Kitabı oku: «Thirty Years' View (Vol. II of 2)», sayfa 96

The trial of Mackenzie being over, and he acquitted, the trial of the rest of the implicated crew – the twelve mutineers in irons – would naturally come on; and the court remained in session for that purpose. The Secretary of the Navy had written to the judge advocate to proceed against such of them as he thought proper: the judge advocate referred that question to Mackenzie, giving him the option to choose any one he pleased to carry on the prosecutions. He chose Theodore Sedgwick, Esq., who had been his own counsel on his trial. Mackenzie was acquitted on the 28th of March: the court remained in session until the 1st of April: the judge advocate heard nothing from Mackenzie with respect to the prosecutions. On that day Mackenzie not being present, he was sent for. He was not to be found! and the provost marshal ascertained that he had gone to his residence in the country, thirty miles off. This was an abandonment of the prosecutions, and in a very unmilitary way – by running away from them, and saying nothing to any body. The court was then dissolved – the prisoners released – and the innocence of the twelve stood confessed by the recreancy of their fugitive prosecutor. It was a confession of the innocence of Spencer, Small, and Cromwell; for he was tried for the three murders together. The trial of Mackenzie had been their acquittal in the eyes of persons accustomed to analyze evidence, and to detect perjuries in made-up stories. But the masses could form no such analysis. With them the confessions were conclusive, though invalidated by contradictions, and obtained, if obtained at all, under a refinement of terror and oppression which has no parallel on the deck of a pirate. When has such a machinery of terror been contrived to shock and torture a helpless victim? Sudden annunciation of death in the midst of preparations to take life: ten minutes allowed to live, and these ten minutes taken up with interruptions. An imp of darkness in the shape of a naval officer in full uniform, squat down at his side, writing and whispering; and evidently making out a tale which was to murder the character in order to justify the murder of the body. Commander Mackenzie had once lived a year in Spain, and wrote a book upon its manners and customs, as a "Young American." He must have read of the manner in which confessions were obtained in the dungeons of the Inquisition. If he had, he showed himself an apt scholar; if not, he showed a genius for the business from which the familiars of the Holy Office might have taken instruction.

Spencer's real design was clearly deducible even from the tenors of the vile swearing against him. He meant to quit the navy when he returned to New York, obtain a vessel in some way, and go to the northwest coast of America – to lead some wild life there; but not piratical, as there is neither prey nor shelter for pirates in that quarter. This he was often saying to the crew, and to this his list of names referred – mixed up with foolish and even vicious talk about piracy. His first and his last answer was the same – that it was all a joke. The answer of Small was the same when he was arrested; and it was well brought out by the judge advocate in incessant questions during the two months' trial, that there was not a single soul of the crew, except Wales, that ever heard Spencer mention one word about mutiny! and not one, inclusive of Wales, that ever heard one man of the vessel speak of a rescue of the prisoners. Remaining long in command of the vessel as Mackenzie did, and with all his power to punish or reward, and allowed as he was to bring forward all that he was able to find since the deaths of the men, yet he could not find one man to swear to these essential points; so that in a crew steeped in mutiny, there was not a soul that had heard of it! in a crew determined upon a rescue of prisoners, there was not one that ever heard the word pronounced. The state of the brig, after the arrests, was that of crazy cowardice and insane suspicion on the part of the officers – of alarm and consternation on the part of the crew. Armed with revolvers, cutlasses and swords, the officers prowled through the vessel, ready to shoot any one that gave them a fright – the weapon generally cocked for instant work. Besides the officers, low wretches, as Wales and Garty, were armed in the same way, with the same summary power over the lives and deaths of the crew. The vessel was turned into a laboratory of spies, informers, eavesdroppers and delators. Every word, look, sign, movement, on the part of the crew, was equally a proof of guilt. If the men were quick about their duty, it was to cover up their guilt: if slow, it was to defy the officers. If they talked loud, it was insolence: if low, it was plotting. If collected in knots, it was to be ready to make a rush at the vessel: if keeping single and silent, it was because, knowing their guilt, they feigned aversion to escape suspicion. Belief was all that was wanted from any delator. Belief, without a circumstance to found it upon, and even contrary to circumstances, was accepted as full legal evidence. Arrests were multiplied, to excite terror, and to justify murder. The awe-stricken crew, consisting four-fifths of apprentice boys, was paralyzed into dead silence and abject submission. Every arrest was made without a murmur. The prisoners were ironed and bagged as mere animals. No one could show pity, much less friendship. No one could extend a comfort, much less give assistance. Armed sentries stood over them, day and night, to shoot both parties for the slightest sign of intelligence – and always to shoot the prisoner first. What Paris was in the last days of the Reign of Terror, the United States brig Somers was during the terrible week from the arrest to the hanging of Spencer.

Analogous to the case of Commander Mackenzie was that of Lieutenant Colonel Wall, of the British service, Governor of Goree on the coast of Africa – the circumstances quite parallel, and where they differ, the difference in favor of Wall – but the conclusion widely different. Governor Wall fancied there was a mutiny in the garrison, the one half (of 150) engaged in it, and one Armstrong and two others, leaders in it. He ordered the "long roll" to be beat – which brings the men, without arms, into line on the parade. He conversed a few minutes with the officers, out of hearing of the men, then ordered the line to form circle, a cannon to be placed in the middle of it, the three men tied upon it, and receive 800 blows each with an inch thick rope. It was not his intent to kill them, and the surgeon of the garrison, as in all cases of severe punishment, was ordered to attend, and observe it: which he did, saying nothing: the three men died within a week. This was in the year 1782. Wall came home – was arrested (by the civil authority), broke custody and fled – was gone twenty years, and seized again by the civil authority on his return to England. The trial took place at the Old Bailey, and the prisoner easily proved up a complete case of mutiny, seventy or eighty men, assembled in open day before the governor's quarters, defying authority, clamoring for supposed rights, and cursing and damning. The full case was sworn up, and by many witnesses; but the attorney-general, Sir Edward Law (afterwards Lord Ellenborough), and the solicitor-general, Mr. Percival (afterwards First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer), easily took the made-up stories to pieces, and left the governor nakedly exposed, a false accuser of the dead, after having been the foul murderer of the innocent. It was to no purpose that he plead, that the punishment was not intended to kill: it was answered that it was sufficient that it was likely to kill, and did kill. To no purpose that he proved by the surgeon that he stood by, as the regulations required, to judge the punishment, and said nothing: the eminent counsel proved upon him, out of his own mouth, that he was a young booby, too silly to know the difference between a cat-o'-nine-tails, which cut the skin, and an inch rope, which bruised to the vitals. The Lord Chief Baron McDonald, charged the jury that if there was no mutiny, it was murder; and if there was mutiny, and no trial, it was murder. On this latter point, he said to the jury: "If you are of opinion that there was a mutiny, you are then to consider the degree of it, and whether there was as much attention paid to the interest of the person accused as the circumstances of the case would admit, by properly advising him, and giving him an opportunity of justifying himself if he could." The governor was only tried in one case, found guilty, hanged within eight days, and his body, like that of any other murderer, delivered up to the surgeons for dissection – the King on application, first for pardon, then for longer respite, and last for remission of the anatomization, refusing any favor, upon the ground that it was worse than any common murder – being done by a man in authority, far from the eye of the government, on helpless people subject to his power, and whom he was bound to protect, and to defend from oppression. It is a case – a common one in England since the judges became independent of the crown – which does honor to British administration of justice: and, if any one wishes to view the extremes of judicial exhibitions – legality, regularity, impartiality, knowledge of the law, promptitude on one hand, and the reverse of it all on the other – let them look at the proceedings of the one-day trial of Governor Wall before a British civil court, and the two months' trial of Commander Mackenzie before an American naval court-martial. But the comparison would not be entirely fair. Courts-martial, both of army and navy, since the trial of Admiral Byng in England to Commodore Porter, Commander Mackenzie, and Lieutenant-colonel Frémont in the United States, have been machines in the hands of the government (where it took an interest in the event), to acquit, or convict: and has rarely disappointed the intention. Cooper proposes, in view of the unfitness of the military courts for judicial investigation, that they be stripped of all jurisdiction in such cases: and his opinion strongly addresses itself to the legislative authority.

Commander Mackenzie had been acquitted by the authorities: he had been complimented by a body of eminent merchants: he had been applauded by the press: he had been encomiastically reviewed in a high literary periodical. The loud public voice was for him: but there was a small inward monitor, whose still and sinister whisperings went cutting through the soul. The acquitted and applauded man withdrew to a lonely retreat, oppressed with gloom and melancholly, visible only to a few, and was only roused from his depression to give signs of a diseased mind. It was five years after the event, and during the war with Mexico. The administration had conceived the idea of procuring peace through the instrumentality of Santa Anna – then an exile at Havana; and who was to be returned to his country upon some arrangement of the American government. This writer going to see the President (Mr. Polk) some day about this time, mentioned to him a visit from Commander Slidell Mackenzie to this exiled chief. The President was startled, and asked how this came to be known to me. I told him I read it in the Spanish newspapers. He said it was all a profound secret, confined to his cabinet. The case was this: a secret mission to Santa Anna was resolved upon: and the facile Mr. Buchanan, Secretary of State, dominated by the representative Slidell (brother to the commander), accepted this brother for the place. Now the views of the two parties were diametrically opposite. One wanted secrecy – the other notoriety. Restoration of Santa Anna to his country, upon an agreement, and without being seen in the transaction, was the object of the government; and that required secrecy: removal from under a cloud, restoration to public view, rehabilitation by some mark of public distinction, was the object of the Slidells; and that required notoriety: and the game being in their hands, they played it accordingly. Arriving at Havana, the secret minister put on the full uniform of an American naval officer, entered an open volante, and driving through the principal streets at high noon, proceeded to the suburban residence of the exiled dictator. Admitted to a private interview (for he spoke Spanish, learnt in Spain), the plumed and decorated officer made known his secret business. Santa Anna was amazed, but not disconcerted. He saw the folly and the danger of the proceeding, eschewed blunt overture, and got rid of his queer visitor in the shortest time, and the civilest phrases which Spanish decorum would admit. The repelled minister gone, Santa Anna called back his secretary, exclaiming as he entered – "Porque el Presidente me ha enviado este tonto?" (Why has the President sent me this fool?) It was not until afterwards, and through the instrumentality of a sounder head, that the mode of the dictator's return was arranged: and the folly which Mackenzie exhibited on this occasion was of a piece with his crazy and preposterous conceptions on board the Somers.

Fourteen years have elapsed since this tragedy of the Somers. The chief in that black and bloody drama (unless Wales is to be considered the master-spirit, and the commander and lieutenant only his instruments) has gone to his long account. Some others, concerned with him, have passed away. The vessel itself, bearing a name illustrious in the navy annals, has gone to the bottom of the sea – foundering – and going down with all on board; the circling waves closing over the heads of the doomed mass, and hiding all from the light of Heaven before they were dead. And the mind of seamen, prone to belief in portents, prodigies, signs and judgments, refer the hapless fate of the vessel to the innocent blood which had been shed upon her.

History feels it to be a debt of duty to examine this transaction to the bottom, and to judge it closely – not with a view to affect individuals, but to relieve national character from a foul imputation. It was the crime of individuals: it was made national. The protection of the government, the lenity of the court, the evasions of the judiciary, and the general approving voice, made a nation's offence out of the conduct of some individuals, and brought reproach upon the American name. All Christendom recoiled with horror from the atrocious deed: all friends to America beheld with grief and amazement the national assumption of such a crime. Cotemporary with the event, and its close observer, the writer of this View finds confirmed now, upon the fullest examination, the severe judgment which he formed upon it at the time.

The naval historian, Fenimore Cooper (who himself had been a naval officer), wrote a clear exposure of all the delusion, falsehood, and wickedness of this imputed mutiny, and of the mockery of the court-martial trial of Mackenzie: but unavailing in the then condition of the public mind, and impotent against the vast machinery of the public press which was brought to bear on the dead. From that publication, and the official record of the trial, this view of the transaction is made up.

CHAPTER CXXIV.
RETIREMENT OF MR. WEBSTER FROM MR. TYLER'S CABINET

Mr. Tyler's cabinet, as adopted from President Harrison, in April 1841, had broken up, as before related, in September of the same year – Mr. Webster having been prevailed upon to remain, although he had agreed to go out with the rest, and his friends thought he should have done so. His remaining was an object of the greatest importance with Mr. Tyler, abandoned by all the rest, and for such reasons as they published. He had remained with Mr. Tyler until the spring of the year 1843, when the progress of the Texas annexation scheme, carried on privately, not to say clandestinely, had reached a point to take an official form, and to become the subject of government negotiation, though still secret. Mr. Webster, Secretary of State, was an obstacle to that negotiation. He could not even be trusted with the secret, much less with the conduct of the negotiations. How to get rid of him was a question of some delicacy. Abrupt dismission would have revolted his friends. Voluntary resignation was not to be expected, for he liked the place of Secretary of State, and had remained in it against the wishes of his friends. Still he must be got rid of. A middle course was fallen upon – the same which had been practised with others in 1841 – that of compelling a resignation. Mr. Tyler became reserved and indifferent to him. Mr. Gilmer and Mr. Upshur, with whom he had but few affinities, took but little pains to conceal their distaste to him. It was evident to him when the cabinet met, that he was one too many; and reserve and distrust was visible both in the President and the Virginia part of his cabinet. Mr. Webster felt it, and named it to some friends. They said, resign! He did so; and the resignation was accepted with an alacrity which showed that it was waited for. Mr. Upshur took his place, and quickly the Texas negotiation became official, though still private; and in this appointment, and immediate opening of the Texas negotiation, stood confessed, the true reason for getting rid of Mr. Webster.

CHAPTER CXXV.
DEATH OF WILLIAM H. CRAWFORD

He was among the few men of fame that I have seen, that aggrandized on the approach – that having the reputation of a great man, became greater, as he was more closely examined. There was every thing about him to impress the beholder favorably and grandly – in stature "a head and shoulders" above the common race of men, justly proportioned, open countenance, manly features, ready and impressive conversation, frank and cordial manners. I saw him for the first time in 1820, when he was a member of Mr. Monroe's cabinet – when the array of eminent men was thick – when historic names of the expiring generation were still on the public theatre, and many of the new generation (to become historic) were entering upon it: and he seemed to compare favorably with the foremost. And that was the judgment of others. For a long time he was deferred to generally, by public opinion, as the first of the new men who were to become President. Mr. Monroe, the last of the revolutionary stock, was passing off: Mr. Crawford was his assumed successor. Had the election come on one term sooner, he would have been the selected man: but his very eminence became fatal to him. He was formidable to all the candidates, and all combined against him. He was pulled down in 1824; but at an age, with an energy, a will, a talent and force of character, which would have brought him up within a few years, if a foe more potent than political combinations had not fallen upon him: he was struck with paralysis before the canvass was over, but still received an honorable vote, and among such competitors as Jackson, Adams, and Clay. But his career was closed as a national man, and State appointments only attended him during the remaining years of his life.

Mr. Crawford served in the Senate during Mr. Madison's administration, and was the conspicuous mark in that body, then pre-eminent for its able men. He had a copious, ready and powerful elocution – spoke forcibly and to the point – was the Ajax of the administration, and as such, had constantly on his hands the splendid array of federal gentlemen who then held divided empire in the Senate chamber. Senatorial debate was of high order then – a rivalship of courtesy, as well as of talent: and the feeling of respect for him was not less in the embattled phalanx of opposition, than in the admiring ranks of his own party. He was invaluable in the Senate, but the state of Europe – then convulsed with the approaching downfall of the Great Emperor – our own war with Great Britain, and the uncertainty of the new combinations which might be formed – all required a man of head and nerve – of mind and will, to represent the United States at the French Court: and Mr. Crawford was selected for the arduous post. He told Mr. Madison that the Senate would be lost if he left it (and it was); but a proper representative in France in that critical juncture of Europe, was an overpowering consideration – and he went. Great events took place while he was there. The Great Emperor fell: the Bourbons came up, and fell. The Emperor reappeared, and fell again. But the interests of the United States were kept unentangled in European politics; and the American minister was the only one that could remain at his post in all these sudden changes. At the marvellous return from Elba, he was the sole foreign representative remaining in Paris. Personating the neutrality of his country with decorum and firmness, he succeeded in commanding the respect of all, giving offence to none. From this high critical post he was called by Mr. Monroe, at his first election, to be Secretary of the Treasury; and, by public expectation, was marked for the presidency. There was a desire to take him up at the close of Mr. Monroe's first term; but a generous and honorable feeling would not allow him to become the competitor of his friend; and before the second term was out, the combinations had become too strong for him. He was the last candidate nominated by a Congress caucus, then fallen into great disrepute, but immeasurably preferable, as an organ of public opinion, to the conventions of the present day. He was the dauntless foe of nullification; and, while he lived, that heresy could not root in the patriotic soil of Georgia.