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American Men of Action

by Burton Egbert Stevenson · English · Gutenberg #16508 · 583,957 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: American Men of Action

Author: Burton Egbert Stevenson


        
Release date: August 10, 2005 [eBook #16508]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AMERICAN MEN OF ACTION ***




Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Gundry and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









AMERICAN
MEN OF ACTION


BY


BURTON E. STEVENSON


AUTHOR OF "A GUIDE TO BIOGRAPHY--MEN OF MIND,"
"A SOLDIER OF VIRGINIA," ETC.; COMPILER OF
"DAYS AND DEEDS--POETRY," "DAYS AND
DEEDS--PROSE," ETC.


GARDEN CITY NEW YORK:

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

1913


       *       *       *       *       *


COPYRIGHT, 1909, 1910, BY

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY


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[Illustration: WASHINGTON]


       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I.--A TALK ABOUT BIOGRAPHY

II.--THE BEGINNERS

        Summary to Chapter II

III.--WASHINGTON TO LINCOLN

        Summary to Chapter III

IV--LINCOLN AND HIS SUCCESSORS

        Summary to Chapter IV

V--STATESMEN

        Summary to Chapter V

VI.--PIONEERS

        Summary to Chapter VI

VII.--GREAT SOLDIERS

        Summary to Chapter VII

VIII.--GREAT SAILORS

        Summary to Chapter VIII

INDEX


       *       *       *       *       *




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


Washington    _Frontispiece_

Columbus

Jefferson

Jackson

Lincoln

Cleveland

Franklin

Webster

Boone

Grant

Lee

Dewey


       *       *       *       *       *




AMERICAN MEN OF ACTION


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CHAPTER I

A TALK ABOUT BIOGRAPHY


No doubt most of you think biography dull reading. You would much rather
sit down with a good story. But have you ever thought what a story is?
It is nothing but a bit of make-believe biography.

Let us see, in the first place, just what biography means. It is formed
from two Greek words, "bios," meaning life, and "graphein," meaning to
write: life-writing. In other words, a biography is the story of the
life of some individual. Now what the novelist does is to write the
biographies of the people of his story; not usually from the cradle to
the grave, but for that crucial period of their careers which marked
some great success or failure; and he tries to make them so life-like
and natural that we will half-believe they are real people, and that the
things he tells about really happened. Sometimes, to accomplish this, he
even takes the place of one of his own characters, and tells the story
in the first person, as Dickens does in "David Copperfield." That is
called autobiography, which is merely a third Greek word, "autos,"
meaning self, added to the others. An automobile, for instance, is a
self-moving vehicle. So autobiography is the biography of oneself. The
great aim of the novelist is, by any means within his power, to make his
tale seem true, and the truer it is--the truer to human nature and the
facts of life--the greater is his triumph.

Now why is it that everyone likes to read these make-believe
biographies? Because we are all interested in what other people are
doing and thinking, and because a good story tells in an entertaining
way about life-like people, into whom the story-teller has breathed
something of his own personality. Then how does it come that so few of
us care to read the biographies of real people, which ought to be all
the more interesting because they are true instead of make-believe?
Well, in the first place, because most of us have never tried to read
biography in the right way, and so think it tiresome and uninteresting.
Haven't you, more than once, made up your mind that you wouldn't like a
thing, just from the look of it, without ever having tasted it? You know
the old proverb, "One man's food is another man's poison." It isn't a
true proverb--indeed, few proverbs are true--because we are all built
alike, and no man's food will poison any other man; although the other
man may think so, and may really show all the symptoms of poisoning,
just because he has made up his mind to.

Most of you approach biography in that way. You look through the book,
and you see it isn't divided up into dialogue, as a story is, and there
are no illustrations, only pictures of crabbed-looking people, and so
you decide that you are not going to like it, and consequently you don't
like it, no matter how likeable it is.

It isn't wholly your fault that you have acquired this feeling.
Strangely enough, most biographies give no such impression of reality as
good fiction does. John Ridd, for instance, is more alive for most of us
than Thomas Jefferson--the one is a flesh-and-blood personality, while
the other is merely a name. This is because the average biographer
apparently does not comprehend that his first duty is to make his
subject seem alive, or lacks the art to do it; and so produces merely a
lay-figure, draped with the clothing of the period. And usually he
misses the point and fails miserably because he concerns himself with
the mere doing of deeds, and not with that greatest of all things, the
development of character.

All great biographies are written with insight and imagination, as well
as with truth; that is, the biographer tries, in the first place, to
find out not only what his subject did, but what he thought; he tries to
realize him thoroughly, and then, reconstructing the scenes through
which he moved, interprets him for us. He endeavors to give us the
rounded impression of a human being--of a man who really walked and
talked and loved and hated--so that we may feel that we knew him. But
most biographies are seemingly written about statues on pedestals, and
not good statues at that.

I am hoping to see the rise, some day, of a new school of biography,
which will not hesitate to discard the inessential, which will disdain
to glorify its subject, whose first duty it will be to strip away the
falsehoods of tradition and to show us the real man, not hiding his
imperfections and yet giving them no more prominence than they really
bore in his life; which will realize that to the man nothing was of
importance except the growth of his spirit, and that to us nothing else
concerning him is of any moment; which will show him to us illumined, as
it were, from within, and which will count any other sort of
life-history as vain and worthless. What we need is biography by X-ray,
and not by tallow candle.

Until that time comes, dear reader, you yourself must supply the X-ray
of insight. If you can learn to do that, you will find history and
biography the most interesting of studies. Biography is, of course, the
basis of all history, since history is merely the record of man's
failures and successes; and, read thus, it is a wonderful and inspiring
thing, for the successes so overtop the failures, the good so out-weighs
the bad. By the touchstone of imagination, even badly written biography
may be colored and vitalized. Try it--try to see the man you are reading
about as an actual human being; make him come out of the pages of the
book and stand before you; give him a personality. Watch for his humors,
his mistakes, his failings--be sure he had them, however exalted he may
have been--they will help to make him human. The spectacle of
Washington, riding forward in a towering rage at the battle of
Monmouth, has done more to make him real for us than any other incident
in his life. So the picture that Franklin gives of his landing at
Philadelphia and walking up Market street in the early morning, a loaf
of bread under either arm, brings him right home to us; though this
simple, kindly, and humorous philosopher is one of the realest figures
on the pages of history. We love Andrew Jackson for his irascible
wrong-headedness, Farragut for his burst of wrath in Mobile harbor,
Lincoln for his homely wisdom.

I have said that, read as the record of man's failures and successes,
history is an inspiring thing. Perhaps of the history of no country is
this so true as of that of ours. By far the larger part of our great men
have started at the very bottom of the ladder, in poverty and obscurity,
and have fought their way up round by round against all the forces of
society. Nowhere else have inherited wealth and inherited position
counted for so little as in America. Again, we have had no wars of greed
or ambition, unless the war with Mexico could be so called. We have, at
least, had no tyrants--instead, we have witnessed the spectacle, unique
in history, of a great general winning his country's freedom, and then
disbanding his army and retiring to his farm. "The Cincinnatus of the
West," Byron called him; and John Richard Green adds, "No nobler figure
ever stood in the forefront of a nation's life." He has emerged from the
mists of tradition, from the sanctimonious wrappings in which the early
biographers disguised him, has softened and broadened into the most
human of men, and has won our love as well as our veneration.

George Washington was the founder. Beside his name, two others stand
out, serene and dominant: Christopher Columbus, the discoverer; Abraham
Lincoln, the preserver. And yet, neither Columbus, nor Washington, nor
Lincoln was what we call a genius--a genius, that is, in the sense in
which Shakespeare or Napoleon or Galileo was a genius. But they combined
in singular degree those three characteristics without which no man may
be truly great: sincerity and courage and singleness of purpose.

It is not without a certain awe that we contemplate these men--men like
ourselves, let us always remember, but, in many ways, how different! Not
different in that they were infallible or above temptation; not
different in that they never made mistakes; but different in that they
each of them possessed an inward vision of the true and the eternal,
while most of us grope blindly amid the false and trivial. What that
vision was, and with what high faith and complete devotion they followed
it, we shall see in the story of their lives.

This is the basic difference between great men and little ones--the
little ones are concerned solely with to-day; the great ones think only
of the future. They have gained that largeness of vision and of
understanding which perceives the pettiness of everyday affairs and
which disregards them for greater things. They live in the world,
indeed, but in a world modified and colored by the divine ferment within
them. There are some who claim that America has never produced a genius
of the first order, or, at most, but two; however that may be, she has
produced, as has no other country, men with great hearts and seeing eyes
and devoted souls who have spent themselves for their country and their
race.

One hears, sometimes, a grumbler complaining of the defects of a
republic; yet, certainly, in these United States, the republican form of
government, established with no little fear and uncertainty by the
Fathers, has, with all its defects, received triumphant vindication.
Nowhere more triumphant than in the men it has produced, the story of
whose lives is the story of its history.

There are two kinds of greatness--greatness of deed and greatness of
thought. The first kind is shown in the lives of such men as Columbus
and Washington and Farragut, who translated thought into action and who
_did_ great things. The second kind is the greatness of authors and
artists and scientists, who write great books, or paint great pictures
or make great discoveries, and this sort of greatness will be considered
in a future volume; for all there has been room for in this one is the
story of the lives of America's great "men of action." And even of them,
only a sketch in broad outline has been possible in space so limited;
but this little book is merely a guide-post, as it were, pointing toward
the road leading to the city where these great men dwell--the City of
American Biography.

It is a city peopled with heroes. There are Travis and Crockett and
Bowie, who held The Alamo until they all were slain; there is Craven,
who stepped aside that his pilot might escape from his sinking ship;
there is Lawrence, whose last words are still ringing down the years;
there is Nathan Hale, immortalized by his lofty bearing beneath the
scaffold; there is Robert Gould Shaw, who led a forlorn hope at the head
of a despised race;--even to name them is to review those great events
in American history which bring proud tears to the eyes of every lover
of his country.

Of all this we shall tell, as simply as may be, giving the story of our
country's history and development in terms of its great men. So far as
possible, the text has been kept free of dates, because great men are of
all time, and, compared with the deeds themselves, their dates are of
minor importance. But a summary at the end of each chapter gives, for
purposes of convenient reference, the principal dates in the lives of
the men whose achievements are considered in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the preparation of these thumb-nail sketches, the present writer
makes no pretense of original investigation. He has taken his material
wherever he could find it, making sure only that it was accurate, and
his sole purpose has been to give, in as few words as possible, a
correct impression of the man and what he did. From the facts as given,
however, he has drawn his own conclusions, with some of which, no doubt,
many people will disagree. But he has tried to paint the men truly, in a
few strokes, as they appeared to him, without seeking to conceal their
weaknesses, but at the same time without magnifying them--remembering
always that they were men, subject to mistakes and errors, to be honored
for such true vision as they possessed; remarkable, many of them, for
heroism and high devotion, and worthy a lasting place in the grateful
memory of their country.

The passage of years has a way of diminishing the stature of men thought
great, and often of increasing that of men thought little. Few American
statesmen, for example, loom as large to-day as they appeared to their
contemporaries. Looking back at them, we perceive that, for the most
part, they wasted their days in fighting wind-mills, or in doing things
which had afterwards to be undone. Only through the vista of the years
do we get a true perspective, just as only from a distance can we see
which peaks of the mountain-range loom highest. But even the mist of
years cannot dim essential heroism and nobility of achievement. Indeed,
it enhances them; the voyage of Columbus seems to us a far greater thing
than his contemporaries thought it; Washington is for us a more
venerable figure than he was for the new-born Union; and Lincoln is just
coming into his own as a leader among men.

Every boy and girl ought to try to gain as true and clear an idea as
possible of their country's history, and of the men who made that
history. It is a pleasant study, and grows more and more fascinating as
one proceeds with it. The great pleasure in reading is to understand
every word, and so to catch the writer's thought completely. Knowledge
always gives pleasure in just that way--by a wider understanding.
Indeed, that is the principal aim of education: to enable the individual
to get the most out of life by broadening his horizon, so that he sees
more and understands more than he could do if he remained ignorant. And
since you are an American, you will need especially to understand your
country. You will be quite unable to grasp the meaning of the references
to her story which are made every day in conversation, in newspapers, in
books and magazines, unless you know that story; and you will also be
unable properly to fulfil your duties as a citizen of this Republic
unless you know it.

For the earliest years, and, more especially, for the story of the
deadly struggle between French and English for the possession of the
continent, the books to read above all others are those of Francis
Parkman. He has clothed history with romantic fascination, and no one
who has not read him can have any adequate idea of the glowing and
life-like way in which those Frenchmen and Spaniards and Englishmen work
out their destinies in his pages. The story of Columbus and of the early
explorers will be found in John Fiske's "Discovery of America," a book
written simply and interestingly, but without Parkman's insight and
wizardry of style--which, indeed, no other American historian can equal.
A little book by Charles F. Lummis, called "The Spanish Pioneers," also
gives a vivid picture of those early explorers. The story of John Smith
and William Bradford and Peter Stuyvesant and William Penn will also be
found in Fiske's histories dealing with Virginia and New England and the
Dutch and Quaker colonies. Almost any boy or girl will find them
interesting, for they are written with care, in simple language, and not
without an engaging humor.

There are so many biographies of Washington that it is difficult to
choose among them. Perhaps the most interesting are those by Woodrow
Wilson, Horace E. Scudder, Paul Leicester Ford, and Henry Cabot
Lodge--all well-written and with an effort to give a true impression of
the man. Of the other Presidents, no better biographies exist than those
in the "American Statesmen" series, where, of course, the lives of the
principal statesmen are also to be found. Not all of them, nor, perhaps,
even most of them are worth reading by the average boy or girl. There is
no especial reason why the life of any man should be studied in detail
after he has ceased to be a factor in history. Of the Presidents,
Washington, Jefferson, Jackson and Lincoln are still vital to the life
of to-day, and of the statesmen there are a few, like Franklin,
Hamilton, Webster, Calhoun and Clay, whose influence is still felt in
our national life, but the remainder are negligible, except that you
must, of course, be familiar in a broad way with their characters and
achievements to understand your country's story.

History is the best place to learn the stories of the pioneers, soldiers
and sailors. Archer Butler Hulburt has a little book, "Pilots of the
Republic," which tells about some of the pioneers; John Fiske wrote a
short history of "The War of Independence," which will tell you all you
need know about the soldiers of the Revolution, with the exception of
Washington; and you can learn about the battles of the Civil War from
any good history of the United States. There is a series called the
"Great Commanders Series," which tells the story, in detail, of the
lives of American commanders on land and sea, but there is no reason why
you should read any of them, with the exception of Lee, Farragut, and
possibly Grant, though you will find the lives of Taylor and "Stonewall"
Jackson interesting in themselves. For the sailors, with the exception
of Farragut, Barnes's "Yankee Ships and Yankee Sailors" will suffice;
though every boy will enjoy reading Maclay's "History of the American
Navy," where the story of our great sea-fights is told better than it
has ever been told before.

These books may be found in almost any public library, and on the
shelves there, too, you will probably find Elbert Hubbard's "Little
Journeys," which give flashlight portraits of statesmen and soldiers and
many other people, vivid and interesting, but sometimes distorted, as
flashlights have a way of being.

Perhaps the librarian will permit you to look over the shelves where the
biographies and works dealing with American history are kept. Don't be
over-awed by the number of volumes, because there are scores and scores
which are of no importance to you. Theodore Parker had a wrong idea
about reading, for once upon a time he undertook to read all the books
in a library, beginning at the first one and proceeding along shelf
after shelf. He never finished the task, of course, because he found
out, after a while, that there are many books which are not worth
reading, and many more which are of value only to specialists in certain
departments of knowledge. No man can "know it all." But every man should
know one thing well, and have a general knowledge of the rest.

For instance, none but an astronomer need know the mathematics of the
science, but all of us should know the principal facts concerning the
universe and the solar system, and it is a pleasure to us to recognize
the different constellations as we gaze up at the heavens on a cloudless
night. None but a lawyer need spend his time reading law-books, but most
of us want to know the broad principles upon which justice is
administered. No one but an economist need bother with the abstract
theories of political economy, but if we are to be good citizens, we
must have a knowledge of its foundations, so that we may weigh
intelligently the solutions of public problems which different parties
offer.

So if you are permitted to look along the shelves of the public library,
you will have no concern with the great majority of the books you see
there; but here and there one will catch your eye which interests you,
and these are the ones for you to read. You have no idea how the habit
of right reading will grow upon you, and what a delightful and valuable
habit it will prove to be. Like any other good habit, it takes pains at
first to establish, an effort of will and self-control. But that very
effort helps in the forming of character, and the habit of right reading
is perhaps the best and most far-reaching in its effects that any boy or
girl can form. I hope that this little volume, and the other books which
I have mentioned, will help you to form it.


       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER II

THE BEGINNERS


Nearly five hundred years ago, there lived, in the beautiful old Italian
city of Genoa, a poor wool-comber named Dominico Colombo, and about
1446, a son was born to him and to his wife, Susanna, and in due time
christened Christoforo.

The world into which the child was born was very different to the one in
which we live. Europe was known, and northern Africa, and western Asia;
but to the east stretched the fabulous country of the Grand Khan,
Cathay, Cipango, and farthest Ind; while to the west rolled the Sea of
Darkness, peopled with unimaginable terrors.

Of the youth of Christopher Columbus, as we call him, little is known.
No doubt it was much like other boyhoods, and one likes to picture him,
in such hours of leisure as he had, strolling about the streets of
Genoa, listening to the talk, staring in at the shop-windows, or
watching the busy life in the harbor. That the latter had a strong
attraction for him there can be no doubt, for though he followed his
father's trade till early manhood, he finally found his real vocation as
a seaman. It was on the ocean that true romance dwelt, for it led to
strange lands and peoples, and no one knew what wonders and mysteries
lay behind each horizon. It was there, too, high courage was developed
and endurance, for it was there that men did battle hand to hand with
nature's mightiest forces. It was the one career of the age which called
to the bold and adventurous spirit. What training Columbus received or
what voyages he made we know not; but when, at about the age of thirty,
he steps into the light of history, it is as a man with a wide and
thorough knowledge of both the theory and practice of seamanship; a man,
too, of keen mind and indomitable will, and with a mighty purpose
brooding in his heart.

It was natural enough that his eyes should turn to Portugal, for
Portugal was the greatest sea-faring nation of the age. Her sailors had
discovered the Madeira Islands, and crept little by little down the
coast of Africa, rounding this headland and that, searching always for a
passage to India, which they knew lay somewhere to the east, until, at
last, they had sailed triumphantly around the Cape of Good Hope. It is
worth remarking that Columbus's brother, Bartholomew, of whom we hear so
little, but who did so much for his brother's fame, was a member of that
expedition, and Columbus himself must have gathered no little
inspiration from it.

So to Lisbon Columbus went, and his ardent spirit found a great stimulus
in the adventurous atmosphere of that bustling city. He went to work as
a map-maker, marrying the daughter of one of the captains of Prince
Henry the Navigator, from whom he secured a great variety of maps,
charts and memoranda. His business kept him in close touch with both
mariners and astronomers, so that he was acquainted with every
development of both discovery and theory. In more than one mind the
conviction was growing up that the eastern shore of Asia could be
reached by sailing westward from Europe--a conviction springing
naturally enough from the belief that the earth was round, which was
steadily gaining wider and wider acceptance. In fact, a Florentine
astronomer named Toscanelli furnished Columbus with a map showing how
this voyage could be accomplished, and Columbus afterwards used this map
in determining his route.

That the idea was not original with Columbus takes nothing from his
fame; his greatness lies in being the first fully to grasp its meaning,
fully to believe it, fully to devote his life to it. For the last
measure of a man's devotion to an idea is his willingness to stake his
life upon it, as Columbus staked his. The idea possessed him; there was
room in him only for a dogged determination to realize it, to trample
down such obstacles as might arise to keep him from his goal. And
obstacles enough there were, for many years of waiting and
disappointment lay before him--years during which, a shabby and
melancholy figure, laughed at and scorned, mocked by the very children
in the streets, he "begged his way from court to court, to offer to
princes the discovery of a world." And here again was his true
greatness--that he did not despair, that his spirit remained unbroken
and his high heart still capable of hope.

Yet let us not idealize him too much. The eagerness to reach the Indies
was wholly because of the riches which they possessed. The spice trade
was especially coveted, and tradition told of golden cities of fabulous
wealth and beauty which lay in the country to the east. The great motive
behind all the early voyages was hope of gain, and Columbus had his full
share of it. Yet there grew up within him, in time, something more than
this--a love of the project for its own sake--though to the very last, a
little overbalanced, perhaps, by his great idea, he insisted upon the
rewards and honors which must be his in case of success.

With his route well-outlined and his plans carefully matured, Columbus
turned naturally to the King of Portugal, John II., as a man interested
in all nautical enterprise, and especially interested in finding a route
to the Indies. That crafty monarch listened to Columbus attentively and
was evidently impressed, for he took possession of the maps and plans
which Columbus had prepared, under pretense of examining them while
considering the project, placed them in the hands of one of his own
captains and dispatched him secretly to try the route. That captain,
whose name has been lost to history, must afterwards have been chagrined
enough at the manner in which he missed immortal fame, for, after
sailing a few days to the westward, he turned back and reported to his
royal master that the thing could not be done. His was not the heart
for such an enterprise.

Columbus, learning of the king's treachery, left the court in disgust,
and sending his brother, Bartholomew, to lay the plan before the King of
England, himself proceeded to Spain, whose rulers, Ferdinand and
Isabella, were perhaps the most enlightened of the age. Of Bartholomew's
adventures in England little is known. One thing alone is
certain--England missed the great opportunity just as Portugal had. And
for long years it seemed that, in Spain, Columbus would have no better
fortune. The Spanish monarchs listened to him with interest--as who
would not?--and appointed a council of astronomers and map-makers to
examine the project and to pass upon its feasibility. This council, not
without the connivance of the king and queen, who were absorbed in war
with the Moors, and who, at the same time, did not wish the plan to be
taken elsewhere, kept Columbus waiting for six years, alternating
between hope and despair, and finally reported that the project was
"vain and impossible of execution."

Indignant at thought of the years he had wasted, Columbus determined to
proceed to Paris, to seek an audience of the King of France. His wife
was dead, and he started for Palos, with his little son, Diego,
intending to leave the boy with his wife's sister there, while he
himself journeyed on to Paris. Trudging wearily across the country, they
came one night to the convent of La Rabida, and Columbus stopped to ask
for a crust of bread and cup of water for the child. The prior, Juan
Perez de Marchena, struck by his noble bearing, entered into
conversation with him and was soon so interested that he invited the
travellers in.

Marchena had been Isabella's confessor, and still had great influence
with her. After carefully considering the project which Columbus laid
before him, he went to the queen in person and implored her to
reconsider it. His plea was successful, and Columbus was again summoned
to appear at court, a small sum of money being sent him so that he need
not appear in rags. The Spanish monarchs received him well, but when
they found that he demanded the title of admiral at once, and, in case
of success, the title of viceroy, together with a tenth part of all
profits resulting from either trade or conquest, they abruptly broke off
the negotiations, and Columbus, mounting a mule which had been given
him, started a second time for Paris. He had proceeded four or five
miles, in what sadness and turmoil of spirit may be imagined, when a
royal messenger, riding furiously, overtook him and bade him return. His
terms had been accepted.

This is what had happened: In despair at the departure of Columbus, Luis
de Santangel, receiver of the revenues of Aragon, and one of the few
converts to his theories, had obtained an audience of the queen, and
pointed out to her, with impassioned eloquence, the glory which Spain
would win should Columbus be successful. The queen's patriotic ardor
was enkindled, and when Ferdinand still hesitated, she cried, "I
undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile. I will pledge my
jewels to raise the money that is needed!" Santangel assured her that he
himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand
florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand paid for the
expedition, after all.

It is in no way strange that the demands of Columbus should have been
thought excessive; indeed, the wonderful thing is that they should,
under any circumstances, have been agreed to. Here was a man, to all
appearances a penniless adventurer, asking for honors, dignities and
rewards which any grandee of Spain might have envied him. That they
should have been granted was due to the impulsive sympathy of Isabella
and the indifference of her royal consort, who said neither yes nor no;
though, in the light of subsequent events, it is not improbable that the
thought may have crossed his mind that royal favor may always be
withdrawn, and that the hand which gives may also take away.

But though Columbus had triumphed in this particular, his trials were by
no means at an end. The little port of Palos was commanded by royal
order to furnish the new Admiral with two small vessels known as
caravels. This was soon done, but no sailors were willing to embark on
such a voyage, the maddest in all history. Only by the most extreme
measures, by impressment and the release of criminals willing to
accompany the expedition in order to get out of jail, were crews
finally provided. A third small vessel was secured, and on the morning
of Friday, August 3, 1492, this tiny fleet of three boats, the Santa
Maria, the Pinta and the Niña, whose combined crews numbered less than
ninety men, sailed out from Palos on the grandest voyage the world has
ever known.

The shore was lined with people weeping and wringing their hands for the
relatives and friends whom they were sure they should never see again,
and most of the sailors were certain that they were bidding farewell
forever to their native land. Even at the present day, few men would
care to undertake such a voyage in such ships. The two little caravels,
Niña and Pinta, were decked only at stern and prow. The Santa Maria was
but little larger, her length being only about sixty feet, and all three
of the vessels were old, leaky, and in need of frequent repairs.

The map which Toscanelli had given Columbus years before showed Japan
lying directly west of the Canaries, so to the Canaries Columbus steered
his fleet, and then set forth westward into the unknown. By a fortunate
chance, it was the very best route he could have chosen, for he came at
once into the region of the trade winds, which, blowing steadily from
the east, drove the vessels westward day after day over a smooth sea.
But this very thing, favorable as it was, added greatly to the terror of
the men. How were they to get back to Spain, with the wind always
against them? What was the meaning of a sea as smooth as their own
Guadalquiver? They implored Columbus to turn back; but to turn back was
the last thing in his thoughts. An opportune storm helped to reassure
his men by proving that the wind did not always blow from the east and
that the sea was not always calm.

But there were soon other causes of alarm. The compass varied strangely,
and what hope for them was there if this, their only guide, proved
faithless? They ran into vast meadows of floating seaweed, the Sargasso
Sea, and it seemed certain that the ships would soon be so entangled
that they could move neither backward nor forward. Still Columbus pushed
steadily on, and his men's terror and angry discontent deepened until
they were on the verge of mutiny; various plots were hatched and it was
evident that affairs would soon reach a crisis.

One can guess the Admiral's thoughts as he paced the poop of his ship on
that last night, pausing from time to time to strain his eyes into the
darkness. Picture him to yourself--a tall and imposing figure, clad in
that gray habit of the Franciscan missionary he liked to wear; the face
stern and lined with care, the eyes gray and piercing, the high nose and
long chin telling of a mighty will, the cheeks ruddy and freckled from
life in the open, the white hair falling about his shoulders. Picture
him standing there, a memorable figure, whose hour of triumph was at
hand. He knew the desperate condition of things--none better; he knew
that his men were for the most part criminals and cowards; at any
moment they might rise and make him prisoner or throw him overboard.
Well, until that moment, he would hold his ship's prow to the west! For
twenty years he had labored to get this chance; he would rather die than
fail.

And then, suddenly, far ahead, he saw a light moving low along the
horizon. It disappeared, reappeared, and then vanished altogether. The
lookout had also seen it, and soon after, as the moon rose, a gun from
the Pinta, which was in the lead, announced that land had been sighted.
It was soon plainly visible to everyone, a low beach gleaming white in
the moonlight, and the ships hove-to until daybreak.

In the early dawn of the twelfth day of October, 1492, the boats were
lowered, and Columbus and a large part of his company went ashore, wild
with exultation. They found themselves on a small island, and Columbus
named it San Salvador. It was one of the Bahamas, but which one is not
certainly known. Columbus, of course, believed himself near the coast of
Asia, and spent two months in searching for Japan, discovering a number
of islands, but no trace of the land of gold and spices which he sought.
One of his ships was wrecked and the captain of the third sailed away to
search for gold on his own account, so that it was in the little Niña
alone that Columbus at last set sail for Spain.

[Illustration: COLUMBUS]

It was no longer a summer sea through which the tiny vessel ploughed her
way, but a sea swept by savage hurricanes. More than once it seemed
that the ship must founder, but by some miracle it kept afloat, and
on March 15, 1493, sailed again into the port of Palos. The great
navigator was received with triumphal honors by Ferdinand and Isabella,
and invited to sit in their presence while he told the wonderful story
of his discoveries.

Wonderful indeed! Yet what a dizziness would have seized that audience
could they have guessed the truth! Could they have guessed that the
proud kingdom of Spain was but an insignificant patch compared with the
vast continent Columbus had discovered and upon which a score of nations
were to dwell.

The life-work of the great navigator practically ended on the day he
told his story to the court of Spain, for, though he led three other
expeditions across the ocean, the discoveries they made were of no great
importance. Not a trace did he find of that golden country, which he
sought so eagerly, and at last, broken in health and fortune, in
disfavor at court, stripped of the rewards and dignities which had been
promised him, he died in a little house at Valladolid on the twentieth
of May, 1506. He believed to the last that it was the Indies he had
discovered, never dreaming that he had given a new continent to the
world.

Yet is his fame secure, for the task which he accomplished was unique,
never to be repeated. He had robbed the Sea of Darkness of its terrors,
and while those who followed him had need of courage and resolution, it
was no longer into the unknown that they sailed forth. They knew that
there was no danger of sailing over the edge and dropping off into
space; they knew that there were no dragons, nor monsters, nor other
blood-curdling terrors to be encountered, but that the other side of the
world was much like the side they lived on. That was Columbus's great
achievement. To cross the Atlantic, perilous as the voyage was, was
after all a little thing; but actually to _start_--to surmount the wall
of bigotry and ignorance which, for centuries, had shut the west away
from the east, to surmount that wall and throw it down by a faith which
rose superior to human belief and incredulity and terror of the
unknown--there was the miracle!

       *       *       *       *       *

Many there were to follow, each contributing his mite toward the task of
defining the new continent. Perhaps you have seen a photographic
negative slowly take shape in the acid bath--the sharp out-lines first,
then, bit by bit, the detail. Just so did America grow beneath the gaze
of Europe, though two centuries and more were to elapse before it stood
out upon the map clean-cut and definite from border to border.

First to follow Columbus, and the first white men since the vikings to
set foot on the North American continent, which Columbus himself had
never seen, were John and Sebastian Cabot, Italians like their
predecessor, but in the service of the King of England and with an
English ship and an English crew prophetic of the race which was, in
time, to wrest the supremacy of the continent from the other nations of
Europe. They explored the coast from Newfoundland as far south, perhaps,
as Chesapeake Bay, and upon their discoveries rested the English claim
to North America, though they themselves are little more than faint and
ill-defined shadows upon the page of history, so little do we know of
them.

And just as the New World was eventually to be dominated by a nation
other than that which first took possession of it, so was it to be named
after a man other than its discoverer: an inconsiderable adventurer
named Amerigo Vespucci, a Florentine, who accompanied three or four
Spanish expeditions as astronomer or pilot, but who had no part in any
real discovery in the New World. He wrote a number of letters describing
the voyages which he claimed to have made, and one of these was printed
in a pamphlet which had a wide circulation, so that Vespucci's name came
to be connected in the public mind with the new land in the west much
more prominently than that of any other man. In 1502, in a little book
dealing with the new discoveries, the suggestion was made that there was
nothing "rightly to hinder us from calling it [the New World] Amerige or
America, i.e., the land of Americus," and America it was
thenceforward--one of the great injustices of history. Since it had to
be so, let us be thankful that it was Vespucci's first name which was
selected, and not his last one.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards had pushed their way across the Caribbean and
explored the shores of the gulf, finding at last in Mexico a land of
gold. World-worn, disease-racked Ponce de Leon, conqueror and governor
of Porto Rico, struggled through the everglades of Florida, seeking the
fountain of eternal youth, and getting his death-wound there instead.
Ferdinand Magellan, man of iron if there ever was one, seeking a western
passage to the Moluccas, skirted the coast of South America, wintered
amid the snows of Patagonia, worked his way through the strait which
bears his name, and held on westward across the Pacific, making the
first circumnavigation of the globe, a feat so startling in audacity
that there is none in our day to compare with it, except, perhaps, a
journey to another planet. Magellan himself never again saw Europe,
meeting his death in a fight with the natives of the Philippines, but
one of his ships, with eighteen men, struggled south along the coast of
Africa, around the Cape of Good Hope, and so home.

Half a century was to elapse before the feat was repeated--this time by
that slave-trader, pirate, and doughty scourge of the Spaniard, Sir
Francis Drake, who, following in Magellan's wake, and pausing only long
enough to harry the Spanish settlements in Chili and Peru and capture a
Spanish treasureship, held northward along the coast as far as southern
Oregon, and then turned westward across the Pacific, around the Cape of
Good Hope, and home again, where Elizabeth, in spite of Spanish
protests, was waiting to reward him with a touch of sword to shoulder.
The Muse of History smiles ironically when she records that Drake's
principal discovery in the New World was that of the potato, which he
introduced into England.

Not until Drake's voyage was completed was the vast extent of the North
American continent even suspected, although its interior had been
explored in many directions. Hernando de Soto, with an experience gained
with Pizarro in the conquest of Peru, and succeeding Ponce de Leon in
the governorship of Florida, marched with a great expedition through
what is now South Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia, and came out, at
last, upon the Mississippi, only to find burial beneath its waters,
while the tattered remnant of his force staggered back to Mexico.

Francisco de Coronado, marching northward from Mexico, in search of the
fabled Seven Cities of Cibola, found only the squalid villages of the
Zuni Indians, after stumbling on the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, and
marching as far north as the southern line of Kansas. Jacques Cartier,
following another will-o'-the-wisp to the north, and searching for the
storied city of Norembega, supposed to exist somewhere in the wilderness
south of Cape Breton, found it not, indeed, but laid the foundations for
the great empire which France was to establish along the St. Lawrence.

And Henry Hudson, in the little Half-Moon, chartered by a company of
thrifty Dutchmen to search for the northwest passage, blundered instead
upon the mighty river which bears his name, explored it as far north as
the present city of Albany, and paved the way for that picturesque
Dutch settlement which grew into the greatest city of the New World. He
did more than that, for, persevering in the search and sailing far to
the north, he came, at last, into the great bay also named for him,
where tragic fate lay waiting. For there, in that icy fastness of the
north, his mutinous crew bound him, set him adrift in a small boat, and
sailed away and left him.

So, by the beginning of the seventeenth century, the New World was
fairly well defined upon the maps which the map-makers were always
industriously drawing; and so were the spheres of influence where each
nation was to be for a time paramount; the Spaniards in the Gulf of
Mexico, the Dutch along the Hudson, the French on the St. Lawrence, and
the English on the long coast to the south. But in all the leagues and
leagues from the St. Lawrence to the Gulf, nowhere had the white man as
yet succeeded in gaining a permanent foothold.

       *       *       *       *       *

Although the continent of North America had been discovered by John
Cabot in 1497, nearly a century elapsed before England made any serious
attempt to take possession of it. Cabot's voyages had created little
impression, for he had returned from them empty-handed; instead of
finding the passage to the Indies which he sought, he had discovered
nothing but an inconvenient and apparently worthless barrier stretching
across the way, and for many years the great continent was regarded only
in that light, and such explorations as were made were with the one
object of getting through it or around it. In fact, as late as 1787,
opinion in Europe was divided as to whether the discovery of the New
World had been a blessing or a curse.

But Spain had been working industriously. The honor of giving America to
the world was hers, and she followed that first discovery by centuries
of such pioneering as the world had never seen. Her explorers overran
Mexico and Peru, discovered the Mississippi, the Pacific, carved their
way up into the interior of the continent, looked down upon the wonders
of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, founded settlements up and down the
land from Kansas to Chili--yes, and did more than that. They opened the
first churches, set up the first presses, printed the first books, wrote
the first histories, drew the first accurate maps. They established
schools among the Indians, sent missionaries to them, translated the
Bible into twelve Indian dialects, made thousands of converts, and
established an Indian policy as humane and enlightened--once Spanish
supremacy was recognized--as any in the world. The savages with whom
Spain had to contend were the deadliest, the most cruel, that Europeans
ever encountered--no more resembling the warriors of King Philip and the
Powhatan than a house-cat resembles a panther. They conquered them
without extermination, and converted them to Christianity! An amazing
feat, and one which disposes for all time of that old, outworn legend
that the Spain of the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries was a
moribund and degenerate nation.

But a change was at hand. The world moved, and Spain, chained to an
outworn superstition, did not move with it. The treasure she drew from
Mexico and Peru she poured out to prop the tottering pillars of church
despotism; and the end came when, in 1588, Elizabeth's doughty captains
wiped out the "invincible" armada, and dethroned Spain for all time from
her position as mistress of the seas.

It was then that English eyes turned toward the New World and that
projects of colonization were set afoot in earnest; and the one great
dominant hero of that early movement was Sir Walter Raleigh. He had
accompanied his half-brother, Sir Humphrey Gilbert, on a voyage to the
New World ten years earlier, and after Gilbert's tragic death, took over
the patent for land in America which Gilbert held. It is worth noting
that this patent provided in the plainest terms that such colonies as
might be planted in America should be self-governing in the fullest
sense--a provision also included in the patent granted to the company
which afterwards succeeded in gaining and maintaining a foothold on the
James.

Raleigh spent nearly a million dollars in endeavoring to establish a
colony on Roanoke Island--a colony which absolutely disappeared, and
whose fate was never certainly discovered; and it was not until the
Virgin Queen, after whom all that portion of the country had been named,
was dead, and Raleigh himself, shorn of his estates, was a prisoner in
the Tower under charge of treason, that a new charter was given to an
association of influential men known as the Virginia Company, which was
destined to have permanent results. On New Year's Day, 1607, an
expedition of three ships, carrying, besides their crews, one hundred
and five colonists, started on the voyage across the ocean, under
command of Captain Christopher Newport. Among Newport's company was a
scarred and weather-beaten soldier, who was soon to assume control of
events through sheer fitness for the task, and who bore that commonest
of all English names, John Smith.

But John Smith's career had been anything but common. Born in
Lincolnshire in 1579, and early left an orphan, he had gone to the
Netherlands while still in his teens, and had spent three years there
fighting against the Spaniards. A year or two later, he had embarked
with a company of Catholic pilgrims for the Levant, intent on fighting
against the Turk, but a storm arose which all attributed to the presence
of the Huguenot heretic on board, and he was forthwith flung into the
sea. Whether the storm thereupon abated, history does not state, but
Smith managed to swim to a small island, from which he was rescued next
day. Journeying across Europe to Styria, he entered the service of
Emperor Rudolph II., and spent two or three years fighting against the
Turks, accomplishing feats so surprising that one would be inclined to
class them with those of Baron Munchausen, were they not, for the most
part, well authenticated. He was captured, at last, but managed to
escape, and made his way across the Styrian desert, through Russia,
Poland, Hungary, Bohemia, and finally back to England, just in time to
meet Captain Newport, and arrange to sail with him for Virginia.

It is not remarkable that a man tried by such experiences should, from
the first, have taken a prominent part in the enterprise. An unwelcome
part in the beginning, for scarcely had the voyage begun, when he was
accused of plotting mutiny, arrested and kept in irons until the ships
reached Virginia. Late in April, the fleet entered Hampton Roads, and
proceeding up the river, which was forthwith named the James, came at
last on May 13th, to a low peninsula which seemed suited for a
settlement. The next day they set to work building a fort, which they
called Fort James, but the settlement soon came to be known as
Jamestown.

Once the fort was finished, Captain Newport sailed back to England for
supplies, and the little settlement was soon in desperate straits for
food. Within three months, half of the colonists were in their graves,
and bitter feuds arose among the survivors. These were for the most part
"gentlemen adventurers," who had accompanied the expedition in the hope
of finding gold, and who were wholly unfitted to cope with the
conditions in which they found themselves. Of all of them, Smith was by
far the most competent, and he did valiant service in trading with the
Indians for corn and in conducting a number of expeditions in search of
game.

It was while on one of these, in December, 1607, that that incident of
his career occurred which is all that a great many people know of
Captain John Smith. With two companions, he was paddling in a canoe up
the Chickahominy, when the party was attacked by Indians. Smith's two
companions were killed, and he himself saved his life only by exhibiting
his compass and doing other things to astonish and impress the savages.

He was finally taken captive to the Powhatan, the ruler of the tribe,
and, according to Smith's story, a long debate ensued among the Indians
as to his fate. Presently two large stones were laid before the chief,
and Smith was dragged to them and his head forced down upon them, but
even as one of the warriors raised his club to dash out the captive's
brains, the Powhatan's daughter, a child of thirteen named Pocahontas,
threw herself upon him, shielding his head with hers, and claimed him
for her own, after the Indian custom. Smith was thereupon released,
adopted into the tribe, and sent back to Jamestown, where he arrived on
the eighth of January, 1608.

From the Indian standpoint, there was nothing especially unusual about
this procedure, for any member of the tribe was privileged to claim a
captive, if he wished. A century before, Ortiz, a member of De Soto's
expedition, had been captured by the Indians and saved in precisely the
same way, and many instances of the kind occurred in the years which
followed. But to the captive, it partook of the very essence of
romance; he had only the dimmest idea of what was really happening, and
his account of it, written many years later, was of the most sentimental
kind. Many doubts have been cast on the story, and historians seem
hopelessly divided about it, as they are about many other incidents of
Smith's life. Certain it is, however, that Pocahontas afterwards
befriended the colony on more than one occasion; and was finally
converted, married to a planter named John Rolfe, and taken to England,
where, among the artificialities of court life, she soon sickened and
died.

On the very day that Smith reached Jamestown with his Indian escort, the
supply ship sent out by Captain Newport also arrived, bringing 120 new
colonists. Of the original 105, only thirty-eight were left alive. But
Smith's enemies were yet in the ascendancy, and he spent the summer of
1608 in exploration, leaving the colony to its own devices. When he
returned to it in September, he found it reduced and disheartened. His
brave and cheery presence acted as a tonic, and at last the colonists,
appreciating him at his true value, elected him president. He put new
life into everyone, and when, soon afterwards, Newport arrived again
from England with fresh supplies, he found the colony in fairly good
shape.

But the members of the Virginia Company were growing impatient at the
failure of the venture to bring any returns, and they sent out
instructions by Newport demanding that either a lump of gold be sent
back to England or that the way to the South Sea be discovered. Smith
said plainly that the instructions were ridiculous, and wrote an answer
to them in blunt soldier English. Then, turning his hand in earnest to
the government of the disorderly rabble under him, he instituted an iron
discipline, whipped the laggards into line, and by the end of April had
some twenty houses built, thirty or forty acres of ground broken up and
planted, nets and weirs arranged for fishing, a new fortress under way,
and various small manufactures begun. A great handicap was the system,
by which all property was held in common, so that the drones shared
equally with the workers, but Smith took care that there should be few
drones. There can be no doubt that his sheer will power kept the colony
together, but his credit with the company was undermined by enemies in
England, nor did his own blunt letter help matters. The company was
re-organized on a larger scale, a new governor appointed, new colonists
started on the way; and, finally, in 1609, Smith was so seriously
wounded by the explosion of a bag of gun-powder, that he gave up the
struggle and returned to England.

Instant disaster followed. When he left the colony, it numbered five
hundred souls; when the next supply ship reached it in May, 1610, it
consisted of sixty scarecrows, mere wrecks of human beings. The rest had
starved to death--or been eaten by their companions! There was a hasty
consultation, and it was decided that Virginia must be abandoned. On
Thursday, June 7, 1610, the cabins were stripped of such things as were
of value, and the whole company went on shipboard and started down the
river--only to meet, next day, in Hampton Roads, a new expedition headed
by the new governor, Lord Delaware, himself! By this slight thread of
coincidence was the fate of Virginia determined.

The ship put about at once, and on the following Sunday morning, Lord
Delaware stepped ashore at Jamestown, and, falling to his knees, thanked
God that he had been in time to save Virginia. He proceeded at once to
place the colony upon a new and sounder basis, and it was never again in
danger of extinction, though Jamestown itself was finally abandoned as
unsuited to a settlement on account of its malarious atmosphere. But
Virginia itself grew apace into one of the greatest of England's
colonies in America.

John Smith himself never returned to Virginia. In 1614, he explored the
coast south of the Penobscot, giving it the name it still bears, New
England. A year later, while on another expedition, he was captured by
the French and forced to serve against the Spaniards. Broken in health
and fortune, he spent his remaining years in London, dying there in
1631. There is a portrait of him, showing him as a handsome, bearded
man, with nose and mouth bespeaking will and spirit--just such a man as
one would imagine this gallant soldier of fortune to have been.

While the English, under the guiding hand of John Smith, were fighting
desperately to maintain themselves upon the James, the French were
struggling to the same purpose and no less desperately along the St.
Lawrence. We have seen how Jacques Cartier explored and named that
region, but civil and religious wars in France put an end to plans of
colonization for half a century, and it was not until 1603 that Samuel
Champlain, the founder of New France, and one of the noblest characters
in American history, embarked for the New World.

Samuel Champlain was born at Brouage about 1567, the son of a sea-faring
father, and his early years were spent upon the sea. He served in the
army of the Fourth Henry, and after the peace with Spain, made a voyage
to Mexico. Upon his return to France in 1603, he found a fleet preparing
to sail to Canada, and at once joined it. Some explorations were made of
the St. Lawrence, but the fleet returned to France within the year,
without accomplishing anything in the way of colonization. Another
expedition in the following year saw the founding of Port Royal, while
Champlain made a careful exploration of the New England coast, but he
found nothing that attracted him as did the mighty river to the north.
Thither, in 1608, he went, and sailing up the river to a point where a
mighty promontory rears its head, disembarked and erected the first rude
huts of the city which he called by the Indian name of Quebec, or "The
Narrows." A wooden wall was built, mounting a few small cannon and
loopholed for musketry, and the conquest of Canada had begun. A
magnificent cargo of furs was dispatched to France, and Champlain and
twenty-eight men were left to winter at Quebec. When spring came, only
nine were left alive, but reinforcements and supplies soon arrived, and
Champlain arranged to proceed into the interior and explore the country.

The resources at his disposal were small, he could not hope to assemble
a great expedition; so he determined to make the venture with only a few
men and little baggage, relying upon the friendship of the Indians,
instead of seeking to conquer them, as the Spaniards had always done.
Champlain had from the first treated the Indians well, and it was this
necessity of gaining their friendship that determined the policy which
France pursued--the policy of making friends of the Indians, entering
into an alliance with them, and helping them fight their battles.
Champlain opened operations by joining an Algonquin war-party against
the Iroquois, and assisting at their defeat--starting, at the same time,
a blood feud with that powerful tribe which endured as long as the
French held Canada. In the course of this expedition, he discovered the
beautiful lake which bears his name.

He went back to France for a time, after that, and on his next return to
Canada, in 1611, began building a town at the foot of a rock which had
been named Mont Royal, since corrupted to Montreal. Succeeding years
were spent in further explorations, which carried him across Lake
Ontario, and in plans for the conversion of the Indians, to which the
aid of the Jesuits was summoned. Missions were established, and the
intrepid priests pushed their way farther and farther into the
wilderness. To this work, Champlain gave more and more of his thought in
the last years of his life, which ended on Christmas day, 1635.

Among the young men whom Champlain set to work among the Indians was
Jean Nicolet. The year before his death, Champlain sent him on an
exploring expedition to the west, in the course of which he visited Lake
Michigan and perhaps Lake Superior. Following in his footsteps, the
Jesuits gradually established missions as far west as the Wisconsin
River, and, finally, in 1670, at Sault Ste. Marie, the French formally
took possession of the whole Northwest.

It was at about this time there appeared upon the scene another of those
picturesque and formidable figures, in which this period of American
history so abounds--Robert Cavalier La Salle. La Salle was at that time
only twenty years of age. He had reached Canada four years earlier and
had devoted himself for three years to the study of the Indian
languages, in order to fit himself for the career of western exploration
which he contemplated. One day he was visited by a party of Senecas, who
told him of a river, which they called the Ohio, so great that many
months were required to traverse it. From their description, La Salle
concluded that it must fall into the Gulf of California, and so form the
long-sought passage to China. He determined to explore it, and after
surmounting innumerable obstacles, actually did reach it, and descend it
as far as the spot where the city of Louisville now stands, afterwards
exploring the Illinois and the country south of the Great lakes, as well
as the lakes themselves.

Fired by La Salle's report of his discoveries, two other Frenchmen,
Louis Joliet, a native of Quebec, who had already led an expedition in
search of the copper mines of Lake Superior, and Jacques Marquette, a
Jesuit priest and accomplished linguist, started on a still greater
journey. With five companions and two birchbark canoes, they headed down
the Wisconsin river, and on June 17, 1673, glided out upon the blue
waters of the Mississippi. A fortnight later, they reached a little
village called Peoria, where the Indians received them well, and
continuing down the river, passed the Missouri, the Ohio, and finally,
having gone far enough to convince themselves that the river emptied
into the Gulf of Mexico and not into the Gulf of California, they turned
about and reached Green Bay again in September, having paddled more than
2,500 miles. Marquette, shattered in health, remained at Green Bay,
while Joliet pushed on to Montreal to tell of his discoveries. Marquette
rallied sufficiently at the end of a year to attempt a mission among the
Illinois Indians, where death found him in the spring of 1675. Joliet
spent his last years in a vain endeavor to persuade the government of
France to undertake on a grand scale the development of the rich lands
along the Mississippi.

But the story which Joliet took back with him to Quebec fired anew the
ambition of La Salle. He conceived New France as a great empire in the
wilderness, and he determined to descend the mighty river to its mouth
and establish a city there which would hold the river for France against
all comers. Such occupation would, according to French doctrine, give
France an indisputable right to the whole territory which the river and
its tributaries drained, and La Salle's plan was to establish a chain of
forts stretching from Lake Erie to the Gulf, to build up around these
great cities, and so to lay the foundations for the mightiest empire in
history. We may well stand amazed before a plan so ambitious, and before
the determination with which this great Frenchman set about its
accomplishment.

To most men, such a scheme seemed but the dream of an enthusiast; but La
Salle was in deadly earnest, and for eight years he labored to perfect
the details of the plan. At last, on April 9, 1682, he planted the flag
of France at the mouth of the Mississippi, naming the country Louisiana
in honor of his royal master, whose property it was solemnly declared to
be. That done, the intrepid explorer hastened back to France; a fleet
was fitted out and attempted to sail directly to the mouth of the great
river, but missed it; the ships were wrecked on the coast of Texas, and
La Salle was shot from ambush by two of his own followers while
searching on foot for the river.

So ended La Salle's part in the accomplishment of a plan which,
grandiose as it was, reached a sort of realization--for a great French
city near the mouth of the river _was_ built and a thin chain of forts
connecting it with Canada, where the French power remained unbroken for
three quarters of a century longer; while not until the beginning of the
nineteenth century, when the royal line of Louis had been succeeded by a
soldier of fortune from Corsica, did the great territory which La Salle
had named Louisiana pass from French possession.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the nineteenth day of November, 1620, fourteen years after the
settlement of Jamestown and twelve after the settlement of Quebec, a
storm-beaten vessel of 120 tons burthen crept into the lee of Cape Cod
and dropped anchor in that welcome refuge. The vessel was the Mayflower,
and she had just completed the most famous voyage in American history,
after that of Columbus. The colonists she carried, about a hundred in
number, Separatists from the Church of England, have come down through
history as the "Pilgrim Fathers." Among them was one destined to rule
the fortunes of the colony for more than a quarter of a century. His
name was William Bradford, and he was at that time thirty years of age.

Bradford was born in 1590 at Austerfield, in Yorkshire, England, and at
the age of sixteen, joined a company of Puritans or Separatists, which
met for a time at the little town of Scrooby, but, being threatened with
persecution, resolved to remove to Holland. Most of the congregation got
away without interference, but Bradford and a few others were arrested
and spent several months in prison. As soon as he was released, he
joined the colony in Amsterdam, and afterwards, in 1609, removed with it
to Leyden. But the newcomers found themselves out of sympathy with Dutch
customs and habits of thought, and after long debate, determined to
remove to America and found a colony of their own. A patent was
obtained, the Mayflower chartered, the congregation put aboard, and the
voyage begun on the fifth day of September, 1620.

The colonists expected to settle somewhere near the mouth of the Hudson,
but, whether by accident or design, their captain brought up off Cape
Cod, and it was decided to land there. After some days' search, a
suitable site for a settlement was found, work was begun on houses and
fortifications, and the place was named New Plymouth.

Jonathan Carver had been chosen the first governor and guided the colony
through the horrors of that first winter; the story of Jamestown was
repeated, and by the coming of spring, more than half the colonists were
dead. Among them was Carver himself, and William Bradford was at once
chosen to succeed him. There can be no doubt that it was to Bradford's
wise head and strong hand the colony owed its quick rally, and its
escape from the prolonged misery which makes horrible the early history
of Virginia. He seems to have possessed a temper resolute, but
magnanimous and patient to an unusual degree, together with a religion
sincere and devoted, yet neither intolerant nor austere. What results
can be accomplished by a combination of qualities at once so rare and so
admirable is shown by the work which William Bradford did at Plymouth,
over which he ruled almost continuously until his death, thirty-seven
years later.

Bradford's success lay first in his courage in doing away with the
pernicious system by which all the property was held in common. In doing
this, he violated the rules of his company, but he saw that utter
failure lay the other way. He divided the colony's land among the
several families, in proportion to their number, and compelled each
family to shift for itself. The communal system had nearly wrecked
Jamestown and would have wrecked Plymouth had not Bradford had the
courage to disregard all precedent and make each family its own
provider. Years afterwards, in commenting on the results of this
revolutionary change, he wrote, "Any general want or suffering hath not
been among them since to this day."

And, indeed, this was true. Under Bradford's guidance, the little colony
increased steadily in wealth and numbers, and became the sure forerunner
of the great Puritan migration of 1630, which founded the colony of
Massachusetts, into which the older colony of Plymouth was finally
absorbed. Of Bradford himself, little more remains to be told. The
establishment of Plymouth Plantation was his life work. He was a far
bigger man than most of his contemporaries, with a broader outlook upon
life and deeper resources within himself. One of these was a literary
culture which fairly sets him apart as the first American man of
letters. He wrote an entertaining history of his colony, as well as a
number of philosophical and theological works, all marked with a style
and finish noteworthy for their day.

       *       *       *       *       *

The government of the colony of Massachusetts presented, for over half a
century, the most perfect union of church and state ever witnessed in
America. The secular arm was ever ready to support the religious, and to
compel every resident of the colony to walk in the strait and narrow way
of Puritanism. This was a task easy enough at first, but growing more
and more difficult as the character of the settlers became more diverse,
until, finally, it had to be abandoned altogether.

One of the first and most formidable of all those who dared array
themselves against this bulwark of Puritanism was Roger Williams. He was
the son of a merchant tailor of London, had developed into a precocious
boy, had shown a leaning toward Puritan doctrines, and had ended by
out-Puritaning the Puritans. This was principally apparent in an
intolerance of compromise which led him to remarkable extremes. He
refused to conform to the use of the common prayer, and so cut himself
off from all chance of preferment; he renounced a property of some
thousands of pounds rather than take the oath required by law; and at
last was forced to flee the country, reaching Massachusetts in 1631.

He was, of course, soon at war with the constituted authorities over
questions of doctrine, and at last it was decided to get rid of him by
sending him back to England. He was at Salem at the time, and hearing
that a warrant had been despatched from Boston for him, he promptly took
to the woods, and, making his way with a few followers to Narragansett
Bay, broke ground for a settlement which he named Providence. It was the
beginning of the first state in the world which took no cognizance
whatever of religious belief, so long as it did not interfere with civil
peace. He was soon joined by more adherents, and a few years later, he
obtained from the king a charter for the colony of Rhode Island.

Almost from the moment of his landing in America, Williams had
interested himself greatly in the welfare of the Indians. The principal
cause of his expulsion from Massachusetts was his contention that the
land belonged to the Indians and not to the King of England, who
therefore had no right to give it away, so that the colony's charter was
invalid. His town of Providence was built on land which the Indians had
given him, and he soon acquired considerable influence among them. He
learned to speak their language with great facility, translated the
Bible into their tongue, and on more than one occasion saved New England
from the horrors of an Indian war. But, despite his lofty character, it
is impossible at this day, to regard Williams with any degree of
sympathy or liking, or to think of him except as a trouble-maker over
trifles. Intolerance, happily, is fading from the world, and with it
that useless scrupulosity of behavior, which accomplishes no good, but
whose principal result is to make uncomfortable all who come in contact
with it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Meanwhile, just to the south of Rhode Island, a prosperous little
settlement had been established, which was soon to grow into the most
commercially important on the continent. We have seen how Henry Hudson,
in 1609, in a vessel chartered by the Dutch West India Company, entered
the Hudson river and explored it for some hundred and fifty miles. The
Dutch claimed the region as the result of that voyage, and during the
next few years, Dutch traders visited it regularly and did a lively
business in furs; but no attempt was made at colonization until 1624,
although small trading-posts had existed at various points along the
river for ten years previously.

All of this country was included in the patent granted the Virginia
Company, and it was for the mouth of the Hudson that the Pilgrims had
sailed in the Mayflower. The charge has since been made that their
captain had been bribed by the thrifty Dutch to land them somewhere
else, and at any cost, to keep them away from the neighborhood of the
Dutch trading-posts. From whatever cause, this was certainly done, and
many years were to elapse before there came another English invasion.

In 1626, Peter Minuit, director for the Dutch West India Company,
purchased Manhattan Island from the Indians, giving for it trinkets and
merchandise to the value of $24, and founding New Amsterdam as the
central trading depot. From the first, the settlement was a cosmopolitan
one, just as it is to-day, and in 1643, it was said that eighteen
languages were spoken there.

The most notable figure in this prosperous and growing colony was that
of Peter Stuyvesant, an altogether picturesque and gallant personality.
Born in Holland in 1602, he had entered the army at an early age, and,
as governor of Curaçao, lost a leg in battle. In 1646, he was appointed
director-general of New Netherlands, and reached New Amsterdam in the
spring of the following year. So much powder was burned in firing
salutes to welcome him that there was scarcely any left. His speech of
greeting was brief and to the point.

"I shall govern you," he said, "as a father his children, for the
advantage of the chartered West India Company, and these burghers, and
this land."

And he proceeded to do it, having in mind the old adage that to spare
the rod is to spoil the child. There was never any doubt in Stuyvesant's
mind that the first business of a ruler is to rule, and popular
government seemed to him the merest idiocy. "A valiant, weather-beaten,
mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spirited
old governor"--the adjectives describe him well; a sufficiently imposing
figure, with his slashed hose and velvet jacket and tall cane and
silver-banded wooden leg, he ruled the colony for twenty years with a
rod of iron, fortifying it, enlarging it, settling its boundaries,
keeping the Indians over-awed, the veriest dictator this continent ever
saw, until, one August day in 1664, an English fleet sailed up the bay
and summoned the city to surrender.

Stuyvesant set his men to work repairing the fortifications, and was for
holding out, but the town was really defenseless against the frigates,
which had only to sail up the river and bombard it from either side; his
people were disaffected and to some extent not sorry to be delivered
from his rule; the terms offered by the English were favorable, and
though Stuyvesant swore he never would surrender, a white flag was
finally run up over the ramparts of Fort Amsterdam. The city was at once
renamed New York, in honor of the Duke of York, to whom it had been
granted; and the hard-headed old governor spent the remaining years of
his life very comfortably on his great farm, the Bouwerie, just outside
the city limits.

This conquest, bloodless and easy as it was, was fraught with momentous
consequences. It brought New England into closer relations with Maryland
and Virginia by creating a link between them, binding them together; it
gave England command of the spot designed by nature to be the commercial
and military centre of the Atlantic sea-board, and confirmed a
possession of it that was never thereafter seriously disturbed, until
the colonies themselves disputed it. Had New Amsterdam remained Dutch,
dividing, as it did, New England from the South, there would never have
been any question of revolution or independence. The flash of that
little white flag on that September day, decided the fate of the
continent.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Duke of York, being of a generous disposition and having many claims
upon him, used a portion of the great territory granted him in America
to reward his friends, and thereby laid the foundation for another great
commonwealth with a unique history. New Jersey was given jointly to Sir
George Carteret and Lord Berkeley, and in 1673, Lord Berkeley sold his
share, illy-defined as the "southwestern part," to a Quaker named Edward
Byllinge. Byllinge soon became insolvent, and his property was taken
over by William Penn and two others, as trustees, and the seeds sown for
one of the most interesting experiments in history.

There are few figures on the page of history more admirable,
self-poised, and clear-sighted than this quiet man. He was born in
London in 1644, the son of a distinguished father, and apparently
destined for the usual career at the court of England. But while at
Oxford, young Penn astonished everybody and scandalized his relatives by
joining the Society of Friends, or Quakers, founded by George Fox only a
short time before. His family at once removed him from Oxford and sent
him to Paris, in the hope that amid the gayeties of the French capital
he would forget his Quaker notions, but he was far from doing so. He
returned home after a time, and his father threatened to shut him up in
the Tower of London, but he retorted that for him the Tower was the
worst argument in the world. We get some amusing glimpses of the
contention in his household.

"You may 'thee' and 'thou' other folk as much as you like," his angry
father told him, "but don't you dare to 'thee' and 'thou' the King, or
the Duke of York, or me."

The Quakers insisted upon the use of "thee" and "thou," alleging that
the use of the plural "you" was not only absurd, but a form of flattery,
and this manner of address has been persisted in by them to this day.
Penn, of course, continued to use them, much to his father's
indignation, and even went so far as to wear his hat in the king's
presence, an act of audacity which only amused that merry monarch. The
story goes that the king, seeing young Penn covered, removed his own
hat, remarking jestingly, "Wherever I am, it is customary for only one
to be covered"; a neat reproof, as well as a lesson in manners which
would have made any other young man's ears tingle, but Penn calmly
enough replied, "Keep thy hat on, Friend Charles."

After his father's death, in 1670, Penn found himself heir to a great
estate, and began to devote himself entirely to the defense and
explanation of Quakerism. Again and again, he was thrown into prison and
kept there for months on end, but gradually he began to win for the
Friends a certain degree of respect and consideration, perhaps as much
because of his high social station, gallant bearing and magnetic
personality, as because of any of his arguments. In 1677, he made a sort
of missionary tour of Europe, returning to England to set actively
afloat the project for Quaker colonization in America which he had long
been turning over in his mind.

Three years, however, passed before he could secure from the Duke of
York a release of all his powers of sovereignty over West Jersey, but
this was finally accomplished, and soon afterwards he secured from the
crown a charter for a great strip of country in that region. Penn named
this region "Sylvania," or "Woodland," but when the King came to approve
the charter, he wrote the name "Penn" before "Sylvania," and when Penn
protested, assured him laughingly that the name was given the country
not in his honor but in that of his father, and so it stood.

Penn had been allowed a free hand in shaping the policy of his colony,
and forthwith proclaimed such a government as existed nowhere else on
earth. Absolute freedom of conscience was guaranteed to everyone; it was
declared that governments exist for the sake of the governed, that to
reform a criminal is more important than to punish him, that the death
penalty should be inflicted only for murder or high treason, and that
every man had a right to vote and to hold office. All of which are such
matters of course to-day that we can scarcely realize how revolutionary
they were two centuries ago.

To all who should come to his colony, Penn offered land at the rate of
forty shillings for a hundred acres, and the experiment, denounced at
first as visionary and certain of failure, was so successful that within
a year, more than three thousand persons had sailed to settle along the
Delaware. In the summer of 1682, Penn himself sailed for the New World,
and late in the following autumn, at a spot just above the junction of
the Schuylkill and Delaware, laid out a city as square and level as a
checker-board, and named it Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love.
Before taking possession of the land, he concluded a treaty with the
Delaware Indians, to whom it belonged, "the only treaty," as Voltaire
says, "between savages and Christians that was never sworn to and never
broken." Penn's stately and distinguished bearing, his affability and
kindness of heart, made a deep impression upon the Indians; they always
remembered him with trust and affection; and seventy years elapsed
before Pennsylvania tasted the horrors of Indian warfare.

The growth of the new city was phenomenal. Settlers came so fast that
cabins could not be built for them, and many of them lived for a time in
caves along the river. The remainder of Penn's life was spent for the
most part in England, where his interests demanded his presence, but he
built a handsome residence in the city which he had founded and lived
there at intervals until his death.

No consideration, however brief, of his life and work can be complete
without some reference to the remarkable effect the establishment of his
colony had on emigration to America. Pennsylvania gave a refuge and home
to the most intelligent and progressive peoples of Europe, chafing under
the religious restrictions which, at home, they could not escape. The
Mennonites, the Dunkers, and the Palatines were among these, but by far
the most important were the so-called Scotch-Irish--Scotchmen who, a
century before, had been sent to Ireland by the English government, in
the hope of establishing there a Protestant population which would, in
time, come to outnumber and control the native Irish. The Scotch were
Presbyterians, of course, and finding the Irish environment distasteful,
began, about 1720, to come to America in such numbers that, fifty years
later, they formed a sixth part of our entire population. Nearly all of
them settled in Western Pennsylvania, from which a steady stream flowed
ever southward and westward, furnishing the hardy pioneers of Kentucky
and Tennessee, and forming the main strength of American democracy. We
shall see, in the chapters which follow, how many of the men eminent in
the country's history, traced their descent from this stock.

       *       *       *       *       *

One more interesting experiment in colonization, conceived and carried
out by a man of unusual personality, remains to be recorded. James
Oglethorpe, born in 1689, for forty years led the usual life of the
wealthy English gentleman--first the army, then a period of quiet
country life, and finally parliament. There, however, he took a place
apart, almost at once, by his interest in prison reform. The condition
of the English prisons of the day was indescribably foul and loathsome,
and as horror after horror was unearthed by his investigations, a great
project began to take shape in his mind. This was nothing less than the
founding in America of a colony where prisoners for debt should be
encouraged to settle, and where they should be given means to make a new
start in life. For in those days, a man who could not pay his debts was
cast into prison and kept there, frequently in the greatest misery, as
though that helped matters any.

In 1732, Oglethorpe succeeded in securing a charter for such a colony,
which he named Georgia, in honor of the King. Trustees were appointed,
the support of influential men secured, and on November 16, 1732, the
first shipload of emigrants left England. Oglethorpe himself accompanied
them. He had undertaken to establish the colony on the condition that he
receive no recompense, and was authorized to act as colonial governor.

Charleston, South Carolina, was reached about the middle of January,
and, after some exploration, Oglethorpe selected as the site of the
first settlement a bluff on the rich delta lands of the Savannah.
Thither the emigrants proceeded, and at once began to build the town,
which was named Savannah after the river flowing at its feet. Oglethorpe
himself was indefatigable. He concluded a treaty with the Indians,
provided for the defense of the colony against the Spaniards, who held
Florida, and, most important of all, welcomed a colony of Jews, who had
come from London at their own expense, and who soon became as valuable
as any of Savannah's citizens. Probably never before in history had a
Christian community welcomed a party of this unfortunate race, which had
been despised and persecuted from one end of Europe to the other, which
could call no country home, nor invoke the protection of any government.

A year later, another strange band of pilgrims was welcomed--Protestants
driven out of the Tyrolese valleys of Austria. A ship had been sent for
them, and Oglethorpe gave them permission to select a home in any part
of the province, and sent his carpenters to assist them in building
their houses. Georgia owes much of her greatness to these sturdy people,
whose love of independence was to find another vent in the Revolution.

As soon as these new arrivals were comfortably settled and provided for,
Oglethorpe proceeded to London, where he secured the passage of laws
prohibiting slavery and the importation of liquor into the colony, and
not until his connection with it ended were slaves brought in. When he
returned to Georgia, it was with two vessels, and over three hundred
colonists--Scotchmen, Salzburgers and Moravians, the sturdiest people of
the Old World. Oglethorpe welcomed them all, and it was this mixture of
races which served to give Georgia her curious cosmopolitan population.
Another important arrival was Charles Wesley, who came out as a
missionary, and who acted for a time as the Governor's secretary. He was
succeeded by the famous George Whitfield, who labored there until his
death in 1770.

Oglethorpe's public career ended in 1754, when, having returned to
England, he failed of election to parliament. His remaining years were
spent in retirement. That he was an extraordinary man cannot be
gainsaid, and the plan, so far in advance of his age, which he conceived
and carried through to success, forms one of the most interesting
experiments in colonization ever attempted anywhere.

       *       *       *       *       *

This, then, is the story in briefest outline of the men who discovered
America and who fought for a foothold on her borders. Most of them, it
will be noted, undertook the struggle not for commercial ends nor from
the love of adventure, but in order to establish for themselves a home
where they would be free in matters of the spirit. The traces of that
purpose may be found on almost every page of American history and do
much to render it the inspiring thing it is. We shall see how many of
the great men who loom large in these pages traced their descent from
those hardy pioneers for whom no sacrifice seemed too great provided it
secured for them

    "Freedom to worship God."




SUMMARY


COLUMBUS, CHRISTOPHER. Born at Genoa, Italy, probably in 1446; removed
to Portugal about 1473; laid plan to reach the Indies before John II.
of Portugal, 1484; appeared at court of Ferdinand and Isabella, 1485;
Spanish monarchs agreed to his demands, April 17, 1492; sailed from
Palos, August 3, 1492; discovered West Indies, October 12, 1492;
returned to Palos, March 15, 1493; embarked on second voyage with 17
vessels and 1,500 men, September 25, 1493; discovered Dominica, Porto
Rico, Jamaica, and returned to Spain, March, 1496; started on third
voyage, May 30, 1498; discovered Trinidad and the mouth of the Orinoco;
recalled to Santo Domingo by disorders and finally arrested and sent
back to Spain in chains, October, 1500; released and started on fourth
voyage in March, 1502; discovered Honduras, but was wrecked on Jamaica,
and reached Spain again after terrible sufferings, November 7, 1504;
passed his remaining days in poverty and died at Valladolid, May 20,
1506.

CABOT, JOHN. Born at Genoa, date unknown; became citizen of Venice,
1476; removed to Bristol, England, and in 1495 secured from Henry VII. a
patent for the discovery, at his own expense, of unknown lands in the
eastern, western, or northern seas; sailed from Bristol, May, 1497;
discovered coast of Newfoundland and returned to England in August,
1497; date of death unknown.

CABOT, SEBASTIAN. Son of John Cabot, born probably at Venice, 1477;
accompanied his father's expedition, 1497; commanded an English
expedition in search of a northwest passage, 1517; removed to Spain and
made grand pilot of Castile, 1518; sailed in command of a Spanish
expedition, April 3, 1526; skirted coast of South America, discovered
the Uruguay and Parana, and reached Spain again in 1530; returned to
England, 1546; died at London, 1557.

VESPUCCI, AMERIGO. Born at Florence, Italy, March 9, 1451; removed to
Spain, 1495; claimed to have accompanied four expeditions as astronomer
in 1497, 1499, 1501 and 1503, during which some explorations were made
of the coasts of both North and South America; died at Seville, February
22, 1512.

PONCE DE LEON, JUAN. Born in Aragon about 1460; accompanied the second
voyage of Columbus, 1493; conquered Porto Rico and appointed governor,
1510; heard story from Indians of an island to the north named Bimini,
on which was a fountain giving eternal youth to all who drank of its
waters, and sailed in search of it, March, 1513; discovered the mainland
and landed on April 8, Pascua Florida, or Easter Sunday, taking
possession of the country for the King of Spain and calling it Florida,
in honor of the day; returned to Porto Rico, September, 1513; sailed
with a large number of colonists to settle Florida, March, 1521;
attacked by Indians and forced to retreat, he himself being wounded by
an Indian arrow and dying from the effects of the wound a short time
later.

MAGALHÃES, FERNÃO DE; generally known as Ferdinand Magellan. Born in
Portugal about 1480; sailed from Spain to find a western passage to the
Moluccas, September 20, 1519; reached the Brazilian coast, explored Rio
de la Plata, wintered on Patagonian coast, passed through Strait of
Magellan and reached the Pacific, November 28, 1520; crossed the Pacific
and discovered the Philippines, March 16, 1521; killed in a fight with
the natives, April 27, 1521.

DRAKE, SIR FRANCIS. Born in Devonshire, England, about 1540; fitted out
a freebooting expedition and attacked the Spanish settlements in the
West Indies, 1572, capturing Porto Bello, Cartagena, and other towns and
taking an immense treasure; sailed again from England, December, 1577,
circumnavigating the globe and reaching home again September, 1580,
where he was met by Queen Elizabeth and knighted on his ship; ravaged
the West Indies and Spanish Main, 1585, and the coast of Spain, 1587;
commanded a division of the fleet defeating the Spanish Armada, July,
1588; died off Porto Bello, 1596.

SOTO, HERNANDO DE. Born in Spain, 1500; took prominent part in conquest
of Peru, 1532-1536; appointed governor of Porto Rico and Florida, 1537;
landed at Tampa Bay, May 25, 1539; discovered the Mississippi, May,
1541; died of malarial fever and buried in the Mississippi, June, 1542.

CORONADO, FRANCISCO VASQUEZ DE. Born at Salamanca about 1500; reached
Mexico in 1539, and in 1540, headed an expedition in search of Cibola
and the Seven Cities supposed to have been founded seven centuries
before by some Spanish bishops fleeing from the Moors; penetrated to
what is now New Mexico and perhaps to Kansas, reaching Mexico again with
only a remnant of his force; date of death unknown.

CARTIER, JACQUES. Born at St. Malo, France, December 31, 1494; made
three voyages to Canada, 1534-1542; exploring the Gulf of St. Lawrence,
and sailing up the St. Lawrence as far as Montreal; died after 1552.

HUDSON, HENRY. Date and place of birth unknown; sailed in service of
Dutch East India Company to find a northwest passage, March 25, 1609;
sighted Nova Scotia and explored coast as far south as Chesapeake Bay;
explored Hudson river, September, 1609; sailed again to find a northwest
passage, 1610; entered Hudson Bay and Hudson Strait, where he wintered;
set adrift in open boat, with eight companions, by mutinous crew, June
23, 1611; never seen again.

SMITH, CAPTAIN JOHN. Born in Lincolnshire, England, in January, 1579;
served in Netherlands and against Turks, sailed for Virginia with
Christopher Newport, December 19, 1606; chosen president of colony,
September 10, 1608; returned to London in autumn of 1609; explored New
England coast, 1614; created admiral of New England, 1617; spent
remainder of life in vain endeavor to secure financial support for a
colony in New England; died at London, June 21, 1632.

CHAMPLAIN, SAMUEL DE. Born at Brouage, France, 1567; explored Canada and
New England, 1603-1607; founded Quebec, 1608; discovered Lake Champlain,
1609; died at Quebec, December 25, 1635.

NICOLET, JEAN. Place and date of both birth and death unknown.

LA SALLE, ROBERT CAVALIER, SIEUR DE. Born at Rouen, November 22, 1643;
came to Canada, 1666; set out on tour of western exploration,
discovering Ohio river, 1669; descended the Mississippi to its mouth,
1681; led a band of colonists from France, 1685; missed mouth of river,
and murdered by his own men while seeking it, March 20, 1687.

JOLIET, LOUIS. Born at Quebec, September 21, 1645; commissioned to
explore Mississippi river, by Frontenac, governor of New France, 1672;
explored Fox, Wisconsin, Mississippi and Illinois rivers, 1673; died
May, 1700.

MARQUETTE, JACQUES. Born at Laon, France, 1637; accompanied Joliet in
1673; died near Lake Michigan, May 18, 1675.

BRADFORD, WILLIAM. Born at Austerfield, Yorkshire, England, 1590;
governor of Plymouth colony, 1621-1657 (except in 1633-1634, 1636, 1638,
1644); died at Plymouth, Massachusetts, May 9, 1657.

WILLIAMS, ROGER. Born in Wales about 1600; reached Massachusetts, 1631;
pastor at Plymouth and Salem, 1631-1635; ordered to leave colony and
fled from Salem, January, 1636; founded Providence, June, 1636; went to
England and obtained charter for Rhode Island colony, 1644; president of
colony until death, April, 1684.

STUYVESANT, PETER. Born in Holland, 1602; served in West Indies, for a
time governor of Curaçao, and returned to Holland in 1644; appointed
director-general of New Netherlands, 1646; reached New Amsterdam, 1647;
surrendered colony to the English, September, 1664; died at New York,
August, 1682.

PENN, WILLIAM. Born at London, October 14, 1644; became preacher of
Friends, 1668; part proprietor of West Jersey, 1675; received grant of
Pennsylvania, 1681; founded Philadelphia, 1682; returned to England,
1684; deprived of government of colony on charge of treason, 1692, but
restored to it in 1694; visited Pennsylvania, 1699-1701; died at
Ruscombe, Berks, England, July 30, 1718.

OGLETHORPE, JAMES EDWARD. Born at London, December 21, 1696; projected
colony of Georgia for insolvent debtors and persecuted Protestants, and
conducted expedition for its settlement, 1733; returned to England,
1743; died at Cranham Hall, Essex, England, 1785.


       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER III

WASHINGTON TO LINCOLN


Near the left bank of the Potomac river, in the northwestern
part of Westmoreland county, Virginia, there stood, in the year 1732, a
little cabin, where lived a planter by the name of Augustine Washington.
It was a lonely spot, for the nearest neighbor was miles away, but the
little family, consisting of father, mother, and two boys, Lawrence and
Augustine, were kept busy enough wresting a living from the soil. Here,
on the twenty-second day of February, a third son was born, and in due
time christened George.

Just a century had elapsed since John Smith had died in London, but in
that time the colony which he had founded and which had been more than
once so near extinction, had grown to be the greatest in America. Half a
million people were settled along her bays and rivers, engaged, for the
most part, in the culture of tobacco, for which the colony had long been
famous and which was the basis of her wealth. Her boundaries were still
indefinite, for though, by, the king's charter, the colony was supposed
to stretch clear across the continent to the Pacific, the country beyond
the Blue Ridge mountains was still a wilderness where the Indian and the
wild beast held undisputed sway. Even in Virginia proper, there were few
towns and no cities, Williamsburg, the capital, having less than two
hundred houses; but each planter lived on his own estate, very much
after the fashion of the feudal lords of the Middle Ages, generous,
hospitable, and kind-hearted, fond of the creature-comforts, proud of
his women and of his horses, and satisfied with himself.

It was into this world that George Washington was born. While he was
still a baby, his father moved to a place he purchased on the banks of
the Rappahannock, opposite Fredericksburg, and here the boy's childhood
was spent. His father died when he was only eleven years old, but his
mother was a vigorous and capable woman, from whom her son inherited not
a little of his sturdy character. He developed into a tall, strong,
athletic youth, and many stories are told of his prowess. He could jump
twenty feet; on one occasion he threw a stone across the Rappahannock,
and on another, standing beneath the famous Natural Bridge, threw a
stone against its great arch, two hundred feet above his head. He grew
to be over six feet in height and finely proportioned--altogether a
handsome and capable fellow, who soon commanded respect.

At that time, surveying was a very important occupation, since so much
of the colony remained to be laid out, and George began to study to be a
surveyor, an occupation which appealed to him especially because it was
of the open air. He was soon to get a very important commission.

When Augustine Washington died, he bequeathed to his elder son,
Lawrence, an estate on the Potomac called Hunting Creek. Near by lay the
magnificent estate of Belvoir, owned by the wealthy William Fairfax, and
Lawrence Washington had the good fortune to win the heart and hand of
Fairfax's daughter. With the money his bride brought him, he was able to
build for himself a very handsome dwelling on his estate, whose name he
changed to Mount Vernon, in honor of the English admiral with whom he
had seen some service. George, of course, was a frequent visitor at
Belvoir, meeting other members of the Fairfax family, among them Thomas,
sixth Lord Fairfax, who finally engaged him to survey a great estate
which had been granted him by the king on the slope of the Blue Ridge
mountains.

George Washington was only sixteen years of age when he started out on
this errand into what was then the wilderness. It was a tremendous task
which he had undertaken, for the estate comprised nearly a fifth of the
present state, but he did it so well that, on Lord Fairfax's
recommendation, he was at once appointed a public surveyor, and may
fairly be said to have commenced his public career. His brother soon
afterwards secured for him the appointment as adjutant-general for the
district in which he lived, so that it became his duty to attend to the
organization and equipment of the district militia. This was the
beginning of his military service and of his study of military
science. He was at that time eighteen years of age.

That was the end of his boyhood. You will notice that I have said
nothing about his being a marvel of goodness or of wisdom--nothing, for
instance, about a cherry tree. That fable, and a hundred others like it,
were the invention of a man who wrote a life of Washington half a
century after his death, and who managed so to enwrap him with
disguises, that it is only recently we have been able to strip them all
away and see the man as he really was. Washington's boyhood was much
like any other. He was a strong, vigorous, manly fellow; he got into
scrapes, just as any healthy boy does; he grew up straight and handsome,
ready to play his part in the world, and he was called upon to play it
much earlier than most boys are. We shall see what account he gave of
himself.

When George was twenty years old, his brother Lawrence died and made him
his executor. From that time forward, Mount Vernon was his home, and in
the end passed into his possession. But he was not long to enjoy the
pleasant life there, for a year later, he was called upon to perform an
important and hazardous mission.

We have seen how La Salle dreamed of a great French empire, stretching
from the Great Lakes to the mouth of the Mississippi. This was already
becoming a reality, for the governor of Canada had sent troops to occupy
the Ohio valley, and to build such forts as might be needed to hold it.
This was bringing the French altogether too close for comfort.
As long as they were content to remain in the Illinois country, nothing
much was thought of it, for that was far away; but here they were now
right at Virginia's back door, and there was no telling when they would
try to force it open and enter. So Governor Dinwiddie, of Virginia,
determined to dispatch a commissioner to the officer-in-command of the
French, to summon him to leave English territory. The commissioner was
also to try to kill two birds with one stone and form an alliance with
the Indians, so that, if it came to fighting, the Indians would be with
the English. No more delicate and dangerous mission could well be
conceived, and after careful consideration, the governor selected George
Washington to undertake it.

On October 30, 1753, Washington left Williamsburg, with a journey of
more than a thousand miles before him. How that journey was
accomplished, what perils he faced, what difficulties he overcame, how,
on more than one occasion his life hung by a thread--all this he has
told, briefly and modestly, in the journal which he kept of the
expedition. Three months from the time he started, he was back again in
Williamsburg, having faced his first great responsibility, and done his
work absolutely well. He had shown a cool courage that nothing could
shake, a fine patience, and a penetration and perception which nothing
could escape. He was the hero of the hour in the little Virginia
capital; the whole colony perceived that here was a man to be depended
upon.

He had found the French very active along the Ohio, preparing
to build forts and hold the country, and laughing at Dinwiddie's summons
to vacate it. This news caused Virginia to put a military force in the
field at once, and dispatch it to the west, with Washington in virtual
command. It was hoped to build a strong fort at the junction of the
Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, which would prevent the French getting
to the Ohio, since all travel in that wilderness must be by water. On
May 28, 1754, while hastening forward to secure this position,
Washington's little force encountered a party of French, and the first
shots were exchanged of the great contest which, twelve years later, was
to result in the expulsion of the French from the continent. It was
Washington who gave the word to fire, little foreseeing what history he
was making.

"I heard the bullets whistle," he wrote home to his mother, "and believe
me, there is something charming in the sound"--a bit of bravado which
shows that Washington had not yet quite outgrown his boyhood. No doubt
the bullets sounded much less charmingly five weeks later when he and
his men, brought to bay in a rude fortification which he named Fort
Necessity, were surrounded by a superior force of French and Indians,
and, after an all-day fight, compelled to surrender. It is worth
remarking that this bitter defeat--the first reverse which Washington
suffered--occurred on the third day of July, 1754. Twenty-one years from
that day, he was to draw his sword at the head of an American army.

Washington made his way back to Virginia with the news of his
failure. The French had occupied the vantage ground he was aiming at and
at once proceeded to erect a fort there, which they named Duquesne. Aid
was asked from England to repel these invaders, and early in 1755, a
great force under Major-General Edward Braddock advanced against the
enemy. Washington served as aide-de-camp to the general, whose ideas of
warfare had been gained on the battlefields of Europe, and who could not
understand that these ideas did not apply to warfare in a wilderness. In
consequence, when only a few miles from the fort, he was attacked by a
force of French and Indians, his army all but annihilated and he himself
wounded so severely that he died a few days later. During that fierce
battle, Washington seemed to bear a charmed life. Four bullets tore
through his coat and two horses were shot under him, but he received not
a scratch, and did effective work in rallying the Virginia militia to
cover the retreat. Three years later, he had the satisfaction of
marching into Fort Duquesne with an English force, which banished the
French for all time from the valley of the Ohio.

That victory ended the war for a time, and Washington returned to
Virginia to marry a charming and wealthy widow, Mrs. Martha Custis, and
to take the seat in the House of Burgesses to which he had just been
elected. He served there for fifteen years, living the life of the
typical Virginia planter on his estate of Mount Vernon, which had passed
into his possession through the death of his brother's only
child. He had become one of the most important men of the colony, whose
opinion was respected and whose influence was very great.

During all this period, the feeling against England was growing more and
more bitter. Let us be candid about it. The expulsion of the French from
the continent had freed the colonies from the danger of French
aggression and from the feeling that they needed the aid of the mother
country. That they should have been taxed to help defray the great
expense of this war against the French seems reasonable enough, but
there happened to be in power in England, at the time, a few obstinate
and bull-headed statesmen, serving under an obstinate and ignorant king,
and they handled the question of taxation with so little tact and
delicacy that, among them, they managed to rouse the anger of the
colonies to the boiling point.

For the colonists, let us remember, were of the same obstinate and
bull-headed stock, and it was soon evident that the only way to settle
the difference was to fight it out. But the impartial historian must
write it down that the colonies had much more to thank England for than
to complain about, and that at first, the idea of a war for independence
was not a popular one. As it went on, and the Tories were run out of the
country or won over, as battle and bloodshed aroused men's passions,
then it gradually gained ground; but throughout, the members of the
Continental Congress, led by John and Samuel Adams, were ahead
of public opinion.

As we have said, it soon became apparent that there was going to be a
fight, and independent companies were formed all over Virginia, and
started industriously to drilling. Washington, by this time the most
conspicuous man in the colony, was chosen commander-in-chief; and when,
at the gathering of the second Continental Congress at Philadelphia,
came news of the fight at Lexington and Concord, the army before Boston
was formally adopted by the Congress as an American army, and Washington
was unanimously chosen to command it. I wonder if any one foresaw that
day, even in the dimmest fashion, what immortality of fame was to come
to that tall, quiet, dignified man?

That was on the 15th day of June, 1775, and Washington left immediately
for Boston to take command of the American forces. All along the route,
the people turned out to welcome him and bid him Godspeed. Delegations
escorted him from one town to the next, and at last, on the afternoon of
July 2d, he rode into Cambridge, where, the next day, in the shadow of a
great elm on Cambridge Common, he took command of his army, and began
the six years' struggle which resulted in the establishment of the
independence of the United States of America.

His first task was to drive the British from Boston, and he had
accomplished it by the following March. Then came a long period of
reverses and disappointments, during which his little army,
outnumbered, but not outgeneraled, was driven from Long
Island, from New York, and finally across New Jersey, taking refuge on
the south bank of the Delaware. There he gathered it together, and on
Christmas night, 1776, while the enemy were feasting and celebrating in
their quarters at Trenton, he ferried his army back across the
ice-blocked river, fell upon the British, administered a stinging
defeat, and never paused until he had driven them from New Jersey. That
brilliant campaign effectually stifled the opposition which he had had
to fight in the Congress, and resulted in his being given full power
over the army, and over all parts of the country which the army
occupied.

One more terrible ordeal awaited him--the winter of 1777-1778 spent at
Valley Forge, where the army, without the merest necessities of life,
melted away from desertion and disease, until, at one time, it consisted
of less than two thousand effective men. The next spring saw the
turning-point, for France allied herself with the United States; the
British were forced to evacuate Philadelphia and were driven back across
New Jersey to New York; and, finally, by one of the most brilliant
marches in history, Washington transferred his whole army from the
Hudson to the Potomac, and trapped Cornwallis and his army of seven
thousand men at Yorktown. Cornwallis tried desperately to free himself,
but to no avail, and on October 19, 1781, he surrendered his entire
force.

There is a pretty legend that, as Cornwallis delivered up his sword, a
cheer started through the American lines, but that Washington
stilled it on the instant, remarking, "Let posterity cheer for us."
Whether the legend be true or not, posterity _has_ cheered, for that
brilliant victory really ended the war, although two years passed before
peace was declared and the independence of the United States
acknowledged by the King of England.

Long before this, everybody knew what the end would be, and there was
much discussion as to how the new country should be governed. A great
many people were dissatisfied with the Congress, and it was suggested to
Washington that there would be a more stable government if he would
consent himself to be King or Dictator, or whatever title he might wish,
and that the army, which had won the independence of the country, would
support him. Washington's response was prompt and decisive.

"Let me conjure you," he wrote, "if you have any regard for your
country, concern for yourself, or respect for me, to banish these
thoughts from your mind, and never communicate, as from yourself or any
one else, a sentiment of like nature."

It was perhaps the first time in the history of the world that men had
witnessed the like. Soon afterwards, the army was disbanded, and
Washington, proceeding to Annapolis, where the Congress was in session,
resigned his commission as commander-in-chief. There are some who
consider that the greatest scene in history--the hero sheathing his
sword "after a life of spotless honor, a purity unreproached, a courage
indomitable, and a consummate victory."

A private citizen again, Washington returned quietly to his
estate at Mount Vernon. But he could not remain there--the country
needed him too badly, and his great work was yet to do. For let us
remember that his great work was not the leading of the American army to
victory, not the securing of independence, but the establishment of this
Republic. More than of any other man was this the work of Washington. He
saw the feeble Confederation breaking to pieces, now that the stress of
danger was removed; he beheld the warring interests and petty jealousies
of statesmen who yet remained colonial; but he was determined that out
of these thirteen jarring colonies should come a nation; and when the
convention to form a constitution met at Philadelphia, he presided over
it, and it was his commanding will which brought a constitution out of a
turmoil of selfish interests, through difficulties and past obstacles
which would have discouraged any other man.

And, the Constitution once adopted, all men turned to Washington to
start the new Nation on her great voyage. Remember, there was no
government, only some written pages saying that a government was to be;
it was Washington who converted that idea into a reality, who brought
that government into existence. It was a venture new to history; a
Republic founded upon principles which, however admirable in the
abstract, had been declared impossible to embody in the life of a
nation. And yet, eight years later, when Washington retired from the
presidency, he left behind him an effective government, with an
established revenue, a high credit, a strong judiciary, a vigorous
foreign policy, and an army which had repressed insurrections, and which
already showed the beginnings of a truly national spirit.

At the end of his second term as President, the country demanded that he
accept a third; the country, without Washington at the head of it,
seemed to many people like a ship on a dangerous sea without a pilot.
But he had guided her past the greatest dangers, and he refused a third
term, setting a precedent which no man in the country's history has been
strong enough to disregard. In March, 1797, he was back again at Mount
Vernon, a private citizen.

He looked forward to and hoped for long years of quiet, but it was not
to be. On December 12, 1799, he was caught by a rain and sleet storm,
while riding over his farm, and returned to the house chilled through.
An illness followed, which developed into pneumonia, and three days
later he was dead.

He was buried at Mount Vernon, which has become one of the great shrines
of America, and rightly so. For no man, at once so august and so
lovable, has graced American history. Indeed, he stands among the
greatest men of all history. There are few men with such a record of
achievement, and fewer still who, at the end of a life so crowded and
cast in such troubled places, can show a fame so free from spot, a
character so unselfish and so pure.

We know Washington to-day as well as it is possible to know any man. We
know him far better than the people of his own household knew
him. Behind the silent and reserved man, of courteous and serious
manner, which his world knew, we perceive the great nature, the warm
heart and the mighty will. We have his letters, his journals, his
account-books, and there remains no corner of his life hidden from us.
There is none that needs to be. Think what that means--not a single
corner of his life that needs to be shadowed or passed over in silence!
And the more we study it, the more we are impressed by it, and the
greater grows our love and veneration for the man of whom were uttered
the immortal words, "First in war, first in peace, and first in the
hearts of his countrymen"--words whose truth grows more apparent with
every passing year.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is one of the maxims of history that great events produce great men,
and the struggle for independence abundantly proved this. Never again in
the country's history did it possess such a group of statesmen as during
its first years, the only other period at all comparable with it being
that which culminated in the Civil War. It was inevitable that these men
should assume the guidance of the newly-launched ship of state, and
Washington had, in every way possible, availed himself of their
assistance. Alexander Hamilton had been his secretary of the treasury,
Thomas Jefferson his secretary of state, and James Monroe his minister
to France. The first man to succeed him in the presidency, however, was
none of these, but John Adams of Massachusetts. His election
was not uncontested, as Washington's had been; in fact, he was elected
by a majority of only three, Jefferson receiving 68 electoral votes to
his 71.

Let us pause for a moment to see how this contest originated, for it was
the beginning of the party government which has endured to the present
day, and which is considered by many people to be essential to the
administration of the Republic. When Washington was elected there were,
strictly speaking, no parties; but there was a body of men who had
favored the adoption of the Constitution, and another, scarcely less
influential, who had opposed it. The former were called Federals, as
favoring a federation of the several states, and the latter were called
Anti-Federals, as opposing it.

One point of difference always leads to others, wider and wider apart,
as the rain-drop, shattered on the summit of the Great Divide, flows one
half to the Atlantic the other half to the Pacific. So, after the
adoption of the Constitution, there was never any serious question of
abrogating it, but two views arose as to its interpretation. The
Federals, in their endeavor to strengthen the national government,
favored the liberal view, which was that anything the Constitution did
not expressly forbid was permitted; while the Anti-Federals, anxious to
preserve all the power possible to the several states, favored the
strict view, which was that unless the Constitution expressly permitted
a thing, it could not be done. As there were many, many points upon
which the Constitution was silent--its framers being mere human beings
and not all-wise intelligences--it will be seen that these
interpretations were as different as black and white. It was this
divergence, combined with another as to whether, in joining the Union,
the several states had surrendered their sovereignty, which has
persisted as the fundamental difference between the Republican and
Democratic parties to the present day.

Adams was a Federalist, and his choice as the candidate of that party
was due to the fact that Hamilton, its leader, was too unpopular with
the people at large to stand any chance of election, more especially
against such a man as Jefferson, who would be his opponent. With
Hamilton out of the way, the place plainly belonged to Adams by right of
succession, and he was nominated. He was aided by the fact that he had
served as Vice-President during both of Washington's administrations,
and it was felt that he would be much more likely to carry out the
policies of his distinguished predecessor than Jefferson, who had been
opposed to Washington on many public questions. Even at that, as has
been said, he won by a majority of only three votes.

In a general way Adams did continue Washington's policies, even
retaining his cabinet. But, while his attitude on national questions
was, in the main, a wise one, he was so unwise and undignified in minor
things, so consumed by petty jealousies, envies and contentions, that he
made enemies instead of friends, and when, four years later, he was
again the Federal candidate, he was easily beaten by Jefferson, and
retired from the White House a soured and disappointed man,
fleeing from the capital by night in order that he might not have to
witness the inauguration of his successor. To such depths had he been
brought by colossal egotism. In his earlier years, he had done
distinguished service as a member of the Continental Congress, but his
prestige never recovered from the effect of his conduct during his term
as President, and his last years were passed in retirement. By a
singular coincidence, he and Jefferson died upon the same day, July 4,
1826.

Thomas Jefferson, whose influence is perhaps more generally acknowledged
in the life of the Republic of to-day than that of any other man of his
time, and whose name, Washington's apart, is oftenest on men's lips, was
born in Virginia in 1743, graduated from William and Mary College,
studied law, and took a prominent part in the agitation preceding the
Revolution. Early in his life, owing to various influences, he began
forming those ideas of simplicity and equality which had such an
influence over his later life, and over the great party of which he was
the founder. His temperament was what we call "artistic"; that is, he
loved books and music and architecture, and the things which make for
what we call culture. And yet, with all that, he soon grew wise and
skillful in the world's affairs, possessing an industry and insight
which assured his speedy success as a lawyer, despite an impediment of
speech which prevented him from being an effective orator.

He had the good fortune to marry happily, finding a comrade and
helpmate, as well as a wife, in beautiful Martha Skelton, with
whom he rode away to his estate at Monticello when he was twenty-seven.
She saw him write the Declaration of Independence, saw him war-governor
of Virginia, and second only to Washington in the respect and affection
of the people of that great commonwealth; and then she died. The shock
of her death left Jefferson a stricken man; he secluded himself from the
public, and declared that his life was at an end.

Washington, however, eight years later, persuaded him to accept a place
in his cabinet as secretary of state. Within a year he had definitely
taken his place as the head of the Anti-Federalist, or Republican party,
and laid the foundations of what afterwards became known as the
Democratic party. His trust in the people had grown and deepened, his
heart had grown more tender with the coming of affliction, and it was
his theory that in a democracy, the people should control public policy
by imposing their wishes upon their rulers, who were answerable to
them--a theory which is now accepted, in appearance, at least, by all
political parties, but which the Federalist leaders of that time
thoroughly detested. Jefferson seems to have felt, too, that the
tendency of those early years was too greatly toward an aristocracy,
which the landed gentry of Virginia were only too willing to provide,
and when, at last, he was chosen for the presidency, he set the country
such an example of simplicity and moderation that there was never again
any chance of its running into that danger.

Everyone has read the story of how, on the day of his
inauguration, he rode on horseback to the capitol, clad in studiously
plain clothes and without attendants, tied his horse to the fence, and
walked unannounced into the Senate chamber. This careful avoidance of
display marked his whole official career, running sometimes, indeed,
into an ostentation of simplicity whose good taste might be questioned.
But of Jefferson's entire sincerity there can be no doubt. Inconsistent
as he sometimes was--as every man is--his purposes and policies all
tended steadily toward the betterment of humanity; and the great mass of
the people who to this day revere his memory, "pay a just debt of
gratitude to a friend who not only served them, as many have done, but
who honored and respected them, as very few have done."

Perhaps the greatest single act of his administration was the purchase
from France of the vast territory known as Louisiana, which included the
state now bearing that name, and the wide, untrodden, wilderness west of
the Mississippi, paying for it the sum of fifteen million dollars--a
rate of a fraction of a cent an acre. The purchase aroused the bitterest
opposition, but Jefferson seems to have had a clearer vision than most
men of what the future of America was to be. He served for two terms,
refusing a third nomination which he was besought to accept, and
retiring to private life on March 4, 1809, after a nearly continuous
public service of forty-four years. The remainder of his life was spent
quietly at his home at Monticello, where men flocked for a
guidance which never failed them. The cause to which his last years were
devoted was characteristic of the man--the establishment of a common
school system in Virginia, and the founding of the University of
Virginia, which still bears the imprint of his mind.

[Illustration: JEFFERSON]

Jefferson is one of the few men whose portrait, as preserved for us,
shows us the man as we imagine him to be. No one can look at that lofty
and noble countenance, with its calm and wide-set eyes, its firm yet
tender mouth, its expression of complete serenity, without realizing
that here was a man placed above the weakness and pettiness and meanness
of the world, on a pinnacle of his own, strong in spirit, wise in
judgment, and almost prophetic in vision.

The presidency descended, by an overwhelming majority, to one of
Jefferson's stanch friends and supporters, for whom he had paved the
way--James Madison, also a Virginian, who had been his secretary of
state for eight years, and who was himself to serve two terms, during
which the influence of the "Sage of Monticello" was paramount. The great
crisis which Madison had to face was the second war with England, a war
brought on by British aggression on the high seas, and bitterly opposed,
especially in New England. The war, characterized by blunders on land
and brilliant successes on the ocean, really resulted without victory to
either side, and, indeed, was very nearly a defeat for America; but in
the end, it enabled us to regain possession of the posts which
England had persisted in occupying along the western boundary, and
banished forever any fear that she might, at any time in the future,
attempt to reassert her sovereignty over the United States.

Madison was also fortunate in his wife, the beautiful and brilliant
Dolly Payne Todd, who played so prominent a part in the social life of
the time, and who, when the British were marching into Washington to
sack that city, managed to save some of the treasures of the White House
from the invaders. It is difficult for us to realize, at this distant
day, that our beautiful capital was once in the enemy's hands, given
over to the flames; that was one of the great disgraces of the War of
1812; for the only force which rallied to the defense of the city was a
few regiments of untrained militia, which could not stand for a minute
before the British regulars, but ran away at the first fire.

Madison and his wife, however, soon came back to the White House from
which they had been driven, and remained there four years longer, until
the close of his second term, in 1817. For nearly a score of years
thereafter, they lived a happy and tranquil life on their estate,
Montpelier.

It is somewhat difficult to estimate Madison. He stood on a sort of
middle ground between Jefferson and Hamilton. Earlier in his career,
Hamilton influenced him deeply in regard to the adoption of the
Constitution, of which he has been called the father. But, at a later
date, Jefferson's influence became uppermost, and Madison
swung over to the extreme of the state rights view, and drew the
resolutions of the Virginia legislature declaring the Alien and Sedition
laws "utterly null and void and of no effect," so that he has also been
called the "Father of Nullification." However unstable his opinions may
have been, there is no questioning his patriotism or the purity of his
motives.

Again the presidential tradition was to remain unbroken, for Madison's
successor was James Monroe, his secretary of state, a Virginian and a
Democrat. The preponderance of the Democratic party was never more in
evidence, for while he received 183 electoral votes, Rufus King, the
Federalist candidate, received only 34. This, however, was as nothing to
the great personal triumph he achieved four years later, when, as a
candidate for re-election, only one vote was cast against him, and that
by a man who voted as he did because he did not wish to see a second
President chosen with the unanimity which had honored Washington.

Monroe is principally remembered to-day from a "doctrine" enunciated by
him and known by his name, which remains a vital portion of American
policy. It was in 1823 that he declared that the United States would
consider any attempt of a European power to establish itself in this
hemisphere as dangerous to her peace and safety, and as the
manifestation of an unfriendly disposition. The language is cautious and
diplomatic, but what it means in plain English is that the United States
will resist by force any attempt of a European power to
conquer and colonize any portion of the three Americas--in other words,
that this country will safeguard the independence of all her neighbors.
This principle has come to be regarded as a basic one in the foreign
relations of the United States, and while no European power has formally
acknowledged it, more than one have had to bow before it. It is
interesting to know that the enunciation of such a "doctrine" was
recommended by Thomas Jefferson, and that Jefferson was Monroe's
constant adviser throughout his career.

Monroe retired from the presidency in 1825, and the seven remaining
years of his life were passed principally on his estate in Virginia.
Jefferson said of him, "He is a man whose soul might be turned wrong
side outwards, without discovering a blemish to the world,"--an estimate
which was, of course, colored by a warm personal friendship, but which
was echoed by many others of his contemporaries. Certain it is that few
men have ever so won the affection and esteem of the nation, and his
administration was known as the "era of good feeling." He is scarcely
appreciated to-day at his true worth, principally because he does not
measure up in genius to the great men who preceded him.

At striking variance with the practical unanimity of Monroe's election
was that of John Quincy Adams, his successor. Over a quarter of a
century had elapsed since a northern man had been chosen to the
presidency. That man, strangely enough, was the father of the
present candidate, but had retired from office after one acrimonious
term, discredited and disappointed. Since then, the government of the
country had been in the hands of Virginians. Now came John Quincy Adams,
calling himself a Democrat, but really inheriting the principles of his
father, and the contest which ensued for the presidency was
unprecedented in the history of the country.

Adams's principal opponent was Andrew Jackson, a mighty man of whom we
shall soon have occasion to speak, and so close was the contest that the
electoral college was not able to make a choice. So, as provided by the
Constitution, it was carried to the House of Representatives, and there,
through the influence of Henry Clay, who was unfriendly to Jackson,
Adams was chosen by a small majority. An administration which began in
bitterness, continued bitter and turbulent. Men's passions were aroused,
and four years later Adams repeated the fate of his father, in being
overwhelmingly defeated.

But the most remarkable portion of his story is yet to come. Before that
time, it had been the custom, as we have seen, for the ex-President to
spend the remaining years of his life in dignified retirement; but the
year after Adams left the White House, he was elected to the House of
Representatives, and was returned regularly every two years until his
death, which occurred upon its floor. He did much excellent work there,
and was conspicuous in more than one memorable scene, but he is chiefly
remembered for his battle for the right of petition. No more
persistent fight was ever made by a man in a parliamentary body and some
reference must be made to it here.

Soon after he took his seat in Congress, the movement against slavery
was begun, and one fruit of it was the appearance of petitions for the
abolition of slavery in the House of Representatives. A few were
presented by Mr. Adams, and then more and more, as they were sent in to
him, and finally the southern representatives became so aroused, that
they succeeded in passing what was known as the "gag rule," which
prevented the reception of these petitions by the House. Adams protested
against this rule as an invasion of his constitutional rights, and from
that time forward, amid the bitterest opposition, addressed his whole
force toward the vindication of the right of petition. On every petition
day, he would offer, in constantly increasing numbers, petitions which
came to him from all parts of the country for the abolition of slavery.
The southern representatives were driven almost to madness, but Adams
kept doggedly on his way, and every year renewed his motion to strike
out the gag rule. As constant dripping will wear away a stone, so his
persistence wore away opposition, or, rather, the sentiment of the
country was gradually changing, and at last, on December 3, 1844, his
motion prevailed, and the great battle which he had fought practically
alone was won. Four years later he fell, stricken with paralysis, at his
place in the House.

It is worth pausing to remark that, of the six men who, up to
this time, had held the presidency, four were from Virginia and two from
Massachusetts; that, in every instance, the Virginians had been
re-elected and had administered the affairs of the country to the
satisfaction of the people, while both the Massachusetts men had been
retired from office at the end of a single term, and after turbulent and
violent administrations. All of them were what may fairly be called
patricians, men of birth and breeding; they were the possessors of a
certain culture and refinement, were descended from well-known families,
and there seemed every reason to believe that the administration of the
country would be continued in the hands of such men. For what other
class of men was fitted to direct it? Then, suddenly, the people spoke,
and selected for their ruler a man from among themselves, a man whose
college was the backwoods, whose opinions were prejudices rather than
convictions, and yet who was, withal, perhaps the greatest popular idol
this country will ever see; whose very blunders endeared him to the
people, because they knew his heart was right.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the fifteenth day of March, 1767, in a little log cabin on the upper
Catawba river, almost on the border-line between North and South
Carolina--so near it, in fact, that no one knows certainly in which
state it stood--a boy was born and christened Andrew Jackson. His father
had died a few days before--one of those sturdy Scotch-Irish whom we
have seen emigrating to America in such numbers in search of
a land of freedom. The boy grew up in the rude backwoods settlement,
rough, boisterous, unlettered; at the age of fourteen, riding with
Sumter in the guerrilla warfare waged throughout the state against the
British, and then, captured and wounded on head and hand by a
sabre-stroke whose mark he bore till his dying day, a prisoner in the
filthy Camden prison-pen, sick of the small-pox, and coming out of it,
at last, more dead than alive.

His mother nursed him back to life, and then started for Charleston to
see what could be done for the prisoners rotting in the British
prison-ships in the harbor, only herself to catch the prison-fever, and
to be buried in a grave which her son was never able to discover.

Young Jackson, sobered by this and other experiences, applied himself
with some diligence to his books, taught school for a time, studied law,
and at the age of twenty was admitted to the bar, for which the standard
was by no means high. To the west, the new state of Tennessee was in
process of organization--an unpeopled wilderness for the most part--and
early in the year 1788, Jackson secured the appointment as public
prosecutor in the new state. It is not probable he had much competition,
for the position was one calling for desperate courage, as well as for
endurance to withstand the privations of back-woods life, and the
pecuniary reward was small. In the fall of 1788, he proceeded to
Nashville with a wagon train which came within an ace of being
annihilated by Indians before it reached its destination.

Jackson found his new position exactly suited to his peculiar genius.
His personal recklessness made him the terror of criminals; he possessed
the precise qualifications for success before backwoods juries and for
personal popularity among the rough people who were his clients, with
whom usually might was right. At the end of three or four years, he
practically monopolized the law business of the district; and he soon
became by far the most popular man in it, despite a hot-headed
disposition which made him many enemies, which involved him in
numberless quarrels, and which resulted in his fighting at least one
duel, in which he killed his opponent and was himself dangerously
wounded.

It was inevitable, of course, that he should enter politics, and equally
inevitable that he should be successful there. Eight years after his
arrival from Carolina, at the age of twenty-nine, he was elected to
represent his state in Congress, and covered the eight hundred miles to
Philadelphia on horseback. From the House, he was appointed to serve in
the Senate, resigned from it to accept an election as Judge of the
Supreme Court of Tennessee, was chosen major-general of the Tennessee
militia, and so began that military career which was to have a
remarkable culmination.

On the 25th of June, 1812, apprised of the outbreak of the second war
with England, Jackson offered to the President his own services and
those of the twenty-five hundred militia men of his district.
The offer was at once accepted, and Jackson, getting his troops
together, proceeded down the river to New Orleans. But jealousies at
headquarters intervened, he was informed that New Orleans was in no
present danger, his force was disbanded and left to get back home as
best it could. Jackson, wild with rage, pledged his own resources to
furnish this transportation, but was afterwards reimbursed by the
government.

It was while he was getting his men back home again that Jackson
received the nickname of "Old Hickory," which clung to him all the rest
of his life, and which was really a good description of him. The story
also illustrates how it was that his men came to idolize him, and why it
was that he appealed so strongly to the common people. Jackson had three
good horses, on that weary journey, but instead of riding one of them
himself, he loaned all three to sick men who were unable to walk, and
himself trudged along at the head of his men.

"The general is tough, isn't he?" one of them remarked, glancing at the
tall, sturdy figure.

"Tough!" echoed another. "I should say he is--as tough as hickory!"

Jackson was lying in bed with a bullet in his shoulder, which he had
received in an affray with Jesse Benton, and also, no doubt, nursing his
chagrin over his treatment by the War Department, when news came of a
great Indian uprising in Alabama. The Creeks had gone on the warpath and
had opened proceedings by capturing Fort Mims, at the junction of the
Alabama and Tombigbee rivers, on August 30, 1813, and massacring over
five hundred people who had taken refuge there. Alabama was almost
abandoned by the whites, and Georgia and Tennessee at once rushed to her
relief by voting men and money to put down the Indians.

Jackson forgot wound and chagrin and took the field as soon as he was
able to stir. He at once quarrelled with the other officers; but his men
believed in him, though lack of food and the expiring of the short term
of enlistment created so much insubordination that, on one occasion, he
had to use half his army to prevent the other half from marching home.
His energy was remarkable; he pushed forward into the Creek country, cut
the Indians to pieces at Horseshoe Bend, and drove the survivors into
Florida. At the end of seven months, the war was over, and the Creeks
had been so punished that there was never any further need to fear them.

The campaign had another result--it established Jackson's reputation as
a fighter, and soon afterwards he was appointed a major-general in the
army of the United States, and was given command of the Department of
the South. The pendulum had swung the other way, with a vengeance! But
Jackson rose magnificently to this increased responsibility. He
discovered that the English were in force at Pensacola, which was in
Florida and therefore on Spanish territory; but he did not hesitate. He
marched against the place with an army of three thousand, stormed the
town, captured it, blew up the forts, which the Spaniards hastily
surrendered, and so made it untenable as an English base. Perhaps no
other exploit of his career was so audacious, or so well carried out.
Pensacola subdued, he hastened to New Orleans, which was in the gravest
danger.

The overthrow of Napoleon and his banishment to Elba had given England a
breathing-space, and the veteran troops which had been with Wellington
in Spain were left free for use against the Americans. A great
expedition was at once organized to attack and capture New Orleans, and
at its head was placed General Pakenham, the brilliant commander of the
column which had delivered the fatal blow at Salamanca. A fleet of fifty
vessels, manned by the best sailors of England, was got ready, ten
thousand men put aboard, and in December, a week after Jackson's arrival
at New Orleans, this great fleet anchored off the broad lagoons of the
Mississippi delta. Seventeen thousand men, in all, counting the sailors,
who could, of course, be employed in land operations; and a mighty
equipment of artillery, for which the guns of the fleet could also be
used. The few American gunboats were overpowered, and Pakenham proceeded
leisurely to land his force for the advance against the city, which it
seemed that nothing could save. On December 23d, his advance-guard of
two thousand men was but ten miles below New Orleans.

On the afternoon of that very day, the vanguard of Jackson's
Tennesseans marched into New Orleans, clad in hunting-shirts of
buckskin or homespun, wearing coonskin caps, and carrying on their
shoulders the long rifles they knew how to use so well. They had made
one of the most remarkable marches in history, in their eagerness to
meet the enemy, and Jackson at once hurried them forward for a night
attack. It was delivered with the greatest fury, and the British were so
roughly handled that they were forced to halt until the main body of the
army came up.

When they did advance, they found that Jackson had made good use of the
delay. With the first light of the dawn which followed the battle, he
had commenced throwing up a rude breastwork, one end resting on the
river, the other on a swamp, and by nightfall, it was nearly done. Mud
and logs had been used, and bales of cotton, until it formed a fairly
strong position. The British were hurrying forward reinforcements, and
little did either side suspect that on that very day, at Ghent,
thousands of miles away, a treaty of peace had been signed between the
United States and England, and that the blood they were about to spill
would be spilled uselessly.

In a day or two, the British had got up their artillery, and tried to
batter down the breastworks, but without success; then, Pakenham,
forgetting Bunker Hill, determined to try a frontal assault. He had no
doubt of victory, for he had three times as many men as Jackson; troops,
too, seasoned by victories won over the most renowned marshals of
Napoleon. At Toulouse they had driven Marshal Soult from a position
infinitely stronger than this rude breastworks; time after time
they had charged and carried fortifications, manned by the best
soldiers in Europe. What chance, then, had this little force of
backwoodsmen, commanded by an ignorant and untrained general? So
Pakenham ordered that the assault should take place on the morning of
January 8th.

From the bustle and stir in the British camp, the Americans knew that
something unusual was afoot, and long before dawn, the riflemen were
awake, had their breakfast, and then took their places behind the mud
walls, their rifles ready. At last the sun rose, the fog lifted, and
disclosed the splendid and gleaming lines of the British infantry, ready
for the advance. As soon as the air was clear, Pakenham gave the word,
and the columns moved steadily forward. From the American breastworks
not a rifle cracked. Half the distance was covered, three-fourths; and
then, as one man, those sturdy riflemen rose and fired, line upon line.
Under that terrible fire, the British column broke and paused, then
surged forward again, almost to the foot of the breastworks. But not a
man lived to mount them. No column could stand under such a fire, and
the British broke and ran.

Mad with rage, Pakenham rallied his men and placed himself at their
head. Again came the word to charge, and again that gleaming column
rushed forward, only to be again met by that deadly hail of lead.
Pakenham, mortally wounded, reeled and fell from his saddle, officer
after officer was picked off by those unequalled marksmen, the field was
covered with dead and dying. Even the British saw, at last, the folly of
the movement, and retired sullenly to their lines. For a week they lay
there; then, abandoning their heavy artillery, they marched back to
their ships and sailed for England. The men who had conquered the
conquerors of Europe had themselves met defeat.

The battle had lasted less than half an hour, but the British left
behind them no less than twenty-six hundred men--seven hundred killed,
fourteen hundred wounded, five hundred prisoners. The American loss was
eight killed and thirteen wounded.

News of this brilliant victory brought sudden joy to a depressed people,
for elsewhere on land the war had been waged disgracefully enough, and
Jackson's name was on everyone's lips. His journey to Washington was a
kind of triumphal march, and his popularity grew by leaps and bounds.
People journeyed scores of miles to see him, for there was a strange
fascination about the rugged old fighter which few could resist, and
already his friends were urging him as a candidate for the presidency.
There could be no doubt that he was the people's choice, and at last, in
the campaign of 1823, he was formally placed in nomination, his chief
opponent being John Quincy Adams, of Massachusetts. The result of that
contest has already been told. Jackson received more electoral votes
than any other candidate, but not enough to elect, and the contest was
decided by the House of Representatives. On that occasion, Henry Clay
came nearer committing political suicide than ever again in his life,
for he threw his influence against Jackson, and lost a portion of
his popularity which he never recovered.

Jackson bided his time, and spent the four years following in careful
preparation for the next contest. So well did he build his fences that,
when the electoral vote was cast, he received the overwhelming majority
of 178 votes to 83 for Adams.

Never before had the city of Washington seen such an inauguration as
took place on the fourth of March following. It seemed as though the
whole population of the country had assembled there to see the old
fighter take the oath of office. Daniel Webster wrote of it, "I never
saw such a crowd here before. Persons came five hundred miles to see
General Jackson and really seem to think that our country is rescued
from some dreadful danger." As, perhaps, it was.

Jackson began his administration with characteristic vigor. It was he
who first put into practice the principle, "To the victors belong the
spoils." There was about him no academic courtesy, and he proceeded at
once to displace many Federal officeholders and to replace them with his
own adherents. The Senate tried for a time to stem the tide, but was
forced to give it up. There was no withstanding that fierce and dominant
personality. Jackson was more nearly a dictator than any President had
ever been before him, or than any will ever be again. His great
popularity seemed rather to increase than to diminish, and in 1832, he
received no less than 219 electoral votes.

[Illustration: JACKSON]

Let us do him justice. Prejudiced and ignorant and
wrong-headed as he was, he was a pure patriot, laboring for his
country's good. Nothing proves this more strongly than his attitude on
the nullification question, in other words, the right of a state to
refuse to obey a law of the United States, and to withdraw from the
Union, should it so desire. This is not the place to go into the
constitutional argument on this question. It is, of course, all but
certain that the original thirteen states had no idea, when they
ratified the Constitution, that they were entering an alliance from
which they would forever be powerless to withdraw; and the right of
withdrawal had been asserted in New England more than once. South
Carolina was the hot-bed of nullification sentiment, arising partly from
the growing anti-slavery feeling at the North, and partly because of the
enactment of a tariff law which was felt to be unjust, and on October
25, 1832, the South Carolina legislature passed an ordinance asserting
that, since the state had entered the Union of its free will, it could
withdraw from it at any time and resume the sovereign and independent
position which it had held at the close of the Revolution, and that it
would do so should there be any attempt to enforce the tariff laws
within the state.

Jackson's attitude on this question was already well known. At a banquet
celebrating Jefferson's birthday, two years before, at which Calhoun and
others had given toasts and made addresses in favor of nullification,
Jackson had startled his audience by rising, glass in hand,
and giving the toast, "Our Federal Union--it must be preserved!" That
toast had fallen like a bombshell among the ranks of the nullifiers, and
had electrified the whole Nation. Since then, he had become a stronger
nationalist than ever; besides, he was always ready for a fight, and
whenever he saw a head had the true Irishman's impulse to hit it. So he
responded to the South Carolina nullification ordinance by sending two
men-of-war to Charleston harbor and collecting a force of United States
troops along the Carolina border. "I consider the power to annul a law
of the United States, assumed by one state, incompatible with the
existence of the Union," he wrote; and when a South Carolina
congressman, about to go home, asked the President if he had any
commands for his friends in that state, Jackson retorted:

"Yes, I have; please give my compliments to my friends in your state,
and say to them that if a single drop of blood shall be shed there in
opposition to the laws of the United States, I will hang the first man I
can lay my hands on, engaged in such treasonable conduct, upon the first
tree I can reach."

Whether or not this message was delivered history does not say, but the
whole Nation arose in wrath behind its President, state after state
denounced nullification and disunion, and the South Carolina ordinance
was finally repealed. So the storm passed for the moment. It left
Jackson more of a popular hero than ever; it was as though he had won
another battle of New Orleans. One cannot but wonder what would have
happened had he been acting as President, instead of Buchanan, in those
trying years after 1856.

He retired from the presidency broken in health and fortune, for however
well he took care of the interests of his friends, he was always
careless about his own. The last eight years of his life were spent at
his Tennessee estate, The Hermitage. The end came in 1845, but his name
has remained as a kind of watchword among the common people--a synonym
for rugged honesty, and bluff sincerity. His career is, all in all, by
far the most remarkable of any man who ever held the high office of
President--with one possible exception, that of Abraham Lincoln.

       *       *       *       *       *

Jackson was one of the most perfect political manipulators and
machine-builders this country ever saw, and he had so perfected his
machine at the close of his second term that he was able to name as his
successor and the heir of his policies, Martin Van Buren, of New York, a
man who had been one of Jackson's most valued lieutenants from the
first, an astute politician, but not remarkable in any way, nor able to
impress himself upon the country. He announced at his inauguration that
it was his intention, to tread in the footsteps of his "illustrious
predecessor," but none for a moment imagined that he was big enough to
fill Jackson's shoes. Indeed, Jackson, was by far the most important
figure at the inauguration.

Van Buren's term as President witnessed nothing more
momentous than the great panic of 1837, which he faced with a calmness
and clear-sightedness surprising even to his friends, but which
nevertheless assisted a collection of malcontents, under the leadership
of Henry Clay, calling themselves National Republicans or Whigs, to
defeat him for re-election. There was really no valid reason why he
should have been re-elected; he had little claim, upon the country, but
was for the most part, merely a clever politician, the first to attain
the presidency. His life had been marked by an orderly advance from
local to state, and then to national offices--an advance obtained not
because he stood for any great principle, but because he knew how to
make friends and build his political fences.

His nomination and election to the presidency was in no sense an
accident, as was Taylor's, Pierce's, Hayes's and Garfield's, but was
carefully prearranged and thoroughly understood. Yet let us do him the
justice to add that his public services were, in some respects, of a
high order, and that he was not wholly unworthy of the last great honor
paid him. He was a candidate for the nomination in 1844, but was
defeated by James K. Polk; and four years later, secured the nomination,
but was defeated at the polls by Zachary Taylor. That ended his
political career.

In the campaign against him of 1840, the Whigs were fortunate in having
for their candidate William Henry Harrison, a man of immense personal
popularity, resembling Jackson in that his reputation had been made as
an Indian fighter in the West, where he had defeated Tecumseh at the
battle of Tippecanoe, and by a successful campaign in the war of 1812.
Since then, he had been living quietly on his farm in Ohio, with no
expectation of anything but passing his remaining years in quiet, for he
was nearly seventy years of age. But Clay, with a sort of prophetic
insight, picked him out as the Whig leader, and "Tippecanoe and Tyler
Too" became the rallying cry of a remarkable campaign, which swept the
country from end to end and effectually swamped Van Buren. It was too
strenuous for a man as old as Harrison, and he died at the White House
within a month of taking the oath of office.

The "Tyler Too" was John Tyler, who had been elected Vice-President, and
who assumed the office of President upon Harrison's death. His accession
was little less than a bomb-shell to the party which had nominated him
and secured his election. For he was a Virginian, a follower of Calhoun
and an ardent pro-slavery man, while the Whigs were first, last and all
the time anti-slavery. He had been placed on the ticket with Harrison,
who was strongly anti-slavery, in the hope of securing the votes of some
disaffected Democrats, but to see him President was the last thing the
Whigs desired. The result was that he soon became involved in a bitter
quarrel with Clay and the other leaders of the party, which effectually;
killed any chance of renomination he may have had. He became the mark
for perhaps the most unrestrained abuse ever aimed at a
holder of the presidency.

It was largely unmerited, for Tyler was a capable man, had seen service
in Congress and as governor of his state; but he was dry and
uninspiring, and not big enough for the presidency, into which he could
never have come except by accident. His administration was marked by few
important events except the annexation of Texas, which will be dealt
with more particularly when we come to consider the lives of Sam Houston
and the other men who brought the annexation about. He retired to
private life at the close of his term, appearing briefly twenty years
later as a member of a "congress" which endeavored to prevent the war
between the states, and afterwards as a member of the Confederate
Congress, in which he served until his death.

Clay secured the Whig nomination for himself, in the campaign of 1844,
and his opponent on the Democratic ticket was James Knox Polk, a native
of North Carolina, but afterwards removing to Tennessee. He had been a
member of Congress for fourteen years, and governor of Tennessee for
three, and was a consistent exponent of Democratic principles. Two great
questions were before the country: the annexation of Texas and the right
to Oregon. Polk was for the immediate annexation of Texas and for the
acquisition of Oregon up to 54° 40" north latitude, regardless of Great
Britain's claims, and "Fifty-four forty or fight!" became one of the
battle-cries of the campaign. Clay, inveterate trimmer and
compromiser that he was, professed to be for the annexation of Texas,
provided it could be accomplished without war with Mexico, which was
arrant nonsense, since Mexico had given notice that she would consider
annexation an act of war. The result of Clay's attitude, and of a
widespread distrust of his policies, was that Polk was elected by a
large majority.

His administration was destined to be a brilliant one, for Texas was at
once annexed, and the brief war with Mexico which followed, one of the
most successful ever waged by any country, carried the southwestern
boundary of the United States to the Rio Grande, and added New Mexico
and California to the national domain, while a treaty with England
secured for the country the present great state of Oregon, although here
Polk receded from his position and accepted a compromise which confined
Oregon below the forty-ninth parallel. But even this was something of a
triumph. With that triumph, the name of Marcus Whitman is most closely
associated, through a brilliant but rather useless feat of his, of which
we shall speak later on. Polk seems to have been an able and
conscientious man, without any pretensions to genius--just a good,
average man, like any one of ten thousand other Americans. He refused a
renomination because of ill-health, and died soon after retiring from
office.

The Democratic party had by this time become hopelessly disrupted over
the slavery question, which had become more and more acute. The great
strength of the state rights party had always been in the
South, and southern statesmen had always opposed any aggression on the
part of the national government. The North, on the other hand, had
always leaned more or less toward a strong centralization of power. So
it followed that while the Democratic party was paramount in the South,
its opponents, by whatever name known, found their main strength in the
North.

Yet, even in the North, there was a strong Democratic element, and, but
for the intrusion of the slavery question, the party would have
controlled the government for many years to come. But the North was
gradually coming to feel that the slavery question was more important
than the more abstract one of national aggression; the more so since, by
insisting upon the enforcement of such measures as the Fugitive Slave
Law, the South was, as it were, keeping open and bleeding a wound which
might to some extent have healed. In 1848 the split came, and the
Democratic party put two candidates in the field, Lewis Cass for the
South, and Martin Van Buren for the North.

The Whig Party, taking advantage of the knowledge gained in previous
campaigns, looked around for a famous general, and managed to agree upon
Zachary Taylor, who had made an exceedingly brilliant record in the war
with Mexico. He was sixty-five years old at the time, a sturdy giant of
a man, reared on the frontier, hardened by years of Indian warfare,
whose nickname of "Old Rough and Ready" was not a bad description. He
caught the popular fancy, for he possessed those qualities
which appeal to the plain people, and this, assisted by the division in
the ranks of his opponents, won him a majority of the electoral votes.
He took the oath of office on March 4, 1849, but, after sixteen months
of troubled administration, died suddenly on July 9, 1850.

Millard Fillmore, who had been elected Vice-President, at once took the
oath of office as chief executive. He was a New York man, a lawyer, had
been a member of Congress, and, as Vice-President, had presided over the
bitter slavery debates in the Senate. His sympathies were supposed to be
anti-slavery, yet he signed the Fugitive Slave Law, when it was placed
before him, much to the chagrin of many people who had voted for him. He
signed his own political death-warrant at the same time, for, at the
Whig National Convention in 1852, he was defeated for the nomination for
President, after a long struggle, by General Winfield Scott, another
veteran of the Mexican war. Four years later, Fillmore, having managed
to regain, the confidence of his party, secured the Whig nomination
unanimously, but was defeated at the polls, and spent the remaining
years of his life quietly at his home in Buffalo.

Against General Scott, the Democrats nominated Franklin Scott Pierce,
the nomination being in the nature of an accident, though Pierce was in
every way a worthy candidate. His family record begins with his father,
Benjamin Pierce, who, as a lad of seventeen, stirred by the tidings of
the fight at Lexington, left his home in Chelmsford, musket
on shoulder, to join the patriot army before Boston. He settled in New
Hampshire after the Revolution, and his son Franklin was born there in
1804. He followed the usual course of lawyer, congressman and senator,
and served throughout the war with Mexico, rising to the rank of
brigadier-general, and securing a reputation second only to that of
Scott and Taylor.

At the Democratic convention of 1852, Pierce was not a candidate for the
nomination, and did not know that any one intended to mention his name,
or even thought of him in that connection. But the convention was unable
to agree on a candidate, and on the fourth day and thirty-third ballot,
some delegate cast his vote for General Franklin Pierce, of New
Hampshire. The name attracted attention, Pierce's career had been
distinguished and above reproach, other delegates voted for him, until,
on the forty-ninth ballot, he was declared the unanimous choice of the
convention. His election was overwhelming, as he carried twenty-seven
states out of thirty-one.

Once in the presidential chair, however, this popularity gradually
slipped away from him. He found himself in an impossible position,
between two fires, for the slavery question was dividing the country
more and more and there seemed no possible way to reconcile the warring
sections. Pierce, perhaps, made the mistake of trying to placate both,
instead of taking his stand firmly with one or the other; and the
consequence was that at the convention of 1856, he received a few votes
from courtesy, but was never seriously in the running, which resulted in
the nomination of James Buchanan. Pierce returned to his home in New
Hampshire, to find his friends and neighbors estranged from him by his
supposed pro-slavery views, which had yet not been radical enough to win
him the friendship of the South; but time changed all that, and his last
years were spent in honored and opulent retirement.

James Buchanan was, like Andrew Jackson, of Scotch-Irish descent, but
there the resemblance between the two ended, for Buchanan had little of
Jackson's tremendous positiveness and strength of character. His
disposition was always to compromise, while Jackson's was to fight. Now
compromise is often a very admirable thing, but where it shows itself to
be impossible and leaves fighting the only resource, the wise man puts
all thought of it behind him and prepares for battle. Which is precisely
what Buchanan did not do. He had been a lawyer and congressman, minister
to Russia, senator, secretary of state and minister to England, and so
had the widest possible political acquaintanceship; he was a man of
somewhat unusual culture; but, alas! he found that something more than
culture was needed to guide him in the troublous times amid which he
fell. I have often thought that Buchanan's greatest handicap was his
wide friendship, which often made it almost impossible to say no,
however much he may have wished to do so. An unknown backwoodsman, like
Andrew Jackson, with no favors to return and no friendships to be
remembered, could have acted far more effectively.

Buchanan's opponent for the presidency was John C. Frémont, and there
was a great stir and bustle among the people who were supposed to
support him, but Buchanan won easily, and at once found himself in the
midst of the most perplexing difficulties. Kansas was in a state of
civil war; two days after his inauguration the Supreme Court handed down
the famous Dred Scott decision, declaring the right of any slave-holder
to take his slaves as property into any territory; while the young
Republican party was siding openly with the abolitionists, and, a very
firebrand in a powder-house, in 1859, John Brown seized Harper's Ferry,
Virginia, and attempted to start a slave insurrection. Now a slave
insurrection was the one thing which the South feared more than any
other--it was the terror which was ever present. And so John Brown's mad
attempt excited a degree of hysteria almost unbelievable.

Small wonder that Buchanan was soon at his wits' ends. His sympathies
were with the slave-holders; he doubted his right to coerce a seceding
state; his friendships were largely with southern statesmen--and yet, to
his credit be it stated, on January 8, 1860, after secession had become
a thing assured, he seems suddenly to have seen his duty clearly, and in
a special message, declared his intention to collect the revenues and
protect public property in all the states, and to use force
if necessary. Taken all in all, his attitude in those trying days was a
creditable one--as creditable as could be expected from any average man.
What the time needed was a genius, and fortunately one rose to the
occasion. Buchanan, harried and despondent, must have breathed a deep
sigh of relief when he surrendered the helm to the man who had been
chosen to succeed him--the man, by some extraordinary chance, in all the
land best fitted to steer the ship of state to safety--the man who was
to be the dominant figure of the century in American history.




SUMMARY


WASHINGTON, GEORGE. Born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, February 22
(old style, February 11), 1732; sent on a mission to the French beyond
the Alleghenies, 1753-54; appointed lieutenant-colonel, 1754; defeated
by the French at Fort Necessity, July 3, 1754; aide-de-camp to Braddock,
1755; commanded on the frontier, 1755-57; led the advance-guard for the
reduction of Fort Duquesne, 1758; married Martha Custis, January 9,
1759; delegate to Continental Congress, 1774-75; appointed
commander-in-chief of the continental forces, June 15, 1775; assumed
command of the army, July 3, 1775; compelled evacuation of Boston, March
17, 1776; defeated at battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776; defeated
at White Plains, October 28, 1776; surprised the British at Trenton,
December 26, 1776; won the battle of Princeton, January, 1777; defeated
at Brandywine and Germantown in 1777; at Valley Forge, during the winter
of 1777-78; won the battle of Monmouth, June 28, 1778; captured
Yorktown and the army of Cornwallis, October 19, 1781; resigned his
commission as commander-in-chief, December 23, 1783; president of the
Constitutional Convention, 1787; unanimously elected President of the
United States, January, 1789; inaugurated at New York, April 30, 1789;
unanimously re-elected, 1793; issued farewell address to the people,
September, 1796; retired to Mount Vernon, March, 1797; died there,
December 14, 1799.

ADAMS, JOHN. Born at Braintree, now Quincy, Massachusetts, October 30,
1735; graduated at Harvard, 1755; studied law, took a leading part in
opposing Stamp Act, was counsel for the British soldiers charged with
murder in connection with the "Boston massacre" in 1770, and became a
leader of the patriot party; member of Revolutionary Congress of
Massachusetts, 1774; delegate to first and second Continental Congress,
1774-75; commissioner to France, 1777; negotiated treaties with the
Netherlands, Great Britain and Prussia, 1782-83; minister to London,
1785-88; Federal Vice-President, 1789-97; President, 1797-1801; defeated
for re-election and retired to Quincy, 1801; died there, July 4, 1886.

JEFFERSON, THOMAS. Born at Shadwell, Albemarle County, Virginia, April
2, 1743; member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, 1769-75, and
1776-78, and of the Continental Congress, 1775-76; drafted Declaration
of Independence, 1776; governor of Virginia, 1779-81; member of
Congress, 1783-84; minister to France, 1784-89; secretary of state,
1789-93; Vice-President, 1797-1801; President, 1801-09; died at
Monticello, Albemarle County, Virginia, July 4, 1826.

MADISON, JAMES. Born at Port Conway, Virginia, March 16, 1751;
graduated at Princeton, 1771; delegate to Congress, 1780-83, and to the
Constitutional Convention, 1787; member of Congress, 1789-97; secretary
of state, 1801-09; President, 1809-1817; died at Montpelier, Orange
County, Virginia, June 28, 1836.

MONROE, JAMES. Born in Westmoreland County, Virginia, April 28, 1758;
member of Virginia assembly, 1782; member of Congress, 1783-86; United
States senator, 1790-94; minister to France, 1794-96; governor of
Virginia, 1799-1802; minister to Great Britain, 1803-07; secretary of
state, 1811-17; President, 1817-25, an administration, known as "the era
of good feeling"; died at New York City, July 4, 1831.

ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY. Born at Braintree, Massachusetts, July 11, 1767;
graduated at Harvard, 1788; admitted to the bar, 1791; minister to the
Netherlands, 1794-97; and to Prussia, 1797-1801; United States senator,
1803-08; minister to Russia, 1809-14; minister to England, 1815-17;
secretary of state, 1817-25; President, 1825-29; member of Congress,
1831-48; died at Washington, February 23, 1848.

JACKSON, ANDREW. Born at the Waxham settlement, North Carolina (?),
March 15, 1767; member of Congress, 1796-97; United States senator,
1797-98; justice of the Supreme Court of Tennessee, 1798-1804; defeated
the Creeks at Talladega, 1813, and at Horseshoe Bend, 1814; captured
Pensacola from the English, 1814; won the battle of New Orleans, January
8, 1815; commanded against the Seminoles, 1817-18; governor of Florida,
1821; United States senator, 1823-25; defeated for President by J.Q.
Adams, 1824; President, 1829-37; died at the Hermitage, near
Nashville, Tennessee, June 8, 1845.

VAN BUREN, MARTIN. Born at Kinderhook, New York, December 5, 1782;
admitted to the bar, 1803; entered New York State Senate, 1812; United
States senator, 1821-28; governor of New York, 1828-29; secretary of
state, 1829-31; Vice-President, 1833-37; President, 1837-41; defeated
for President, 1840, 1844, 1848; died at Kinderhook, July 24, 1862.

HARRISON, WILLIAM HENRY. Born at Berkeley, Charles City County,
Virginia, February 9, 1773; governor of Indiana Territory, 1801-13; won
victory of Tippecanoe, 1811, and of the Thames, 1813; member of
Congress, 1816-19; United States senator, 1825-28; minister to Colombia,
1828-29; defeated for Presidency, 1836; elected President in the
"log-cabin and hard-cider" campaign, 1840; inaugurated, March 4, 1841;
died at Washington, April 4, 1841.

TYLER, JOHN. Born at Greenway, Charles City County, Virginia, March 29,
1790; admitted to the bar, 1809; member of Virginia legislature,
1811-16; member of Congress, 1816-21; governor of Virginia, 1825-27;
United States senator, 1827-36; elected Vice-President, 1840, and
succeeded to Presidency on the death of General Harrison, April 4, 1841;
president of the peace convention of 1861, favored secession and served
as member of the Confederate provisional Congress; died at Richmond,
Virginia, January 18, 1862.

POLK, JAMES KNOX. Born in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina, November
2, 1795; admitted to the bar, 1820; member of Congress,
1825-39; speaker of the House of Representatives, 1835-39; governor of
Tennessee, 1839-41; President, 1845-49; died at Nashville, Tennessee,
June 15, 1849.

TAYLOR, ZACHARY. Born in Orange County, Virginia, September 24, 1784;
entered the army as first lieutenant, 1808; served in War of 1812,
attaining rank of major; served in Black Hawk's war, 1832, with rank of
colonel; defeated Seminole Indians, 1837; commander-in-chief of Florida,
1838; took command of the army in Texas, 1845; won battle of Palo Alto,
May 8, 1846, and that of Reseca de la Palma, May 9, 1846; captured
Matamoras, May 18, and Monterey, September 24, 1846; defeated Santa Anna
at Buena Vista, February 22-23, 1847; appointed major-general, June 29,
1846; elected President, 1848; inaugurated, March 4, 1849; died at
Washington, July 9, 1850.

FILLMORE, MILLARD. Born at Summer Hill, Cayuga County, New York, January
7, 1800; admitted to the bar, 1823; member of New York State
legislature, 1829-31; member of Congress, 1833-35, 1837-43; elected
Vice-President, 1848, and succeeded to presidency on the death of
Taylor, July 9, 1850; died at Buffalo, New York, March 8, 1874.

PIERCE, FRANKLIN. Born at Hillsborough, New Hampshire, November 23,
1804; member of Congress, 1833-37; United States senator, 1837-42;
served with distinction in Mexican war; President, 1853-57; died at
Concord, New Hampshire, October 8, 1869.

BUCHANAN, JAMES. Born at Stony Batter, Franklin County, Pennsylvania,
April 22, 1791; member of Congress, 1821-31; minister to
Russia, 1831-33; United States senator, 1833-45; secretary of state,
1845-49; minister to Great Britain, 1853-56; President, 1857-61; died at
Wheatland, Lancaster, Pennsylvania, June 1, 1868.


       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER IV

LINCOLN AND HIS SUCCESSORS


And so we have come down through the years to Abraham Lincoln--that
patient and gentle man whose memory ranks with Washington's as America's
priceless heritage. A blessing and an inspiration--a mystery, too; an
enigma among men, lonely and impressive; not fully understood nor
understandable to the depths of that great heart of his; not fully
explainable, for what strange power was it lifted that ignorant,
ill-bred, uncouth, backwoods boy to a station among the stars?

Seldom has any man who started so low mounted so high. Abraham Lincoln's
early life was of the most miserable description. His father, Thomas
Lincoln, was a worthless rover; his mother, Nancy Hanks, was of a "poor
white" Virginia family with an unenviable record. His birthplace was a
squalid log cabin in Washington County, Kentucky. His surroundings were
such as are commonly encountered in a coarse, low, ignorant,
poverty-stricken family. His father was at the very bottom of the social
scale, so ignorant he could scarcely write his name. His mother
inherited the shiftlessness and carelessness which is part and parcel of
"poor white." These things are incontestable, they must be looked in
the face. And yet, in spite of them, in spite of such a handicap as few
other great men even approximated, Abraham Lincoln emerged to be the
leader of a race.

In 1816, Thomas Lincoln decided he would remove to Indiana. Abraham was
at that time seven years old, and for a year after the removal, the
family lived in what was called a "half-faced camp," fourteen feet
square--that is to say, a covered shed of three sides, the fourth side
being open to the weather. Then the family achieved the luxury of a
cabin, but a cabin without floor or door or window. Amid this
wretchedness, Lincoln's mother died, and was laid away in a rough coffin
of slabs at the edge of the little clearing. Three months later, a
passing preacher read the funeral service above the grave.

Thomas Lincoln soon married again and, strangely enough, made a wise
choice, for his new wife not only possessed furniture enough to fill a
four-horse wagon, but, what was of more importance, was endowed with a
thrifty and industrious temperament. That she should have consented to
marry the ne'er-do-well is a mystery; perhaps he was not without his
redeeming virtues, after all. She made him put a floor and windows in
his cabin, and she was a better mother to his children than their real
one had ever been. For the first time, young Abraham got some idea of
the comforts and decencies of life, and, as his step-mother put it,
"began to look a little human." He was not an attractive object, even at
best, for he was lanky and clumsy, with great hands and feet, and a
skin prematurely wrinkled and shrivelled. By the time he was seventeen,
he was six feet tall, and he soon added two more inches to his stature.
Needless to say, his clothes never caught up with him, but were always
too small.

His schooling was of the most meagre description; in fact, in his whole
life, he went to school less than one year. Yet there soon awakened
within the boy a trace of unusual spirit. He actually liked to read. He
saw few books, but such as he could lay his hands on, he read over and
over. That one fact alone set him apart at once from the other boys of
his class. To them reading was an irksome labor.

All this reading had its effect. He acquired a vocabulary. That is to
say, instead of the few hundred words which were all the other boys knew
by which to express their thoughts, he soon had twice as many; besides
that, he soon got a reputation as a wit and story-teller, and his
command of words made him fond of speechmaking. He resembled most boys
in liking to "show off." He had learned, too, that there were comforts
in the world which he need never look for in his father's house, and so,
as soon as he was of age, he left that unattractive dwelling-place and
struck out for himself, making a livelihood in various ways--by
splitting rails, running a river boat, managing a store, enlisting for
the Black Hawk war--doing anything, in a word, that came to hand and
would serve to put a little money in his pocket. He came to know a great
many people and so, in 1832, he proclaimed himself a candidate for the
state legislature for Sangamon County, Illinois, where he had made his
home for some years. No doubt to most people, his candidacy must have
seemed in the nature of a joke, and though he stumped the county
thoroughly and entertained the crowds with his stories and flashes of
wit, he was defeated at the polls.

That episode ended, he returned to store-keeping; but he had come to see
that the law was the surest road to political preferment, and so he
spent such leisure as he had in study, and in 1836 was admitted to the
bar. As has been remarked before, the requirements for admission were
anything but prohibitory, most lawyers sharing the oft-quoted opinion of
Patrick Henry that the only way to learn law was to practise it. Lincoln
decided to establish himself at Springfield, opened an office there, and
for the next twenty years, practised law with considerable success,
riding from one court to another, and gradually extending his circle of
acquaintances. He even became prosperous enough to marry, and in 1842,
after a courtship of the most peculiar description, married a Miss Mary
Todd--a young woman somewhat above him in social station, and possessed
of a sharp tongue and uncertain temper which often tried him severely.

It was inevitable, of course, that he should become interested again in
politics, and he threw in his fortunes with the Whig Party, serving two
or three terms in the state legislature and one in Congress. All of this
did much to temper and chasten his native coarseness and uncouthness,
but he was still just an average lawyer and politician, with no evidence
of greatness about him, and many evidences of commonness. Then,
suddenly, in 1858, he stood forth as a national figure, in a contest
with one of the most noteworthy men in public life, Stephen A. Douglas.

Douglas was an aggressive, tireless and brilliant political leader, the
acknowledged head of the Democratic party, and had represented Illinois
in the Senate for many years. He had a great ambition to be President,
had missed the nomination in 1852 and 1856, but was determined to secure
it in 1860, and was carefully building to that end. His term as senator
expired in 1858, and his re-election seemed essential to his success. Of
his re-election he had no doubt, for Illinois had always been a
Democratic state, though it was becoming somewhat divided in opinion.
The southern part was largely pro-slavery, but the northern part,
including the rapidly-growing city of Chicago, was inclined the other
way. This division of opinion made Douglas's part an increasingly
difficult one, for pro-slave and anti-slave sentiment were as
irreconcilable as fire and water.

Lincoln, meanwhile, had been active in the formation of the new
Republican party in the state, had made a number of strong speeches,
and, on June 16, 1858, the Republican convention resolved that: "Hon.
Abraham Lincoln is our first and only choice for United States senator
to fill the vacancy about to be created by the expiration of Mr.
Douglas's term of office." A month later, Lincoln challenged Douglas to
a series of joint debates. Douglas at once accepted, never doubting his
ability to overwhelm his obscure opponent, and the famous duel began
which was to rivet national attention and give Lincoln a national
prominence.

The challenge on Lincoln's part was a piece of superb generalship. In
such a contest, he had everything to gain and nothing to lose. Whatever
the result, the fact that he had crossed swords with so renowned a man
as Stephen A. Douglas would give him a kind of reflected glory. But in
addition to that, he had the better side of the question. His course was
simple; he was seeking the support of anti-slavery people; Douglas's
task was much more complex, for he wished to offend neither northern nor
southern Democrats, and he soon found himself offending both. To carry
water on both shoulders is always a risky thing to attempt, and Douglas
soon found himself fettered by the awkward position he was forced to
maintain; while Lincoln, free from any such handicap, could strike with
all his strength.

His stand from the first was a bold one--so bold that many of his
followers regarded it with consternation and disapproval. In his speech
accepting the nomination, he had said, "I believe this government cannot
endure permanently half slave and half free. It will become all one
thing or all the other," and he pursued this line of argument in the
debates alleging that the purpose of the pro-slavery men was to make
slavery perpetual and universal, and pointing to recent history in
proof of the assertion. When asked by Douglas whether he considered the
negro his equal, he answered: "In the right to eat the bread which his
own hand earns, he is my equal, and the equal of Judge Douglas, and the
equal of every living man." He was not an abolitionist, and declared
more than once that he had "no purpose, directly or indirectly, to
interfere with the institution of slavery in the states where it
exists," that he had "no lawful right to do so," but only to prohibit it
in "any new country which is not already cursed with the actual presence
of the evil."

Even so skillful a debater as Douglas soon found himself hard put to it
to answer Lincoln's arguments, without offending one or the other of the
powerful factions whose support he must have to reach the presidency. At
the beginning, his experience and adroitness gave him an advantage,
which, however, Lincoln's earnestness and directness soon overcame. Tens
of thousands of people gathered to hear the debates, they were printed
from end to end of the country, and Lincoln loomed larger than ever
before the nation; but so far as the immediate result was concerned,
Douglas was the victor, for the election gave him a majority of the
legislature, and he was chosen to succeed himself in the Senate.

Yet more than once he must have regretted that he had consented to cross
swords with his lank opponent, for he had been forced into many an
awkward corner. There is a popular tradition that the presidential
nomination came to Lincoln unsought; but this is anything but true. On
the contrary, in those debates with Douglas, he was consciously laying
the foundation for his candidacy two years later. He used every effort
to drive Douglas to admissions and statements which would tell against
him in a presidential campaign, while he himself took a position which
would insure his popularity with the Republican party. So his defeat at
the time was of no great moment to him.

He had gained an entrance to the national arena, and he took care to
remain before the public. He made speeches in Ohio, in Kansas, and even
in New York and throughout New England, everywhere making a powerful
impression. To disunion and secession he referred only once or twice,
for he perceived a truth which, even yet, some of us are reluctant to
admit: that every nation has a right to maintain by force, if it can,
its own integrity, and that a portion of a nation may sometimes be
justified in struggling for independent national existence. The whole
justification of such a struggle lies in whether its cause and basis is
right or wrong. So, beneath the question of disunion, was the question
as to whether slavery was right or wrong. On this question, of course,
northern opinion was practically all one way, while even in the South
there were many enemies of the institution. The world was outgrowing
what was really a survival of the dark ages.

When the campaign for the presidential nomination opened in the winter
of 1859-1860, Lincoln was early in the field and did everything possible
to win support. He secured the Illinois delegates without difficulty,
and when the national convention met at Chicago, in May, the contest
soon narrowed down to one between Lincoln and William H. Seward. Let it
be said, at once, that Seward deserved the nomination, if high service
and party loyalty and distinguished ability counted for anything, and it
looked for a time as though he were going to get it, for on the first
ballot he received 71 more votes than Lincoln. But in the course of his
public career he had made enemies who were anxious for his defeat, his
campaign managers were too confident or too clumsy to take advantage of
opportunity; Lincoln's friends were busy, and by some expert trading, of
which, be it said in justice to Lincoln, he himself was ignorant,
succeeded in securing for him a majority of the votes on the third
ballot.

So, blindly and almost by chance, was the nomination secured of the one
man fitted to meet the crisis. The only other event in American history
to be compared with it in sheer wisdom was the selection of Washington
to head the Revolutionary army--a selection made primarily, not because
of Washington's fitness for the task, but to heal sectional differences
and win the support of the South to a war waged largely in the North.

The nomination, so curiously made, was received with anything but
enthusiasm by the country at large. "Honest Abe, the Rail-Splitter,"
might appeal to some, but there was a general doubt whether, after all,
rail-splitting, however honorable in itself, was the best training for
a President. However, the anti-slavery feeling was a tie that bound
together people of the most diverse opinions about other things, and a
spirited canvass was made, greatly assisted by the final and suicidal
split in the ranks of the Democracy, which placed in nomination two men,
Lincoln's old antagonist, Stephen A. Douglas, representing the northern
or moderate element of the party, and John C. Breckenridge, of Kentucky,
representing the southern, or extreme pro-slavery element. And this was
just the corner into which Lincoln had hoped, all along, to drive his
opponents. Had the party been united, he would have been hopelessly
defeated, for in the election which followed, he received only a little
more than one third of the popular vote; but this was sufficient to give
him the northern states, with 180 electoral votes. But let us remember
that, in 1860, Abraham Lincoln was the choice for President of very much
less than half the people of the country.

The succeeding four months witnessed the peculiar spectacle of the South
leisurely completing its arrangements for secession, and perfecting its
civil and military organization, while the North, under a discredited
ruler of whom it could not rid itself until March 4th, was unable to
make any counter-preparation or to do anything to prevent the diversion
of a large portion of the arms and munitions of the country into the
southern states. It gave the southern leaders, too, opportunity to work
upon the feelings of their people, more than half of whom, in the fall
of 1860, were opposed to disunion. It should not be forgotten that,
however fully the South came afterwards to acquiesce in the policy of
secession, it was, in its inception, a plan of the politicians,
undertaken, to a great extent, for purposes of self-aggrandizement. They
controlled the conventions which, in every case except that of Texas,
decided whether or not the state should secede. "We can make better
terms out of the Union than in it," was a favorite argument, and many of
them dreamed of the establishment of a great slave empire, in which they
would play the leading parts.

To the southern leaders, then, the election of Lincoln was the striking
of the appointed hour for rebellion. South Carolina led the way,
declaring, on December 17, 1860, that the "Union now subsisting between
South Carolina and other states, under the name of the United States of
America, is hereby dissolved." Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia,
Louisiana and Texas followed. Opinion at the North was divided as to the
proper course to follow. Horace Greeley, in the New York _Tribune_,
said that the South had as good a right to secede from the Union as the
colonies had to secede from Great Britain, and, as Greeley afterwards
observed, the _Tribune_ had plenty of company in these sentiments.
Meanwhile the Southern Confederacy had been formed, Jefferson Davis
elected President, and steps taken at once for the organization of an
army.

Everyone was waiting anxiously for the inauguration of the new
President--waiting to see what his course would be. They were not left
long in doubt. His inaugural address was earnest and direct. He said,
"The union of these States is perpetual. No State upon its own mere
motion can lawfully get out of the Union. I shall take care that the
laws of the Union are faithfully executed in all the States." It was, in
effect, a declaration of war, and was so received by the South. Whether
or not it was the constitutional attitude need not concern us now.

The story of Lincoln's life for the next five years is the story of the
Civil War. How Lincoln grew and broadened in those fateful years, how he
won men by his deep humanity, his complete understanding, his ready
sympathy; how, once having undertaken the task of conquering rebellion,
he never faltered nor turned back despite the awful sacrifices which the
conflict demanded; all this has passed into the commonplaces of history.
No man ever had a harder task, and no other man could have accomplished
it so well.

[Illustration: LINCOLN]

The emancipation of the slaves, which has loomed so large in history,
was in reality, merely an incident, a war measure, taken to weaken the
enemy and justifiable, perhaps, only on that ground; the preliminary
proclamation, indeed, proposed to liberate the slaves only in such
states as were in rebellion on the following first of January. Nor did
emancipation create any great popular enthusiasm. The congressional
elections which followed it showed a great reaction against
anti-slavery. The Democrats carried Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York,
Illinois. For a time the administration was fighting for its life,
and won by an alarmingly small margin.

Before the year had elapsed, however, there was a great reversal in
public opinion, and at the succeeding election, Lincoln received 212 out
of 233 electoral votes. The end of the Confederacy was by this time in
sight. A month after his second inauguration, Richmond fell, and five
days later, Lee surrendered his army to General Grant. Lincoln at once
paid a visit to Richmond and then returned to Washington for the last
act of the drama.

The fourteenth of April was Good Friday, and the President arranged to
take a small party to Ford's theatre to witness a performance of a farce
comedy called "Our American Cousin." The President entered his box about
nine o'clock and was given a tumultuous reception. Then the play went
forward quietly, until suddenly the audience was startled by a pistol
shot, followed by a woman's scream. At the same instant, a man was seen
to leap from the President's box to the stage. Pausing only to wave a
dagger which he carried in his hand and to shout, "Sic semper tyrannis!"
the man disappeared behind the scenes. Amid the confusion, no efficient
pursuit was made. The President had been shot through the head, the
bullet passing through the brain. Unconsciousness, of course, came
instantly, and death followed in a few hours.

Eleven days later, the murderer, an actor by the name of John Wilkes
Booth, was surrounded in a barn where he had taken refuge; he refused to
come out, and the barn was set on fire. Soon afterwards, the assassin
was brought forth with a bullet at the base of his brain, whether fired
by himself or one of the besieging soldiers was never certainly known.

It is startling to contemplate the fearful responsibility which Booth
assumed when he fired that shot. So far from benefiting the South, he
did it incalculable harm, for the North was thoroughly aroused by the
deed. Thousands and thousands flocked to see the dead President as he
lay in state at the Capitol, and in the larger cities in which his
funeral procession paused on its way to his home in Springfield. The
whole country was in mourning, as for its father; business was
practically suspended, and the people seemed stunned by the great
calamity. That so gentle a man should have been murdered wakened, deep
down in the heart of the North, a fierce resentment; the feelings of
kindliness for a vanquished foe were, for the moment, swept away in
anger; and the North turned upon the South with stern face and shining
eyes. The wild and foolish assassin brought down upon the heads of his
own people such a wrath as the great conflict had not awakened. We shall
see how bitter was the retribution.

Not then so fully as now was Lincoln's greatness understood. He has come
to personify for us the triumphs and glories, the sadness and the
pathos, of the great struggle which he guided. His final martyrdom seems
almost a fitting crown for his achievements. It has, without doubt, done
much to secure him the exalted niche which he occupies in the hearts of
the American people, whom, in a way, he died to save. Had he lived
through the troubled period of Reconstruction which followed, he might
have emerged with a fame less clear and shining; and yet the hand which
guided the country through four years of Civil War, was without doubt
the one best fitted to save it from the misery and disgrace which lay in
store for it. But speculations as to what might have been are vain and
idle. What was, we know; and above the clouds of conflict, Lincoln's
figure looms, serene and venerable. Two of his own utterances reveal him
as the words of no other man can--his address on the battlefield of
Gettysburg, and his address at his second inauguration--but two months
after he was laid to rest, James Russell Lowell, at the services in
commemoration of the three hundredth anniversary of Harvard College,
paid him one of the most eloquent tributes ever paid any man, concluding
with the words:

"Great captains, with their guns and drums;
  Disturb our judgment for the hour,
But at last silence comes;
  These all are gone, and, standing like a tower,
Our children shall behold his fame,
  The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man;
Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame;
  New birth of our new soil, the first American."

On the ticket with Lincoln, the Republicans had placed, as a sop to such
pro-slavery sentiment as still existed at the North, a southerner and
state rights Democrat named Andrew Johnson. By one of those singular
chances of history, Johnson's origin and early years had been very much
like Lincoln's. He, too, was born of a "poor white" family; first seeing

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