Various - McClure\'s Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 1, May 1908

V >> Various >> McClure\'s Magazine, Vol. 31, No. 1, May 1908

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ANDREW JOHNSON, Prest. U. S.

As soon as I reached New Orleans, I telegraphed my reply. The
President having apparently supposed that I had ordered General Slocum
to issue his order, I thought it due to myself to inform the President
that the order had been out before I saw the General, but that I
decidedly approved of it.

According to the President's own words, I had understood the
President's policy to be merely experimental and my mission to be
merely one of observation and report. I had governed myself strictly
by this understanding, seeking to aid the President by reliable
information, believing that it could not be the President's intention
to withdraw his protecting hand from the Union people and freedom
before their rights and safety were secured. I entreated him not to
disapprove General Slocum's conduct and to give me an indication of
his purposes concerning the Mississippi militia case.

The next day, September 2, after having seen Major-General Canby, the
commander of the Department of Louisiana, an uncommonly cool-headed
and cautious man, I telegraphed again as follows:

"TO THE PRESIDENT: General Canby authorizes me to state that the
organization of local militia companies was tried in his department,
but that he found himself obliged to disband them again because they
indulged in the gratification of private vengeance and worked
generally against the policy of the Government. Sheridan has issued an
order in Texas embracing the identical points contained in General
Slocum's order."

_Criticism and Personal Discomfort_

Thereupon I received on September 6 a telegram simply announcing the
receipt of my "despatch of the 30th ultimo," probably meaning my
letter from Vicksburg; and then nothing more--not a word indicating
the President's policy, or his wishes, or his approval or disapproval
of my conduct. But meanwhile I had found a short paragraph in a New
Orleans paper telegraphed from Washington, only a few lines, stating
that the President was dissatisfied with me, and that I was especially
blamed for having written to the newspapers instead of informing him.
I believed I saw in this news paragraph an inspiration from the White
House. Acting upon that supposition, I at once wrote to the President,
reminding him that I had not sought this mission to the South, but had
accepted it thinking that I might do the country some service. I
pointed out to him that the charge that I had reported to the
newspapers instead of to the President was simply absurd; that I had
written to the President a series of elaborate reports; and, though I
had, indeed, written a few letters to a newspaper, that it was well
understood by the Secretary of War that I would do this when he made
the arrangements for my journey. The compensation set out for me, I
reminded the President, was a mere War Department clerk's salary,
utterly insufficient to cover the expenses incidental to my travels,
aside from transportation and subsistence, among which incidentals was
a considerable extra premium on my life-insurance on account of my
travels so far South during the summer, and consequently, as the
Secretary of War understood and appreciated, I had to earn something
in some way to make my journey financially possible. My newspaper
letters contained nothing that should have been treated as official
secrets, but incidents of travel, anecdotes, picturesque views of
Southern conditions with some reflections thereon, mostly things which
would not find proper elaboration in official reports--and all this
quite anonymous, so as not to have the slightest official character;
and, finally, I wrote, I had a right to feel myself entitled to
protection against such imputations as the newspaper paragraph in
question contained.

My first impulse was to resign my mission at once and return home. But
then I considered that the duty to the public which I had assumed
obliged me to finish my work as well as I could, unless I were
expressly recalled by the President. I would, therefore, at any rate,
go on with my inquiries, in expectation of an answer from him to my
letter. I was outraged at the treatment I was receiving. I had
undertaken the journey in obedience to an urgent request of the
President and at serious sacrifice, for I was on the point of
returning to my Western home when the President called me. My journey
in the South during the hottest part of the year was in the highest
degree laborious and fatiguing, but it was hardly worse than the
sweltering nights in the wretched country taverns of those
days--nights spent in desperate fights with ravenous swarms of
mosquitos. The upshot of it was that, when I arrived at New Orleans,
the limits of my endurance were well-nigh reached, and a few days
later I had a severe attack of the "break-bone fever," an illness
which by the sensations it caused me did full justice to its
ill-boding name. I thought I might fight the distemper by leaving New
Orleans and visiting other parts in pursuit of my inquiries. I went to
Mobile for the purpose of looking into the conditions of southern
Alabama, returned to New Orleans, and then ran up Bayou Teche in a
government tug-boat as far as New Iberia, where I was literally driven
back by clouds of mosquitos of unusual ferocity. At New Orleans I
despatched an additional report to the President, and then,
relentlessly harassed by the break-bone fever, which a physician
advised me I should not get rid of as long as I remained in that
climate, I set my face northward, stopping at Natchez and Vicksburg to
gather some important information.

_The End of an Aristocracy_

At Natchez I witnessed a significant spectacle. I was shown some large
dwelling-houses which before the Civil War had at certain seasons been
occupied by families of the planting aristocracy of that region. Most
of those houses now looked deserted and uncared for, shutters
unhinged, window-panes broken, yards and gardens covered with a rank
growth of grass and weeds. In the front yard of one of the houses I
observed some fresh stumps and stacks of cordwood and an old man busy
cutting down with an ax a magnificent shade-tree. There was something
distinguished in his appearance that arrested my attention--fine
features topped with long white locks; slender, delicate hands;
clothes shabby, but of a cut denoting that they had originally been
made for a person above the ordinary wood-chopper. My companion, a
Federal captain, did not know him. I accosted him with the question to
whom that house belonged. "It belongs to me," he said. I begged his
pardon for asking the further question why he was cutting down that
splendid shade-tree. "I must live," he replied, with a sad smile. "My
sons fell in the war; all my servants have left me. I sell fire-wood
to the steamboats passing by." He swung his ax again to end the
conversation. A warm word of sympathy was on my tongue, but I
repressed it, a look at his dignified mien making me apprehend that he
might resent being pitied, especially by one of the victorious enemy.

At Vicksburg I learned from General Slocum that Governor Sharkey
himself had, upon more mature reflection, given up the organization of
his State militia as too dangerous an experiment.

I left the South troubled by great anxiety. Four millions of negroes,
of a race held in servitude for two centuries, had suddenly been made
free men. That an overwhelming majority of them, grown up in the
traditional darkness of slavery, should at first not have been able to
grasp the duties of their new condition, together with its rights, was
but natural. It was equally natural that the Southern whites, who had
known the negro laborer only as a slave, and who had been trained only
in the habits and ways of thinking of the master class, should have
stubbornly clung to their traditional prejudice that the negro would
not work without physical compulsion. They might have concluded that
their prejudice was unreasonable; but, such is human nature, a
prejudice is often the more tenaciously clung to the more unreasonable
it is. There was, therefore, a strong tendency among the whites to
continue the old practices of the slavery system to force the negro
freedmen to labor for them. Thus the two races, whose well-being
depended upon their peaceable and harmonious cooeperation, confronted
each other in a state of fearful irritation, aggravated by the
pressing necessity of producing a crop that season, and embittered by
race antagonism. The Southern whites wished and hoped to be speedily
restored to the control of their States by the reestablishment of
their State governments. To this end they were willing to recognize
"the results of the war," among them the abolition of slavery, in
point of form. The true purpose was to use the power of the State
governments, legislative and executive, to reduce the freedom of the
negroes to a minimum and to revive as much of the old slave code as
they thought necessary to make the blacks work for the whites.

Now President Johnson stepped in and, by directly encouraging the
expectation that the States would without delay be restored to full
self-control even under present circumstances, distinctly stimulated
the most dangerous reactionary tendencies to more reckless and baneful
activity.

_An Ungracious Reception_

This was my view of Southern conditions when I returned from my
mission of inquiry. Arrived at Washington, I reported myself at once
at the White House. The President's private secretary, who seemed
surprised to see me, announced me to the President, who sent out word
that he was busy. When would it please the President to receive me?
The private secretary could not tell, as the President's time was much
occupied by urgent business. I left the anteroom, but called again the
next morning. The President was still busy. I asked the private
secretary to submit to the President that I had returned from a three
months' journey made at the President's personal request; that I
thought it my duty respectfully to report myself back; and that I
should be obliged to the President if he would let me know whether,
and if so when, he would receive me to that end. The private
secretary went in again, and brought out the answer that the President
would see me in an hour or so. At the appointed time I was admitted.
The President received me without a smile of welcome. His mien was
sullen. I said that I had returned from the journey which I had made
in obedience to his demand, and was ready to give him, in addition to
the communications I had already sent him, such further information as
was in my possession. A moment's silence followed. Then he inquired
about my health. I thanked him for the inquiry and hoped the
President's health was good. He said it was. Another pause, which I
brought to an end by saying that I wished to supplement the letters I
had written to him from the South with an elaborate report giving my
experiences and conclusions in a connected shape. The President looked
up and said that I need not go to the trouble of writing out such a
general report on his account. I replied that it would be no trouble
at all, but that I should consider it a duty. The President did not
answer. The silence became awkward, and I bowed myself out.

President Johnson evidently wished to suppress my testimony as to the
condition of things in the South. I resolved not to let him do so. I
had conscientiously endeavored to see Southern conditions as they
were. I had not permitted any political considerations or any
preconceived opinions on my part to obscure my perception and
discernment in the slightest degree. I had told the truth, as I
learned it and understood it, with the severest accuracy, and I
thought it due to the country that the truth should be known.

_Why the President Reversed his Policy_

Among my friends in Washington there were different opinions as to how
the striking change in President Johnson's attitude had been brought
about. Some told me that during the summer the White House had been
fairly besieged by Southern men and women of high social standing, who
had told the President that the only element of trouble in the South
consisted of a lot of fanatical abolitionists who excited the negroes
with all sorts of dangerous notions, and that all would be well if he
would only restore the Southern State government as quickly as
possible according to his own plan as laid down in the North Carolina
proclamation, and that he was a great man to whom they looked up as
their savior. It was now thought that Mr. Johnson, the plebeian who
before the war had been treated with undisguised contempt by the
slaveholding aristocracy, could not withstand the subtle flattery of
the same aristocracy when they flocked around him as humble
suppliants cajoling his vanity.

I went to work at my general report with the utmost care. My
statements of fact were invariably accompanied by the sources of my
information, my testimony being produced in the language of my
informants. I scrupulously avoided exaggeration and cultivated sober
and moderate forms of expression. It gives me some satisfaction now to
say that none of those statements of fact has ever been effectually
controverted. I cannot speak with the same assurance of my conclusions
and recommendations, for they were matters, not of knowledge, but of
judgment.

In the concluding paragraph of my report I respectfully suggested to
the President that he advise Congress to send one or more
investigating committees into the Southern States to inquire for
themselves into the actual condition of things before taking final and
irreversible action, I sent the completed document to the President on
November 22, asking him at the same time to permit me to publish it,
on my sole responsibility and in such a manner as would preclude the
imputation that the President approved the whole or any part of it. To
this request I never received a reply.

_Congress and General Grant's Report_

Congress met early in December. At once the Republican majority in
both houses rose in opposition to President Johnson's plan of
reconstruction. Even before the President's message was read, the
House of Representatives, upon the motion of Thaddeus Stevens of
Pennsylvania, passed a resolution providing for a joint committee of
both houses to inquire into the condition of the "States lately in
rebellion," which committee should thereupon report, "by bill or
otherwise," whether, in its judgment, those States, or any of them,
were entitled to be represented in either House of Congress. To this
resolution the Senate subsequently assented. Thus Congress took the
matter of the reconstruction of the late rebel States as to its final
consummation into its own hands.

On December 12, upon the motion of Mr. Sumner, the Senate resolved
that the President be directed to furnish to the Senate, among other
things, a copy of my report. A week later the President did so, but he
coupled it with a report from General Grant on the same subject. The
two reports were transmitted with a short message from the President
in which he affirmed that the Rebellion had been suppressed; that,
peace reigned throughout the land; that, "so far as could be done,"
the courts of the United States had been restored, post-offices
reestablished, and revenues collected; that several of those States
had reorganized their State governments, and that good progress had
been made in doing so; that the constitutional amendment abolishing
slavery had been ratified by nearly all of them; that legislation to
protect the rights of the freedmen was in course of preparation in
most of them; and that, on the whole, the condition of things was
promising and far better than might have been expected. He transmitted
my report without a word of comment, but called special attention to
that of General Grant.

The appearance of General Grant's report was a surprise, which,
however, easily explained itself. On November 22 the President had
received my report. On the 27th General Grant, with the approval of
the President, started on a "tour of inspection through some of the
Southern States" to look after the "disposition of the troops," and
also "to learn, as far as possible, the feelings and intentions of the
citizens of those States toward the general government." On December
12 the Senate asked for the transmission of my report. General Grant's
report was dated the 10th, and on the 17th it was sent to the Senate
together with mine. The inference was easily drawn, and it was
generally believed that this arrangement was devised by President
Johnson to the end of neutralizing the possible effect of my account
of Southern conditions. If so, it was cleverly planned. General Grant
was at that time at the height of his popularity. He was since
Lincoln's death by far the most imposing figure in the popular eye.
Having forced the surrender of the formidable Lee, he was by countless
tongues called "the savior of the Union." His word would go very far
toward carrying conviction. But in this case the discredit which
President Johnson had already incurred proved too heavy for even the
military hero to carry. As to the practical things to be done General
Grant's views were not so very far distinct from mine; but President
Johnson's friends insisted upon representing him as favoring the
immediate restoration of all "the States lately in rebellion" to all
their self-governing functions, and this became the general
impression, probably much against Grant's wish. My report after its
publication as an "executive document" became widely known in the
country. A flood of letters of approval and congratulation poured in
upon me from all parts of the United States.

[Illustration]

THE FLOWER FACTORY

BY FLORENCE WILKINSON

_Lisabetta, Marianina, Fiametta, Teresina,
They are winding stems of roses, one by one, one by one--
Little children who have never learned to play:
Teresina softly crying that her fingers ache to-day,
Tiny Fiametta nodding when the twilight slips in, gray.
High above the clattering street, ambulance and fire-gong beat,
They sit, curling crimson petals, one by one, one by one.

Lisabetta, Marianina, Fiametta, Teresina,
They have never seen a rose-bush nor a dew-drop in the sun.
They will dream of the vendetta, Teresina, Fiametta,
Of a Black Hand and a Face behind a grating;
They will dream of cotton petals, endless, crimson, suffocating,
Never of a wild-rose thicket nor the singing of a cricket,
But the ambulance will bellow through the wanness of their dreams,
And their tired lids will flutter with the street's hysteric screams.

Lisabetta, Marianina, Fiametta, Teresina,
They are winding stems of roses, one by one, one by one.
Let them have a long, long play-time, Lord of Toil, when toil is done!
Fill their baby hands with roses, joyous roses of the sun._

THE SILLY ASS

BY JAMES BARNES

ILLUSTRATION BY ARTHUR COVEY

"Marcia," called the admiral, tapping lightly on the state-room door
with the back of his fingernails, "Marcia, my dear, I hope you're
better. Come out with me; it's--oh, ah--where's Miss Marcia?"

The door had been opened by the courier maid, whose wilted and forlorn
appearance was eloquent of her failure to live up to at least one item
in her letter of recommendation.

"Miss Dorn has gone up to--ze deck, Monsieur."

"Humph! I didn't see her. When did she go?"

"Since early zis morning, Monsieur," rejoined the well-recommended one
rather despondently.

Perhaps she might have gone on to say something more, but the admiral
stamped down the passageway. The maid looked on her features in the
glass much as one might inspect a barometer, drew a weak, despairing
breath, and laid herself down on the sofa again, her relaxed person
responding inertly to the steamer's vibrations.

Now, Admiral Page Paulding was as sweet-tempered an old sea-dog as
ever retired from the employ of an ungrateful country; but foggy
weather always worked a bit on his nerves--and what hands he had held
that morning in the smoke-room! As he thumped up the rubber-carpeted
staircase he knew that he was in a thoroughly bad humor, but made up
his mind to conceal it. And there were reasons. When a man has reached
the age when by all rights he should be a grandfather, and finds
himself only a foolish old-bachelor uncle personally conducting a
young niece of marriageable age and attractive exterior on her first
trip to Europe, it may well be said: "Of each day learneth he
experience." Aside from the avuncular privilege of paying bills, he
had known the jealous promptings of a father, indulged in the
self-communing suspicions of a mother, and supported smilingly the
irritations of a chaperon. The enforced companionship of a courier
maid does not lessen the perplexities of certain situations nor
lighten the burden of responsibility.

If the truth be told, the admiral's retirement, this time, from what
might quite properly be termed active service would be accompanied by
no bitter heartburnings and regrets. Rather--yes, many times
rather--would he con a fleet of battle-ships through the tortuous
turnings of Smith Island Sound than again personally conduct one
attractive and impulsive young female through the hotel-strewn shoals
of Europe. There was that German baron in Switzerland, that dashing
young lieutenant of cavalry in Vienna, and that persistent
Englishman--oh, that _persistent_ Englishman!--who turned up
everywhere, and would not be turned down! There was a good deal back
of the cablegram the old gentleman had sent Mrs. Dorn, his sister,
from Southampton, which had read:

Sailing _Caronia_, unentangled, on Wednesday.

"That means only three days more now," mused the admiral, recalling
these words to himself as he came out on the promenade-deck. He stood
there a moment, looking about him, hoping for a glimpse of a slim
young figure. But no sign! His conscience smote him a little. Maybe he
had been somewhat neglectful for the past two days; but then--All at
once he noticed the remarkable change in the weather.

From a foggy, dreary morning it had grown into a crisp, sparkling
afternoon. The long, sweeping seas, the aftermath of some heavy blow
to the northward, had subsided. Passengers who had kept to their
cabins, or who had huddled in the corners of saloon or library, were
emerging on the decks. Those who had braved the weather rather than
face the close air below looked up, mummy-wise, from their swathings
with hopes of returning appetites.

It had needed but a short perusal of the passenger-list to show him
that his niece and he had several acquaintances as fellow-travelers on
this homeward and thrice welcome voyage. One of the swaddled objects
suddenly turned and addressed him:

"Looking for Miss Dorn, Admiral?"

"Oh, how d'ye do--Mrs. ----" For the life of him, he couldn't remember
the lady's name. "Lovely day--er, yes; have you seen Marcia anywhere?"

"Yes; she's been walking up and down here for an hour with Victor
Masterson and my----"

"With--what did you say his name was?"

"Victor Masterson."

"Is he an Englishman?"

"Oh, no; very much of an American, I should say--oh, most amusing and
entertaining. My daughter has met him somewhere. I think you will find
the young people up in that direction, playing some game or other."

The admiral thanked the swaddled lady and strode forward impatiently.
All at once he stopped.

"I wonder," said he to himself, "if that's the silly ass I squelched
t'other day in the smoke-room; just like Marcia to have picked him
out!"

* * * * *

In the sunniest corner of the promenade-deck a quartermaster had laid
the numbered squares of a shuffleboard. The game was over, but two
young people still lingered, leaning against the rail. One was a tall,
slender girl with red lips, red cheeks, tan-colored hair, and tan
shoes, and the other was a very slight, extremely round-faced young
man whose attire and manners could best be described as "insistent."
He was one of the kind that appears in all weathers without a hat and
that persists in attracting attention to large feet and bony ankles by
wearing turned-up trousers, low shoes, and vivid half-hose. At this
moment he was enjoying himself, and so was the girl.

"Was he large and rather red-faced?" she asked, following up something
her companion was saying.

"Yes, with two bunches of iron-gray spinach growing down like this;
and he beckoned me over to him and said, 'Young man, you're playing
the clown'; and I said, 'You play you're the elephant, and we'll be a
circus.'"

The round-faced one te-heed in a way that was contagious; Miss Dorn
quite loved him for it.

"Do that again," she said.

"Do what?"

"Make that little squeak."

He looked at her with mock seriousness. "Oh, please don't! Please
don't!" He spoke imploringly. "I am very touchy about my laugh--it's
the only one I've got, you know. It's quite childish, isn't it? Never
grew up, you know." He made the funny little sound again. It was like
the bleating of a toy lamb when its head is twisted. "You know, they
ask me how I do it. I don't know; I try to teach other people--they
never seem to get it right. Do you like it?"

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