|
Name:
|
Lifer
-
|
Subject:
|
A story worth reading.
|
Date:
|
12/17/2012 12:02:33 PM
|
|
Davy
Crockett vs. Welfare
From
The
Life of Colonel David Crockett,
by Edward S. Ellis (Philadelphia: Porter & Coates, 1884)
Crockett
was then the lion of Washington. I was a great admirer of his character,
and, having several friends who were intimate with him, I found
no difficulty in making his acquaintance. I was fascinated with
him, and he seemed to take a fancy to me.
I
was one day in the lobby of the House of Representatives when a
bill was taken up appropriating money for the benefit of a widow
of a distinguished naval officer. Several beautiful speeches had
been made in its support – rather, as I thought, because it
afforded the speakers a fine opportunity for display than from the
necessity of convincing anybody, for it seemed to me that everybody
favored it. The Speaker was just about to put the question when
Crockett arose. Everybody expected, of course, that he was going
to make one of his characteristic speeches in support of the bill.
He commenced:
"Mr.
Speaker – I have as much respect for the memory of the deceased,
and as much sympathy for the sufferings of the living, if suffering
there be, as any man in this House, but we must not permit our respect
for the dead or our sympathy for a part of the living to lead us
into an act of injustice to the balance of the living. I will not
go into an argument to prove that Congress has no power to appropriate
this money as an act of charity. Every member upon this floor knows
it. We have the right, as individuals, to give away as much of our
own money as we please in charity; but as members of Congress we
have no right so to appropriate a dollar of the public money. Some
eloquent appeals have been made to us upon the ground that it is
a debt due the deceased. Mr. Speaker, the deceased lived long after
the close of the war; he was in office to the day of his death,
and I have never heard that the government was in arrears to him.
This government can owe no debts but for services rendered, and
at a stipulated price. If it is a debt, how much is it? Has it been
audited, and the amount due ascertained? If it is a debt, this is
not the place to present it for payment, or to have its merits examined.
If it is a debt, we owe more than we can ever hope to pay, for we
owe the widow of every soldier who fought in the War of 1812 precisely
the same amount. There is a woman in my neighborhood, the widow
of as gallant a man as ever shouldered a musket. He fell in battle.
She is as good in every respect as this lady, and is as poor. She
is earning her daily bread by her daily labor; but if I were to
introduce a bill to appropriate five or ten thousand dollars for
her benefit, I should be laughed at, and my bill would not get five
votes in this House. There are thousands of widows in the country
just such as the one I have spoken of, but we never hear of any
of these large debts to them. Sir, this is no debt. The government
did not owe it to the deceased when he was alive; it could not contract
it after he died. I do not wish to be rude, but I must be plain.
Every man in this House knows it is not a debt. We cannot, without
the grossest corruption, appropriate this money as the payment of
a debt. We have not the semblance of authority to appropriate it
as a charity. Mr. Speaker, I have said we have the right to give
as much of our own money as we please. I am the poorest man on this
floor. I cannot vote for this bill, but I will give one week's pay
to the object, and if every member of Congress will do the same,
it will amount to more than the bill asks."
He
took his seat. Nobody replied. The bill was put upon its passage,
and, instead of passing unanimously, as was generally supposed,
and as, no doubt, it would, but for that speech, it received but
few votes, and, of course, was lost.
Like
many other young men, and old ones, too, for that matter, who had
not thought upon the subject, I desired the passage of the bill,
and felt outraged at its defeat. I determined that I would persuade
my friend Crockett to move a reconsideration the next day.
Previous
engagements preventing me from seeing Crockett that night, I went
early to his room the next morning and found him engaged in addressing
and franking letters, a large pile of which lay upon his table.
I
broke in upon him rather abruptly, by asking him what devil had
possessed him to make that speech and defeat that bill yesterday.
Without turning his head or looking up from his work, he replied:
"You
see that I am very busy now; take a seat and cool yourself. I will
be through in a few minutes, and then I will tell you all about
it."
He
continued his employment for about ten minutes, and when he had
finished he turned to me and said:
"Now,
sir, I will answer your question. But thereby hangs a tale, and
one of considerable length, to which you will have to listen."
I
listened, and this is the tale which I heard:
Several years
ago I was one evening standing on the steps of the Capitol with
some other members of Congress, when our attention was attracted
by a great light over in Georgetown. It was evidently a large fire.
We jumped into a hack and drove over as fast as we could. When we
got there, I went to work, and I never worked as hard in my life
as I did there for several hours. But, in spite of all that could
be done, many houses were burned and many families made homeless,
and, besides, some of them had lost all but the clothes they had
on. The weather was very cold, and when I saw so many women and
children suffering, I felt that something ought to be done for them,
and everybody else seemed to feel the same way.
The
next morning a bill was introduced appropriating $20,000 for their
relief. We put aside all other business and rushed it through as
soon as it could be done. I said everybody felt as I did. That was
not quite so; for, though they perhaps sympathized as deeply with
the sufferers as I did, there were a few of the members who did
not think we had the right to indulge our sympathy or excite our
charity at the expense of anybody but ourselves. They opposed the
bill, and upon its passage demanded the yeas and nays. There were
not enough of them to sustain the call, but many of us wanted our
names to appear in favor of what we considered a praiseworthy measure,
and we voted with them to sustain it. So the yeas and nays were
recorded, and my name appeared on the journals in favor of the bill.
The
next summer, when it began to be time to think about the election,
I concluded I would take a scout around among the boys of my district.
I had no opposition there, but, as the election was some time off,
I did not know what might turn up, and I thought it was best to
let the boys know that I had not forgot them, and that going to
Congress had not made me too proud to go to see them.
So
I put a couple of shirts and a few twists of tobacco into my saddlebags,
and put out. I had been out about a week and had found things going
very smoothly, when, riding one day in a part of my district in
which I was more of a stranger than any other, I saw a man in a
field plowing and coming toward the road. I gauged my gait so that
we should meet as he came to the fence. As he came up I spoke to
the man. He replied politely, but, as I thought, rather coldly,
and was about turning his horse for another furrow when I said to
him: "Don't be in such a hurry, my friend; I want to have a little
talk with you, and get better acquainted."
He
replied: "I am very busy, and have but little time to talk, but
if it does not take too long, I will listen to what you have to
say."
I
began: "Well, friend, I am one of those unfortunate beings called
candidates, and – "
"'Yes,
I know you; you are Colonel Crockett. I have seen you once before,
and voted for you the last time you were elected. I suppose you
are out electioneering now, but you had better not waste your time
or mine. I shall not vote for you again.'
This
was a sockdolager... I begged him to tell me what was the matter.
"Well,
Colonel, it is hardly worthwhile to waste time or words upon it.
I do not see how it can be mended, but you gave a vote last winter
which shows that either you have not capacity to understand the
Constitution, or that you are wanting in honesty and firmness to
be guided by it. In either case you are not the man to represent
me. But I beg your pardon for expressing it in that way. I did not
intend to avail myself of the privilege of the Constitution to speak
plainly to a candidate for the purpose of insulting or wounding
you. I intend by it only to say that your understanding of the Constitution
is very different from mine; and I will say to you what, but for
my rudeness, I should not have said, that I believe you to be honest.
But an understanding of the Constitution different from mine I cannot
overlook, because the Constitution, to be worth anything, must be
held sacred, and rigidly observed in all its provisions. The man
who wields power and misinterprets it is the more dangerous the
more honest he is."
"I
admit the truth of all you say, but there must be some mistake about
it, for I do not remember that I gave any vote last winter upon
any constitutional question."
"No,
Colonel, there's no mistake. Though I live here in the backwoods
and seldom go from home, I take the papers from Washington and read
very carefully all the proceedings of Congress. My papers say that
last winter you voted for a bill to appropriate $20,000 to some
sufferers by a fire in Georgetown. Is that true?"
"Certainly
it is, and I thought that was the last vote which anybody in the
world would have found fault with."
"Well,
Colonel, where do you find in the Constitution any authority to
give away the public money in charity?"
Here
was another sockdolager; for, when I began to think about it, I
could not remember a thing in the Constitution that authorized it.
I found I must take another tack, so I said:
"Well,
my friend; I may as well own up. You have got me there. But certainly
nobody will complain that a great and rich country like ours should
give the insignificant sum of $20,000 to relieve its suffering women
and children, particularly with a full and overflowing Treasury,
and I am sure, if you had been there, you would have done just as
I did."
"It
is not the amount, Colonel, that I complain of; it is the principle.
In the first place, the government ought to have in the Treasury
no more than enough for its legitimate purposes. But that has nothing
to do with the question. The power of collecting and disbursing
money at pleasure is the most dangerous power that can be entrusted
to man, particularly under our system of collecting revenue by a
tariff, which reaches every man in the country, no matter how poor
he may be, and the poorer he is the more he pays in proportion to
his means. What is worse, it presses upon him without his knowledge
where the weight centers, for there is not a man in the United States
who can ever guess how much he pays to the government. So you see,
that while you are contributing to relieve one, you are drawing
it from thousands who are even worse off than he. If you had the
right to give anything, the amount was simply a matter of discretion
with you, and you had as much right to give $20,000,000 as $20,000.
If you have the right to give to one, you have the right to give
to all; and, as the Constitution neither defines charity nor stipulates
the amount, you are at liberty to give to any and everything which
you may believe, or profess to believe, is a charity, and to any
amount you may think proper. You will very easily perceive what
a wide door this would open for fraud and corruption and favoritism,
on the one hand, and for robbing the people on the other. No, Colonel,
Congress has no right to give charity. Individual members may give
as much of their own money as they please, but they have no right
to touch a dollar of the public money for that purpose. If twice
as many houses had been burned in this county as in Georgetown,
neither you nor any other member of Congress would have thought
of appropriating a dollar for our relief. There are about two hundred
and forty members of Congress. If they had shown their sympathy
for the sufferers by contributing each one week's pay, it would
have made over $13,000. There are plenty of wealthy men in and around
Washington who could have given $20,000 without depriving themselves
of even a luxury of life. The Congressmen chose to keep their own
money, which, if reports be true, some of them spend not very creditably;
and the people about Washington, no doubt, applauded you for relieving
them from the necessity of giving by giving what was not yours to
give. The people have delegated to Congress, by the Constitution,
the power to do certain things. To do these, it is authorized to
collect and pay moneys, and for nothing else. Everything beyond
this is usurpation, and a violation of the Constitution."
I
have given you an imperfect account of what he said. Long before
he was through, I was convinced that I had done wrong. He wound
up by saying:
"So
you see, Colonel, you have violated the Constitution in what I consider
a vital point. It is a precedent fraught with danger to the country,
for when Congress once begins to stretch its power beyond the limits
of the Constitution, there is no limit to it, and no security for
the people. I have no doubt you acted honestly, but that does not
make it any better, except as far as you are personally concerned,
and you see that I cannot vote for you."
I
tell you I felt streaked. I saw if I should have opposition, and
this man should go talking, he would set others to talking, and
in that district I was a gone fawn-skin. I could not answer him,
and the fact is, I did not want to. But I must satisfy him, and
I said to him:
"Well,
my friend, you hit the nail upon the head when you said I had not
sense enough to understand the Constitution. I intended to be guided
by it, and thought I had studied it full. I have heard many speeches
in Congress about the powers of Congress, but what you have said
there at your plow has got more hard, sound sense in it than all
the fine speeches I ever heard. If I had ever taken the view of
it that you have, I would have put my head into the fire before
I would have given that vote; and if you will forgive me and vote
for me again, if I ever vote for another unconstitutional law I
wish I may be shot."
He
laughingly replied:
"Yes,
Colonel, you have sworn to that once before, but I will trust you
again upon one condition. You say that you are convinced that your
vote was wrong. Your acknowledgment of it will do more good than
beating you for it. If, as you go around the district, you will
tell people about this vote, and that you are satisfied it was wrong,
I will not only vote for you, but will do what I can to keep down
opposition, and, perhaps, I may exert some little influence in that
way."
"If
I don't," said I, "I wish I may be shot; and to convince you that
I am in earnest in what I say, I will come back this way in a week
or ten days, and if you will get up a gathering of the people, I
will make a speech to them. Get up a barbecue, and I will pay for
it."
"No,
Colonel, we are not rich people in this section, but we have plenty
of provisions to contribute for a barbecue, and some to spare for
those who have none. The push of crops will be over in a few days,
and we can then afford a day for a barbecue. This is Thursday; I
will see to getting it up on Saturday week. Come to my house on
Friday, and we will go together, and I promise you a very respectable
crowd to see and hear you."
"Well,
I will be here. But one thing more before I say good-bye. I must
know your name."
"My
name is Bunce."
"Not
Horatio Bunce?"
"Yes."
"Well,
Mr. Bunce, I never saw you before, though you say you have seen
me; but I know you very well. I am glad I have met you, and very
proud that I may hope to have you for my friend. You must let me
shake your hand before I go."
We
shook hands and parted.
It
was one of the luckiest hits of my life that I met him. He mingled
but little with the public, but was widely known for his remarkable
intelligence and incorruptible integrity, and for a heart brimful
and running over with kindness and benevolence, which showed themselves
not only in words but in acts. He was the oracle of the whole country
around him, and his fame had extended far beyond the circle of his
immediate acquaintance. Though I had never met him before, I had
heard much of him, and but for this meeting it is very likely I
should have had opposition, and had been beaten. One thing is very
certain, no man could now stand up in that district under such a
vote.
At
the appointed time I was at his house, having told our conversation
to every crowd I had met, and to every man I stayed all night with,
and I found that it gave the people an interest and a confidence
in me stronger than I had ever seen manifested before.
Though
I was considerably fatigued when I reached his house, and, under
ordinary circumstances, should have gone early to bed, I kept him
up until midnight, talking about the principles and affairs of government,
and got more real, true knowledge of them than I had got all my
life before.
I
have told you Mr. Bunce converted me politically. He came nearer
converting me religiously than I had ever been before. He did not
make a very good Christian of me, as you know; but he has wrought
upon my mind a conviction of the truth of Christianity, and upon
my feelings a reverence for its purifying and elevating power such
as I had never felt before.
I
have known and seen much of him since, for I respect him –
no, that is not the word – I reverence and love him more than
any living man, and I go to see him two or three times every year;
and I will tell you, sir, if everyone who professes to be a Christian
lived and acted and enjoyed it as he does, the religion of Christ
would take the world by storm.
But
to return to my story. The next morning we went to the barbecue,
and, to my surprise, found about a thousand men there. I met a good
many whom I had not known before, and they and my friend introduced
me around until I had got pretty well acquainted – at least,
they all knew me.
In
due time notice was given that I would speak to them. They gathered
around a stand that had been erected. I opened my speech by saying:
"Fellow
citizens – I present myself before you today feeling like a
new man. My eyes have lately been opened to truths which ignorance
or prejudice, or both, had heretofore hidden from my view. I feel
that I can today offer you the ability to render you more valuable
service than I have ever been able to render before. I am here today
more for the purpose of acknowledging my error than to seek your
votes. That I should make this acknowledgment is due to myself as
well as to you. Whether you will vote for me is a matter for your
consideration only."
I
went on to tell them about the fire and my vote for the appropriation
as I have told it to you, and then told them why I was satisfied
it was wrong. I closed by saying:
"And
now, fellow citizens, it remains only for me to tell you that the
most of the speech you have listened to with so much interest was
simply a repetition of the arguments by which your neighbor, Mr.
Bunce, convinced me of my error.
"It
is the best speech I ever made in my life, but he is entitled to
the credit of it. And now I hope he is satisfied with his convert
and that he will get up here and tell you so."
He
came upon the stand and said:
"Fellow
citizens – It affords me great pleasure to comply with the
request of Colonel Crockett. I have always considered him a thoroughly
honest man, and I am satisfied that he will faithfully perform all
that he has promised you today."
He
went down, and there went up from the crowd such a shout for Davy
Crockett as his name never called forth before.
I
am not much given to tears, but I was taken with a choking then
and felt some big drops rolling down my cheeks. And I tell you now
that the remembrance of those few words spoken by such a man, and
the honest, hearty shout they produced, is worth more to me than
all the honors I have received and all the reputation I have ever
made, or ever shall make, as a member of Congress.
"Now,
Sir," concluded Crockett, "you know why I made that speech yesterday.
I have had several thousand copies of it printed and was directing
them to my constituents when you came in.
"There
is one thing now to which I will call your attention. You remember
that I proposed to give a week's pay. There are in that House many
very wealthy men – men who think nothing of spending a week's
pay, or a dozen of them for a dinner or a wine party when they have
something to accomplish by it. Some of those same men made beautiful
speeches upon the great debt of gratitude which the country owed
the deceased – a debt which could not be paid by money, particularly
so insignificant a sum as $10,000, when weighed against the honor
of the nation. Yet not one of them responded to my proposition.
Money with them is nothing but trash when it is to come out of the
people. But it is the one great thing for which most of them are
striving, and many of them sacrifice honor, integrity, and justice
to obtain it."
|