and feverish in his haste, as if in constant apprehension that tomorrow
would be Judgment Day. Work while Congress is in session, said the
uneasy spirit, for in the recess there is no work and no device.
The Colonel enjoyed this bustle and confusion amazingly; he thrived in
the air of-indefinite expectation. All his own schemes took larger shape
and more misty and majestic proportions; and in this congenial air, the
Colonel seemed even to himself to expand into something large and
mysterious. If he respected himself before, he almost worshipped Beriah
Sellers now, as a superior being. If he could have chosen an official
position out of the highest, he would have been embarrassed in the
selection. The presidency of the republic seemed too limited and cramped
in the constitutional restrictions. If he could have been Grand Llama of
the United States, that might have come the nearest to his idea of a
position. And next to that he would have luxuriated in the irresponsible
omniscience of the Special Correspondent.
Col. Sellers knew the President very well, and had access to his presence
when officials were kept cooling their heels in the Waiting-room. The
President liked to hear the Colonel talk, his voluble ease was a
refreshment after the decorous dullness of men who only talked business
and government, and everlastingly expounded their notions of justice and
the distribution of patronage. The Colonel was as much a lover of
farming and of horses as Thomas Jefferson was. He talked to the
President by the hour about his magnificent stud, and his plantation at
Hawkeye, a kind of principality–he represented it. He urged the
President to pay him a visit during the recess, and see his stock farm.
“The President’s table is well enough,” he used to say, to the loafers
who gathered about him at Willard’s, “well enough for a man on a salary,
but God bless my soul, I should like him to see a little old-fashioned
hospitality–open house, you know. A person seeing me at home might
think I paid no attention to what was in the house, just let things flow
in and out. He’d be mistaken. What I look to is quality, sir. The
President has variety enough, but the quality! Vegetables of course you
can’t expect here. I’m very particular about mine. Take celery, now–
there’s only one spot in this country where celery will grow. But I an
surprised about the wines. I should think they were manufactured in the
New York Custom House. I must send the President some from my cellar.
I was really mortified the other day at dinner to see Blacque Bey leave
his standing in the glasses.”
When the Colonel first came to Washington he had thoughts of taking the
mission to Constantinople, in order to be on the spot to look after the
dissemination, of his Eye Water, but as that invention; was not yet quite
ready, the project shrank a little in the presence of vaster schemes.
Besides he felt that he could do the country more good by remaining at
home. He was one of the Southerners who were constantly quoted as
heartily “accepting the situation.”
“I’m whipped,” he used to say with a jolly laugh, “the government was too
many for me; I’m cleaned out, done for, except my plantation and private
mansion. We played for a big thing, and lost it, and I don’t whine, for
one. I go for putting the old flag on all the vacant lots. I said to
the President, says I, “Grant, why don’t you take Santo Domingo, annex
the whole thing, and settle the bill afterwards. That’s my way. I’d,
take the job to manage Congress. The South would come into it. You’ve
got to conciliate the South, consolidate the two debts, pay ’em off in
greenbacks, and go ahead. That’s my notion. Boutwell’s got the right
notion about the value of paper, but he lacks courage. I should like to
run the treasury department about six months. I’d make things plenty,
and business look up.”
The Colonel had access to the departments. He knew all the senators and
representatives, and especially, the lobby. He was consequently a great