundle.

"Are you interested in poetry, sir?" he said. Captain Campbell, _alias_ Shorty, sat up, with a snort, and peered over the piled-up findings of a court-martial case. "Am I a love-sick puppy? Do I _look_ as if I were interested in poetry?" Shorty's hair was mussed and matted, his flannel shirt (he never wore a coat, if he could help it) was open at the throat, and the dust of the early-morning drill still adhered to his countenance, giving it a curiously gray-veiled appearance--he said he hadn't had time to wash. Stone was forced to admit that his appearance was not poetic.

"Well," he said, "I guess this isn't really poetry--just a stab at it. Shall I read----"

"Sergeant Stone," interrupted his captain vehemently, "if you've been such an ass as to try to write poetry, I'll be condemned if I keep you as Top of _my_ troop. No, don't attempt to explain; I know it all! There's a girl at the bottom of it: there always is. Poetry leads to everything and anything. Soon you'll be neglecting your duties, and then, I warn you,--_I warn you_,--you're busted! 'Member Sergeant Johnson? Good soldier, but very foolish man. Went and got married--what a fool! No good any more. Poetry will do the same for you."

Stone had been trying to stem the torrent. "For the Lord's sake, Captain, what do you take me for? I haven't been writin' any poetry."

"What do you mean, then, insinuating that you have? There's only one man living now who _can_ write poetry, but be hanged if I'd want him in my troop."

"Still," said Stone, with his boyish, dimpling grin, "you've a poet in the troop, in spite of you. It's Teddy Ryan."

"Ryan! That freckled kid? Why, he's a pretty fair soldier. Reckon his poetry must be right rotten. Don't believe he knows enough to spell 'cat,' even. What you got there? Hand 'em over, only hurry up. I got to go to headquarters soon. Oh, this is goin' to be a picnic!" Shorty was chuckling over the soiled scraps.

The first one was ominously entitled "Destinny, by Prvt. T. Ryan 5th Mont. Inf. U. S. V. 1898," and set forth:

I do not like my tacks and bacon, They allus sets my belly aken. I do not like to tote a gun, It seems like I was son of one. And lots of other things they done to me I do not like at all.

I wish I never had inlisted My feet is allus gettin' blistered It's allus drillin drillin drillin And eating grub that isent fillin. And that is why I do not wanter stay. And O By jimminy dont i wish my time was up and i could get away.

"You bet he did," laughed Shorty. "You read these?" turning to Stone.

"Sure. Aren't they rich? Read 'Soljer and Moskeeter' an' 'To My Hoss.' There's a horse on you in that last."

"Soldier and Mosquito" proved to be a dialogue.

SOLJER AND MOSKEETER

Soljer says: "When we do go to bed We do try to sleep instead Of lyeing awake. But we cannot for you kno The pesky moskeeto Our blood does take."

Moskeeter says: "When that feller goes to bed he covers up his head In the dark, i cannot cannot eat her so I starve says poor moskeeter, Grim and stark."

"Soldier seems to be a he an' a she too. An' he is sure impartial," remarked Captain Campbell. "Even a mosquito must have a point of view--darn little nuisances!"

"'Life is one long gorgeous sunset if your head-net works as planned,'" agreed Stone, quoting from the American Mandalay. "Go on an' read 'To My Hoss,' You'll appreciate that."

TO MY HOSS

My hoss is gentle has no fears, And is slow if you dont ticcle his years. He has fore long legs and a drawn out hed, And so is cald a quadruped.

Saturday morning enspection time i groom my hoss up clene and fine, But if his saddel aint packed wel, You bet Shorty gives me hel.

My hoss must be fed before the men, Wen i dont do it I get hel agen, My hosses tale is very long the end of him and the end of my song.

"I know," chuckled Shorty, "what was the inspiration for that second verse. I jumped all over him one Saturday for havin' his canteen on the near side an' his picket-pin upside-down where it would blame well spit him if he should fall on it. He's right he got all that was coming to him. I only got time for one more now--a short one. What shall it be?"

"Try 'Fiting Joe And Dewey'; that's a bit different--might be classed under 'Poems of Ambition'."

Shorty shuffled the papers and read:

FITING JOE AND DEWEY

Theres heaps of places in the world men wud lik to been and see But i tell you And I tell you true, That theres only 2 for me. Ide like to have worn my Countrys blu In the calvery riding or holding the tiller With Fiting joe at San Wan Hill or with Dewey at Manilla.

And the old man says: "Ive been in slews of battels and ime toting in my shin A bullit from a johnny-rebils killer, But I am hail and harty and i wish that I had been With Fiting joe at San Wan Hill or Dewey at manilla."

"How in Tophet did you come by this stuff, Sergeant?" asked the Captain, as he got up to put on his small coat, and, on tiptoe before a little hanging mirror, tried, ineffectually, to calm his upstanding hair with the ten-toothed comb of nature.

"Why, sir, Ryan gave 'em to me to read. He came into my room two or three nights ago an' asked me if I wouldn't like to see them. Said he'd written that 'Destinny' quite a time ago, but that all the others were just recently finished; that he'd been writing a lot lately, an' felt as if he just _had_ to show 'em to somebody, an' he thought the other fellows would laugh at him. He said I might keep an' read them to anybody I thought would appreciate them. _He_ thinks they're Shaksperean."