"Did you ever
hear of the farmer that lived out in the West,
Or a refrain would be heard, the burden of which was that somebody was a "used up man," and that the farmer aforesaid, or "Tippecanoe," had something to do in using him up - "O Van! Van! Van
is a used up man!
Those who had an eye to the main chance were ready to avail themselves of all this patriotic fervor, and miniature log cabins and cider barrels, emblematical and ornamental, were stuck on to everything, from a cane to a corn barn. It is said that one of our thrifty citizens laid the foundations of his fortune in the manufacture of canes, each of which was surmounted with one of these emblematical cider barrels two inches in length, and of proportionate circumference. But the enthusiasm rose higher than two-inch cider barrels, and even higher than bird-house log cabins on the ridge-poles of the tallest barns. A grand log cabin must be built large enough to accommodate the multitudes that might gather to hear the political orators that came from every corner of the Union to tell the people how Locofoco misrule had brought the country to the brink of ruin, and how the honest yeomanry of the land must rise in their might and deliver the nation from the machinations and intrigues of designing politicians and the selfish ambition of third-rate statesmen. One told the people how Jackson, and his administration, had ruined the country by overthrowing the United States Bank. Another how the Tariff of '32, with its sliding scale of duties, had prostrated the industry of the nation, and finally whelmed it in the financial gulf of 1837, where it lay while our great commercial rivals held a jubilee over the ruins of the proud fabric of trade and commerce. And a third told how Price and Swartwout, and a host of minor defaulters, had plundered the treasury, and how the floods of official corruption were sweeping from the Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico. Eloquence was more plentiful than corn that year. The log cabin was built by the side of the Eastern Railroad, on the land making part of the eastern end of Harrison Court. It was built of pine boards rather than pine logs, the seats and platform of pretty much the same material, and the whole arrangement outside and inside wore a rural, if not a back-woods appearance. It was one hundred feet long, and sixty wide. A walk, or bridge, led from the railroad to the rostrum, or speaker's stand, for the accommodation of those who were to be honored with a seat on the platform. A door, or opening, on either side, about midway between the front and rear, admitted the audience, and gave ample means of egress in case of fire. But there was more danger from water than from fire. The roof was not absolutely water tight, and in case of a shower one could pick out a dry spot or go outside, just as he chose. It was lighted with a chandelier made from a pine tree. This was before illuminating gas was thought of in these parts, and the various burning fluids that preceded the introduction of kerosene oil had not yet taken the place of the tallow candle, or the lamp filled with whale oil. Cheap tin lamps adorned various parts of the cabin; and when these were lighted the inside of this rural edifice had a unique and attractive appearance. The boys reveled on these occasions. Whether there was anything that reminded them of Aladdin's lamp, or an enchanted palace, is not definitely known; but if to ten of them were given the choice to join the procession, and go to one of these patriotic gatherings in the log cabin, or study his Sunday School lesson, nine of them, at least, would have gone to the cabin. After all was ready it was dedicated on the 17th of August. Grand preparations were made. The cabin was crammed full, and overflowed in all directions. David Taylor was President of the Whig Club, and Leverett Saltonstall, the member of Congress from Essex South, was the orator of the occasion. The Whigs of Boston presented a banner to the Whigs of Lynn, and one of our prominent citizens, now living, the Hon. Thomas B. Newhall, responded in a "neat and appropriate speech of acknowledgment." A song from the Ward Five Glee Club was sung, and then the impatient audience listened to an introductory address by Mr. Taylor, President of the Club. Mr. Taylor was a man of imposing presence, and his introduction of Mr. Saltonstall was performed in a manner just suited to the occasion; and when he closed by saying, "I have the honor of introducing to you, my fellow-citizens, the Hon. Leverett Saltonstall, an old war horse, but brave and spirited as ever," the shouts of the excited multitude made the "welkin ring." The writer, though present, did not take notes of Mr. Saltonstall's speech, not supposing he would have occasion to use them, but the address was pronounced by high authority as every way worthy of the distinguished orator. Soon after came the great Bunker Hill Convenvention, September 10. This was one of the largest - probably the largest - political gatherings ever seen in New England up to that period. The Boston Atlas gave the figures of the procession. From the several counties within the State, 33,400. From other States, including cavalcade, 12,550; making a total of 45,950. Lynn shone on that occasion. She mustered some five or six hundred, beside making a good show in the cavalcade. One paper said,: "The great feature, however, was the Great Shoe from Lynn, mounted on wheels, drawn by six beautiful white horses. In the shoe were about twenty men." To which the Lynn Freeman added: "We cannot avoid expressing the high gratification expressed by the company in the shoe at the manner of their reception throughout the whole route." From the newspaper accounts of the day this was one of the most enthusiastic, as well as the largest, political demonstrations that ever "tore the welkin to tatters" since the continent was inhabited. Banners, flags, mottoes, emblems, every sort of political device, mechanical and marine, agricultural and allegorical, were seen along the line of the procession, and as each met the eyes of a new throng of spectators vociferous cheers from thousands, and waggish comments from the few endowed with wit were heard until the caldron of excitement boiled over and ran down the sides. Political meteorology was of the most startling kind that year. There were no balmy zephyrs or gentle showers. There was nothing tamer than an earthquake during the campaign. Torrents, tornadoes, and avalanches were monthly occurrences, if they did not happen more frequently. There was a good deal of thunder rolling over the prairies, and lightning flashed from every quarter of the political horizon. Gunnery, and especially artillery practice, was largely called upon for metaphors. As early as March was heard the "First Gun from Illinois." Then in "unterrified Connecticut" was seen the "first dawning of the Sun of Austerlitz." Soon after we were called upon to note the "Progress of the Storm in Ohio." Then" the Old Dominion speaks in Thunder." Then all eyes were directed to the Baltimore National Convention to behold every sort of phenomena ever seen in political meteorology. Voices echoed, torrents roared, the rushing sound of the Mississippi waters mingled with every breeze that "swept over the plains of the South." We were invited to listen to all kinds of noises in every part of the land. Baltimore was the focus of all these noises. The North shouted to the South; the East called to the young West. Besides this there was music by several bands, and a number of guns were fired. Our distinguished fellow-citizen, the late Alonzo Lewis, wrote a song for the occasion, beginning - "Here's health to the
Freeborn and health to the Brave;
There was considerable more of it, but they probably had n't time to sing it. Next came the Fourth of July; all over the United States were seen processions and log cabins', cider barrels and stuffed coons, and a repetition, on a small scale, of pretty much everything that had been heard and seen at Baltimore. Then was heard the "Fourth peal of Harrison Thunder from Louisiana." The August elections then came, and they were introduced as
This tornado swept through a dozen States, and a small breeze had no chance for a show. Occasionally a writer would drop from meteorology into sociology - as Silas Wegg dropped in to poetry - and then the heading would be, "The Progress of the Revolution." But this was generally too tame. The public appetite had been fed so long on whirlwinds and cataracts that a less stimulating diet failed to keep up the tone of the system, and so when it came to Ohio, the home of "Old Tip," nothing short of a tenth part of a million earthquakes was sufficient to express the struggling emotions of the editor as he announced to his readers the result of the ballot box. "A hundred thousand earthquake-shouts for the gallant Buckeyes," was the reasonable call he made upon them, and it is to be supposed that the explosion came off - such as it was. The proceedings of the second meeting in the Log Cabin were not fully reported by the Whig press - in fact, were not reported at all, as their columns clearly showed. The doings of that gathering are, therefore, left to tradition, a somewhat uncertain guide, or to the still more unreliable accounts given in the exaggerated reports by political opponents. As there was no special reason why these political opponents should be reticent, there was something more than an allusion to, and an incidental comment upon, a meeting whose features were rather extraordinary, even in that extraordinary campaign. But there are many men now living - both Whigs and Democrats at that time who have a vivid remembrance of the incidents and accidents, the episodes and adjuncts, of that memorable evening. A distinguished speaker had been invited from a distant State. According to explanations afterwards given, the exhaustive labors of an exciting campaign had impaired his health, and recent efforts in addressing large multitudes had given his voice, naturally clear and sonorous, a hoarseness and huskiness ill-suited to oratory. Besides this, a temporary illness had unfitted him for the arduous labors and excitement incident to a political meeting in those stormy times. To meet the exigencies of the occasion, certain stimulus was given - a more common treatment then than now, though not entirely unknown at the present day. But this did not meet the exigency. On the contrary, it increased the huskiness of voice, disturbed the logical order of thought, and the coherence of ideas. It was plain that the speaker was not in a condition to clearly unfold a principle of constitutional law, or to follow the windings of an intricate question of bank or tariff. When the hour arrived, the Whigs were not slow in apprehending the situation, and the few "Locos" present were not a whit behind them in taking in all the peculiar features of the case. A few ineffectual attempts at speech on the part of the speaker revealed the situation too clearly for anybody to misunderstand. The Whigs, not knowing what further demonstrations might be made, quietly withdrew, and might have been seen going home in all directions, but generally by the shortest route. But the "Locos" did not seem to regard it as lost time. To them it was an entertainment unprecedented in its attractions, and they seemed in no hurry to leave. By some unaccountable system of telegraphy the Democrats, who had no idea of attending a Whig meeting that evening, got wind of the affair, and soon the ample space made by the receding forms of the Whigs was filled with interested spectators who never voted a Whig ticket in all their lives. If not a sympathetic audience it certainly was not an indifferent one. They encouraged the speaker in all possible ways. They called him by his Christian name, and also by his family name. They designated him by the name of his native State, applauded all his efforts, and showed him every possible attention. A few ineffectual attempts on the part of the speaker resulted in nothing better than certain incoherent utterances, showing that the flesh was weaker than the spirit. There never was a better suited set than those "Locos," who seemed so anxious to get instructed in Whig politics. The next issue of their organ, the Record, gave a graphic description of this meeting, which more than made amends for the reticence of the Whig journal. In shoemakers' shops, and wherever there was a congenial crowd, this event furnished a fruitful topic for jokes and comments for a long time after; and when it was no longer new, it became embalmed as a reminiscence to be called up whenever the exigencies of political discussion seemed to demand an unusual draft upon party history. The next address at the Cabin was by Daniel Webster, on the 16th of September. It is needless to say that the audience got something worth listening to. It was a calm, dispassionate review of the political situation, characterized by that dignity and absence of all personal invective which marked all the efforts of this distinguished statesman. Caleb Cushing was the speaker at the fourth gathering at the Log Cabin, October 5th. Mr. Cushing was then in the prime of early manhood, and already gave promise of that transcendent scholarship and mastery of political science that afterwards placed him in the front rank of American diplomatists and statesmen. His masterly analysis of the great questions then dividing the two great parties - and especially that of finance - was a performance worthy the attention of either Whig or Democrat; but on the whole it gave much better satisfaction to the Whigs than to the Democrats. Before this address was finished, an episode occurred that had no bearing upon anyone of the great questions discussed during the evening. A vile compound, prepared, it was said, at an apothecary's not a mile away, was brought into the cabin by parties unknown. This turned the whole current of thought away from the great questions under consideration; for no logic or eloquence could stand for a moment in the face of that villainous smell. The speaker saw that something attracted the attention of the audience, and more than likely had other evidence besides his eyesight, and the chairman saw it, too, and more than saw it, and came to the rescue. "These, fellow-citizens," said Mr. Taylor, "are the fumes of Locofocoism, and they will soon pass away." But they did n't pass away - at least for some time. That was not a presence to be waved off with a flourish of rhetoric, or a bland invitation to leave. This outrage, which was fittingly denounced at the time, gives some idea of the amenities of politics in those days. And yet there are some people who would like to go back to old times. Order was at last restored, and in a good degree the normal condition of the air inside the cabin, whose ventilation was ample. It may be proper to mention here that no expense was incurred in making this cabin air-tight; but in order to secure abundant ventilation, and for the free admission of wind, heat, cold, dust, moonlight and sunlight, the sides were left open near the top. Along this opening a row of boys' heads might have been seen upholstering the space below the eaves, so that this outside gallery made a conspicuous addition to the audience which, on one occasion, called forth high eulogy from one of the orators. "Here," said he, "we not only see this spacious cabin filled with enthusiastic Whigs, but the roof covered with boys, peering through the cracks." Probably neither Mr. Cushing, nor any of his audience, had any idea that in a few years he would lead a regiment into Mexico in support of a war more fiercely denounced by the Whig party, and all its great leaders, than any measure that had divided the nation since the war of 1812. After this it was not strange that he received the Democratic nomination for Governor in 1848. Two more meetings were held in the cabin before the election - one, Monday evening, October 12th, addressed by Franklin Dexter, of Boston, the next on the Thursday evening following, when the Hon. Daniel P. King, of Danvers, was the speaker. The cabin was crowded to hear the honorable gentleman, who was a favorite in Lynn. Mr. King, though not a man of commanding talents, had high qualities to recommend him. He never indulged in personalities, was a man of spotless integrity of character, and especially esteemed for the urbanity of his manners, and his genial social qualities.
The Democratic Pavilion occupied the lot near the east corner of Union and Exchange streets, nearly opposite Almont street. This neighborhood wore a very different aspect then from what now appears. The first Eastern Railroad Station was built about two years before. It was not noted for the amplitude of its accommodations, or the elegance of its design. Models of this structure were never seen in any gallery of art, nor are any designs showing its elaborateness or uniqueness, or whatever other novelty it possessed, preserved in any manual of architecture. Between this station and the old Silsbee estate, which included the land on Union street now covered in part by the Newhall Block, there was no building near the front line. From this front line the land rose to quite a hill, at the top of which stood the house of Nathan Alley, facing Exchange street. In front of the house was a well, with an old-fashioned "sweep," such as is still occasionally seen. Doubtless many who read these pages will recall this old well, and with it the familiar lines of Woodworth, who, probably, had just such a well as this in his mind's eye when he wrote - "The old oaken
bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
This well-sweep could be seen all over "Black Marsh;" for the territory between this point and the sea - extending from Nahant street, on the east, to Munroe street on the west, now thickly covered with buildings of every description - then contained only a few scattering dwellings, and a few still more scattering stores and small factories, dotted here and there with a shoemaker's shop. This hill, which was soon after leveled, furnished a large amount of excellent material for roads; but before it was leveled its slope made a very convenient site for the Democratic Pavilion, whose rear extended to within a few rods of the top of the hill. The seats gradually rising one above another gave it a somewhat amphitheatre appearance. But this was the only respect in which this pavilion bore the slightest resemblance to the renowned amphitheatres of Greece and Rome, not to mention the famous edifices of other ancient nations. There is probably no document extant giving the dimension of this pavilion. The writer did not measure it, being too young at the time to consider the question as to the probable interest posterity might have in knowing its length and breadth; but he is inclined to the opinion that it was equal in size to the log cabin of the Whigs. It was built of pretty much the same sort of lumber, and it may interest some to know that shortly after, the stock was used in the construction of the Sagamore Hall Building, now occupying part of the same lot - a structure described at the time as a "splendid hall" The first addresses given in the Pavilion were by George Bancroft, the historian, and Amasa Walker. At this meeting a string of thirteen resolutions was adopted, and a vote of thanks to these gentlemen for "their eloquent addresses." At this meeting several boys - some of them probably of large size - made a "powwow" outside the pavilion singing "hard cider songs," which called out a pleasant remark from Mr. Bancroft about that sort of "Whig argument." The second address was delivered by Robert Rantoul, Jr. A large crowd gathered to hear him, but not all were able to do so for want of room. Mr. Rantoul was a great favorite with the Democrats. He was then a young man of thirty-five, but had already laid the foundation which, in after years, made him one of the leading statesmen of the land. Few men have the power of statement that he possessed, and fewer still that unwearied industry that sifted to the bottom every question that he handled. Nothing escaped him. Like Pitt, he had whole rows of figures at his command, and his mastery of details was equaled only by the clearness and logical order of his statements. The Whigs disposed of him by calling him "Bobby." Now and then an ambitious young Whig would offer to test the temper of his blade by proposing to cross lances with Mr. Rantoul upon some question of bank or tariff. On the 23d of September there was a "mighty gathering" in the pavilion to hear Benjamin F. Hallett's reply to Mr. Webster. According to the Democratic journal some fifteen hundred people assembled to hear Mr. Hallett "expose the sophistries and fallacies" of his distinguished opponent "in a manner that carried conviction to all reasonable minds." Mr. Webster did not reply to this. No reason was ever given for this reticence. In all these gatherings there was the usual attendance of boys. A good many boys turned Whig during this campaign. Early in the season there seemed to be unmistakable signs that the tide of victory was setting in favor of the "hero of Tippecanoe," the youngsters judging by the ostentatious demonstrations - the log cabins, the songs and hurrahs, the glare of torchlight processions, the blare of brass bands, and all accompanying noises. A good many larger boys went the same way for the same reason. The next address was given by Albert Smith, of Maine; October 15th. Mr. Smith was a pithy, magnetic speaker, and this meeting was one of the most enthusiastic held during the campaign. The Democratic journal of the day alluded to this occasion in the following inspiring and eloquent manner: "The single-hearted, hard-handed sons of toil were there firm as the rocks of our iron-bound shores. Like them will they meet and roll back the surges of federalism that is threateing to overthrow them." There was considerable more as good as this. It was amusing to hear the clear tones in which the Democrats whistled to keep up their courage long after the verdict had been rendered beyond hope of reversion. The August elections had practically settled the matter. But a month later the Democratic paper had the following encouraging and classical extract: "Well, whistle on, my good fellows. Put your trust in log cabins as the Romans did in their wooden horse and all may yet go well" This Roman wooden horse was probably of the same pedigree as the old "Trojan" horse. The "stock," as the shoemakers would say, was pretty much the same. The next meeting at the pavilion was on October 22d. Bradford Sumner, of Boston, was the speaker. Mr. Sumner was the candidate for Congress of the Suffolk Democracy, a man of talents, and one that never descended to low tricks or calumnious utterances. His manner was calm and dignified, and the matter of his, addresses was worthy the attention of his audiences. Mr. Rantoul spoke again in the pavilion, in the afternoon of November 6th, and in the evening of the following day addresses were made by Albert Smith, and John P. Hale, of New Hampshire. Mr. Hale was always a popular speaker. His irrepressible good humor and rollicking wit made him a capital campaign orator. After he had taken his stand before an audience nobody wanted to hear the band play, for there was more music in one of his speeches than could be got out of three or four bands. It was this talent which, when in after years he stood as one of the great leaders of what seemed the forlorn hope of the anti-slavery movement in the United States Senate, enabled him to turn the assaults of his opponents, and disarm the bitterness of rancorous debate, and set that august body into a roar of laughter. This ended the meetings at the pavilion. Not all the wit, nor all the eloquence that the Democracy was able to command throughout the length and breadth of the land, could roll back the tide that bore the Whig party on to victory. The defeat was utter and overwhelming. Nothing like it was ever known in the history of presidential contests. Van Buren carried but seven States - Alabama, Arkansas, Illinois, Missouri, New Hampshire, South Carolina, and Virginia - and received but sixty out of two hundred and ninety-four electoral votes. And so ended the memorable campaign of 1840·
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