Political Recollections | Page 4

in all parties, and that a mere change of men
without any change of system would be fruitless. They laid down no
programme looking to the reform of the civil service. They did not
condemn it, and their sole panacea for the startling frauds and
defalcations of Van Buren's administration was the imagined superior
virtue and patriotism of the Whigs. In the light of this fact alone, it is
impossible to account for the perfectly unbounded and irrepressible
enthusiasm which swept over the land during the campaign, and so
signally routed the forces of Democracy. Something more than empty
promises and windy declamation was necessary, and that something, in
an evil hour, was supplied by the Democrats themselves.
General Harrison was a man of Revolutionary blood. He commanded
the confidence of the chief Fathers of the Republic. He was a man of
undoubted bravery, and had made a most honorable record, both as a
soldier and a civilian, upon ample trial in both capacities. He was
unquestionably honest and patriotic, and the fact that he was a poor
man, and a plain farmer of the West, could properly form no objection
to his character or his fitness for the Presidency. But the Democratic
orators and newspapers assailed him as an "imbecile." They called him
a "dotard" and a "granny." They said he had distinguished himself in
war by running away from the enemy. One Democratic journalist spoke
of him, contemptuously, as a man who should be content with a log
cabin and a barrel of hard cider, without aspiring to the Presidency. The
efforts to belittle his merits and defile his good name became
systematic, and degenerated into the most unpardonable personal abuse
and political defamation. This was exactly what the Whigs needed to
supplement their lack of principles. It worked like a charm. It rallied
the Whig masses like a grand battle-cry. Mass-meetings of the people,
such as had never been dreamed of before, became the order of the day.
The people took the work of politics into their own keeping, and the
leaders became followers. The first monster meeting I attended was
held on the Tippecanoe battle-ground, on the 29th and 30th of May. In
order to attend it I rode on horseback through the mud and swamps one
hundred and fifty miles; but I considered myself amply compensated
for the journey in what I saw and enjoyed. The gathering was simply
immense; and I remember that James Brooks, since conspicuous in our

national politics, tried to address the multitude from the top of a huge
log cabin. Large shipments of hard cider had been sent up the Wabash
by steamer, and it was liberally dealt out to the people in gourds, as
more appropriate and old-fashioned than glasses. The people seemed to
be supremely happy, and their faces were so uniformly radiant with
smiles that a man who was detected with a serious countenance was at
once suspected as an unrepentant "Loco-foco." But by far the largest
meeting of the campaign was that held at Dayton, on the 12th day of
September, where General Harrison spoke at length. He was the first
"great man" I had seen; and, while gazing into his face with an awe
which I have never since felt for any mortal, I was suddenly recalled
from my rapt condition by the exit of my pocket-book. The number in
attendance at this meeting was estimated at two hundred thousand, and
I think it could not have been far out of the way. I am sure I have never
seen it equaled, although I have witnessed many great meetings within
the past forty years. The marked peculiarity of all the gatherings of this
campaign was a certain grotesque pomp and extravagance of
representation suggestive of a grand carnival. The banners, devices and
pictures were innumerable, while huge wagons were mounted with log
cabins, cider barrels, canoes, miniature ships, and raccoons.
But the most distinguishing feature of the campaign was its music. The
spirit of song was everywhere, and made the whole land vocal. The
campaign was set to music, and the song seriously threatened to drown
the stump speech. Whiggery was translated into a tune, and poured
itself forth in doggerel rhymes which seemed to be born of the hour,
and exactly suited to the crisis. I give a few specimens, partly from
memory, and partly from "The Harrison and Log Cabin Song Book" of
1840, a copy of which is before me:
What has caused the great commotion, motion, motion, Our country
through? It is the ball a-rolling on, on, For Tippecanoe and Tyler
too--Tippecanoe and Tyler too; And with them we'll beat little Van,
Van, Van; Van is a used up man; And with them we'll beat little Van.
Like the rushing of mighty