1876 (47 page)

I picked up a telegram signed by the Republican National Committee: “Despatches received at these headquarters report that Louisiana, Florida, South Carolina, Wisconsin, Oregon, Nevada, and California have given Republican majorities. There is no reason to doubt the correctness of those reports. And if confirmed the election of Hayes is assured by a majority of one in the Electoral College.”

“But none of this is true.”

Jamie shrugged. “Not yet. In fact, early this morning, old Zach. got word from his chairmen in Louisiana and Florida that their states had gone Democratic. So far he’s been suppressing the bad news, waiting for them to get his message ...”

“A message which clearly means: Falsify the vote.”

“That’s the size of it, Charlie.”

I felt suddenly weak, and ready for the grave; particularly when Jamie told me in a most matter-of-fact way, “The Democrats say they carried Louisiana by some twenty thousand votes. The Republicans say
they
carried it by four thousand. This makes for what they call a doubtful state, which is to say that the Democrats actually won the most votes but the Republicans who control the election machinery are now going to reverse the vote.”

“But that is—fraud.”

Jamie laughed cheerfully; his interest. is not good government but good drama of the kind that sells newspapers. Well, he has now come into a gold mine.

One of the editors entered—no one stands on formality today. “The President has sent in the troops.”

“Where?” Jamie removed his helmet as though to hear—think?—better.

“Where, sir? General Grant is in Philadelphia, staying at the house of a Mr. Childs ...”

“I don’t mean where
he
is.” Jamie was irritable, excited. “The troops—where are they being sent? To what states?”

“Grant has ordered General Sherman to send Federal troops to Louisiana, to—”

“To Florida and to South Carolina,” Jamie finished. “Am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“ ‘To keep order’.”

“Yes, Mr. Bennett.”

“How did we find this out?”

“The President used Jay Gould’s private telegraph wire to get the word to General Sherman.”

“Good work.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bennett. We’ve also heard a report that the President personally believes that Louisiana has definitely voted for Tilden, and that Tilden has been elected.” The editor departed.

“But if Grant thinks Tilden is elected, why the troops?”

“That, Charlie,
is
why.”

MIDNIGHT: NOVEMBER 8-9.

Before I went to the Sanfords’ for dinner, I stopped at Gramercy Park, where an enthusiastic crowd still holds vigil. With some difficulty I convinced the police on guard that I was one of the Governor’s advisers.

Tilden was in the main drawing room; he looked uncommonly grey and strained; the left eyelid droops more than ever. But his manner was easy.

“So glad you could come to dinner.”

This was embarrassing, since I had not been invited to the “Victory” dinner for the inner court. Even as I spoke to him the courtiers were beginning to arrive.

“I’m afraid I’ve not come to dinner but ...”

“But surely you were invited. If not, you are now.” Just behind Tilden, I saw several would-be Cabinet ministers moving purposefully towards us; my audience would be short.

“No. Thank you. I am with my daughter tonight. But there is something you should know.” Rapidly, I told him everything that I had learned in Jamie’s office. Tilden listened most intently. In fact, when Mrs. Pelton tried to draw him away to greet the other guests, he motioned for her to leave us alone.

“I knew about Mr. Reid of the
Times
,” he said, when I had finished. “He is a man of absolute zeal, and of a perfect dishonesty.” This is the harshest reference I have heard Tilden make to any opponent. “But I don’t think there is any chance of the majorities we have gained at the South being reversed. But”—the deep lines between his brows were now like trenches—“I did
not
know that Grant had despatched the troops.”

“Surely it is too late to change the vote. Everyone knows you have carried Louisiana by twenty thousand votes.”

“Less, I fear. But our majority is a large one. Unfortunately, there is still the Board of Registration and there is still the Returning Board that has the power to decide just what the vote is. And both boards are controlled by Republicans. Add Federal troops to this equation ...” Tilden did not finish the sentence.

As I said good night, Tilden shook my hand warmly. “You have been a good friend, Mr. Schuyler.” That cheered me, I must say. In fact, I am generally in a good mood, and convinced that there is now no way to keep Tilden from the presidency, short of a military coup d’
é
tat on the part of Grant.

Although the Sanford house is not yet finished, they are “camping out” in some splendour, if not total comfort.

Twenty guests were assembled in a drawing room where that which is not tapestried is gilded.

Although Denise must be in her sixth month, her condition was disguised by a beautiful rose-velvet creation that flared almost as much in the front as fashion requires the bustle to flare at the back. “Tell us everything! Emma says you’ve been with Mr. Tilden all day.”

“I’ve just come from Gramercy Park.” I fear that I allowed everyone to think that I had indeed been at the hero’s side not only all day today but every day since the campaign began.

“What does he say? Has he gone and bought his ticket on the cars for Washington?” Sanford loomed before me. The other guests were, as usual, possessed of familiar faces and of familiar names, but I am now reconciled to the fact that I shall never sort out the New York gentry, and so go to my grave believing that what looked to be the true Beekman was instead mere Fish.

“He’s noncommittal. Of course he’s won.”

“Noncommittal?” Emma joined the group that had attached itself to me as I stood in front of a Gobelin depicting Charlemagne. “I have just read the
World
.
Mr. Tilden says that he has won because he was able to attract so many Republican votes.”

“In the name of reform,” added Sanford. “Well, I could’ve sworn we had him beat all hollow. Fact, I told General Hayes on my way back from California, “The West is yours, General, particularly Oregon, where I’ve made a special effort.’ Lord knows, we did spend a lot of money up there. Anyway, I’m still hoping that Tilden’s measly five-hundred-vote majority will just go away.”

“Happily, it won’t.” I was firm, knowledgeable.

“Well, sir, soon you’ll be in France.” I turned on this, and there was John Apgar. With my permission, Emma had confided to him my dream.

“Don’t tempt fate!”

“Oh, Mr. Tilden has won. The Family all agree. They’re very sad of course.”

“And you?”

“Well, that depends on Emma, doesn’t it?” John was suddenly, unexpectedly wistful.

“I think that now that all this is over ...” I stopped, not wanting to commit Emma, who was watching us from across the room; there was a warning look in her eyes. “Life will resume a more normal course.”

“I’m very happy for you, sir, anyway.”

I have no idea what Emma intends to do, nor can I get her to give me a straight answer. She will neither set a date for the wedding nor break off the engagement. “I’m paralyzed,” is the very last word she has had to say on the subject.

I suspect that if Emma is truly out of the idea of becoming Mrs. Apgar, she will keep putting off John until we know whether or not I am made minister to France. Should I get the post, she will then go back with me to Paris as my official hostess. I cannot say that I find this arrangement anything but paradisal. Yet I do feel sorry for John, for the limbo that she has put him in.

Denise looks forward with much excitement to motherhood. “In February. What is it they say of February babies?”

“Nothing good. But then I feel toward babies much the way good King Herod did.”

“Not this one. You will be his godfather. And Emma his godmother.”

“It
is
a
he?”

“Oh, yes. One can tell.”

“What does Madame Restell have to say?”

“I’ve not seen her. But Emma’s talked to her. And Madame’s sent one of her best women over to look at me and the verdict is that all’s well. Touch wood.” We touched wood together.

“Certainly you’ve never looked more beautiful.” This was true.

“Then you must like the Rubens style. I am
very
fat, and never look at myself in the bath. I can hear him, you know. Right now, inside me. Rapping to be let out. He’s very impatient.”

“Poor boy! What a world to come into!”

“What a marvellous world! And the things that he will see that we won’t. I do envy him.”

“Unless it’s a daughter.”

“Impossible. But if it is, I shall call her Emma.”

In my hotel room, I found a note from Jamie: “You must start writing again. The Republicans are sending their leaders—and their money—South. They’re going to steal the election if they can. Popular vote: Tilden’s beaten Hayes by more than 250,000 votes. This
used
to be enough to make anybody president.”

I feel very secure tonight. There is no way of denying the presidency to a man who has won by such a popular majority no matter what tricks are played, bribes given, troops mustered.

Admittedly, the Electoral College—that ridiculous invention of the founders—can be manipulated to some degree but not sufficiently at this late hour to cheat the people of what they have so overwhelmingly voted for: the Tilden Administration.

On the floor beside the table I saw a newspaper slip which must have fallen out of Jamie’s letter. With difficulty, I picked it up. A statement from Governor Hayes in Ohio to the New York
Sun
.
“I am of the opinion that the Democrats have carried the country and elected Tilden ...” My eyes blur. We have indeed won.

THE UNITED STATES is now on the verge of civil war.

During the week since the Governor was elected president, the Republican press and the Republican party and Federal troops commanded by the Republican President have been openly at work trying to reverse the popular vote. It is a truly marvellous scandal, and deeply alarming.

As of this morning, Tilden is certain of 184 electoral votes, while Hayes is certain of only 166. Nineteen electoral votes are “in doubt,” despite Tilden’s plain and overwhelming victory at the polls.

Every day, new reports from all over the country excite the people dangerously. There is talk of a march on Washington. The South is reported to be arming. The better sort of Republicans are appalled at what’s happening, and the Democratic majority in the country has suddenly acquired some very odd allies, amongst them Senator Conkling, who has declared Tilden the duly elected president but warns that desperate Republicans may yet steal what is not theirs. Conkling says that if Tilden will put himself forward promptly to claim what is his by right, then Conkling and a number of other influential Republicans will support him.

But will Tilden put himself forward—promptly?

This afternoon I made my way through the watchful crowd in Gramercy Park. After showing my special badge to the police who stand guard permanently at the house of the president-elect, I was allowed to enter. I found the downstairs rooms crowded with political leaders from every part of the country. I was pushed this way and that by strangers until, luckily, I saw Bigelow on the stairs. He motioned for me to follow him up to Tilden’s study. To my question “What is happening?” he replied, “Nothing. Everything.”

With Tilden were Hewitt, Dorsheimer (the lieutenant governor of New York State), and a Southern politician from Louisiana. Tilden rose from his desk, and greeted me formally. I noted that the left eyelid is drooping more than usual, which gives one the disquieting sense that Tilden is winking at those who would defraud him. Then the Governor sat down and said, “Mr. Hewitt has some figures for us.”

I should note here that thus far Hewitt has proved to be a disaster as party chairman. Tilden selected Hewitt because he himself intended to administer the campaign, which he did with perfect success. But no one foresaw that in the aftermath Tilden would be forced to rely upon a party chairman who was elected to the House of Representatives less than two years ago, after a career in metallurgy. I suspect that the only true bond between him and Tilden is dyspepsia: he, too, belches, breaks wind, suffers.

But Hewitt reads figures impressively. “Gentlemen, the national popular vote is as follows: Tilden has received 4,300,590 votes. General Hayes has received 4,036,298 votes. That gives Mr. Tilden a popular majority of 264,292 votes. We have overwhelming—and—uncontested—majorities in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. We also unexpectedly—but happily—carried Indiana. As a result, the true vote in the Electoral College is Tilden, 196 and Hayes, 173. It is not, as the Republicans claim, Tilden, 184; Hayes, 166, with 19 in doubt ...”

“But while we’re sittin’ here, they are out there in the hen house stealin’ our chickens from us—” began the Southerner.

“So it would appear.” Tilden cut him short. “Go on, Mr. Hewitt.”

“The Republicans hope to reverse our victories in Florida and Louisiana. In Florida we won by the narrow margin of 92 votes out of 48,774 cast. But in Louisiana we swept the state, enjoying a majority of 6,549 votes. Now the Returning Boards that will decide the elections in these two states are Republican. They are made up of uneducated, docile Negroes and of transplanted Northerners as well as—”

“You describe ’em in what I call a real polite way.” The Southerner was grim. “What you mean are damned carpetbaggers with their burr-headed nigger friends.”

“Sir, we allow the
other
side the passion.” Tilden was delicately droll. “We can afford to, since we have the votes.”

“For the present.” The Southerner was drinking whisky from a beer mug.

“For the present.” Hewitt echoed, and again referred to his memorandum (from which I have copied these statistics). “The combined electoral vote of Louisiana and Florida is twelve. Should those two states go to Hayes, he would be elected president by one vote in the Electoral College. Or 185 votes for Hayes and 184 votes for Governor Tilden.”