President Daniel Webster
The Doorkeeper draws in a deep breath and announces, “Mister Speaker! The President of the United States!” Behind him, the doors to the House chamber swing open and Daniel Webster enters. Ponderously he follows the Doorkeeper down the aisles between the desks, nodding occasionally to a Representative or Senator. The atmosphere is solemn, even funereal. All present know why the President has asked to speak to the joint session of Congress: war with Mexico can no longer be postponed. Half the Democratic members are jubilant at the prospect, the other half aghast at the consequences. The Whigs are uniformly against the war, tempered somewhat by their faith that Webster has done what he can to avert the crisis.
From tradition or habit the President wears the clothes his senatorial career made synonymous with his name: a blue coat with brass buttons over a buff vest, topped by a starched white collar stiff and high under his bulldog jowls. He carries no papers or notes; whatever Webster has to say will have been carefully prepared and then committed to memory. Despite his attention to his clothes Webster appears tired and frayed. Even his trademark coal-black hair, once thick and tousled, is gone thin and gray.
Mounting to the rostrum, the President shakes hands with the Speaker of the House, Howell Cobb of Georgia, and with Vice-President Fillmore, before turning to the lectern. The speech he will give will be regarded as one of Webster’s finest, and excerpts from it will be widely quoted. It is best therefore if we imagine ourselves in the gallery now, bending forward to peer over the railing at the famous man below, aged but still in possession of a vast rumbling stentorian voice, about to speak these words for the first time:
“Mister Speaker, honorable members of Congress, I come before you today to speak of matters of grave import for our nation and our people. I come not as a partisan, not as a Massachusetts man, nor yet as a Northern man. I come as an American, as the President of all Americans, interested not in faction, section or party, but as one who desires foremost the preservation of our most sacred trusts: the Union, the Constitution, and the Republic we here serve. Hear me for my cause.”
We can imagine the members of Congress leaning forward over their antiquarian desks as the President outlines the history of the conflict: settlement in Texas, the war of independence, the founding of a new Republic, the unrest that culminates in civil war and General Scott’s proclamation of martial law. He candidly admits the Dallas administration’s failed attempt to negotiate the purchase of California and New Mexico. President de Anaya had been willing to discuss the issue but that willingness led to his removal by the usurping General Santa Anna and an end to all discussion. Webster places no blame: the situation is as it is, he seems to say, in words that echo Henry Clay’s comments on Haiti.
“I speak not of the rightness or wrongness of the border issues in Texas. Such questions might be resolved by reasonable men in honorable ways. This country is no stranger to frank and open discourse with others. We have secured our present boundaries more by negotiation, compromise and diplomacy than by war. I say only that General Scott could not maintain the peace and security so devoutly desired by the inhabitants of Texas while soldiers of the Army of Mexico were allowed to pillage and plunder therein. I assert that, on the part of my administration, all honorable means of resolution of our disputes with Mexico have been exhausted.
“Efforts to encourage President Santa Anna to restrain his men have been met with rebuke and renewed atrocity. The usurper Santa Anna requires the Army of the United States to retreat from the soil of Texas as a precondition of any discussion. Sirs, I spurn that with the contempt that I pray such a demand will arouse in every patriot breast! Retreat! Sir, never while I live shall the American eagle furl her wings in such disgrace!”
Newspaper reports of the speech uniformly comment on the outcry and tumult that followed this portion of the speech. Webster apparently took advantage of the pause while the Speaker restored order to drink some water, and then settled back into familiar oratorical stance: one foot forward a pace, right hand behind his back, shoulders thrown back, head high. One can only imagine the great deep voice rising up through any remaining noise, black eyes blazing like kindled coals as he entered into the heart of his speech.
“I do not concern myself with Texas; her fate is for the people of Texas and the Congress of the United States to determine at some future time. I come here with an awful and terrible purpose, to call forth the sons of patriots in defense of the Union! The olive branch has been offered and scorned; Americans lie dead and wounded at the hand of Mexican aggression! We can no longer abide the insults and provocations of the Dictator Santa Anna. I know full well the gravity of my words and I own I am but a shadow of the great men who fought for liberty and forged a nation – a Union – of a sort unknown in this world before their time. But the preservation of our liberty – of our Union – demands of us that we take up this gauntlet. As our forefathers made a Republic and passed our heritage to us, so we must secure it – and renew it – by our dedication to their ideals, communicating these onward to our posterity in turn. Never did there devolve on any generation of men higher trusts than devolve upon us, for the preservation and extension of the blessings of the Constitution and the harmony and peace of all who are destined to live under it.”
Another, shorter pause follows. Webster blots his streaming brow and rallies his strength for the close, all in breathless silence.
“Let us not exult in the false glory of war but rather see it for the great and terrible enterprise it is. May we instead take up this charge in humility and solemnity, but without fear or hesitation. I ask this Congress for its declaration that a state of war exists between this nation and the Republic of Mexico, and for its consideration of such measures as may be required for the successful prosecution of the war.
“If we must embrace war to preserve our liberties then let us do so; I look not to the coming of war but forward to the ending of it. We shall obtain much when our hateful labors are ended: a continent-wide Republic, secure in Union, washed on opposite shores by the great oceans of the world, beautiful – mighty – complete – the pride and envy of every citizen of the world!”