CHAPTER CLXXII.

"Just after the yeas and nays were taken on a question, and the Speaker had risen to put another question to the House, a sudden cry was heard on the left of the chair, 'Mr. Adams is dying!' Turning our eyes to the spot, we beheld the venerable man in the act of falling over the left arm of his chair, while his right arm was extended, grasping his desk for support. He would have dropped upon the floor had he not been caught in the arms of the member sitting next him. A great sensation was created in the House: members from all quarters rushing from their seats, and gathering round the fallen statesman, who was immediately lifted into the area in front of the clerk's table. The Speaker instantly suggested that some gentleman move an adjournment, which being promptly done, the House adjourned."

So wrote the editors of the National Intelligencer, friends and associates of Mr. Adams for forty years, and now witnesses of the last scene—the sudden sinking in his chair, which was to end in his death. The news flew to the Senate chamber, the Senate then in session, and engaged in business, which Mr. Benton interrupted, standing up, and saying to the President of the body and the senators:

"I am called on to make a painful announcement to the Senate. I have just been informed that the House of Representatives has this instant adjourned under the most afflictive circumstances. A calamitous visitation has fallen on one of its oldest and most valuable members—one who has been President of the United States, and whose character has inspired the highest respect and esteem. Mr. Adams has just sunk down in his chair, and has been carried into an adjoining room, and may be at this moment passing from the earth, under the roof that covers us, and almost in our presence. In these circumstances the whole Senate will feel alike, and feel wholly unable to attend to any business. I therefore move the immediate adjournment of the Senate."

The Senate immediately adjourned, and all inquiries were directed to the condition of the stricken statesman. He had been removed to the Speaker's room, where he slightly recovered the use of his speech, and uttered in faltering accents, the intelligible words, "This isthe last of earth;" and soon after, "I am composed." These were the last words he ever spoke. He lingered two days, and died on the evening of the 23d—struck the day before, and dying the day after the anniversary of Washington's birth—and attended by every circumstance which he could have chosen to give felicity in death. It was on the field of his labors—in the presence of the national representation, presided by a son of Massachusetts (Robert C. Winthrop, Esq.), in the full possession of his faculties, and of their faithful use—at octogenarian age—without a pang—hung over in his last unconscious moments by her who had been for more than fifty years the worthy partner of his bosom. Such a death was the "crowning mercy" of a long life of eminent and patriotic service, filled with every incident that gives dignity and lustre to human existence.

I was sitting in my library-room in the twilight of a raw and blustering day, the lamp not yet lit, when a note was delivered to me from Mr. Webster—I had saved it seven years, just seven—when it was destroyed in that conflagration of my house which consumed, in a moment, so much which I had long cherished. The note was to inform me that Mr. Adams had breathed his last; and to say that the Massachusetts delegation had fixed upon me to second the motion, which would be made in the Senate the next day, for the customary funeral honors to his memory. Seconding the motion on such an occasion always requires a brief discourse on the life and character of the deceased. I was taken by surprise, for I had not expected such an honor: I was oppressed; for a feeling of inability and unworthiness fell upon me. I went immediately to Mr. Winthrop, who was nearest, to inquire if some other senator had been named to take my place if I should find it impossible to comply with the request. He said there was none—that Mr. Davis, of Massachusetts, would make the motion, and that I was the only one named to second him. My part was then fixed. I went to the other end of the city to see Mr. Davis, and so to arrange with him as to avoid repetitions—which was done, that he should speak of events, and I of characteristics. It was late in the night when I got back to my house, and took pen and paper to note the heads of what I should say. Never did I feel so much the weight of Cicero's admonition—"Choosewith discretion out of the plenty that lies before you." The plenty was too much. It was a field crowded with fruits and flowers, of which you could only cull a few—a mine filled with gems, of which you could only snatch a handful. By midnight I had finished the task, and was ready for the ceremony.

Mr. Adams died a member of the House, and the honors to his memory commenced there, to be finished in the Senate. Mr. Webster was suffering from domestic affliction—the death of a son and a daughter—and could not appear among the speakers. Several members of the House spoke justly and beautifully; and of these, the pre-eminent beauty and justice of the discourse delivered by Mr. James McDowell, of Virginia (even if he had not been a near connection, the brother of Mrs. Benton), would lead me to give it the preference in selecting some passages from the tributes of the House. With a feeling and melodious delivery, he said:

"It is not for Massachusetts to mourn alone over a solitary and exclusive bereavement. It is not for her to feel alone a solitary and exclusive sorrow. No, sir; no! Her sister commonwealths gather to her side in this hour of her affliction, and, intertwining their arms with hers, they bend together over the bier of her illustrious son—feeling as she feels, and weeping as she weeps, over a sage, a patriot, and a statesman gone! It was in these great characteristics of individual and of public man that his country reverenced that son when living, and such, with a painful sense of her common loss, will she deplore him now that he is dead."Born in our revolutionary day, and brought up in early and cherished intimacy with the fathers and founders of the republic, he was a living bond of connection between the present and the past—the venerable representative of the memories of another age, and the zealous, watchful, and powerful one of the expectations, interests, and progressive knowledge of his own."There he sat, with his intense eye upon every thing that passed, the picturesque and rare one man, unapproachable by all others in the unity of his character and in the thousand-fold anxieties which centred upon him. No human being ever entered this hall without turning habitually and with heart-felt deference first to him, and few ever left it without pausing, as they went, to pour out their blessings upon that spirit of consecration to the country which brought and which kept him here."Standing upon the extreme boundary of human life, and disdaining all the relaxations and exemptions of age, his outer framework only was crumbling away. The glorious engine within still worked on unhurt, uninjured, amid all the dilapidations around it, and worked on with its wonted and its iron power, until the blow was sent from above which crushed it into fragments before us. And, however appalling that blow, and however profoundly it smote upon our own feelings as we beheld its extinguishing effect upon his, where else could it have fallen so fitly upon him? Where else could he have been relieved from the yoke of his labors so well as in the field where he bore them? Where else would he himself have been so willing to have yielded up his life, as upon the post of duty, and by the side of that very altar to which he had devoted it? Where but in the capitol of his country, to which all the throbbings and hopes of his heart had been given, would the dying patriot be so willing that those hopes and throbbings should cease? And where but from this mansion-house of liberty on earth, could this dying Christian more fitly go to his mansion-house of eternal liberty on high?"

"Born in our revolutionary day, and brought up in early and cherished intimacy with the fathers and founders of the republic, he was a living bond of connection between the present and the past—the venerable representative of the memories of another age, and the zealous, watchful, and powerful one of the expectations, interests, and progressive knowledge of his own.

"There he sat, with his intense eye upon every thing that passed, the picturesque and rare one man, unapproachable by all others in the unity of his character and in the thousand-fold anxieties which centred upon him. No human being ever entered this hall without turning habitually and with heart-felt deference first to him, and few ever left it without pausing, as they went, to pour out their blessings upon that spirit of consecration to the country which brought and which kept him here.

"Standing upon the extreme boundary of human life, and disdaining all the relaxations and exemptions of age, his outer framework only was crumbling away. The glorious engine within still worked on unhurt, uninjured, amid all the dilapidations around it, and worked on with its wonted and its iron power, until the blow was sent from above which crushed it into fragments before us. And, however appalling that blow, and however profoundly it smote upon our own feelings as we beheld its extinguishing effect upon his, where else could it have fallen so fitly upon him? Where else could he have been relieved from the yoke of his labors so well as in the field where he bore them? Where else would he himself have been so willing to have yielded up his life, as upon the post of duty, and by the side of that very altar to which he had devoted it? Where but in the capitol of his country, to which all the throbbings and hopes of his heart had been given, would the dying patriot be so willing that those hopes and throbbings should cease? And where but from this mansion-house of liberty on earth, could this dying Christian more fitly go to his mansion-house of eternal liberty on high?"

Mr. Benton concluded in the Senate the ceremonies which had commenced in the House, pronouncing the brief discourse which was intended to group into one cluster the varied characteristics of the public and private life of this most remarkable man:

"The voice of his native State has been heard, through one of the senators of Massachusetts, announcing the death of her aged and most distinguished son. The voice of the other senator from Massachusetts is not heard, nor is his presence seen. A domestic calamity, known to us all, and felt by us all, confines him to the chamber of grief while the Senate is occupied with the public manifestations of a respect and sorrow which a national loss inspires. In the absence of that senator, and as the member of this body longest here, it is not unfitting or unbecoming in me to second the motion which has been made for extending the last honors of the Senate to him who, forty-five years ago, was a member of this body, who, at the time of his death, was among the oldest members of the House of Representatives, and who, putting the years of his service together, was the oldest of all the members of the American government."The eulogium of Mr. Adams is made in the facts of his life, which the senator from Massachusetts (Mr. Davis) has so strikingly stated, that from early manhood to octogenarian age, he has been constantly and most honorably employed in the public service. For a period of more than fifty years, from the time of his first appointment as minister abroad under Washington, to his last election to the House of Representatives by the people of his native district, he has been constantly retained in the public service, and that, not by the favor of asovereign, or by hereditary title, but by the elections and appointments of republican government. This fact makes the eulogy of the illustrious deceased. For what, except a union of all the qualities which command the esteem and confidence of man, could have insured a public service so long, by appointments free and popular, and from sources so various and exalted? Minister many times abroad; member of this body; member of the House of Representatives; cabinet minister; President of the United States; such has been the galaxy of his splendid appointments. And what but moral excellence the most perfect; intellectual ability the most eminent; fidelity the most unwavering; service the most useful; would have commanded such a succession of appointments so exalted, and from sources so various and so eminent? Nothing less could have commanded such a series of appointments; and accordingly we see the union of all these great qualities in him who has received them."In this long career of public service, Mr. Adams was distinguished not only by faithful attention to all the great duties of his stations, but to all their less and minor duties. He was not the Salaminian galley, to be launched only on extraordinary occasions; but he was the ready vessel, always under sail when the duties of his station required it, be the occasion great or small. As President, as cabinet minister, as minister abroad, he examined all questions that came before him, and examined all, in all their parts—in all the minutiæ of their detail, as well as in all the vastness of their comprehension. As senator, and as a member of the House of Representatives, the obscure committee-room was as much the witness of his laborious application to the drudgery of legislation, as the halls of the two Houses were to the ever-ready speech, replete with knowledge, which instructed all hearers, enlightened all subjects, and gave dignity and ornament to all debate."In the observance of all the proprieties of life, Mr. Adams was a most noble and impressive example. He cultivated the minor as well as the greater virtues. Wherever his presence could give aid and countenance to what was useful and honorable to man, there he was. In the exercises of the school and of the college—in the meritorious meetings of the agricultural, mechanical, and commercial societies—in attendance upon Divine worship—he gave the punctual attendance rarely seen but in those who are free from the weight of public cares."Punctual to every duty, death found him at the post of duty; and where else could it have found him, at any stage of his career, for the fifty years of his illustrious public life? From the time of his first appointment by Washington to his last election by the people of his native town, where could death have found him but at the post of duty? At that post, in the fulness of age, in the ripeness of renown crowned with honors, surrounded by his family, his friends, and admirers, and in the very presence of the national representation, he has been gathered to his fathers, leaving behind him the memory of public services which are the history of his country for half a century, and the example of a life, public and private, which should be the study and the model of the generations of his countrymen."

"The eulogium of Mr. Adams is made in the facts of his life, which the senator from Massachusetts (Mr. Davis) has so strikingly stated, that from early manhood to octogenarian age, he has been constantly and most honorably employed in the public service. For a period of more than fifty years, from the time of his first appointment as minister abroad under Washington, to his last election to the House of Representatives by the people of his native district, he has been constantly retained in the public service, and that, not by the favor of asovereign, or by hereditary title, but by the elections and appointments of republican government. This fact makes the eulogy of the illustrious deceased. For what, except a union of all the qualities which command the esteem and confidence of man, could have insured a public service so long, by appointments free and popular, and from sources so various and exalted? Minister many times abroad; member of this body; member of the House of Representatives; cabinet minister; President of the United States; such has been the galaxy of his splendid appointments. And what but moral excellence the most perfect; intellectual ability the most eminent; fidelity the most unwavering; service the most useful; would have commanded such a succession of appointments so exalted, and from sources so various and so eminent? Nothing less could have commanded such a series of appointments; and accordingly we see the union of all these great qualities in him who has received them.

"In this long career of public service, Mr. Adams was distinguished not only by faithful attention to all the great duties of his stations, but to all their less and minor duties. He was not the Salaminian galley, to be launched only on extraordinary occasions; but he was the ready vessel, always under sail when the duties of his station required it, be the occasion great or small. As President, as cabinet minister, as minister abroad, he examined all questions that came before him, and examined all, in all their parts—in all the minutiæ of their detail, as well as in all the vastness of their comprehension. As senator, and as a member of the House of Representatives, the obscure committee-room was as much the witness of his laborious application to the drudgery of legislation, as the halls of the two Houses were to the ever-ready speech, replete with knowledge, which instructed all hearers, enlightened all subjects, and gave dignity and ornament to all debate.

"In the observance of all the proprieties of life, Mr. Adams was a most noble and impressive example. He cultivated the minor as well as the greater virtues. Wherever his presence could give aid and countenance to what was useful and honorable to man, there he was. In the exercises of the school and of the college—in the meritorious meetings of the agricultural, mechanical, and commercial societies—in attendance upon Divine worship—he gave the punctual attendance rarely seen but in those who are free from the weight of public cares.

"Punctual to every duty, death found him at the post of duty; and where else could it have found him, at any stage of his career, for the fifty years of his illustrious public life? From the time of his first appointment by Washington to his last election by the people of his native town, where could death have found him but at the post of duty? At that post, in the fulness of age, in the ripeness of renown crowned with honors, surrounded by his family, his friends, and admirers, and in the very presence of the national representation, he has been gathered to his fathers, leaving behind him the memory of public services which are the history of his country for half a century, and the example of a life, public and private, which should be the study and the model of the generations of his countrymen."

The whole ceremony was inconceivably impressive. The two Houses of Congress were filled to their utmost capacity, and of all that Washington contained, and neighboring cities could send—the President, his cabinet, foreign ministers, judges of the Supreme Court, senators and representatives, citizens and visitors.

The war was declared May 13th, 1846, upon a belief, grounded on the projected restoration of Santa Anna (then in exile in Havana), that it would be finished in ninety to one hundred and twenty days, and that, in the mean time, no fighting would take place. Santa Anna did not get back until the month of August; and, simultaneously with his return, was the President's overture for peace, and application to Congress for two millions of dollars—with leave to pay the money in the city of Mexico on the conclusion of peace there, without waiting for the ratification of the treaty by the United States. Such an overture, and such an application, and the novelty of paying money upon a treaty before it was ratified by our own authorities, bespoke a great desire to obtain peace, even by extraordinary means. And such was the fact. The desire was great—the means unusual; but the event baffled all the calculations. Santa Anna repulsed the peace overture, put himself at the head of armies, inflamed the war spirit of the country, and fought desperately. It was found that a mistake had been made—that the sword, and not the olive branch had been returned to Mexico; and that, before peace could be made, it became the part of brave soldiers to conquer by arms the man whom intriguehad brought back to grant it. Brought back by politicians, he had to be driven out by victorious generals before the peace he was to give could be obtained. The victories before the city of Mexico, and the capture of the city, put an end to his career. The republican party, which abhorred him, seized upon those defeats to depose him. He fled the country, and a new administration being organized, peaceful negotiations were resumed, and soon terminated in the desired pacification. Mr. Trist had remained at his post, though recalled, and went on with his negotiations. In three months after his downfall, and without further operation of arms, the treaty was signed, and all the desired stipulations obtained. New Mexico and Upper California were ceded to the United States, and the lower Rio Grande, from its mouth to El Paso, taken for the boundary of Texas. These were the acquisitions. On the other hand, the United States agreed to pay to Mexico fifteen millions of dollars in five instalments, annual after the first; which first instalment, true to the original idea of the efficacy of money in terminating the war, was to be paid down in the city of Mexico as soon as the articles of pacification were signed, and ratified there. The claims of American citizens against Mexico were all assumed, limited to three and a quarter millions of dollars, which, considering that the war ostensibly originated in these claims, was a very small sum. But the largest gratified interest was one which did not appear on the face of the treaty, but had the full benefit of being included in it. They were the speculators in Texas lands and scrip, now allowed to calculate largely upon their increased value as coming under the flag of the American Union. They were among the original promoters of the Texas annexation, among the most clamorous for war, and among the gratified at the peace. General provisions only were admitted into the treaty in favor of claims and land titles. Upright and disinterested himself, the negotiator sternly repulsed all attempts to get special, or personal provisions to be inserted in behalf of any individuals or companies. The treaty was a singular conclusion of the war. Undertaken to get indemnity for claims, the United States paid those claims herself. Fifteen millions of dollars were the full price of New Mexico and California—the same that was paid for all Louisiana; so that, with the claims assumed, the amount paid for the territories, and the expenses of the war, the acquisitions were made at a dear rate. The same amount paid to Mexico without the war, and by treating her respectfully in treating with her for a boundary which would include Texas, might have obtained the same cessions; for every Mexican knew that Texas was gone, and that New Mexico and Upper California were going the same way, both inhabited and dominated by American citizens, and the latter actually severed from Mexico by a successful revolution before the war was known of, and for the purpose of being transferred to the United States.

The treaty was a fortunate event for the United States, and for the administration which had made it. The war had disappointed the calculation on which it began. Instead of brief, cheap, and bloodless, it had become long, costly, and sanguinary: instead of getting a peace through the restoration of Santa Anna, that formidable chieftain had to be vanquished and expelled, before negotiations could be commenced with those who would always have treated fairly, if their national feelings had not been outraged by the aggressive and defiant manner in which Texas had been incorporated. Great discontent was breaking out at home. The Congress elections were going against the administration, and the aspirants for the presidency in the cabinet were struck with terror at the view of the great military reputations which were growing up. Peace was the only escape from so many dangers, and it was gladly seized upon to terminate a war which had disappointed all calculations, and the very successes of which were becoming alarming to them.

Mr. Trist signed his treaty in the beginning of February, and it stands on the statute-book, as it was in fact, the sole work on the American side, of that negotiator. Two ministers plenipotentiary and envoys extraordinary were sent out to treat after he had been recalled. They arrived after the work was done, and only brought home what he had finished. His name alone is signed to the treaty on the American side, against three on the Mexican side: his name alone appears on the American side in the enumeration of the ministers in the preamble to the treaty. In that preamble he is characterizedas the "plenipotentiary" of the United States, and by that title he was described in the commission given him by the President. His work was accepted, communicated to the Senate, ratified; and became a supreme law of the land: yet he himself was rejected! recalled and dismissed, without the emoluments of plenipotentiary; while two others received those emoluments in full for bringing home a treaty in which their names do not appear. Certainly those who served the government well in that war with Mexico, fared badly with the administration. Taylor, who had vanquished at Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, Monterey, and Buena Vista, was quarrelled with: Scott, who removed the obstacles to peace, and subdued the Mexican mind to peace, was superseded in the command of the army: Frémont, who had snatched California out of the hands of the British, and handed it over to the United States, was court-martialled: and Trist, who made the treaty which secured the objects of the war, and released the administration from its dangers, was recalled and dismissed.

It was on the bill for the establishment of the Oregon territorial government that Mr. Calhoun first made trial of his new doctrine of, "No power in Congress to abolish slavery in territories;" which, so far from maintaining, led to the affirmation of the contrary doctrine, and to the discovery of his own, early as well as late support, of what he now condemned as a breach of the constitution, and justifiable cause for a separation of the slave from the free States. For it was on this occasion that Senator Dix, of New York, produced the ample proofs that Mr. Calhoun, as a member of Mr. Monroe's cabinet, supported the constitutionality of the Missouri compromise at the time it was made; and his own avowals eighteen years afterwards proved the same thing—all to be confirmed by subsequent authentic acts. On the motion of Mr. Hale, in the Senate, the bill (which had come up from the House without any provision on the subject of slavery) was amended so as to extend the principle of the anti-slavery clause of the ordinance of '87 to the bill. Mr. Douglass moved to amend by inserting a provision for the extension of the Missouri compromise line to the Pacific Ocean. His proposed amendment was specific, and intended to be permanent, and to apply to the organization of all future territories established in the West. It was in these words:

"That the line of thirty-six degrees and thirty minutes of north latitude, known as the Missouri compromise line, as defined by the eighth section of an act entitled 'An act to authorize the people of the Missouri territory to form a constitution and State government, and for the admission of such State into the Union on an equal footing with the original States, and to prohibit slavery in certain territories, approved March 6, 1820,' be, and the same is hereby, declared to extend to the Pacific Ocean; and the said eighth section, together with the compromise therein effected, is hereby revived, and declared to be in full force and binding, for the future organization of the territories of the United States, in the same sense, and with the same understanding, with which it was originally adopted."

The yeas and nays were demanded on the adoption of this amendment, and resulted, 33 for it, 22 against it. They were:

"Yeas—Messrs. Atchison, Badger, Bell, Benton, Berrien, Borland, Bright, Butler, Calhoun, Cameron, Davis of Mississippi, Dickinson, Douglass, Downs, Fitzgerald, Foote, Hannegan, Houston, Hunter, Johnson of Maryland, Johnson of Louisiana, Johnson of Georgia, King, Lewis, Mangum, Mason, Metcalfe, Pearce, Sebastian, Spruance, Sturgeon, Turney, Underwood."Nays—Messrs. Allen, Atherton, Baldwin, Bradbury, Breese, Clark, Corwin, Davis of Massachusetts, Dayton, Dix, Dodge, Felch, Greene, Hale, Hamlin, Miller, Niles, Phelps, Upham, Walker, Webster."

"Nays—Messrs. Allen, Atherton, Baldwin, Bradbury, Breese, Clark, Corwin, Davis of Massachusetts, Dayton, Dix, Dodge, Felch, Greene, Hale, Hamlin, Miller, Niles, Phelps, Upham, Walker, Webster."

The vote here given by Mr. Calhoun was in contradiction to his new doctrine, and excused upon some subtle distinction between a vote for an amendment, and a bill, and upon a reserved intent to vote against the bill itself if adopted. Considering that his objections to the matter of the amendment were constitutional and not expedient, and that the votes of others mightpass the bill with the clause in it without his help, it is impossible to see the validity of the distinction with which he satisfied himself. His language was that, "though he had voted for the introduction of the Missouri compromise, he could not vote for the bill which he regarded as artificial." Eventually the bill passed through both Houses with the anti-slavery principle of the ordinance embraced in it; whereat Mr. Calhoun became greatly excited, and assuming to act upon the new doctrine that he had laid down, that the exclusion of slavery from any territory was a subversion of the Union, openly proclaimed the strife between the North and the South to be ended, and the separation of the States accomplished; called upon the South to do her duty to herself, and denounced every Southern representative who would not follow the same course that he did. He exclaimed:

"The great strife between the North and the South is ended. The North is determined to exclude the property of the slaveholder, and of course the slaveholder himself, from its territory. On this point there seems to be no division in the North. In the South, he regretted to say, there was some division of sentiment. The effect of this determination of the North was to convert all the Southern population into slaves; and he would never consent to entail that disgrace on his posterity. He denounced any Southern man who would not take the same course. Gentlemen were greatly mistaken if they supposed the presidential question in the South would override this more important one. The separation of the North and the South is completed. The South has now a most solemn obligation to perform—to herself—to the constitution—to the Union. She is bound to come to a decision not to permit this to go on any further, but to show that, dearly as she prizes the Union, there are questions which she regards as of greater importance than the Union. She is bound to fulfil her obligations as she may best understand them. This is not a question of territorial government, but a question involving the continuance of the Union. Perhaps it was better that this question should come to an end, in order that some new point should be taken."

This was an open invocation to disunion, and from that time forth the efforts were regular to obtain a meeting of the members from the slave States, to unite in a call for a convention of the slave States to redress themselves. Mr. Benton and General Houston, who had supported the Oregon bill, were denounced by name by Mr. Calhoun after his return to South Carolina, "as traitors to the South:" a denunciation which they took for a distinction; as, what he called treason to the South, they knew to be allegiance to the Union. The President, in approving the Oregon bill, embraced the opportunity to send in a special message on the slavery agitation, in which he showed the danger to the Union from the progress of that agitation, and the necessity of adhering to the principles of the ordinance of 1787—the terms of the Missouri compromise of 1820—and the Texas compromise (as he well termed it) of 1845, as the means of averting the danger. These are his warnings:

"The fathers of the constitution—the wise and patriotic men who laid the foundation of our institutions—foreseeing the danger from this quarter, acted in a spirit of compromise and mutual concession on this dangerous and delicate subject; and their wisdom ought to be the guide of their successors. Whilst they left to the States exclusively the question of domestic slavery within their respective limits, they provided that slaves, who might escape into other States not recognizing the institution of slavery, shall 'be delivered up on the claim of the party to whom such service or labor may be due.' Upon this foundation the matter rested until the Missouri question arose. In December, 1819, application was made to Congress by the people of the Missouri territory for admission into the Union as a State. The discussion upon the subject in Congress involved the question of slavery, and was prosecuted with such violence as to produce excitements alarming to every patriot in the Union. But the good genius of conciliation which presided at the birth of our institutions finally prevailed, and the Missouri compromise was adopted. This compromise had the effect of calming the troubled waves, and restoring peace and good-will throughout the States of the Union. I do not doubt that a similar adjustment of the questions which now agitate the public mind would produce the same happy results. If the legislation of Congress on the subject of the other territories shall not be adopted in a spirit of conciliation and compromise, it is impossible that the country can be satisfied, or that the most disastrous consequences shall fail to ensue. When Texas was admitted into our Union, the same spirit of compromise which guided our predecessors in the admission of Missouri, a quarter of a century before, prevailed without any serious opposition. The 'joint-resolution for annexing Texas to the United States,' approved March the first, one thousand eight hundred and forty-five, provides that 'such States as may be formed out of that portion of saidterritory lying south of thirty-six degrees thirty minutes north latitude, commonly known as the Missouri compromise line, shall be admitted into the Union with or without slavery, as the people of each State asking admission may desire. And in such State or States as shall be formed out of said territory north of the Missouri compromise line, slavery or involuntary servitude (except for crime) shall be prohibited. The territory of Oregon lies far north of thirty-six degrees thirty minutes, the Missouri and Texas compromise line. Its southern boundary is the parallel of forty-two, leaving the intermediate distance to be three hundred and thirty geographical miles. And it is because the provisions of this bill are not inconsistent with the terms of the Missouri compromise, if extended from the Rio Grande to the Pacific Ocean, that I have not felt at liberty to withhold my sanction. Had it embraced territories south of that compromise, the question presented for my consideration would have been of a far different character, and my action upon it must have corresponded with my convictions."Ought we now to disturb the Missouri and Texas compromises? Ought we at this late day, in attempting to annul what has been so long established and acquiesced in, to excite sectional divisions and jealousies; to alienate the people of different portions of the Union from each other; and to endanger the existence of the Union itself?"

"Ought we now to disturb the Missouri and Texas compromises? Ought we at this late day, in attempting to annul what has been so long established and acquiesced in, to excite sectional divisions and jealousies; to alienate the people of different portions of the Union from each other; and to endanger the existence of the Union itself?"

To the momentous appeals with which this extract concludes, a terrible answer has just been given. To the question—Will you annul these compromises, and excite jealousies and divisions, sectional alienations, and endanger the existence of this Union? the dreadful answer has been given—WE WILL! And in recording that answer, History performs her sacred duty in pointing to its authors as the authors of the state of things which now alarms and afflicts the country, and threatens the calamity which President Polk foresaw and deprecated.

The resolutions of 1847 went no further than to deny the power of Congress to prohibit slavery in a territory, and that was enough while Congress alone was the power to be guarded against: but it became insufficient, and even a stumbling-block, when New Mexico and California were acquired, and where no Congress prohibition was necessary because their soil was already free. Here the dogma of '47 became an impediment to the territorial extension of slavery; for, in denying power to legislate upon the subject, the denial worked both ways—both against the admission and exclusion. It was on seeing this consequence as resulting from the dogmas of 1847, that Mr. Benton congratulated the country upon the approaching cessation of the slavery agitation—that the Wilmot Proviso being rejected as unnecessary, the question was at an end, as the friends of slavery extension could not ask Congress to pass a law to carry it into a territory. The agitation seemed to be at an end, and peace about to dawn upon the land. Delusive calculation! A new dogma was invented to fit the case—that of the transmigration of the constitution—(the slavery part of it)—into the territories, overriding and overruling all the anti-slavery laws which it found there, and planting the institution there under its own wing, and maintaining it beyond the power of eradication either by Congress or the people of the territory. Before this dogma was proclaimed efforts were made to get the constitution extended to these territories by act of Congress: failing in those attempts, the difficulty was leaped over by boldly assuming that the constitution went of itself—that is to say, the slavery part of it. In this exigency Mr. Calhoun came out with his new and supreme dogma of the transmigratory function of the constitution in theipso facto, and the instantaneous transportation of itself in its slavery attributes, into all acquired territories. This dogma was thus broached by its author in his speech upon the Oregon territorial bill:

"But I deny that the laws of Mexico can have the effect attributed to them (that of keeping slavery out of New Mexico and California). As soon as the treaty between the two countries is ratified, the sovereignty and authority of Mexico in the territory acquired by it become extinct, and that of the United States is substituted in its place, carrying with it the constitution, with its overriding control over all the laws and institutions of Mexico inconsistent with it."

History cannot class higher than as a vagary of a diseased imagination this imputed self-acting and self-extension of the constitution. The constitution does nothing of itself—not even in the States, for which it was made. Every part of it requires a law to put it into operation. No part of it can reach a territory unless imparted to it by act of Congress. Slavery, as a local institution, can only be established by a local legislative authority. It cannot transmigrate—cannot carry along with it the law which protects it: and if it could, what law would it carry? The code of the State from which the emigrant went? Then there would be as many slavery codes in the territory as States furnishing emigrants, and these codes all varying more or less; and some of them in the essential nature of the property—the slave, in many States, being only a chattel interest, governed by the laws applicable to chattels—in others, as in Louisiana and Kentucky, a real-estate interest, governed by the laws which apply to landed property. In a word, this dogma of the self-extension of the slavery part of the constitution to a territory is impracticable and preposterous, and as novel as unfounded.

It was in this same debate, on the Oregon territorial bill, that Mr. Calhoun showed that he had forgotten the part which he had acted on the Missouri compromise question, and also forgotten its history, and first declared that he held that compromise to be unconstitutional and void. Thus:

"After an arduous struggle of more than a year, on the question whether Missouri should come into the Union, with or without restrictions prohibiting slavery, a compromise line was adopted between the North and the South; but it was done under circumstances which made it nowise obligatory on the latter. It is true, it was moved by one of her distinguished citizens (Mr. Clay), but it is equally so, that it was carried by the almost united vote of the North against the almost united vote of the South; and was thus imposed on the latter by superior numbers, in opposition to her strenuous efforts. The South has never given her sanction to it, or assented to the power it asserted. She was voted down, and has simply acquiesced in an arrangement which she has not had the power to reverse, and which she could not attempt to do without disturbing the peace and harmony of the Union—to which she has ever been adverse."

All this is error, and was immediately shown to be so by Senator Dix of New York, who produced the evidence that Mr. Monroe's cabinet, of which Mr. Calhoun was a member, had passed upon the question of the constitutionality of that compromise, and given their opinions in its favor. It has also been seen since that, as late as 1838, Mr. Calhoun was in favor of that compromise, and censured Mr. Randolph for being against it; and, still later, in 1845, he acted his part in re-enacting that compromise, and re-establishing its line, in that part of it which had been abrogated by the laws and constitution of Texas, and which, if not re-established, would permit slavery in Texas, to spread south of 36° 30'. Forgetting his own part in that compromise, Mr. Calhoun equally forgot that of others. He says Mr. Clay moved the compromise—a clear mistake, as it came down to the House from the Senate, as an amendment to the House restrictive bill. He says it was carried by the almost united voice of the North against the almost united voice of the South—a clear mistake again, for it was carried in the Senate by the united voice of the South, with the aid of a few votes from the North; and in the House, by a majority of votes from each section, making 134 to 42. He says it was imposed on the South: on the contrary, it was not only voted for, but invoked and implored by its leading men—by all in the Senate, headed by Mr. Pinkney of Maryland; by all in the House, headed by Mr. Lowndes, with the exception of Mr. Randolph, whom Mr. Calhoun has since authentically declared he blamed at the time for his opposition. So far from being imposed on the South, she re-established it when she found it down at the recovery of Texas. Every member of Congress that voted for the legislative admission of Texas in 1845, voted for the re-establishment of the prostrate Missouri compromise line: and that vote comprehended the South, with Mr. Calhoun at its head—not as a member of Congress, but as Secretary of State, promoting that legislative admission of Texas, and seizing upon it in preference to negotiation, to effect the admission. This was on the third day of March, 1845; so that up to that day, which was only two years before the invention of the "no power" dogma, Mr. Calhoun is estopped by his own act from denying the constitutionality of the Missouri compromise: and in that estoppel is equally included every member of Congressthat then voted for that admission. He says the South never gave her sanction to it: on the contrary, she did it twice—at its enactment in 1820, and at its re-establishment in 1845. He says she was voted down: on the contrary, she was voted up, and that twice, and by good help added to her own exertions—and for which she was duly grateful both times. All this the journals and legislative history of the times will prove, and which any person may see that will take the trouble to look. But admit all these errors of fact, Mr. Calhoun delivered a sound and patriotic sentiment which his disciples have disregarded and violated: He would not attempt to reverse the Missouri compromise, because it would disturb the peace and harmony of the Union. What he would not attempt, they have done: and the peace and harmony of the Union are not only disturbed, but destroyed.

In the same speech the dogma of squatter sovereignty was properly repudiated and scouted, though condemnation was erroneously derived from a denial, instead of an assertion, of the power of Congress over it. "Of all the positions ever taken on the subject, he declared this of squatter sovereignty to be the most absurd:" and, going on to trace the absurdity to its consequences, he said:

"The first half-dozen of squatters would become the sovereigns, with full dominion and sovereignty over the territories; and the conquered people of New Mexico and California would become the sovereigns of the country as soon as they become territories of the United States, vested with the full right of excluding even their conquerors."

Mr. Calhoun concluded this speech on the Oregon bill, in which he promulgated his latest dogmas on slavery, with referring the future hypothetical dissolution of the Union, to three phases of the slavery question: 1. The ordinance of '87. 2. The compromise of 1820. 3. The Oregon agitation of that day, 1848. These were his words:

"Now, let me say, Senators, if our Union and system of government are doomed to perish, and we to share the fate of so many great people who have gone before us, the historian, who, in some future day, may record the events tending to so calamitous a result, will devote his first chapter to the ordinance of 1787, as lauded as it and its authors have been, as the first in that series which led to it. His next chapter will be devoted to the Missouri compromise, and the next to the present agitation. Whether there will be another beyond, I know not. It will depend on what we may do."

These the three causes: The ordinance of 1787, which was voted for by every slave State then in existence: The compromise of 1820, supported by himself, and the power of the South: The Oregon agitation of 1848, of which he was the sole architect—for he was the founder of the opposition to free soil in Oregon. But the historian will have to say that neither of these causes dissolved the Union: and that historian may have to relate that a fourth cause did it—and one from which Mr. Calhoun recoiled, "because it could not be attempted without disturbing the peace and the harmony of the Union."

Columbus, the discoverer of the New World, was carried home in chains, from the theatre of his discoveries, to expiate the crime of his glory: Frémont, the explorer of California and its preserver to the United States, was brought home a prisoner to be tried for an offence, of which the penalty was death, to expiate the offence of having entered the army without passing through the gate of the Military Academy.

The governor of the State of Missouri, Austin A. King, Esq., sitting at the end of a long gallery at Fort Leavenworth, in the summer of 1846, where he had gone to see a son depart as a volunteer in General Kearney's expedition to New Mexico, heard a person at the other end of the gallery speaking of Frémont in a way that attracted his attention. The speaker was in the uniform of a United States officer, and his remarks were highly injurious to Frémont. He inquired the name of the speaker, and was told it was Lieutenant Emory, of the Topographical corps; and he afterwards wrote to a friend in Washington that Frémont was to have trouble when he got among the officers of the regular army: and trouble he did have: for he had committed the offence for which, in the eyes of many of these officers, there was no expiationexcept in ignominious expulsion from the army. He had not only entered the army intrusively, according to their ideas, that is to say, without passing through West Point, but he had done worse: he had become distinguished. Instead of seeking easy service about towns and villages, he had gone off into the depths of the wilderness, to extend the boundaries of science in the midst of perils and sufferings, and to gain for himself a name which became known throughout the world. He was brought home to be tried for the crime of mutiny, expanded into many specifications, of which one is enough to show the monstrosity of the whole. At page 11 of the printed record of the trial, under the head of "Mutiny" stands this specification, numbered 6:

"In this, that he, Lieutenant-colonel John C. Frémont, of the regiment of mounted riflemen, United States army, did, at Ciudad de los Angeles, on the second of March, 1847, in contempt of the lawful authority of his superior officer, Brigadier-general Kearney, assume to be and act as governor of California, in executing a deed or instrument of writing in the following words, to wit: 'In consideration of Francis Temple having conveyed to the United States a certain island, commonly called White, or Bird Island, situated near the mouth of San Francisco Bay, I, John C. Frémont, Governor of California, and in virtue of my office as aforesaid, hereby oblige myself as the legal representative of the United States, and my successors in office, to pay the said Francis Temple, his heirs or assigns, the sum of $5,000, to be paid at as early a day as possible after the receipt of funds from the United States. In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the Territory of California to be affixed, at Ciudad de los Angeles, the capital of California, this 2d day of March, A. D. 1847.—John C. Frémont.'"

And of this specification, as well as of all the rest, two dozen in number, Frémont was duly found guilty by a majority of the court. Now this case of mutiny consisted in this: That there being an island of solid rock, of some hundred acres extent, in the mouth of the San Francisco bay, formed by nature to command the bay, and on which the United States are now constructing forts and a light-house to cost millions, which island had been granted to a British subject and was about to be sold to a French subject, Colonel Frémont bought it for the United States, subject to their ratification in paying the purchase money: all which appears upon the face of the papers. Upon this transaction (as upon all the other specifications) the majority of the court found the accused guilty of "mutiny," the appropriate punishment for which is death; but the sentence was moderated down to dismission from the service. The President disapproved the absurd findings (seven of them) under the mutiny charge, but approved the finding and sentence on inferior charges; and offered a pardon to Frémont: which he scornfully refused. Since then the government has taken possession of that island by military force, without paying any thing for it; Frémont having taken the purchase on his own account since his conviction for "mutiny" in having purchased it for the government—a conviction about equal to what it would have been on a specification for witchcraft, heresy, or "flat burglary." And now annual appropriations are made for forts and the light-house upon it, under the name of Alcatraz, or Los Alcatrazes—that is to say, Pelican Island; so called from being the resort of those sea birds.

Justice to the dead requires it to be told that these charges, so preposterously wicked, were not the work of General Kearney, but had been altered from his. At page 64 of the printed record, and not in answer to any question on that point, but simply to place himself right before the court, and the country, General Kearney swore in these words, and signed them: "The charges upon which Colonel Frémont is now arraigned, are not my charges. I preferred a single charge against Lieutenant-colonel Frémont. These charges, upon which he is now arraigned, have been changed from mine." The change was from one charge to three, and from one or a few specifications to two dozen—whereof this island purchase is a characteristic specimen. No person has ever acknowledged the authorship of the change, but the caption to the charges (page 4 of the record) declares them to have been preferred by order of the War Department. The caption runs thus: "Charges against Lieutenant-colonel Frémont, of the regiment of mounted riflemen, United States army, preferred against him by order of the War Department, on information of Brigadier-general Kearney." The War Department, at that time, was William L. Marcy, Esq.; in consequence of which Senator Benton, chairman for twenty years of the Senate's committee on Military Affairs, refused to remain any longer at the head of that committee, because he wouldnot hold a place which would put him in communication with that department.

The gravamen of the charge was, that Frémont had mutinied because Kearney would not appoint him governor of California; and the answer to that was, that Commodore Stockton, acting under full authority from the President, had already appointed him to that place before Kearney left Santa Fé for New Mexico: and the proof was ample, clear, and pointed to that effect: but more has since been found, and of a kind to be noticed by a court of West Point officers, as it comes from graduates of the institution. It so happens that two of General Kearney's officers (Captain Johnston, of the First Dragoons, and Lieutenant Emory, of the Topographical corps), both kept journals of the expedition, which have since been published, and that both these journals contain the same proof—one by a plain and natural statement—the other by an unnatural suppression which betrays the same knowledge. The journal of Captain Johnston, of the first dragoons, under the date of October 6th, 1846, contains this entry:

"Marched at 9, after having great trouble in getting some ox carts from the Mexicans: after marching about three miles we met Kit Carson, direct on express from California, with a mail of public letters for Washington. He informs us that Colonel Frémont is probably civil and military governor of California, and that about forty days since, Commodore Stockton with the naval forces, and Colonel Frémont, acting in concert, commenced to revolutionize that country, and place it under the American flag: that in about ten days this was done, and Carson having received the rank of lieutenant, was despatched across the country by the Gila, with a party to carry the mail. The general told him that he had just passed over the country which we were to traverse, and he wanted him to go back with him as a guide: he replied that he had pledged himself to go to Washington, and he could not think of not fulfilling his promise. The general told him he would relieve him of all responsibility, and place the mail in the hands of a safe person to carry it on. He finally consented, and turned his face towards the West again, just as he was on the eve of entering the settlements, after his arduous trip, and when he had set his hopes on seeing his family. It requires a brave man to give up his private feelings thus for the public good; but Carson is one: such honor to his name for it."

This is a natural and straightforward account of this meeting with Carson, and of the information he gave, that California was conquered by Stockton and Frémont, and the latter governor of it; and the journal goes on to show that, in consequence of this information, General Kearney turned back the body of his command, and went on with an escort only of one hundred dragoons. Lieutenant Emory's journal of the same date opens in the same way, with the same account of the difficulty of getting some teams from the Mexicans, and then branches off into a dissertation upon peonage, and winds up the day with saying: "Came into camp late, and found Carson with an express from California, bearing intelligence that the country had surrendered without a blow, and that the American flag floated in every part." This is a lame account, not telling to whom the country had surrendered, eschewing all mention of Stockton and Frémont, and that governorship which afterwards became the point in the court-martial trial. The next day's journal opens with Carson's news, equally lame at the same point, and redundant in telling something in New Mexico, under date of Oct. 7th, 1846, which took place the next year in old Mexico, thus: "Yesterday's news caused some changes in our camp: one hundred dragoons, officered, &c., formed the party for California. Major Sumner, with the dragoons, was ordered to retrace his steps." Here the news brought by Carson is again referred to, and the consequence of receiving it is stated; but still no mention of Frémont and Stockton, and that governorship, the question of which became the whole point in the next year's trial for mutiny. But the lack of knowledge of what took place in his presence is more than balanced by a foresight into what took place afterwards and far from him—exhibited thus in the journal: "Many friends here parted that were never to meet again: some fell in California, some in New Mexico, and some at Cerro Gordo." Now, no United States troops fell in New Mexico until after Lieutenant Emory left there, nor in California until he got there, nor at Cerro Gordo until April of the next year, when he was in California, and could not know it until after Frémont was fixed upon to be arrested for that mutiny of which the governorship was the point. It stands to reason, then, that this part of the journal was altered nearly a year after it purports to have been written, and after thearrest of Frémont had been resolved upon; and so, while absolutely proving an alteration of the journal, explains the omission of all mention of all reference to the governorship, the ignoring of which was absolutely essential to the institution of the charge of mutiny.—Long afterwards, and without knowing a word of what Captain Johnston had written, or Lieutenant Emory had suppressed, Carson gave his own statement of that meeting with General Kearney, the identity of which with the statement of Captain Johnston, is the identity of truth with itself. Thus:

"I met General Kearney, with his troops, on the 6th of October, about —— miles below Santa Fé. I had heard of their coming, and when I met them, the first thing I told them was that they were 'too late'—that California was conquered, and the United States flag raised in all parts of the country. But General Kearney said he would go on, and said something about going to establish a civil government. I told him a civil government was already established, and Colonel Frémont appointed governor, to commence as soon as he returned from the north, some time in that very month (October). General Kearney said that made no difference—that he was a friend of Colonel Frémont, and he would make him governor himself. He began from the first to insist on my turning back to guide him into California. I told him I could not turn back—that I had pledged myself to Commodore Stockton and Colonel Frémont to take their despatches through to Washington City, and to return with despatches as far as New Mexico, where my family lived, and to carry them all the way back if I did not find some one at Santa Fé that I could trust as well as I could myself—that I had promised them I would reach Washington in sixty days, and that they should have return despatches from the government in 120 days. I had performed so much of the journey in the appointed time, and in doing so had already worn out and killed thirty-four mules—that Stockton and Frémont had given me letters of credit to persons on the way to furnish me with all the animals I needed, and all the supplies to make the trip to Washington and back in 120 days; and that I was pledged to them, and could not disappoint them; and besides, that I was under more obligations to Colonel Frémont than to any other man alive. General Kearney would not hear of any such thing as my going on. He told me he was a friend to Colonel Frémont and Colonel Benton, and all the family, and would send on the despatches by Mr. Fitzpatrick, who had been with Colonel Frémont in his exploring party, and was a good friend to him, and would take the despatches through, and bring back despatches as quick as I could. When he could not persuade me to turn back, he then told me that he had a right to make me go with him, and insisted on his right; and I did not consent to turn back till he had made me believe that he had a right to order me; and then, as Mr. Fitzpatrick was going on with the despatches and General Kearney seemed to be such a good friend of the colonel's, I let him take me back; and I guided him through, but went with great hesitation, and had prepared every thing to escape the night before they started, and made known my intention to Maxwell, who urged me not to do so. More than twenty times on the road, General Kearney told me about his being a friend of Colonel Benton and Colonel Frémont, and all their family, and that he intended to make Colonel Frémont the governor of California; and all this of his own accord, as we were travelling along, or in camp, and without my saying a word to him about it. I say, more than twenty times, for I cannot remember how many times, it was such a common thing for him to talk about it."

Such was the statement of Mr. Carson, made to Senator Benton; and who, although rejected for a lieutenancy in the United States army because he did not enter it through the gate of the military academy, is a man whose word will stand wherever he is known, and who is at the head, as a guide, of the principal military successes in New Mexico. But why back his word? The very despatches he was carrying conveyed to the government the same information that he gave to General Kearney, to wit, that California was conquered and Frémont to be governor. That information was communicated to Congress by the President, and also sworn to by Commodore Stockton before the court-martial: but without any effect upon the majority of the members.

Colonel Frémont was found guilty of all the charges, and all the specifications; and in the secrecy which hides the proceedings of courts-martial, it cannot be told how, or whether the members divided in their opinions; but circumstances always leak out to authorize the formation of an opinion, and according to these leakings, on this occasion four members of the court were against the conviction: to wit, Brigadier-general Brooke, President; Lieutenant-colonel Hunt; Lieutenant-colonel Taylor, brother of the afterwards President; and Major Baker, of the Ordnance. The proceedings required to be approved, or disapproved, by the President; and he, although no military man, was a rationalman, and common reason told him there was no mutiny in the case. He therefore disapproved that finding, and approved the rest, saying:

"Upon an inspection of the record, I am not satisfied that the facts proved in this case constitute the military crime of 'mutiny.' I am of opinion that the second and third charges are sustained by the proof, and that the conviction upon these charges warrants the sentence of the court. The sentence of the court is therefore approved; but in consideration of the peculiar circumstances of the case—of the previous meritorious and valuable services of Lieutenant-colonel Frémont, and of the foregoing recommendation of a majority of the court, to the clemency of the President, the sentence of dismissal from the service is remitted. Lieutenant-col. Frémont will accordingly be released from arrest, will resume his sword, and report for duty." (Dated, February 17, 1848.)

Upon the instant of receiving this order, Frémont addressed to the adjutant-general this note:

"I have this moment received the general order, No. 7 (dated the 17th instant), making known to me the final proceedings of the general court-martial before which I have been tried; and hereby send in my resignation of lieutenant-colonel in the army of the United States. In doing this I take the occasion to say, that my reason for resigning is, that I do not feel conscious of having done any thing to deserve the finding of the court; and, this being the case, I cannot, by accepting the clemency of the President, admit the justice of the decision against me."

General Kearney had two misfortunes in this court-martial affair: he had to appear as prosecutor of charges which he swore before the court were not his: and he had been attended by West Point officers envious and jealous of Frémont, and the clandestine sources of poisonous publications against him, which inflamed animosities, and left the heats which they engendered to settle upon the head of General Kearney. Major Cooke and Lieutenant Emory were the chief springs of these publications, and as such were questioned before the court, but shielded from open detection by the secret decisions of the majority of the members.

The secret proceedings of courts-martial are out of harmony with the progress of the age. Such proceedings should be as open and public as any other, and all parties left to the responsibility which publicity involves.

No sooner freed from the army, than Frémont set out upon a fourth expedition to the western slope of our continent, now entirely at his own expense, and to be conducted during the winter, and upon a new line of exploration. His views were practical as well as scientific, and tending to the establishment of a railroad to the Pacific, as well as the enlargement of geographical knowledge. He took the winter for his time, as that was the season in which to see all the disadvantages of his route; and the head of the Rio Grande del Norte for his line, as it was the line of the centre, and one not yet explored, and always embraced in his plan of discovery. The mountain men had informed him that there was a good pass at the head of the Del Norte. Besides other dangers and hardships, he had the war ground of the Utahs, Apaches, Navahoes, and other formidable tribes to pass through, then all engaged in hostilities with the United States, and ready to prey upon any party of whites; but 33 of his old companions, 120 picked mules, fine rifles—experience, vigilance and courage—were his reliance; and a trusted security against all evil. Arrived at thePuebloson the Upper Arkansas, the last of November, at the base of the first sierra to be crossed, luminous with snow and stern in their dominating look, he dismounted his whole company, took to their feet, and wading waist-deep in the vast unbroken snow field, arrived on the other side in the beautiful valley of San Luis; but still on the eastern side of the great mountain chain which divided the waters which ran east and west to the rising and the setting sun. At the head of that valley was the pass, described to him by the old hunters. With his glasses he could see the depression in the mountain which marked its place. He had taken a local guide from the Pueblo San Carlos to lead him to that pass. But this precaution for safety was the passport to disaster. He was behind, with his faithful draughtsman, Preuss, when he saw his guide leading off the company towards amass of mountains to the left: he rode up and stopped them, remonstrated with the guide for two hours; and then yielded to his positive assertion that the pass was there. The company entered a tortuous gorge, following a valley through which ran a head stream of the great river Del Norte. Finally they came to where the ascent was to begin, and the summit range crossed. The snow was deep, the cold intense, the acclivity steep, and the huge rocks projecting. The ascent was commenced in the morning, struggled with during the day, an elevation reached at which vegetation (wood) ceased, and the summit in view, when, buried in snow, exhausted with fatigue, freezing with cold, and incapable of further exertion, the order was given to fall back to the line of vegetation where wood would afford fire and shelter for the night. With great care the animals were saved from freezing, and at the first dawn of day the camp, after a daybreak breakfast, were in motion for the ascent. Precautions had been taken to make it more practicable. Mauls, prepared during the night, were carried by the foremost division to beat down a road in the snow. Men went forward by relieves. Mules and baggage followed in long single file in the track made in the snow. The mountain was scaled: the region of perpetual congelation was entered. It was the winter solstice, and at a place where the summer solstice brought no life to vegetation—no thaw to congelation. The summit of the sierra was bare of every thing but snow, ice and rocks. It was no place to halt. Pushing down the side of the mountain to reach the wood three miles distant, a new and awful danger presented itself: a snow storm raging, the freezing winds beating upon the exposed caravan, the snow become too deep for the mules to move in, and the cold beyond the endurance of animal life. The one hundred and twenty mules, huddling together from an instinct of self-preservation from each other's heat and shelter, froze stiff as they stood, and fell over like blocks, to become hillocks of snow. Leaving all behind, and the men's lives only to be saved, the discomfited and freezing party scrambled back, recrossing the summit, and finding under the lee of the mountain some shelter from the driving storm, and in the wood that was reached the means of making fires.

The men's lives were now saved, but destitute of every thing, only a remnant of provisions, and not even the resource of the dead mules which were on the other side of the summit; and the distance computed at ten days of their travel to the nearest New Mexican settlement. The guide, and three picked men, were despatched thither for some supplies, and twenty days fixed for their return. When they had been gone sixteen days, Frémont, preyed upon by anxiety and misgiving, set off after them, on foot, snow to the waist, blankets and some morsels of food on the back: the brave Godey, his draughtsman Preuss, and a faithful servant, his only company. When out six days he came upon the camp of his guide, stationary and apparently without plan or object, and the men haggard, wild and emaciated. Not seeing King, the principal one of the company, and on whom he relied, he asked for him. They pointed to an older camp, a little way off. Going there he found the man dead, and partly devoured. He had died of exhaustion, of fatigue, and his comrades fed upon him. Gathering up these three survivors, Frémont resumed his journey, and had not gone far before he fell on signs of Indians—two lodges, implying 15 or 20 men, and some 40 or 50 horses—all recently passed along. At another time this would have been an alarm, one of his fears being that of falling in with a war party. He knew not what Indians they were, but all were hostile in that quarter, and evasion the only security against them. To avoid their course was his obvious resource: on the contrary, he followed it! for such was the desperation of his situation that even a change of danger had an attraction. Pursuing the trail down the Del Norte, then frozen solid over, and near the place where Pike encamped in the winter of 1807-'8, they saw an Indian behind his party, stopped to get water from an air hole. He was cautiously approached, circumvented, and taken. Frémont told his name: the young man, for he was quite young, started, and asked him if he was the Frémont that had exchanged presents with the chief of the Utahs at Las Vegas de Santa Clara three years before? He was answered, yes. Then, said the young man, we are friends: that chief was my father, and I remember you. The incident was romantic, but itdid not stop there. Though on a war inroad upon the frontiers of New Mexico, the young chief became his guide, let him have four horses, conducted him to the neighborhood of the settlements, and then took his leave, to resume his scheme of depredation upon the frontier.

Frémont's party reached Taos, was sheltered in the house of his old friend Carson—obtained the supplies needed—sent them back by the brave Godey, who was in time to save two-thirds of the party, finding the other third dead along the road, scattered at intervals as each had sunk exhausted and frozen, or half burnt in the fire which had been kindled for them to die by. The survivors were brought in by Godey, some crippled with frozen feet. Frémont found himself in a situation which tries the soul—which makes the issue between despair and heroism—and leaves no alternative but to sink under fate, or to rise above it. His whole outfit was gone: his valiant mountain men were one-third dead, many crippled: he was penniless, and in a strange place. He resolved to go forward—nulla vestigia retrorsum: to raise another outfit, and turn the mountains by the Gila. In a few days it was all done—men, horses, arms, provisions—all acquired; and the expedition resumed. But it was no longer the tried band of mountain men on whose vigilance, skill and courage he could rely to make their way through hostile tribes. They were new men, and to avoid danger, not to overcome it, was his resource. The Navahoes and Apaches had to be passed, and eluded—a thing difficult to be done, as his party of thirty men and double as many horses would make a trail, easy to be followed in the snow, though not deep. He took an unfrequented course, and relied upon the secrecy and celerity of his movements. The fourth night on the dangerous ground the horses, picketed without the camp, gave signs of alarm: they were brought within the square of fires, and the men put on the alert. Daybreak came without visible danger. The camp moved off: a man lagged a little behind, contrary to injunctions: the crack of some rifles sent him running up. It was then clear that they were discovered, and a party hovering round them. Two Indians were seen ahead: they might be a decoy, or a watch, to keep the party in view until the neighboring warriors could come in. Evasion was no longer possible: fighting was out of the question, for the whole hostile country was ahead, and narrow defiles to be passed in the mountains. All depended upon the address of the commander. Relying upon his ascendant over the savage mind, Frémont took his interpreter, and went to the two Indians. Godey said he should not go alone, and followed. Approaching them, a deep ravine was seen between. The Indians beckoned him to go round by the head of the ravine, evidently to place that obstacle between him and his men. Symptoms of fear or distrust would mar his scheme: so he went boldly round, accosted them confidently, and told his name. They had never heard it. He told them they ought to be ashamed, not to know their best friend; inquired for their tribe, which he wished to see: and took the whole air of confidence and friendship. He saw they were staggered. He then invited them to go to his camp where the men had halted, and take breakfast with him. They said that might be dangerous—that they had shot at one of his men that morning, and might have killed him, and now be punished for it. He ridiculed the idea of their hurting his men, charmed them into the camp, where they ate, and smoked, and told their secret, and became messengers to lead their tribe in one direction, while Frémont and his men escaped by another; and the whole expedition went through without loss, and without molestation. A subsequent winter expedition completed the design of this one, so disastrously frustrated by the mistake of a guide. Frémont went out again upon his own expense—went to the spot where the guide had gone astray—followed the course described by the mountain men—and found safe and easy passes all the way to California, through a good country, and upon the straight line of 38 and 39 degrees. It is the route for the Central Pacific Railroad, which the structure of the country invites, and every national consideration demands.

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