REPRESENTATIVE
AND LEADING
MEN OF THE PACIFIC
WILLIAM I.
FERGUSON
By THE EDITOR.
The history of political parties in California is illustrated with the genius of brilliant and ambitious minds from every section of the American Union: and of these it is noteworthy that a large and disproportionate number, prior to their advent in California, exercised a conspicuous leadership in public affairs in Illinois. Baker, McDougall, Ferguson, Campbell, Hoge, Hardy, Pratt—these are but a few of the ardent spirits sent forth by the Prairie State to the shores of the Pacific, endowed with the charms of oratory, strengthened by enlightened experience, and learned in the science of law.
William I. Ferguson was born May 9th, 1825, at Monongahela City, Pennsylvania, the native State of his father and mother. His grand-parents came to the United States from Ireland. His father, Benjamin F., was a carpenter and builder. William was the oldest of six children. When he was ten years of age, his parents removed to Springfield, Illinois, where his father died, and where his mother, sisters, and two brothers, now reside.
William received a common-school education. After leaving school, he clerked for a short time in a store; then, having determined to prepare himself for the bar, he applied himself closely for some years to the study of law in the offices of Judge Logan, Col. E. D. Baker, and other prominent lawyers of Springfield. He received his license to practice before he attained his majority, and soon obtained a good business. Politics, as well as law, had a charm for him. When he was a very young man, he became noted as an eloquent and forcible speaker. He had been raised a Whig, but, on becoming a voter, espoused the Democratic cause. He was several times elected city attorney of Springfield, and his name was placed on the Democratic electoral ticket in the presidential election of 1848, he then being only twenty-three years of age. In 1850 he was a candidate for the State Legislature, and ran far ahead of his ticket; but was defeated, there being at that time a very large Whig majority in his district.
The editor has received the following reminiscences of Mr. Ferguson, from Mr. W. H. Herndon, a leading lawyer of Springfield, formerly a law partner of President Lincoln. Mr. Herndon wrote his narrative hastily, intending only to furnish data for this sketch, without expecting that his language would be adopted by the editor:
Springfield,
Ill., March 20th, 1869.
OSCAR T. SHUCK, ESQ.,
San
Francisco, Cal.
DEAR SIR:—I knew Hon. William I. Ferguson as early as 1836, when
he was going to school. I sold his father Gillies’
Greece for William to read. He read it well and with admiration, and was
enthusiastic over its contents. He was fond of good history. About the year
1835, ‘6 or ‘7, I was president of a young men’s debating society in Springfield,
Illinois. Ferguson joined it, and he soon assumed leadership of it. He was a
number-one talker in the society. He generally studied his subject well, would
converse with older heads, read books and papers, and thus became well informed
on the subject of debate. He admired conversation more than reading. He would
absorb all that was said; would assimilate it, digest and use it. I do not
think he loved mathematics at school; but grammar and rhetoric were favorite
studies. He was a close reader of Byron, Shakespeare, and Milton. William was
an openhearted, spontaneous young man; would go to any lengths for a friend,
even when a mere lad. He did not love to fight with boys; had too much
good-will and sense. About the year 1837 or 1838, he was a clerk in a store in
Springfield, owned by Bell & Speed, where he remained about one year. This
occupation was decidedly distasteful to him; his active brain and impulsive
nature yearned for nobler employments. His father then put him to learn the
carpenter’s trade, but the boy was still unsatisfied. When pushing the
jack-plane at his trade, he embraced every leisure moment to creep down into
the shavings and read history or poetry. About this time, his friends thought
he must die with the consumption. However, by keeping in the open air, and
taking physical exercise, he got well. In the year 1842, he went into the law
office of Hon. S. T. Logan of Springfield; he received his license in 1843. He
and Hon. David Logan, now of Oregon, son of Hon. S. T. Logan, read law at the
same time and place. They were boys of much promise, because they had by nature
large minds, and were studious, determined, and patient. Ferguson, upon being
admitted, went into an extensive practice at once. He was social and beloved.
He knew how to attract and tie men to him. He was more of a thinker than a
reader; was a great absorber of what was said in conversation. He soon came to
be the first criminal lawyer at the Sangamon bar, among such men as Lincoln,
Logan, Baker, McDougal, Bledsoe, Stuart, and others. I have watched the young
man in a hard case with admiration; he was calm and self-possessed, knowing his
case thoroughly. His leading characteristic, in mind, was his quick, excellent
judgment. His reason was no better than that of a thousand other men. His
intuitive judgments were admirable, keen, correct, and quick as lightning. He
told what the law was when hearing it discussed, even before it was decided by
the Court. He caught hints how to manage his case by closely watching the ideas
of opposing attorneys. Ferguson intuitively knew that the opposition attorney’s
side was antagonistic to his. Hence he
never was at a loss to know how to manage a case, for a defendant especially.
Mr.
Ferguson was chosen in this city of the Fourth of July, 1840, to be the orator
of the day, over such men as Lincoln, Logan, and others. His oration was truly
eloquent; it was finely, grandly eloquent. He gained great honor on that
occasion. I forgot to say that one of William’s habits was to read aloud, and
walk the room, when so doing, backwards and forwards; he loved to read orations—from sixteen to twenty-two, always repeating them: he
would go into the deep woods and there speak to a tree, or to me as well as
others of his friends. In politics he was raised a Whig; he turned Democrat
about 1844.
On one
occasion he and I were going to court in Christian county. Hon. David Davis was
judge of what may be called the Sangamon District or Circuit. On the road we
heard that Judge Davis was too ill to attend Court. “Hush,” said young
Ferguson, “and we’ll have some fun: we’ll tell the people that we are
authorized to hold Court for Judge Davis.” So we rode to the county seat, as
appeared to the crowd, in a legitimate way. The Sheriff knew no better, nor did
the clerk, nor the lawyers. I kept still—said
nothing. One lawyer made motion, and during the time it was being argued, some
one behaved rather badly. Young Ferguson said: “Mr. Clerk, fine Mr. ——— one dollar for contempt of Court, in making too much
noise and for keeping his hat on in the court-room.” The man walked up; paid
his fine with some grumbling. Two or three fines in addition were thus imposed.
Probably four or five dollars were collected in this way. In about one or two
hours, Ferguson rose up in the chair and said: “Mr. Clerk, Court’s adjourned.
Let’s go and have a general frolic with the fine-money—a big, old-fashioned spree.” Then it was first
discovered that it was a sham court. The people were wild in their fun, and
those that paid, the fines enjoyed the joke more than all others. Your truly,
W.
H. HERNDON.
Mr. Ferguson left Illinois on the 26th day of September, 1852, for Texas. He resided in Dallas county in the latter State, until the following spring, and then started overland for California, where he arrived in the summer of 1853. After residing for a few months at Marysville, he located permanently at Sacramento, and entered upon the practice of his profession. Possessed of a fine knowledge of law, of affable manners, and a very generous and kind disposition, his popularity soon became as great as his ambition, (which was unlimited) and procured him as much business as he could possibly attend to. He loved, but was not wedded to, his profession, although he distinguished himself as a criminal lawyer. He sought to make it a stepping-stone to political preferment; and cherished an honorable zeal to shine in the councils of the State and nation. He had an insatiable thirst for fame. He cared but little for money. The fluctuations in real estate, and the rise and fall of stocks, never cost him a sigh or gave him any concern. The records of the County Recorder of Sacramento county do not once reveal his name as the purchaser or vendor of a single inch of ground. He lived and moved in the midst of a restless throng, crazed by the eager desire for gain, but himself callous to the allurements of mammon. The example of indifference to the acquisition of wealth in an age of speculators and in a community of fortune-hunters, was novel and striking.
In 1855, Ferguson was nominated by the Native American or Know-Nothing party for State senator. His Democratic competitor was his first law-partner in Sacramento, Wm. S. Long. At the election, Ferguson received 3,437 votes to 2,592 cast for Long.
On entering the Senate, he was appointed chairman of the Judiciary Committee, and at once became a leading member of that body. The Legislature was called upon during that session to elect a United States senator. In the lower branch, the new party had a large preponderance, while in the Senate their majority was only one. Hon. Wilson Flint, one of the hold-over San Francisco senators, was known to be in sympathy with the Know-Nothings or Native Americans, and in company with Henry S. Foote, had stumped the State in 1850 for that party, and the votes of that party had been cast in a body for him, and aided his election to the State Senate. Therefore, his vote was relied upon for the American nominee for United States senator. It was the purpose of the Know-Nothing senators to go into joint convention, without first holding a caucus; but, as Mr. Flint declared he would not vote for the choice of the majority unless that choice were indicated by a caucus, the original intention was changed and a caucus was held. In a speech delivered in the Senate, January 15th, 1856, and which was reported in the Sacramento Union, Mr. Flint, in explaining his connection with the Native American party, used these words: “I assure the party to which I hold allegiance, that I am prepared at any time to abide the result of a caucus.”
At that time, it will be remembered, it required a majority of both branches of the Legislature to bring on the election of a United States senator. Seeing how evenly balanced the two parties were in the Senate, David C. Broderick was making herculean exertions to have the election postponed until the next session of the Legislature, when he hoped to secure the prize himself. The caucus of the dominant party had many sittings, in the endeavor to agree upon a candidate. Mr. Ferguson himself received a large vote for the high position. The principal candidate, however, was Hon. Henry S. Foote, and upon him the caucus at last combined. That gentleman would have been chosen, in a day or two thereafter, as the representative of the State of California in the United States Senate, but for the unexpected defection of Willson Flint, who refused, in the most stubborn and determined manner, to support the caucus nominee. Ferguson warmly endorsed the nomination, and was unable to restrain the impetuosity of his feelings against Flint. As he was master of satire and invective, he astounded the Senate, and even those who knew him best, by the withering anathemas which he hurled at the head of “the recreant.” But the Senate refused, by a majority of one, to go into joint convention with the Assembly, and Broderick’s star again ascended the political heavens.
In the fall of 1856, in the middle of his senatorial term, Ferguson openly renounced the Know-Nothing Order, and was welcomed back, with many joyous demonstrations, into the Democratic ranks. A committee of prominent Know-Nothings waited upon him and demanded his resignation. He agreed that, if his vote, should be necessary to decide the choice of a United States senator at the next session of the Legislature, he would resign, in time for the people of Sacramento county to elect his successor—intending in that event to go before the public as a candidate for reëlection; but as that exigency did not arise, he served out his term. At the next session both branches of the Legislature had Democratic majorities, and early in the session, Broderick was elected to the United States Senate, Ferguson voting for him.
In 1857, Ferguson was nominated by the Democracy as his successor in the Senate, and was reëlected. The contest was bitter and hotly contested. The vote stood: Ferguson, Democratic, 2,746; Brewster, American, 2,502; Nixon, Republican, 934.
The session commenced on the first Monday in January, 1858. About two months before the Legislature adjourned, occurred the memorable rupture between Douglas and Buchanan, and Ferguson promptly announced his sympathy with the former. Towards the close of the session, he delivered an elaborate speech on “Squatter Sovereignty,” which was an impassioned vindication of the views of the Illinois statesman, and replete with energetic and eloquent censure of the administration of James Buchanan. This speech was, perhaps, the most logical, finished, and effective of all his forensic efforts.
In August, 1858, Ferguson made a visit to San Francisco, and there became involved in a personal dispute with Hon. George Pen Johnston, which resulted in a duel being fought between them at Angel Island, in San Francisco Bay, on the 21st day of that month—the weapons being pistols, and Ferguson being the challenged party. At the fourth fire, the latter received his adversary’s ball in his right thigh, and was carried from the field—Johnston being slightly wounded in the left wrist. When his physicians examined Ferguson’s wound soon after its infliction, they informed him of its serious nature, and notified him that, unless the leg was amputated, the chances were a thousand to one against his recovery. He replied that he would not lose his leg for all California, and that he would take the solitary chance. The surgeons, therefore, rendered him such assistance as they could give, and did not resort to amputation until September 14th, when Ferguson’s condition made a further and minute examination necessary; whereupon, it became evident that amputation furnished the only hope for life. The patient at last yielded to the advice of his friends. He stated to those in attendance that he did not expect to survive, and requested that if the people of Sacramento asked for his body, it should be given to them, that he might be “buried in the county which had honored him with a seat in the Senate.”
At about half-past three o’clock in the afternoon, Doctors Angle, Sawyer, Rowell, Coit, and Gray, after administering chloroform, commenced the operation of amputating the limb. This was performed in a short time; but his long and painful confinement had enfeebled him to the last degree, and he could stand no more. Before the operation was complete, his spirit was disenthralled from its shattered earthly tenement, and gone (the writer, who loved him, devoutly trusts) to a sinless world.
It was then seen how tenderly he was beloved by the people of Sacramento. Only a day before his decease, the telegraph had announced that he was better, and the intelligence of his death spread a deep gloom over the capital. A large delegation of Sacramentans met the party in charge of the remains at Benicia, and escorted them to Sacramento, where the body was lain in state in the Senate chamber of the capital building throughout the following day. Thousands of the citizens of Sacramento county visited the State House, to behold for the last time the noble brow and form of him whose nervous eloquence had so often, in that very building, delighted and entranced them.
On the 16th day of September, after an impressive discourse by Rev. J. A. Benton, and a eulogy by Col. E. D. Baker, a very large concourse followed the remains to the grave. At the time of his death, he had one year more to serve as a State senator, and was a prominent aspirant for congressional honors.
The writer, for good cause, will not continue this sketch further. When Ferguson felt that he must soon die, he said to those who watched by his bedside: “My friend Baker has known me best in life: ask him, if he will, to speak of me when I am dead.” He could not have entrusted his memory to the keeping of a better friend than the eloquent old man whose voice always fell upon enraptured ears. Col. Baker fulfilled the sad trust committed to him, and spoke in pathetic terms of the young man whom he had known since his early boyhood. The writer, therefore, drops his pen, and hastens to refer the reader to Col. Baker’s Eulogy, which immediately follows this sketch, and which in turn is followed by Mr. Benton’s Discourse.
REMARKS ON THE DEATH OF WM. I. FERGUSON,
Delivered in the Assembly Chamber, Sacramento, Cal., September 16th, 1858.
By COL. E. D. BAKER.
The
intense interest which is apparent in this crowded auditory too well evinced
the mournful character of the ceremony we are about to perform. Wherever death
may invade the precincts of life, whether in the loftiest or lowliest home,
there is a tear for all who fall; there is a mourner for even the meanest and
the most humble; but when beyond the deep impression which the change from life
to death produces in all good minds—when
beyond this we know that an eminent citizen is stricken down in the full vigor
of his manhood and in the pride of his intellectual power, the impression is
deeply mournful. And when to this we add that those who loved him in life,
whose servant and representative he was, have gathered around his bier to-day
to accompany him to his last resting place on earth, the impression is not
merely mournful, but painful. And when we add to this that the man we mourn
died by the hand of violence—suddenly—in a peaceful land, away from his own friends, the
painful impression becomes an overwhelming sorrow.
At the
personal request of our departed friend, it has been assigned to me to say a
few words upon this occasion.
I have
perhaps known him longer than anybody here. I have known him, more particularly
in his early youth, perhaps better than any one here assembled. I have watched
the bud, the blow, the fruit, and lastly the untimely decay; and while I desire
to speak of him as he himself would wish to be spoken of; while I do to mean
that personal friendship shall warp my judgment or lead me to say as his friend
any thing unduly in his praise, so also, on the other hand, shall I say nothing
against him or others that is unjust or unkind.
The
gentleman whose remains you are about to consign to his last resting place
until the trump of the Archangel shall sound, was a native of the State of Pennsylvania. I knew his
father well; a respectable, worthy, honest man; a mechanic by pursuit,
intelligent, self-reliant, and in every respect honorable.
The young
man was ambitious from his boyhood. He sought the profession of the law, not
merely for itself, but as an opening that would lead to what he considered were
higher and more noble positions.
He was
fitted for the study of law by nature. He was then what you knew him but lately—bold, self-reliant, earnest, brilliant, eloquent, a
good judge of human nature, kind, generous, making friends everywhere, placable in his resentments, easily appeased, and a true
friend. He read law not only with me, but also with far more able men, and he
formed his judgment of public affairs while honored with the friendship of
Douglas, his opponent Lincoln, John J. Hardin, who won a deathless name at
Buena Vista, Judge Logan, and many others who are the pride and boast of the
Mississippi Valley. He was early distinguished in his own State. He was very
young, and he had those contests among his own friends which
are peculiar to politics; and there had the reverses and crosses without which
no man is worth much. The success which he achieved here had its foundation
laid in defeat, and I think I may say that most of what he knew as a politician
he had learned in the school of adversity—
“ That stern teacher of the human breast.”
It is not
good for a man to be always successful, either in private or public life. No
man’s character can be formed without trial and suffering, and our departed
friend showed by his course of conduct that he could endure temporary defeat,
confident of the ultimate success of the right—perhaps
not the less confident of his power to achieve success. He was a successful
candidate upon the Democratic ticket for presidential elector in 1848. He was
as renowned in his own State, as a debater, as he was here, by his fidelity to
his friends, high personal qualities, courage, intellect, brilliancy—by those qualities which rendered him so dear to many
of you now before me.
He came
here, and what he was here you know better than I. You knew him well, for he
served you. You knew him well, for he ever strove for your approbation, and
loved you living, and loved you dying. He had a great many qualities that make
a successful politician, not merely in the personal sense of the word, but in a
higher sense, the achievement of great deeds, and the advancement of great
principles.
These
halls have been the witnesses of many of his triumphs. As was well remarked by
a contemporary newspaper, he hardly ever undertook that which, when he set
himself earnestly to work, he did not accomplish. He had the determination to
succeed—that knowledge of mankind—that control over other men’s minds—that kindly manner, those generous impulses for all—that love for humanity—those
qualities of mind which, if they called forth grave defects, also called forth
great virtues. And these are in most of the departments of life the great
elements of success. Mere intellect, except in the closet,
does but little; the qualities of mind, of mere abstract wisdom, which
distinguished a Newton or a LaPlace, would do but
little at Washington. It is the same both in private and public life. A
knowledge of the human heart; a readiness of resources; kindness of heart;
fidelity in friendship—will effect more than mere abstract wisdom, and must
be combined with it in order to render that wisdom of avail. These, and all of
these, our friend had.
You know
how well he served you; and those who knew him best, knew ardently he desired
your approbation, how earnestly he strove to win it. There is more than one
thing in his legislative career, which deserves notice, and not the least is
the manner of his death. He died poor—not
poor in the common sense of the term, but poor as was Aristides
when he was buried at the expense of the citizens of Athens. Amongst all his
papers, there is not found the trace of a speculation. He had no property—no resources; his poverty, if remarkable, was
honorable. In a land where corruption is said to be rife, the more especially
in legislative bodies, and which, whether the charge is true or false, is
proverbially liable to corrupting influences, it seems impossible that he used
the vast power he possessed for aught except the public interest and welfare.
And this alone would be a proud epitaph to record upon his tombstone. He was a
man of undoubted courage, as his death proved. I am not here to speak of its
manner. I am not here to discuss the subject of dueling. If I were, it would be
to utter my unqualified condemnation of the code which offers to personal
vindictiveness a life due only to a country, a family, and to God. If I were,
under any circumstances, an advocate for a duel, it should be at least a fair,
equal, and honorable duel. If, as was said by an eloquent advocate in its
favor, “it was the light of past ages which shed its radiance upon the
hill-tops of civilization, although its light might be lost in the dark shade
of the valleys below;” if even I held this view, I should still maintain that a
duel should be fair and equal; that skill should not be matched against
ignorance, practical training against it absence. And while I am in no sense to
be understood as expressing an opinion as to the late duel, knowing nothing of
the matter myself, yet I do say that no duel should stand the test of public
opinion, independent of the law, except
the great element of equality is there. In the pursuits of common life, no one
not trained to a profession is supposed to be a match for a professional man in
the duties of his profession. I am no match for a physician in any matters
connected with his pursuits, nor would the physician be a match for me in a
legal argument. The soldier is no fair match for the civilian, when the latter
has not been trained to the use of arms; nor, although his courage is equal,
and he may have a profound conviction that he is right, will, therefore, the
contest be rendered equal and just. I repeat that I do not make these remarks
intending thereby to reflect upon the character of the late duel. Personally, I
know nothing more than what I and you all have heard. Whether it was fair or
unfair, it is not my province to inquire. I am denouncing the system itself,
for it loses annually hundreds of valuable lives, and in the present state of
civilization, it does no good, profits nothing, arrests no evil, but impels a
thousand evils; but above all, do I protest against any contests of this nature
where, in skill, knowledge of weapons, or from any cause, the parties are not
equals in all the conditions of that stern debate. The friend whose loss we
deplore was undoubtedly a man of courage. Whatever may be said with respect to
the code of dueling—whatever may be said as to his motives—his conduct on the field was in all respects what his
friends expected. He stood four fires, at a distance of scarcely twenty feet,
with a conviction that there was a strong determination to take his life—that the matter should be carried to an extremity—and that, too, when, until the day before, he had
never fired a pistol off in his life. But courage is shown not merely in
action, but in many instances where many men would fail. A brave man—shows his courage no less in endurance than in action.
It is a higher, a greater quality to suffer than to do; and in this respect our
friend was no way defective. He bore a long and painful confinement—he bore a severe operation—he saw his hold upon life unclasping day by day, hour
by hour; and amidst it all, neither his resolution nor his cheerfulness
faltered for an instant. When he lay helpless, looking back upon the errors
(and who has not errors?) of his life, he seemed to recall them for lessons of
instruction and warning for the future; and when he knew he must die, he
arrayed himself for the last contest, to die as became a man, amid all sweet
and pious and holy recollections. He died with no vindictive passion in his
heart. He died with words of affection upon his lips. He died with the thoughts
of his mother present to his soul. He left this world with the thoughts of home
and mother. He left with words of forgiveness and kindness. His last act of
consciousness was an act of prayer.
Oh!
Affection, Forgiveness, Faith! Ye are mighty spirits. Ye are powerful angels.
And the soul that in its dying moments trusts to these,
cannot be far from the gates of heaven, whatever the past life may have been.
However passion or excitement may have led a soul astray, if at the last and
final hour it returns to the lessons of a mother’s love, of a father’s care—if it learns the great lesson of forgiveness to its
enemies—if at the last moment it can utter these words:
“Father of life and light and love!”—these
shall be winged angels—troops of blessed spirits—that will bear the fainting, wounded soul to the
blessed abodes, and for ever guard it against despair. On, my friends! Those
mighty gates built by the Almighty to guard the entrance to the unseen world,
will not open at the battle-axe of the conqueror; they will not roll back if
all the artillery of earth were to thunder forth a demand, which, indeed, would
be lost in the infinite regions of eternal space! but
they will open with thoughts of affection, with forgiveness of injuries, and
with prayer.
But I am
not here to speak of the virtues of the departed alone. He had his defects;
they were great; they were marked; but they were incident to his career and his
character. He was, by nature and habit, a politician; and of all callings, that
of a politician is the most illusive and
unsatisfactory; it kindles the mind in a state of constant excitement; it is a
constant struggle, which if frequently injurious in its effects; and our
friend, with all his fine qualities, was no exception to the rule. Let him that
is without sin cast the first stone. Of how many can we say that no greater
defect can be recorded? Of him who is dead, what worse can be said? He was
honorable, honest, loving, generous, placable;
and if amid his virtues there were some defects, they are but to be mentioned
to be forgiven and forgotten. Fellow-citizens, the words I utter I should not
deem complete if I did not, before I close, utter a word of warning. The most
powerful intellect, the most amiable qualities may be shaded by a love for excitement
and the evils which the life of a politician is but too apt to engender. What
Ferguson was, we know. What he might have been, if he had conquered himself,
who can tell? The inspired book says that “he that ruleth
his own spirit is greater than him that taketh a
city,” and if our departed friend could have conquered himself, who could have
stayed the resistless course of his bright intellect? It should be a warning to
us all, grey heads as well as to young men. All should remember that the
pursuit of politics is delusive and full of temptation. No man should forget
the duty he owes to his country, but all should remember that they owe a duty
to themselves. When men—I refer now more particularly to young men—see a great statesman stand forth in the midst of a
listening Senate, and mark the stamp which he makes upon the public mind and
upon the policy of the country by the force of his intellectual vigor, they are
apt to forget the labors by which that proud position has been achieved—to forget how many have sought to attain such a lofty
position and have failed; and to forget that he who is now filling their minds
with admiration, may be on the eve of a sudden fall! Politics should not be the
pursuit, I mean the only pursuit, of any man.
Representative honors, official station, should only be the occasional reward,
or the occasional sacrifice; and if, forgetting this rule, young men attempt to
make politics their only hope, with the probability that is many cases they
will fail, and that if successful, they will surely be exposed to a thousand
temptations; if they love excitement for its own sake—the noisy meetings, the conventions, the elections—this love for excitement will grow upon them, and they
will soon be on the high road to ruin.
If any
one is determined to achieve distinction in politics, let him first obtain a
competency in some trade, profession, or pursuit, and then, even if
unsuccessful in politics, the misstep will not be irretrievable. But, young
men, do not be beguiled by the example of our Ferguson, even if you possess his
splendid talents—even if you could achieve the success he did; look at the
end! There he lies in a bloody grave. Let your habits be fixed. “Let all
the ends thou aimest at be thy country’s
and thy God’s.”
Fellow-citizens,
I have said what I suppose this occasion most required. It I had been told
sixteen years ago that it would be my fortune to stand by the bloody grave of
my young friend, in the city of Sacramento on the Pacific coast, I could
scarcely have believed it had an angel from heaven told me so; for at the time
there was no civilized Pacific coast. Then his course was unmarked, and
my future was so marked out, that it would seem but little less than a miracle
that I should stand here, by his dying request, to offer a few poor remarks
over his bier, before he is laid to rest in the place he loved so well—in the city named after the sweeping Sacramento. But
who can tell what a day may bring forth? Here we see the sudden, untimely end
of one who was amiable, gifted, and who was looking forward to a long career of
honor and fame. And perhaps it may be my lot to be shortly laid in the grave;
and perhaps in this assembly some one may be called upon to address some
remarks over my poor lifeless body—even
as I have been called upon on the present occasion; and if this should be so, I
pray that that friend may accord to me as much of praise and as little of blame
as will be consistent with the truth.
In
conclusion, I would remark that I have no words sufficient to express my own
personal regret. I have lost a warm personal friend. I may find others, but I
shall not be able to find friends that I have loved in other years. I shall not
often find those to whom I can, as I could to him, talk of the old familiar
times and the lessons I taught him in early life—of
the virtues and example of his parents—of
his mother’s, his poor afflicted mother’s affection and love—of his old contests—his
old hopes, so often broken. I shall not often find friends like these, nor can
the breach which death has made be so easily repaired.
Let me
hope, for myself and us all, that when we have filled our allotted space in
this world; when we are attended by weeping friends, for the purpose of
removing us to our last resting place, that it shall not be said of us that we
have lived without purpose, but that we have gathered friends in the days of
our manhood; that we have left fruits to bloom when we have departed.
DISCOURSE ON THE DEATH OF HON. WM. I. FERGUSON,
Delivered in the Congregational Church, Sacramento,
Cal., Sept. 16th, 1858.
By REV. J. A. BENTON.
“Thy
hands were not bound, nor thy feet put into fetters; as a man falleth before wicked men, so fellest
thou. And all the people wept again over him.”—II.
Samuel, iii. 34.
The worst
has been realized. The poor mangled corse of our
senator lies before us. Others may have felt the same; I certainly have feared
from the first, that it would come to this, and have
so expressed myself within a few days. For such were the antecedents, the
circumstances, and the shock of the wound he received, that they would have
imperiled the life of the most robust man; and they rendered it almost certain
that a temperament and a constitution like his, so slender and delicate, would
not long survive. And there are many who have been
incredulous regarding the reports of his improved condition, as knowing they
were premature; because the worst stage of the difficulty was not passed, nor
the point of danger turned. When the time for decision came, a careful
examination showed the wound gangrenous, and the parts adjacent moribund.
Speedy amputation of the limb afforded the only hope of life; and even that was
dim. And such was the severity of the proceeding, though the sufferer was under
the influence of anæsthetics,
and such his physical prostration, that his powers did not rally again nor his
senses return. And so his eyes were closed upon the light of life, and he
passed unconsciously away.
We shall
look upon him no more. Three or four short weeks have sufficed for all this. A
month ago the deceased was here among his friends, in his usual health, vigor,
and activity. He was uncommonly spirited, cheerful, and energetic. He was in
his element; in the exercise of some of his peculiar faculties, which always
came out with remarkable force in the midst of a political excitement. He went
to San Francisco to remain, as he supposed, but a few days. There he fell into
a personal and political controversy; gave some offence to his opponents; was
challenged to mortal combat; stooped to the acceptance of the proposal; fell at
the fourth fire, and was carried from the field badly wounded. After four
weeks’ absence, and three of lingering and suffering—of alternating
hopes and fears—he is with us once again; but only in these lifeless remains,
which have come to be garnered, as treasures, in the burying place of those who
in his life had delighted to do him honor.
It saddens us to know that we shall no
more look on his familiar features, so finely chiseled, so exquisitely moulded, so handsomely combined, so vivacious in their
play, and so expressive of the varied emotions of the soul. The full brain that
wrought under that fine brow and capacious forehead,
throbs no more. We cannot see again the rare head and face that, but for an early
thinning out of the hair, had been more than beautiful; they were even grand.
The hands, the feet, the skin, the movement, the tone, as well as the features,
all were expressive of fine sensibilities, genius, and character. None could
behold him and not be impressed. None could turn away and quickly lose that
image from his memory.
It saddens us more to think in what a
conflict our senator came to his untimely end, and by what a process our
community has been deprived of his services in the coming years.
From the Christian standpoint, no duel
can ever be justified; nor any party thereto. This is conceded on every hand,
and so positively that it never is expected that a professing Christian will
ever send or accept a challenge; and he is always exempted from the operation
of the “code of honor” without loss of reputation, or the disparagement of his
spirit, bravery or courage.
From the standpoint of society, there is
offered somewhat that may palliate, if it cannot justify, the practice of
dueling. It is alleged that there are some personal offences of which the civil
law taken no cognizance, or against which it affords no adequate protection;
that, therefore, there must be some social law, to the usages of which such
cases shall be referred; and that the “code of honor” is such law, and the
practice of dueling the best method of arbitrament
yet discovered. To support these allegations, the instances brought forward are
those in which the laws of a State are not outwardly violated, while yet the
offenders exhibit such an injurious, overbearing, and contumelious spirit, such
studied insult, such malicious hate, and such fiendish passion, that, without
quick resentment and revenge, the offended parties could no longer hold up
their heads, or move in their accustomed circles, except with danger of being
rejected, disparaged, and despised, or meet the offending parties on terms of
equality, and with proper feeling of self-respect and complacence.
There is not time now to controvert
these statements in full, on the basis of reason and common sense. I shall only
say that the edge of all these allegations is turned by the fact that men have
met such offences, have refused to fight duels, and have really lost nothing by
the course they took; but rather have risen in the general estimate, and held a
loftier social position ever afterward that would otherwise have been possible.
The one brief reason, patent to all men of sense is, that the man of high
spirit, great courage, and lofty character, can display his qualities without
resorting to the duel; and one who has them not, will never bring away from the
dueling ground any thing more of these qualities than their grim and ghastly
shadows. But if we even assume that there are times when the duel is a
necessity, and occasions on which it is allowable to have recourse to it, it is
certain that all occasions are not fit ones, and that many personal offences
ought to be excluded from the number that are actionable under the “code of
honor.” There are such exclusions; and some offences are regarded as unworthy
of a settlement on the field of honor. Yet, all sensible men must admit, even
those who justify dueling in extreme cases, that matters trifling and
contemptible are in our day far too frequently made the basis of a challenge,
and that the whole matter needs a reformation.
Now, admitting for the moment that some
occasions may justify dueling, I affirm that political differences, and the
disturbances, disputes, and imputations growing out of them, are not sufficient
occasions. They spring out of impulse, hot blood, the excitement of the moment,
and are always to be taken with abatement, and men can endure them for a time
without serious loss or damage; and when days are past, they will be withdrawn
and apologized for by any with whom it is worth while for a man to associate. Political
differences there must be. Disputes and bickerings
will occur. Epigram, repartee, the shaft of wit, will fly, and may sting.
Accusations will arise; recriminations be made, and imputations hurled. These
are unavoidable incidents to the existence of parties and the freedom of
debate. They grow in some measure out of our institutions and our social state,
and they ought to be permitted and allowed licenses, for which no one is
answerable except at the bar of public opinion. They ought not to be rewarded
as insults, or as touching the tender parts of character, or as really
derogatory to a man’s reputation. And there ought to be a combined effort, if
not to suppress dueling, at least to banish all political troubles and their
outgrowths from the operation of the dueling code. A determined and persistent
effort might accomplish this. For their is no good reasons why our political
differences, or animosities even, should be carried beyond their proper arena,
and allowed to invade the social circle and disturb the harmonies of domestic
life. It is time we learned a wider toleration of these differences, and
forbade their entrance into the common walks of life. Till we do, opinion is
not free, and the conduct of life in civil matters is subjected to a social inquisition,
if not a tyranny, as impolite as it is unjust.
I say these things because this duel
grew primarily out of a political difference and discussion in the midst of a
social scene. It is only the latest, and not the first duel fought in our
State, that has had a similar origin and a political significance. If I am not
mistaken, political reasons were at the bottom of the duels between Denver and
Gilbert, Broderick and Smith, Gwin and McCorkle,
Washington and Washburn—others, also, it may be—and finally, Johnston and
Ferguson. Of these, the first and the last only were fatal to one of the
parties in each. And God grant that it may be years and generations before our
annals shall be blotted with the record, and our soil stained with the blood of
another fatal duel; and that we may never more hear of a resort to so cruel an
arbitrator as this for the settlement of difficulties arising out of the
ever-changing phases of political strife and political affairs! As I am not
familiar with the intricacies of the “code of honor,” nor conversant with the
details of proceedings under it, I do not feel competent to criticize the
transactions of the case which just now has had so lamentable a result. But I
may say that the contest might have terminated sooner, and otherwise, without
disparagement to either of the parties. Three exchanges of shots were as good
proof of personal qualities as a dozen could have been. And I agree with the
person who had the loading of the pistols, that then, at the most, after the
third fire, when the deceased had only escaped the loss of the lower part of
the face by the momentary elevation of the chin, it was time to have done. But
the demand for satisfaction was not yet met; and the fourth fire laid our young
senator low, and has brought him hither, at length, “bound hand and foot in his
grave-clothes.”
We will turn now to our text and its
application. A long contest has been going on between the house of Saul and the
house of David for supremacy in Israel. Abner was a
prominent leader in the house of Saul, as Joab and
his brothers were in the house of David. In process of time, after having
fought many battles for the house of Saul, in one of which he had slain Asahel, Joab’s brother, Abner resolved to transfer his allegiance to the house of
David. He had visited the head of the new party; had made his negotiations; and
had gone away, in peace, to consummate the arrangement. On his way homeward at
the well of Sirah, Abner
was overtaken by messengers from David’s premier (to which transaction the king
was not privy) requiring his return to Hebron. He went back with the messengers
to the city gates. There he was met by Joab, who drew
him aside as if to speak with him peaceably and in quiet. Then
taking him at a disadvantage, when Abner was
suspecting no harm, Joab thrust a dagger in his side,
and slew him. Resentment against Abner for the
past was one of the motives to the dead; and perhaps a jealousy of him for the
future, lest himself might be overshadowed by one so
eminent, was another. Such a death, of such a man, took the people by surprise.
The sensation was deep and wide. The feeling rose almost to indignation,
and the profoundest sorrow filled all Hebron. And David said to all the people
that were with him, “Rend your clothes, and gird you with sackcloth, and mourn
before Abner.” And King David himself followed the
bier. And they buried Abner in Hebron; and the king
lifted up his voice and wept at the grave of Abner;
and all the people wept. And the king lamented over Abner
and said; Died Abner as the fool dieth?
Thy hands were not bound, nor thy feet put in fetters; as a man falleth before wicked men, so fellest
thou. And all the people wept again over him. And when all the people came to
cause David to eat meat while it was yet day, David sware,
saying, God do so to me, and more also, if I taste bread, or aught else, till
the sun be down. And all the people understood that day that it was not in the
heart of the king to slay Abner. And the king said
unto his servants, Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen
this day in Israel? And I am this day weak, though anointed king, and these
men, the sons of Zeruiah, are too hard for me.” The
analogy between the scenes here described and these which we witness to-day,
will not hold in all the particulars, but at some points it is a striking one.
Here lies the body of one who has had a prominent place and run a brilliant
career. As a public man, he has belonged to different and opposing parties. The
transfer of allegiance from one to another has created some enmities, given
rise to some jealousies, and left memories that only waited for their
opportunity to render themselves formidable. He was alike eminent with whatever
party he acted, and could not fail to be regarded by any party as an aspirants;
he was held in esteem and honored by the masses of the people. He fell in the
midst of life, when new honors and a fresh career were apparently awaiting him.
He fell by the hands of one who should have been the very last man to shed his
blood; and in death he is mourned by rulers and people, who gather with a
common sorrow to follow him to his grave and weep at this tomb. In these
respects, certainly, the person whose obsequies we observe to-day resembles the
man concerning whom my text had utterance. And we, too, are weak this day,
though clothed with power; and these modern sons of Zeruiah
have been too hard for us.
Our friend, whom with lamentations we
are here to bury, has been for three years one of our senators in the State
Legislature, and is the first one in our history who has died during his term
of office. He was fitted in many ways for a leader, and had those social
qualities, that pleasing presence, that fascination of manner, that humor,
pleasantry, and wit, that fluency of speech, that raciness of style, that gift
of eloquence, and that power of command which always raise a man to a kind of
supremacy over the masses of the people. He had a singular insight, a ready
tact, skill to meet emergencies, confidence in his own unfailing resources, and
that determination to suffer no defeat which is always sure to win success. His
mind was naturally cool, clear, and bright in its action, and his intellect was
one of a high order. And those who have heard him most at the bar, in the
Senate chamber, and before the people, are the ones that have the highest
opinion of his abilities, and give him exalted praise. As a public man, he has
made as few mistakes, and given as little offence, as any one who has ever held
the same office among us; and, in the estimate of many, he has rendered as much
service to this community and to the State as any one of our various senators
ever has.
In private life, Mr. Ferguson had faults;
they were well-known; he confessed them; he attempted to conceal nothing. In
his frank and generous nature, there was nought mean,
furtive, or underhand. His eccentricities were numerous, and were all his own;
and his methods were such as to throw a charm around habits and practices that
in other men would have been accounted gross or offensive.
The pravity of
some men is unimpassioned, steady, bitter, of set purpose, in foresight of
consequences, and void of the wish to be other than it is, or to do better. The
pravity of others is impulsive, genial, passionate, with no look towards consequences, stealing upon
them through sensibilities delicately strung, that wave and vibrate as with
some ethereal touch; and finally lift the swell and wake the storm which sweep
the men away. And their language always is: “When we would do good, evil is
present with us.” To this latter class belonged our friend; and fairness
demands that we allow whatever abatement of censure such a temperament entitles
him to. His convictions were right, his feelings not calloused, and his whole
moral nature quick and sensitive; so that he could never attempt to justify
himself in his indulgences, nor cease to condemn himself for this wrongs.
It can do no harm to refer to a fact
already known to some, that may have had something to
do with not a few of the eccentricities that have marked our friend’s brief
life. He was the subject, some years ago, of one of those disappointments
which, now and then, permanently wound the affections, darken the path, sadden
the life, blight the hopes, and mar the prospects of young men in the outset of
their career. Such a misfortune is peculiarly disastrous in its effects upon
some natures; and while it is wept over in the other sex, in ours it is commonly
the theme of mirth. How seriously it was felt by the deceased, and to what
extent it affected him for the worse, we shall never know with precision; but
the more I have thought of it, the more I am convinced that its influence was
considerable.
Fellow-citizens, a bright light is
quenched; another star has fallen from our sky; one more shall we miss from
among the countenances that shine on us; another form of pride and power is
turning back to ashes before our eyes.
We
are here in the presence of Death, and of Him who is greater than Death;
without whose permission the grim messenger had not been here to gather this
form beneath his dark wings. It seems hard to mere mortal thought, that one
should die thus, in the prime of his manhood, in the maturing season of his
faculties, with high heart and hopes bright, with greener laurels yet before
him, with the purpose to win a name on wider fields, and lead a life that
should carry joy into the bosom of the household whence he wandered. But this
life is cut off; these purposes are thwarted, and these hopes have perished.
Still,
heaven is over us, and God is gracious. And though at last, death came suddenly
upon the departed, it came out quite unexpectedly; and we may hope that changes
were going on within him, and that some preparation for another world was
making as he lay through those long days and nights, thinking, planning,
resolving, and often giving utterance to his longing to lead a different life,
and be a better man.
Standing
here by these motionless limbs, how unconsciously rises
to our lips the prayer of the Psalmist: “O my God, take me not away in the
midst of my days: spare me a little before I go hence and be seen no more.” And
while we thus indulge our sorrow and give expression to grief, let us remember
that there are other hearts that will bleed and other eyes that will be wet
with tears, weeks after our mourning shall have somewhat abated its intensity.
To the widow’s God let us commend the mother who is so early bereaved of the
son whom she may have loved to regard as the support and solace of her
declining years. Let us pray for the welfare of sister and brothers, who shall
never again welcome to their homes the departed one, or fold him in their fond
embrace. The Lord be gracious to them, that their sun
go not down at noonday, nor their hopes and plans of life be suddenly broken
and scattered.
Ye rulers
of the State! Magistrates, Legislators, and Judges! This scene admonishes you.
How short is human life—how many our exposures—how
unreliable our prospects, and how closely the deepest shadows are edged upon
the spot where the brightest sunlight falls! The night comes. Do what you have
to accomplish; redeem all your pledges; endear yourselves unto the people who
have so generously trusted you, but the heartiness and value of your services;
and render all due homage unto Him before whose tribunal your acts and lives
must pass in solemn review.
Need I
point you, young men, to this lifeless clay, and bid you remember that you know
not what a day may bring forth? Voices from within are making themselves heard
to-day. Heed them, and do not forget. Learn by what affections, generosities,
activities, and virtues you may commend yourselves to the common regard and
love of men. Understand, also, by what indulgences and passions one may mar his
life and work toward the undoing of himself. Deplore
the follies and vices of other men, and harbor not the same in your own bosoms.
Be ever mindful of Him who rules in providence, without whose notice not a
sparrow falls, and break not his wise laws. In your sin and sorrow, go to Him
with whom is forgiveness, the world’s blest Redeemer.
And as you would fain be adjudged by Him to blessing and honor in the great day
of assize, live ye so that He cannot but say, “Well done; enter into my joy.”
“So
live, that when thy summons come to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall
take
His chamber in the silent
halls of death.
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night.
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and
soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”
Nay, more: Live so that ye may rise toward the
rapturous triumph of Him who said, in full view of his exit from the world:
“The time of my departure is at hand: I have fought a good fight: I have
finished my course: I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a
crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at
that day.”
Transcribed by: Jeanne Sturgis Taylor.
Source: Shuck, Oscar T., “Representative & Leading Men of the
Pacific”, Bacon & Co., Printers & Publishers, San Francisco, 1870. Pages 319-339.
© 2008 Jeanne Sturgis Taylor.
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