 | John Randolph |  |
ECCENTRIC EVEN WITH CHILDREN.
Randolph's eccentricities, largely the result of his ill health
and abnormal physical sensibilities, extended even to the
young people with whom he came in contact. He was often
gentle as a refined woman to them. Again he would flare
up at them as if they ought to have the consideration and
wisdom of maturity in dealing with what he himself, in his
sane moments, knew to be an unaccountable temperament.
It is seldom that he attempted to unbend with children,
and he never quite succeeded. He always seemed to feel
that the burden lay upon him to "point of moral or adorn
a tale," to deliver a set speech or lecture upon whatever
theme or occurrence was to the fore.
The story of the little hickory switch, cut by his nephew's
playmate with boyish naturalness, has already been told—
how Mr. Randolph took the occasion to deliver then and
there a moral lecture, taking for his theme the sacredness
of vegetable life.
Upon another occasion three boys were visiting Mr.
Randolph. After spending a long summer's day in hunting
squirrels, climbing trees, swimming, and other tiring
boyish sports, they and the statesman of Roanoke retired
together to their sleeping room. The boys slept on the
floor, Mr. Randolph in a bed by himself. When thus
stretched out at full length under a single sheet, he is
described as looking "like a pair of oyster tongs." He was
reading a book by the light of a candle. At length he
dropped his book, looked up at the ceiling and solemnly
delivered this query:
"Boys, why may not the earth be an animal?"
All were either too dull or too sleepy to answer and there
was a deep silence, which probably did not displease Mr.
Randolph, as he was enabled to continue:
"The ocean of the earth may be regarded as the great
receptacle of the blood, or the heart, the rivers are the veins
and arteries, the rocks are the bones, the trees are the hair
of the animal, the soil the scalp, and men and other vermin
inhabit the surface. If we dig a hole in the earth or wound
it in any way, we find that it has a tendency to heal up."
Tudor, one of the boys, was fat and perhaps more overcome
with the exercises of the day than the others. He
therefore not only fell asleep, despite this impressive parallel,
but commenced to snore.
Randolph's quick ear caught the sound and he dropped
his flashing eyes upon the boys with an indignant "Is that
beef-headed fellow asleep already?"
As the beef-headed nephew continued to snore, Randolph
impatiently put out his candle and turned toward the
wall in disgust.
TENDER TO THE WEAK.
Like many possessed with a terrible mental energy Randolph
was tender as a woman when in the presence of those
whom he knew were powerless before him. Not a little
of his magnetic power dwelt in his eyes and of this he
was aware.
On these points, William H. Elliott, of Charlotte county,
who, with Mr. Randolph's nephew Tudor, attended a classical
school a short distance from Roanoke, relates that the
was among the visitors who called one evening to hear the
boys declaim. When the fact became known there was a
wholesale panic among the pupils and they all begged to
have declamations postponed. But the master of the school
believed that the Randolph Presence would prove a heroic
remedy for stage fright.
The visitors were on one side of the room, the boys occupied
a bench on the other. The narrator of the story was
the youngest of the pupils and perhaps the most timid.
He was also first on the list and the thought of declaiming
before the terrible John Randolph of Roanoke was little
less than annihilation.
"But all suspense must end somehow or other. At length
our dominee looked towards us with a stern expression—
`time for exercises to commence.'
"It was time to move now, live or die. I rose, advanced
a step or two on the floor and made my bow, without venturing
to look directly at him. I saw that Mr. Randolph
returned my bow, though no one else did. I regarded all
the rest of the company as only so many saplings in the
woods.
"It may well be supposed that I commenced in a very
tremulous manner; for I imagined that he was stabbing me
through and through with his perforating dirk-like gaze.
After twisting and wriggling about for some minutes like
a worm in the focus of a sun glass, I ventured to raise my
eyes to him and to my inexpressible comfort and encouragement,
I found that he had un-Randolphed himself, pro tem.
That is to say, by quenching his eyes, looking down on the
himself in the crowd around him.
"All this, I have since thought, was done to lessen, if
possible, the embarrassment of the speakers; for he saw
intuitively that his presence was oppressive. But at that
time, when I saw him look so humble, I fancied I was getting
the better of him. While I had him down, I poured
it upon him; my enthusiasm arose and I fairly deluged him
with a cataract of Fox's eloquence. When I concluded he
seemed to come partially to life; looked up with a pleased
expression, as much as to say, `That does pretty well.' "
In his old age, another Charlotte county man relates a
less brave experience; it was his first sight of Mr. Randolph,
while he was a schoolboy: "He was riding by on
horseback. I had the paddle raised to strike a ball while
playing a game of cat. So remarkable was his appearance
that I failed to strike while gazing at him. I had no idea
who he was, or that he was a distinguished man."
RANDOLPH'S ONE GREAT ANCHOR.
Randolph once wrote to a friend: "I am a fatalist. I
am all but friendless. Only one human being ever knew
me. She only knew me."
That one and only human being was the one and only
of many sensitive, harassed lives—his mother. She died
before he was fifteen years of age and when she herself was
but thirty-six, leaving behind the pervading fragrance of a
gentle wisdom and piety, as well as of a rare wit and beauty
of person. She was the one great anchor of his being and
it was the application of her counsels which saved his fame
ambition to become an orator "as great a speaker as Jerman
Baker or Edmund Randolph," and during his early years
taught him from the masters of eloquence herself. "That
gave a bent to my disposition," he continues. "At Princeton
college, where I spent a few months, the prize of elocution
was borne away by mouthers and ranters. I never would
speak if I could possibly avoid it, and, when I could not,
repeated, without gesture, the shortest piece that I had committed
to memory. I remember some verses from Pope,
and the first anonymous letter from Newberg, made up the
sum and substance of my spoutings and I can yet repeat
much of the first epistle (to Lord Chatham) of the former
and a good deal of the latter. I was then as conscious of
my superiority over my competitors in delivery and elocution,
as I am now that they are sunk in oblivion; and I
despised the award and the umpires in the bottom of my
heart. I believe there is nowhere such foul play as among
professors and schoolmasters; more especially if they are
priests. I have had a contempt for college honors ever
since."
It was long before this, when the boy was about eight
years of age, that his mother had planted in his breast the
determination to bind himself for life to the family estate.
When riding over the great Raonoke plantation one day she
took John up behind her and waving her hand to cover
the broad view, said: "Johnny, all this land belongs to
you and your brother Theodorick; it is your father's inheritance.
When you get to be a man you must not sell
your land. It is the first step toward ruin for a boy to
you live. Keep your land and your land will keep you."
And thus it proved. Roanoke, with its wild, primeval
solitude—virtually his only white companion a young relative,
Theodore Dudley—was his one great anchor and held
his brilliant mind from being buffeted hither and thither by
the insane promptings of his passions. Here he could and
did often retire from the world, only receiving and corresponding
with a few friends.
SELF-CONSCIOUS GENIUS.
There is no doubt that Randolph was intensely self-conscious,
which is usually a result of physicial disease and abnormal
sensibilities. There is no doubt also that his strong
passions or mental intensity often carried that self completely
out of his miserable body. But even as a young
man the first impression left upon strangers, after they had
recovered from his remarkable appearance, was that he was
one who appreciated the fact that he was not as others are.
A Charleston, S. C., bookseller has described the wonderful
transformation which came over Randolph's face, when
he passed, like a flash, from his impudent to his rapt state
of being; it may be said that the young man was at the
time on a visit to a companion and that he had formed the
acquaintance of a handsome, hearty old Scotch baronet,
who was as fond of horses and horse racing as he—the
Scotchman being probably his companion of the narrative:
"On a bright sunny morning, early in February, 1796,
might have been seen entering my bookstore in Charleston,
S. C., a fine looking, florid complexioned, old gentleman,
complexion, showed him to have been a free liver, or bon
vivant of the first order. Along with him was a tall, gawky-looking
flaxen-haired stripling, apparently of the age from
sixteen to eighteen, with a complexion of a good parchment
color, beardless chin, and as much assumed self-consequence
as any two-footed animal I ever saw. This was
John Randolph.
"I handed him from the shelves volume after volume,
which he tumbled carlessly over and handed back again.
At length he hit upon something that struck his fancy. My
eye happened to be fixed upon his face at the moment, and
never did I witness so perfect a change of the human
countenance. That which before was dull and heavy, in a
moment became animated and flushed with the brightest
beams of intellect. He stepped up to the old gray-headed gentleman,
and, giving him a thundering slap on the shoulder,
said, `Jack, look at this!' I was young then, but I never
can forget the thought that rushed upon my mind at the
moment, which was that he was the most impudent youth
I ever saw."
RANDOLPH'S MINOR TASTES.
During the early years of his public life, Randolph drank
but little more than wine and coffee. His dwelling on his
Charlotte farm was a single-story wooden building, with
two rooms down stairs and two more under the roof. He
had no unnecessary furniture, but what he had was of the
neatest kind and generally of the best materials. One of
his favorite breakfasts was coffee, butter and honey, with
cold bacon.
Randolph was particularly fond of good coffee—good
and strong. If an inferior article was offered his sarcasm
had no bounds. On one occasion, while stopping at a hotel,
a cup of so-called coffee was set at his plate. One glance of
his eye and he beckoned the waiter.
"Servant," said he, "if this be coffee, give me tea, and
if it be tea, give me coffee."
Randolph was as fond of horses as Webster was of cattle
and imported not a few blooded English stallions and
mares. He occasionally put horses on the turf, but without
much success.
It is related that while attending a famous race in his
day between "Eclipse" and "Henry"—a Northern and a
Southern horse—a stranger stepped up to him and offered
to bet five hundred dollars on the former.
Of course Randolph was Southern to the core.
"Done," he said promptly.
"Colonel Thompson will hold the stakes," replied the
stranger.
"But who will hold Colonel Thompson?" promptly inquired
Mr. Randolph.
And Colonel Thompson's friend promptly retreated.
Randolph was a skillful hunter and one of the best marksmen
in the South. His love of dogs was great and whenever
he made a visit to a friend's house he usually brought
them with him. One who knows says: "They were suffered
to poke their noses into everything and go where they
pleased, from kitchen to parlor. They were a great annoyance
to ladies and housekeepers. This, however, was quietly
have been regarded as an insult to himself."
Randolph had a fine taste for music, which he says he inherited
from his grandmother. This he never cultivated,
"owing," he adds, "in a great measure to the low estimate
that I saw the fiddling, piping gentry held in when I was
young, but partly to the torture that my poor brother used
to inflict upon me when essaying to learn to play upon the
violin, now about forty years ago.
"I have a taste for painting, but never attempted drawing.
I had read a great deal upon it and had seen a few good
pictures before I went to England. There I astonished some
of their connoisseurs as much by the facility with which I
pointed out the hand of a particular master, without reference
to the catalogue, as by my exact knowledge of the
geography, topography and statistics of the country.
"For poetry I have had a decided taste from my childhood,
yet never attempted to write one line of it. This taste
I have sedulously cultivated. I believe I was deterred from
attempting poetry by the verses of Billy Mumford and some
other taggers of rime, which I heard praised (I allude to
espistles in verse, written at 12 or 13 years old) but secretly
in my heart despised. I also remembered to have heard
some poetry of Lord Chatham and of Mr. Fox, which I
thought then, and still think, to be unworthy of their illustrious
names—and before Horace had taught me that `neither
gods, nor men, nor booksellers' stalls could endure middling
poetry' I thought none but an inspired pen should
attempt the task."
RANDOLPH'S DOMESTIC RESPONSIBILITIES.
Randolph's talented and high-minded brother, Richard,
died when the statesman was twenty-three years of age, and
three years before his first election to Congress. This was
a blow scarcely less severe than that inflicted by his mother's
death, not only because the ties between them were close
and strong, but he had hoped great things from that brother,
who was then generally pronounced "the most promising
man in Virginia."
John Randolph thus became the head of the estate at
Bizarre, on the Appomatox, where he had lived with his
brother and his family, as well as that of Roanoke on the
river by that name. Subsequently and after his removel to
Roanoke the house at Bizarre was burned with his valuable
library. For nearly fifteen years he continued at the head
of the household, which consisted of the widow and her
two young children, and his cousin, Mrs. Dudley, with her
two children. The estate was large and his brothers had
liberated all his slaves. Although there were some two
hundred negroes on the Roanoke estate, the liberation of
the Bizarre contingent doubtless made Mr. Randolph's conduct
of the estate more difficult than it was before.
This misfortune instead of softening and subduing him
seems to have made him more restless and irritable, and,
although he supervised the household in a general way, he
did not remain there long at any one time. Other members
of the household appear to have found it a haven.
The poor man had his qualms of conscience at this inability
to compose and content himself, as who can doubt
after reading such words as these from him: "Mrs. Randolph,
the nicest and best housewife that I ever saw. Not
one drop of water was ever suffered to stand on her sideboard
except what was in the pitcher; the house, from cellar
to garret, and in every part, as clean as hands could make
it; and everything as it should be to suit even my fastidious
taste. Never did I see or smell anything to offend my
senses or my imagination."
Randolph's room was under the chamber occupied by
Mrs. Dudley and her children and she has already told, in
the course of this narrative, how she never waked in the
night that she did not hear him restlessly moving about and
muttering or declaiming to himself. She also says that even
then he pursued no systematic course of reading; system was
as impossible to him as a restless wild animal in confinement.
She frequently heard him lament that he was fond
of light reading. He had a faculty, also, of seeming to
absorb a book without seeming to read it, and Mrs. Dudley
says that he often would seat himself by the candle, where
she and Mrs. Randolph were knitting, turn over the leaves
of a book carelessly like a child, and then lay it down and
tell more about it than others who had carefully studied it.
Mr. Randolph's most sacred responsibility was the care
and education of his elder two nephews, the sons of his favorite
brother, St. George and Tudor. So far as Providence
would permit, this task he accomplished with loving fidelity.
But the mingled veins of mental and physical unsoundness—
as the world judges it—seemed to run through the family
tree. His eldest nephew, St. George, became insane over a
love affair, in 1814, and the younger, Tudor, died of consumption
With the death of the latter "the pride, the sole hope of the
family," as Randolph hopelessly phrases it, was taken away.
Although plunged into a gloom which sometimes threatened
to completely unbalance his mind, Randolph threw
himself more than ever upon his adopted friend, a son in all
but blood, young Dr. Dudley. He also took upon himself
the responsibility of three other orphan boys, two of them
the sons of an old deceased friend. It will readily be seen
that with all his infirmities of mind and body, John Randolph
did far more than visit the widows and orphans in
their affliction.
Although when the fit was on him, the testimony of his
neighbors was that Randolph delighted to terrify his slaves
with his wild outbursts of sarcasm and passion, in his heart
he felt their responsibility as of another large household.
At the time of the British invasion of Virginia and the capture
of Washington, in 1814, his section of the country
was flooded and famine threatened. In this season of distress,
he writes to his lifelong friend, Dr. Brockenbrough,
unburdening himself of those feelings of responsibility as
a slave-holder which so oppress him:
"I have lived to feel that there are many things worse
than poverty or death, those bugbears that terrify the great
children of the world and sometimes drive them to eternal
ruin. It requires, however, firmer nerves than mine to contemplate
without shrinking, even in prospect, the calamities
which await this unhappy district of country—famine and
all its concomitant horrors of disease and misery. To add
to the picture, a late requisition of militia for Norfolk carries
country; and to have a just conception of the scene it is
necessary to be on the spot. This is our court day, when
the conscripts are to report themselves, and I purposely abstain
from the sight of wretchedness that I cannot relieve.
I have indeed enough of it at home.
"The river did not abate in its rise until last night at sunset.
It has, after twenty-four hours, just retired within its
banks. The ruin is tremendous. The granary of this part
of the State is rifled of its stores. Where, then, are the former
furnishers of the great support of life to look for a
supply? With a family of more than two hundred mouths
looking up to me for food, I feel an awful charge on my
hands. It is easy to rid myself of the burthen if I could
shut my heart to the cry of humanity and the voice of duty.
But in these poor slaves I have found my best and most
faithful friends; and I feel that it would be more difficult to
abandon them to the cruel fate to which our laws would consign
them, than to suffer with them."
NO LOWER DOOR FOR RANDOLPH.
Randolph's visit to England in quest of health in 1822,
brought him in contact with many public characters. There
were few of them but had heard of his eccentricities, but
when they met him face to face were so captivated by his
personality, that they were anxious to welcome him as an
addition to any circle.
One of the aristocracy took a special liking to him and
as a signal mark of his favor obtained permission from the
Lord Chancellor to introduce Mr. Randolph into the House
of obliging him to force his way with the crowd at
the common entrance.
About the time that Mr. Randolph secured this privilege
extended only to distinguished visitors, a friend of his arrived
in London and the two were planning to attend a debate
of extraordinary interest in the upper house of parliament.
The friend mentioned had secured from a marquis
of his acquaintance a pass admitting two persons to the
House of Lords to hear the debate. He carried it in triumph
to Randolph, offering to share his good fortune.
"Pray, sir," said Citizen Randolph, of Roanoke, "at what
door do you intend to enter the house?"
"At the lower door, of course," replied the friend, "where
all strangers enter."
"Not all strangers, if you please," said he, "for I shall
enter at the private door near the throne."
"Oh, my dear sir," returned Randolph's friend, "your
privilege, I dare say, will answer on any common occasion;
but to-night the members of the House of Commons will
entirely fill the space around the throne and no stranger, depend
upon it, will be admitted there. So be wise and don't
refuse this chance, or you will regret it."
"What, sir," retorted he, "do you suppose I would consent
to struggle with and push through the crowd of persons
who, for two long hours, must fight their way in at the
lower door? Oh, no, sir! I shall do no such thing. If
I cannot enter as a gentleman commoner I go not at all."
So the two separated, and the young and active friend,
after fighting a good fight, finally forced the lower door
possession of standing room. But, casting his eye twoards
the throne soon after his entrance, to his no small surprise
and (he naively admits) his envy, he beheld Randolph
of Roanoke in all his glory, walking in most leisurely and
perfectly at home, alongside of Canning, Lord Castlereagh,
Sir Robert Peel and many other distinguished members of
the House of Commons. Some of these gentlemen even
selected for him a prominent position, from which he could
see and hear to the best advantage.
Whatever others might do or advise, John Randolph of
Roanoke would never consent to hide his light under a
bushel or to go in at the lower door. He would be a Gentleman
Commoner or nothing.
FAREWELL TO HENRY CLAY.
Despite their political animosities, from the time of the
duel, in which they both conducted themselves with generous
spirit, each had a real admiration for the other.
A few days before his death, when it seemed that any minute
might be his last, he was borne into the Senate chamber,
and took a seat in the rear of Mr. Clay, who, at the time of
his entrance, was addressing that body.
"Raise me up," said Randolph, "I want to hear that voice
again."
When Mr. Clay had concluded his brief remarks, he turned
around to see who had made the request in such a touching
voice.
Recognizing the dying man, he left his place to speak to
up."
Mr. Clay offered his hand and with a sympathetic voice
said, "Mr. Randolph, I hope you are better, sir."
"No, sir," replied Randolph, "I am a dying man, and I
came here expressly to have this interview with you."
They grasped hands and parted forever, each understanding
that soul to soul they were acknowledged friends.
THE OLD MAN AND THE YOUNG MAN ELOQUENT.
During the later years of his life Daniel Webster was often
referred to as the "Old Man Eloquent," but that was after
Patrick Henry had long been in his grave. The last burning
words which fell from the lips of the old Revolutionary hero
and orator, uttered shortly before his death, were an impassioned
appeal to Virginia to beware how by pronouncing
upon the validity of Federal laws she should invite the horrors
of civil war and final subjugation by foreign powers.
He painted to their imaginations Washington at the head of
a numerous and well-appointed army inflicting upon them
military execution.
"And where," he asked, "are our resources to meet such a
conflict? Where is the citizen of America who will dare to
lift his hand against the father of his country?"
A drunken man in the audience threw up his arm and exclaimed
that he dared to do it.
"No," answered Patrick Henry, enfeebled with the last ills
to which his flesh was to be heir, but still rising aloft in
majesty and earnestness; "no," he thundered, "you dare not
do it; in such a parricidal attempt, the steel would drop from
your nerveless arm."
The scene of these words was a rough stand erected near
a tavern, which the grand jury of Charlotte County had just
deserted to hear the noted orator; the time, March, 1799, and
the occasion, a pro-and-con discussion of the Alien and Sedition
laws, especially the right of Virginia to judge of their
unconstitutionality. The whole country roundabout had
turned out to honor the old-school patriot, who all but wept
at the threatened disruption of the country which his mature
manhood did so much to found.
Learned divines and professors were there from Prince
Edward College, as well as state and county politicians, the
two candidates for Congress, college students, planters,
tradesmen and a thousand and one men of all characters and
grades of intelligence; and curiosity, affection and admiration
struggled in the breast of the meanest as the old man
put all his failing strength into this appeal for harmony, albeit
it called for the placing in the background some of the
historic and aristocratic pride of the Old Dominion.
One of the candidates for Congress, Powhatan Bolling,
was dressed in a red coat—a tall, large, proud Virginian; just
the kind of a man to voice a loud defi for his state and answer
Patrick Henry, old man though he was, for thus advising her
to submit to oppression by the general government even in
the interest of the Union. But Mr. Bolling was there to be
seen and not heard. There were orators of not a little fame,
besides, but they made no move to reply to Mr. Henry when
he had concluded in this strain: "If I am asked what is to
be done when a people feel themselves intolerably oppressed,
my answer is ready—overturn the government. But do not,
I beseech you, carry matters to this length without provocation.
your rights and which cannot otherwise be redressed; for if
ever you recur to another change, you may bid farewell forever
to representative government. You can never exchange
the present government but for a monarchy. If the administration
have done wrong, let us all go wrong together
rather than split into factions which must destroy that Union
upon which our existence hangs. Let us preserve our
strength for the French, the English, the Germans, or whoever
else shall dare to invade our territory, and not exhaust
it in civil commotions and intestine wars."
As the orator concluded many strong men of Virginia
wept, responsive both to the pathetic words and manner of
their beloved father, and Patrick Henry was almost literally
clasped in the arms of the crowd.
The argument has been advanced pro; now from whom is
the con to come? Not surely from that tall, slender, smooth-faced,
light-haired effeminate-looking youth with the bright
hazel eyes, dressed in buff and blue with fair-top boots. If
you have frequented the roads between Roanoke and Bizarre,
you can bear witness that he sits a horse as well as anybody
in that part of the country, and that he has slaves and dogs
at his beck. You know he is at the head of two large estates
and is nervous and eccentric. Your neighbor at the Patrick
Henry gathering tells you that this aristocratic Virginia boy
is a candidate for Congress and has been put forth by those
who have more than a surface knowledge of him to reply to
the foremost orator of the day. He is actually upon his feet
and tears also are in his hazel eyes and a quiver still upon his
of Roanoke, about to make his maiden speech.
Unlike Byron, the young Virginian was not obliged to wait
the morrow's sun to find himself famous. The evident emotion
playing over his mobile features disarmed the natural
criticism of presumption on his part, and his first modest
words expressing a regret that he was obliged to oppose the
venerable and revered gentleman who had just concluded,
went to hearts already softened. He then examined the position
of his famous opponent calmly and logically, making
such a suggestive personal reference as this: "But the gentleman
has taught me a very different lesson from that he is
now disposed to enjoin on us. I fear that time has wrought
its influence on him, as on all other men; and that age makes
him willing to endure what in former years he would have
spurned with indignation. I have learned my first lessons in
his school. He is the high-priest from whom I received the
little wisdom my poor abilities were able to carry away from
the droppings of the political sanctuary. He was the inspired
statesman that taught me to be jealous of power, to watch its
encroachments and to sound the alarm on the first movement
of usurpation.
"Inspired by his eloquent appeals—encouraged by his example—alarmed
by the rapid strides of Federal usurpation,
of which he had warned them—the legislature of Virginia
has nobly stepped forth in defense of the rights of the states
and interposed to arrest that encroachment and usurpation of
power that threaten the destruction of the Republic."
After speaking of the Alien laws as repugnant to the entire
spirit of the constitution, which in its very essence was the
to this effect: "And what is that other law which so fully
meets the approbation of my venerable friend? It is a law
that makes it an act of sedition, punishable by fine and imprisonment,
to utter or write a sentiment that any prejudiced
judge or juror may think proper to construe into disrespect
to the President of the United States. Do you understand
me? I dare proclaim to the people of Charlotte my opinion
to be that John Adams, so-called President, is a weak-minded
man, vain, jealous and vindictive; that influenced by evil
passions and prejudices, and goaded on by wicked counsel,
he has been striving to force the country into a war with our
best friend and ally. I say that I dare repeat this before the
people of Charlotte and avow it as my opinion. But let me
write it down and print it as a warning to my countrymen.
What then? I subject myself to an indictment for sedition.
I make myself liable to be dragged away from my home and
friends and to be put on trial in some distant Federal court,
before a judge who receives his appointment from the man
that seeks my condemnation, and to be tried by a prejudiced
jury, who have been gathered from remote parts of the country,
strangers to me and anything but my peers—and have
been packed by the minions of power for my destruction!"
It is but justice to the fame of Mr. Randolph, secured at
a bound, to say that no verbatim report of his maiden speech,
his noted reply to Patrick Henry, has ever come down to us.
One of his neighbors, however, who has enjoyed the advantage,
moreover, of comparing notes with several who heard
the oration, has undoubtedly brought down the substance of
it, if not the words. The speech lasted three hours, and the
outburst of brilliant thoughts clad in words of light.
When Randolph concluded, an old planter, turning to his
neighbor, exclaimed, "He's no bug-eater, I tell you."
Mr. Henry said to a by-stander: "I haven't seen the little
dog before, since he was at school; he was a great atheist
then." He made no reply to the speech, but, approaching
Mr. Randolph, took him by the hand and said: "Young
man, you call me father; then, my son, I have something to
say unto you (holding both his hands). Keep justice, keep
truth, and you will live to think differently."
They dined together, and Randolph revered his venerable
friend more than ever and his memory, which was all that
remained in a few weeks from that eventful day, was one of
the sacred things of his after life.
UPHOLDING HIS CONGRESSIONAL DIGNITY.
Mr. Randolph's peculiar temperament made him peculiarly
sensitive to anything which he could construe into a
personal affront. It was his misfortune, as not a little of his
time in Congress was occupied in attempting to bring others
to terms or in endeavoring to smooth over matters himself.
Had he been less suspicious, had he been better able to overlook
frictions which would have been scarcely noticed by
those of a more obtuse and, perhaps, balanced a temperament
he would have had more time to devote to an undisturbed
consideration of state affairs.
Within a month from the time he commenced his first term
of service in Congress he found in a small personal episode
an occasion by which he kept the President, Congress and
the country at large in a considerable uproar for a period of
set upon and personally abused as a private citizen for words
which he had spoken in debate on the floor of the House?
Was honest opposition to administrative measures to be overawed
by the military? There is little doubt by that a certain
personal experience of the night of January 10, 1800, so
keenly worked upon his sense of personal injury as to make
him thoroughly convinced that the liberties of Republican
congressmen were in grave danger at the hands of the military
hirelings of the Federal administration.
Three days before the episode in question a resolution had
been offered by a leading Republican to repeal the act increasing
the United States Army, since all danger of war
with France had passed. In the course of the debate upon
the resolution Mr. Randolph had made his first speech in
Congress, taking occasion to say that "the people of the
United States ought not to depend for their safety on the
soldiers enlisted under the laws, the repeal of which was the
object of the resolution," and applied to them the epithet of
"ragamuffins." He had also declared that standing or mercenary
armies were inconsistent with the spirit of our constitution
or the genius of a free people. General Lee, who had
been second in command to the lamented Washington in the
Revolutionary War, had taken exceptions to the word mercenary
as applied to any troops except those hired to defend
another country than their own.
In reply Randolph had contended that there was no etymology
which would warrant his construction; that the term
was derived from a Latin word which signified wages, but
should be applied to such men (whether foreigners or otherwise)
it was properly expressive of a standing army who served for
wages and by contract, in contradistinction to a militia, or
patriotic army, in which each contributed his share to the
public safety and who received pay only when in actual service,
in order that the poorer citizen might perform his military
duty.
It certainly was no more than natural that those in any
way connected with the standing army of the United States
should object to being classified as ragamuffins and mercenaries.
Even in the infancy of the Republic both officers and
men took great pride in their branch of the public service and
resented any criticism, especially from a civilian. But from
such a boyish-looking civilian; and he to say ragamuffin and
mercenary!
At any rate, although the motion to repeal the act increasing
the standing army had failed of passage by a large majority,
on the evening after its defeat, Randolph and three of
his friends were attending a theater. The main play was "The
Stranger," and the after-piece "Bluebeard." In the course of
the evening a party of army officers, so Randolph charges,
entered the box where he was and two of them—Captain
McKnight and Lieutenant Reynolds—made themselves especially
obnoxious. With the explanation that Messrs. Van
Rensselaer, Christie and Macon were the friends of the
young Virginia congressman, we let Mr. Randolph make
these specific charges, which he laid before the President and
House of Representatives as evidences of an unconstitutional
interference with the privileges of congressional debate:
"Exclusive of repeated assertions as to what passed in
day, and a frequent repetition of some words which
fell from me during that discussion, in a manner so marked
as to leave no doubt on my mind, or that of Messrs. Van
Rensselaer, Christie or Macon, of their intention to insult
me personally; finding me determined to take no notice of
their words, they adopted a conduct which placed their designs
beyond every possibility of doubt, and which they
probably conceived to be calculated to force me into their
measures.
"Mr. Christie had left his seat between me and the partition
of the box; after which Mr. Van Rensselaer, who sat on
the other side of me, laid down, so as to occupy a more than
ordinary portion of room, and occasioned my removal to a
part of Mr. Christie's former seat, leaving a very small vacancy
between myself and the partition. Into this Lieutenant
Reynolds suddenly, and without requesting or giving
time for room to be made for him, dropped with such violence
as to bring our hips into contact. The shock was sufficient
to occasion a slight degree of pain on my part, and for
which it is probable he would in some degree have apologized,
had not the act been intentional. Just before I left the
box, one of them, I believe McKnight, gave me a sudden and
violent pull by the cape of my coat. Upon my demanding
who it was (this was the first instance in which I noticed
their proceedings) no answer was given. I then added that
I had long perceived an intention to insult me, and that the
person offering it was a puppy. No reply that I heard was
made."
These and other facts tending to the same point came before
The latter also took the testimony of the two army officers
most deeply implicated, one of whom said that from Mr.
Randolph's "youthful appearance and dress, I had no idea of
his being a member of the House of Representatives." The
upshot of the agitation was that when the resolutions presented
by the committee were considered by the House, that
body refused to accept their resolution "that sufficient cause
does not appear for the interposition of the House, on the
ground of a breach of its privileges."
But although Randolph's position had been sustained in
principle both by the President and the House of Representatives,
all further action was ruled out by the speaker;
and, although at first glance this might appear a trivial personal
matter which few men in the world would have so
magnified as Mr. Randolph, there was, after all, a large question
involved, and perhaps no one then serving in Congress
was so abundantly able to stir up a hornet's nest and sting
the public and public men into an attentive attitude as this
young firebrand from Virginia.
SOUTHERN TO THE CORE.
Randolph's southern proclivities were often manifest in so
violent a manner as to be the source of not a little amusement
to his friends. It is well known that he had periods when
his entire being seemed to be in a state of electrical discharge,
and during these periods it required only the slightest excuse
to draw a shock from him.
One of his Richmond friends tells an illustrative story to
the effect that one day he was passing along the street when
Mr. Randolph hailed him in a loud tone of voice and asked if
which he (Randolph) could get a passage for England. Mr.
Randolph said he had been sick with a fever for forty days
and his physician had ordered him to England.
The friend told the statesman from Roanoke that there
were no ships on the James River fit for his accommodation
and that he had better go to New York and sail from that
port.
"Do you think," shouted Randolph, "that I would give my
money to those who are ready to make my negroes cut my
throat? If I cannot go to England from a Southern port I
will not go at all!"
After thinking the matter over a little, the friend remembered
a boat in the river that might do and told him so. Randolph
asked the name of the boat and was informed it was
the "Henry Clay."
He threw up his arms and exclaimed, "Henry Clay! No,
sir! I will never step on the planks of a ship by that name!"
About two years from that time Mr. Randolph went to
England, not, it is true, on board the "Henry Clay," albeit
he did ship from the port of New York.
A fellow-passenger, noting that he had a great box of
books with him, asked why he had brought so many.
"I want to have them bound in England, sir," he replied,
severely.
"Bound in England!" the other exclaimed, laughing.
"Why did you not send them to New York or Boston, where
you can get them done cheaper?"
"What, sir," replied Randolph, more sharply. "Patronize
some of our Yankee taskmasters; those patriotic gentry, who
books. Never, sir, never! I will neither wear what they
make, nor eat what they raise, so long as my tobacco crop
will enable me to get supplies from old England; and I shall
employ John Bull to bind my books until the time arrives
when they can be properly done south of Mason and Dixon's
line."
DEFIANT RETIREMENT FROM CONGRESS.
With all his frail physique, it is doubtful whether John
Randolph knew the meaning of the fear of man. An illustration
of this exemption is given in his congressional campaign
of 1813, when, after a service of fourteen years, he was
defeated by the administration leader, John W. Eppes. They
were friends in youth and rival leaders in Congress, the canvass
of 1813 being especially animated.
In Buckingham Mr. Randolph, who had become unpopular
on account of his opposition to the war with England, was
threatened with personal violence if he attempted to address
the people. Some of his supporters advised him against the
attempt.
"You know very little of me," said he, "or you would not
give such advice."
Posters were accordingly put out that he would address
the people, and a large crowd gathered, the outskirts being
black with sullen faces.
Mr. Randolph, mounting the hustings, commenced: "I
understand that I am to be insulted to-day if I attempt to address
the people—that a mob is prepared to lay its rude hands
upon me and drag me from these hustings, for daring to exercise
the right of a freeman." Then fixing his keen eyes on
forefinger at the malcontents, he continued: "My Bible
teaches me that the fear of God is the beginning of Wisdom,
but that the fear of man is the consummation of folly." He
then proceeded to address that part of the audience which
had come to listen to him. But notwithstanding his eloquence
and the fact that he was strong in the Charlotte district,
the outside counties retired him from public life.
Shortly before the election his residence at Bizarre was
burned, and he lost, as he says, "a valuable collection of
books—a whole body of infidelity, the Encyclopedia of Diderot
and D'Alembert, Voltaire's works (seventy volumes),
Rousseau (thirteen quartos), Hume, etc., etc." He thereupon
removed to his Roanoke estate, forty miles south, and
retired to a solitude, almost unbroken save for the presence
of young Dudley, his adopted relative, and the letters which
he received from his friends, Dr. John Brockenbrough and
Francis S. Key.
In his correspondence from Roanoke he often gave vent to
his bitter feelings against politicians and his utter disgust of
public life and its surroundings, as witness: "I had taken so
strong a disgust against public business, conducted as it has
been for years past, that I doubt my fitness for the situation
from which I have been dismissed. The House of R was as
odious to me as ever school-room was to a truant boy. To be
under the dominion of such wretches as (with a few exceptions)
composed the majority, was intolerably irksome to my
feelings; and, although my present situation is far from enviable,
I feel the value of the exchange. To-day (May 22),
for the first time, we have warm weather; and as I enjoy the
seen, I think with loathing of that compound of villainous
smells which at all times inhale through the H. of R., but
which in a summer session are absolutely pestilential."
It was here, from the solitude of Roanoke, that Randolph
gave frequent vent to his longings for a religious life and his
perception of his own shortcomings, and the conflict within
him to suppress his bitterness—to be charitable and forgiving
and yet live among men, with all their deceit and uncharitableness—was
pitiful in the extreme. And yet, after moving
in a circle, feeling the necessity for a new life, and having
the longing for it, his nervous, rebellious nature would reassert
itself, his unworthiness would again come uppermost
and despair would take the place of hope; then he would
canvass his world and find only three really good happy men
in it—Bishop Meade, of Virginia; Dr. Moses Hogue, president
of Hampden Sydney College, and Francis S. Key.
"I am more and more convinced," he cries, "that, with a
few exceptions, this world of ours is a vast mad-house. The
only men I ever knew well, ever approached closely, whom I
did not discover to be unhappy, are sincere believers of the
Gospel and conform their lives, as far as the nature of man
can permit, to its precepts. There are only three of them."
According to his own statement, this conflict within him
lasted for nine long years before he was able conscientiously
to announce his conversion to his friends.
RANDOLPH'S ACCOUNT OF HIS CONVERSION.
In writing to his old friend, Dr. Brockenbrough, Randolph
evidently refers to a previous letter in which he has intimated
a change of heart and convictions in matters religious,
"Your imputing such sentiments to a heated imagination
does not surprise me, who have been bred in the school of
Hobbs, and Bayle and Shaftesbury, and Bolingbroke, and
Hume, and Voltaire, and Gibbon; who have cultivated the
skeptical philosophy from my vainglorious boyhood—I might
almost say childhood—and who have felt all that unutterable
disgust which hypocrisy and cant and fanaticism never fail
to excite in men of education and refinement, superadded to
our natural repugnance to Christianity. I am not even now
insensible to this impression; but as the excesses of her
friends (real or pretended) can never alienate the votary of
liberty from a free form of government and enlist him under
the banners of despotism, so neither can the cant of fanaticism,
or hypocrisy, or of both, disgust the pious with true
religion.
"Mine has been no sudden change of opinion. I can refer
to a record, showing, on my part, a desire of more than nine
years' standing to partake of the Sacrament of the Lord's
Supper; although for two and twenty years preceding my
feet had never crossed the threshold of the house of prayer.
This desire I was restrained from indulging by the fear of
eating and drinking unrighteously. And although that fear
hath been cast out by perfect love, I have never yet gone to
the altar, neither have I been present at the performance of
divine service, unless indeed I may so call my reading the
liturgy of our church and some chapters of the Bible to my
poor negroes on Sundays. Such passages as I think require
it, and which I feel competent to explain, I comment upon—
enforcing as far as possible, and dwelling upon those texts
good life as the touchstone of the true faith. The Sermon
from the Mount and the Evangelists generally; the Epistle of
Paul to the Ephesians, chap. vi; the General Epistle of
James and the First Epistle of John; these are my chief texts.
"The consummation of my conversion—I use the word in
its stricted sense—is owing to a variety of causes, but chiefly
to the conviction, unwillingly forced upon me, that the very
few friends which an unprosperous life (the fruit of an ungovernable
temper) had left me were daily losing their hold
upon me, in a firmer grasp of ambition, avarice or sensuality.
I am not sure that, to complete the anti-climax, avarice
should not have been last; for, although in some of its effects,
debauchery be more disgusting than avarice, yet as it regards
the unhappy victim, this last is more to be dreaded. Dissipation,
as well as power or prosperity, hardens the heart;
but avarice deadens it to every feeling but the thirst for
riches.
"Avarice alone could have produced the slave-trade; avarice
alone can drive, as it does drive, this infernal traffic, and
the wretched victims of it, like so many post-horses, whipped
to death in a mail-coach. Ambition has its reward in the
pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war; but where are
the trophies of avarice?—the handcuff, the menacle and the
blood-stained cowhide?"
MR. BENTON'S OPINION OF RANDOLPH.
It is impossible to conceive two men more diametrical in
their natures than Senator Benton, the methodical, statistical,
full-blooded statesman from Missouri, and the scintillating
human aberration, known as Randolph of Roanoke.
Upon one occasion Mr. Benton said that his opinion was
fixed that Mr. Randolph had occasional temporary aberrations
of mind; "and during such periods he would do and say
strange things, but always in his own way—not only method
but genius in his fantasies; nothing to bespeak a bad heart;
only exaltation and excitement."
"The most brilliant talks," continued he, "that I ever heard
from him came forth on such occasions—a flow for hours
(at one time seven hours) of copious wit and classic allusion
—a perfect scattering of the diamonds of the mind."
He tells us that he once sounded Mr. Randolph to discover
what he thought of his own case. He heard him repeating
those lines of Johnson on "Senility and Imbecility"—
Fears of the brave and follies of the wise;
From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,
And Swift expires, a driveller and a show."
"Mr. Randolph," said Mr. Benton, "I have several times
heard you repeat those lines as if they could have an application
to yourself, while no person can have less reason to fear
the fate of Swift."
"I have lived in dread of insanity," replied Mr. Randolph.
ONE TOO MUCH.
Randolph's ready wit was seldom caught napping, but
when it was no man could feel greater humiliation, not to
say anger.
Upon one occasion a lady of his acquaintance, the metal of
whose repartee he had had occasion to test, met him at the
house of a mutual friend. She had just returned from attending
Randolph set out at once to hector her over the circumstance.
He claimed that she should patronize home industries—
should have attended the Methodist meeting-house in her
neighborhood. Continuing, he declaimed against the folly of
attempting to maintain an Episcopal church in the United
States, an institution so contrary to the independent spirit of
the country.
The lady, who could see that he was simply talking to vex
her, suddenly turned the tables on him by exclaiming, "I
suppose, then, Mr. Randolph, that you must be a Methodist!"
OPINION AS TO HIS BEST SPEECH.
One of Mr. Randolph's old constituents was once asked
which speech he considered the best. He replied the one he
made at Charlotte court-house, soon after the Virginia convention
of 1829. In this address he spoke of his public service,
and is reported to have used the following language:
"I appear here to take my leave of you for the last time. Now
what shall I say? Twenty-eight years ago you took me by
the hand, when a beardless boy, and handed me to Congress.
I have served you in a public capacity ever since. That I
have committed errors I readily believe, being a descendant
of Adam, and full of bruises and putrifying sores, from the
crown of my head to the soles of my feet. People of Charlotte!
which of you is without sin?"
A voice in the crowd exclaimed, "Gracious God! what
preaching."
RANDOLPH'S LAST DAY ON EARTH.
For three years Mr. Randolph had been gradually failing
with consumption, the disease having been greatly aggravated
Philadelphia, intending to sail for England in the May
packet. On the way thither he stopped at Washington and
was reconciled to his old-time enemy Henry Clay. He finally
arrived in Philadelphia during a heavy storm, to which he
was unfortunately exposed before he was able to secure
lodgings. At length, with his faithful colored servant John,
he found shelter at the City Hotel, No. 41 North Third
Street.
As Mr. Randolph was now a very sick man, Dr. Joseph
Parish, a Quaker physician, was summoned at once and attended
him the last few days of his life. We pass over the
details of all the long sad hours except those which covered
his last day, as they have been recorded for us by his painstaking
friend and biographer, Hugh A. Garland, in early life
a resident of the Roanoke district and in whose hands many
of Randolph's most intimate friends placed their correspondence
with the departed and all the treasures of their well-stored
memories. Mr. Garland's account of the circumstances
attending his death is full of interest because so explicit.
The day on which Randolph died Dr. Parish received an
early and an urgent message to visit him. Several persons
were in the room, but soon left it, except his servant John,
who was much affected at the sight of his dying master.
The Doctor remarked to him, "I have seen your master
very low before and he revived, and perhaps he will again."
"John knows better than that, sir," earnestly replied Randolph.
Then looking at the Doctor with great intensity, said
in a distinct manner, "I confirm every disposition in my will,
and for whom I have made provision."
"I am rejoiced to hear such a declaration from you, sir,"
replied the Doctor, and soon after proposed to leave him for
a short time to attend to another patient.
"You must not go," was the reply; "you cannot, you shall
not leave me. John, take care that the Dotor does not leave
the room."
John locked the door, and reported, "Master, I have locked
the door and got the key in my pocket; the Doctor can't go
now."
Randolph seemed excited, and exclaimed, "If you do go,
you need not return!"
The Doctor appealed to him as to the propriety of such an
order, inasmuch as he was only desirous of discharging his
duty to another patient. His manner instantly changed, and
he said, "I retract that expression." Soon afterward he repeated,
even more expressively, "I retract that expression."
The Doctor now said that he understood the subject of his
communication and presumed the will would explain itself
fully.
Randolph replied, "No, you don't understand it; I know
you don't. Our laws are extremely particular on the subject
of slaves—a will may manumit them, but provision for their
subsequent support requires that a declaration be made in the
presence of a white witness; and it is requisite that the witness,
after hearing the declaration, should continue with the
party and never lose sight of him, until he is gone or dead.
You are a good witness for John. You see the propriety and
importance of your remaining with me. Your patients must
`Master, you are dying.' "
The Doctor spoke with entire candor, and replied that it
was rather a matter of surprise that he had lasted so long.
Randolph now made his preparations to die. He directed
John to bring him his father's breast button. He then directed
him to place it in the bosom of his shirt. It was an old-fashioned,
large-sized gold stud. John placed it in the button
hole of the shirt bosom, but to fix it completely required a
hole on the opposite side. "Get a knife," said he, "and cut
one." A napkin was called for and placed by John over his
breast.
For a short time Randolph lay perfectly quiet with his
eyes closed, but suddenly roused up and exclaimed, "Remorse!
Remorse!" The words were thrice repeated, the
last time at the top of his voice with great agitation. He then
cried out, "Let me see the word! Get a dictionary! Let me
see the word!"
"There is none in the room, sir."
"Write it down then. Let me see the word!"
The Doctor picked up one of his cards on which was
"Randolph of Roanoke." "Shall I write it on this card?"
"Yes, nothing more proper."
The word remorse was then written in pencil. He took the
card in a hurried manner and fastened his eyes on it with
great intensity.
"Write it on the back," he exclaimed. It was so done, and
the card handed him again. He was extremely agitated.
"Remorse! You have no idea what it is. You can form no
idea of it whatever. It has contributed to bring me to my
Christ and I hope I have obtained pardon. Now let John
take your pencil and draw a line under the word;" which
was accordingly done.
"What am I to do with the card?" inquired the Doctor.
"Put it in your pocket—take care of it—when I am dead
look at it."
Other witnesses were now called in, to witness the declaration
he had to make—four in all, including the son of Dr.
Parish and the proprietor of the hotel. They stood in a semicircle
in front of the bed, John close by the side of the dying
man, who was propped up with pillows so that he sat up
nearly erect. Being extremely sensitive to cold, he had a
blanket over his head and shoulders; and he directed John to
place his hat on, over the blanket, which aided in keeping it
close to his head.
Randolph now rallied all the expiring energies of mind
and body to this last effort. "His whole soul," says Dr.
Parish, "seemed concentrated in the act. His eyes flashed
feeling and intelligence. Pointing towards us with his long
index finger, he thus addressed us: `I confirm all the directions
in my will respecting my slaves and direct them to be
enforced, particularly in regard to a provision for their support.'
And then raising his arm as high as he could, he
brought it down with open hand on the shoulder of his
favorite John, who stood close by his side with a countenance
full of sorrow, and added, `especially for this man.' He then
asked each of the witnesses whether they understood him."
Dr. Parish explained to the witnesses what Mr. Randolph
had said to him regarding the Virginia laws on manumission
correctly. Being assured that he had, the Doctor was
gracefully dismissed and the other witnesses asked to remain
until the end. That was only two hours away; and having
kept his faculties upon the task which had now been accomplished,
his strong will loosened its hold and his mind and
imagination wandered amid home scenes and friends, until
with his other faculties, which we call Soul, they passed into
the unknown.
| John Randolph | |