10

Seeking Office and Martyrdom

CLEMENT L. VALLANDIGHAM was never one to sit in a corner and daydream while others played games or directed affairs. He was essentially a man of action, one who enjoyed argumentation, controversy, and challenge. He had endless confidence in his own ability, and he raised his sights as time passed. He liked attention and he liked the spotlight. He gained great satisfaction in developing rapport with an audience and applause was essential to his ego. Politics enamored him, making him prisoner and patron. He looked forward to the excitement of an election campaign. He was Sir Galahad, entering the lists against the champions of evil, error, and incompetence.

His defeat at the hands of Robert C. Schenck in October 1862 did not shake his confidence in himself. He did not feel that the electorate of the Third District had repudiated him, for he believed he had been defeated by political trickery. He was both pleased and flattered, therefore, when friends suggested he seek Benjamin F. Wade’s seat in the United States Senate or cast an eye in the direction of the governor’s chair, then occupied by David Tod.

Vallandigham decided to seek Tod’s chair. His first step was to prepare a compilation of his speeches for publication, and a publisher-friend in Columbus brought out the book, entitled The Record of Hon. C. L. Vallandigham on Abolition, the Union, and the Civil War, early in 1863. The book made no mention of Vallandigham’s ambition, cloaking it with indirection: “The object [of the compilation] is to furnish the means of forming a correct judgment in relation to a man who, through malignant assaults of his enemies, and the esteem of his friends, has become one of the most generally talked of men of these times.”1

On his way home from Connecticut, C.L.V. stopped in Cleveland and Columbus to promote his candidacy for the governorship. In Columbus he called on William W. Armstrong, an old boyhood friend whom the Democratic tide of late 1862 had swept into the office of secretary of state in Ohio. Vallandigham told Armstrong that he intended to seek the Democratic gubernatorial nomination. Then, bluntly he said that he expected Armstrong’s full and open support for the office. “But Colonel,” replied the secretary of state, “this is not your time to run for Governor. I think Hugh J. Jewett ought to be nominated.”2

Vallandigham gritted his teeth, then expressed his displeasure that an old and trusted friend should choose a rival over him. Armstrong in turn justified his views. Party usage dictated that Jewett should be given the nomination if he wanted it. He had accepted the responsibility in 1861, had conducted an honorable campaign—his letters and speeches had been patriotic and conservative—had met defeat, and deserved a second chance. Previous Democratic gubernatorial candidates, defeated in their first try, had always been given a second opportunity. Armstrong also explained that Jewett’s stand on most issues had been more moderate than Vallandigham’s; it would be more difficult for Republicans to defeat Jewett, for they would have more trouble misrepresenting his views. Armstrong told Vallandigham in confidence that Democratic party leaders deplored his entry into the race. They also feared that a furious fight for the nomination between Jewett and Vallandigham would split the party and “bring defeat and disaster to the Democracy.” The growing personal animosity between Jewett and Vallandigham would only help the Republicans. For the sake of the party Vallandigham could well shelve his ambitions.3

The Dayton curmudgeon shunted Armstrong’s arguments aside, for he had made up his mind that he wanted the prize. Jewett’s defeat in 1861 did not necessarily give him a claim to the nomination in 1863. Even if the Democratic party chieftains opposed him, he would make a bid for the nomination. He believed the people wanted him even if the leaders did not. His hat was definitely and determinedly in the ring. The argument, frank and friendly, ended in an impasse.

Vallandigham then asked Armstrong to accompany him to the halls where the state legislature was still in session. As the two passed through the rotunda of the state capitol, Vallandigham stopped and looked up toward the rounded ceiling. He pointed toward the state seal, depicted in a mosaic high in the dome. Using a portion of a quotation attributed to Lincoln, Vallandigham said in all seriousness, “We will own, occupy, and possess these premises, you as Secretary of State and I as Governor, next January.”4

Armstrong said nothing although he wrote much later that he questioned the truth of Vallandigham’s self-serving prophecy. The two then walked onto the floor of the House of Representatives, the lower house of the Ohio legislature. Vallandigham met old friends, exchanging greetings and shaking hands often, but said nothing more about his gnawing ambition.5

The next day C.L.V. took the train for Dayton and home, knowing full well that he had little chance of walking off with the gubernatorial honors at the Democratic State Convention of June 11. All prominent men in the party supported Jewett’s candidacy and even friends like Armstrong wanted him to step aside. Perhaps he could learn a lesson from the story of Dr. Olds, whose arbitrary arrest had made him a hero and martyr and had won him a seat in the state senate. Could the same thing happen to Clement L. Vallandigham?

Dayton Democrats knew the hour and day of Vallandigham’s scheduled arrival.6 In fact, he had tarried in Columbus and taken the afternoon train so his friends could stage a noisy and noteworthy homecoming. It was evident to the experienced eye that the affair was carefully planned, intended to get Vallandigham’s bid for his party’s gubernatorial nomination off to a raucous start.

The crowd began to gather at the Dayton railway depot long before “the four-thirty” was due to arrive from Columbus. The promoters of the rally fired a cannon periodically, attempting to attract the curious to the station. Two brass bands enlivened the occasion, taking turns playing as loudly as they could. David A. Houk, a personal friend and political ally, paced to and fro; he was giving shape to his thoughts, for he had the responsibility of delivering the welcoming speech. The excitement reached a peak as the Columbus train roared into Dayton and screeched to a halt near the depot.

When Vallandigham alighted he received an impressive ovation. An outdated cannon boomed a thunderous welcome. Both bands played, but the blare of the trumpets and the clash of the cymbals could scarcely be heard above the cheers and the shouts. Women waved white handkerchiefs, reports said, gracing the occasion with their fair faces and enjoying the excitement of the homecoming rally. The crowd surged forward, mixing calls and applause in disorganized fashion.

The members of the welcoming committee, headed by Houk, greeted C.L.V. as a hero and had to protect him from the crushing crowd. They had difficulty in opening an avenue through the huge throng so they could get to the waiting carriages. Finally some lifted him up on strong shoulders and ploughed through, while Vallandigham waved to strangers and called friends by name.

After the cannoneers fired twenty-four rounds, parade marshals transformed the milling mob into an organized procession which headed for the courthouse. A regimental band led the way. A group of friends, carrying huge signs and banners, came next. Then came the well-decorated carriage, bearing Vallandigham and Houk. Mayor William H. Gillespie and Dr. Jefferson A. Walter, two of Vallandigham’s closest friends and disciples, occupied the second carriage. A dozen other carriages, wheels rumbling over the brick pavement, followed. The Salem Band separated the carriages from the thousands who trudged on foot in the procession. The sidewalks were crowded with bystanders all the way from the depot to the courthouse square, and they cheered and waved as the procession passed by.

In time, members of the procession fanned out into an audience, surrounding the platform erected on the courthouse steps. Mayor Gillespie called the meeting to order, expressed his appreciation for Vallandigham, and turned the duty of giving the welcoming speech over to Houk, at one time the ex-congressman’s law partner. Houk gave Vallandigham a glowing tribute, characterizing him as “a faithful sentinel upon the watchtower of public liberty.” He praised the “homecoming hero” for preaching the gospel of peace and putting into words the hopes resting in the heavy hearts of the people. And he praised Vallandigham for his boldness, his willingness to speak defiantly despite “the frowns of tyrants and usurpers.” Vallandigham would not turn his back upon the people, and he would speak out for truth and justice despite the vicious vituperation of “an abusive and venal press.”7 Then he asked Vallandigham to address the crowd.

The “honored guest” thanked Houk for his compliments and the audience for its warm welcome. It was good to be among friends again. Then he turned to a discussion of “the struggle” taking place between “despotic power” and “liberty.” The Democratic party, Vallandigham asserted, would never let the Lincoln administration trample upon the rights of the people. The ballot-box and free speech would be retained “at all hazards!”

After discussing the need for liberty and peace, Vallandigham turned his attention to the Conscription Act. Of all his votes in Congress, he was proudest of the one he had cast against the Conscription Bill, for the conscript laws of Russia and Austria were lenitive compared to the one forced through Congress by the Republicans. He wanted its validity and its constitutionality tested in the courts. He called the $300 commutation clause discriminatory and undemocratic. The rich man could buy his way out of army service; the poor man would be forced to go. Yes, the price of blood was $300; it was as if the Lincoln administration had said, “Three hundred dollars or your life.” He suggested that the city council of Dayton appropriate enough funds to pay the commutation money of all citizens too poor to pay it themselves. Although he opposed the Conscription Act, he made it clear, he would not counsel disobedience. The laws of the land should be obeyed, but people could use their votes to change them.

Vallandigham closed with a touching allusion to J. Frederick Bollmeyer, late editor of the Empire. Bollmeyer was really “the first martyr in the cause of constitutional liberty.” Vallandigham continued to dip his hand in Bollmeyer’s blood and sprinkle it over the crowd.8

When Vallandigham concluded his speech he received a long and noisy applause, for he had touched the hearts of his people; he stood as their champion. Houk escorted him to the carriage, and the procession re-formed and followed the carriage down Main Street, then along First Street. The carriage stopped in front of his modest home at 323 First Street, and friends carried “the hero” on their shoulders to his very door and set him down as gently as they could. After giving three cheers, the crowd dispersed and the ex-congressman had a chance to greet his wife, his ten-year-old son Charlie and his sister-in-law.

William T. Logan, who had taken over the editorship of the Dayton Empire and was one of the sponsors of the gala homecoming, revelled in the spontaneity and success of the affair. As far as he could recall, it was “by far the most hearty and enthusiastic welcome ever extended to anyone” in Dayton. Logan assured his subscribers that Vallandigham deserved the honors and accolades heaped upon him. “He has passed through the furnace of persecution,” Logan added, “with not even the smell of gunpowder upon his garments.”9

Vallandigham found antiadministration sentiment widespread in the Dayton area. Fear of federal conscription underwrote apprehension in the backwoods areas and in the poorer sections of the cities. It was reported that large numbers of citizens were arming, getting ready to resist enrollment for the draft.10 In Noble County, efforts to arrest a deserter and his friend evolved into the so-called “Hoskinsville Rebellion”—lots of smoke and little fire. It became necessary to send a company of soldiers into the disaffected area to arrest the deserter and intimidate the aroused residents. Republicans magnified the backwoods incident for political effect. “If such scrapes are to be gotten up to make Abolition votes in Ohio,” Samuel Medary wrote in the Crisis, “it will be a dear electioneering campaign for taxpayers.”11

Democratic apprehension and discontent stemmed from more than the threat of enrollment and conscription. Republican editors conducted a smear campaign against Democratic party spokesmen, comparing them with the poisonous copperhead snake. Preaching the dogma that the Lincoln administration and the government were one, Republicans tended to view all Democratic criticism of Lincoln or his administration as “disloyalty” and “a hindrance to the war effort.” Some Republican superpatriots denied that the “Copperheads” had any rights at all. The narrow-minded editor of the Cleveland Leader wrote, “Treat Copperheads as assassins; as men who, if they would not aim the knife at your breast, would, at least, not move a finger to arrest the blow. They are assassins; they are traitors; and that last word is the sum of everything vile.”12

Such preachments prompted Republican ruffians to intimidate Democrats or to mob Democratic newspaper offices. On March 5 about a hundred soldiers, armed with sabers and revolvers, descended upon the office of the Crisis during a blinding snowstorm. They did “a thorough job” of wrecking the editor’s quarters before retreating to Camp Chase outside Columbus. Most of the mobsters belonged to the Second Ohio Cavalry, recruited in the Western Reserve and exposed to the doctrine of intolerance preached by the editors of the Cleveland Leader and the Ashtabula Sentinel.13

Other Democratic editors besides Medary felt the hand of the mob. The editor of the Marietta Democrat was continually harassed, and finally a mob demolished his printing plant.14

Mob action threatened the rights of spokesmen of the minority party and gave meaning to Vallandigham’s charges that civil rights were in danger of being trampled in the dust. Threats only made Vallandigham more defiant and prompted some Democrats to preach the law of reprisal. “For every Democratic printing office destroyed by a mob,” suggested William T. Logan of the Dayton Empire, “let an Abolition one be destroyed in turn. For every drop of blood spilled by Abolition mobites [sic], let theirs flow in retaliation.”15 Editor Logan also let Republicans know that Democrats intended to keep their rights at all costs. “The spirit of Patrick Henry,” he wrote, “which gave utterance to the undying words of freedom—‘Give me Liberty or give me death’—still lives in the hearts of the American people.”16 Republicans, believing they had a monopoly on virtue and truth, responded by waving the flag more vigorously and demanding unconditional loyalty, which they defined according to their political prejudices.

Republicans made Vallandigham the special target of their antitreason campaign. Republican editors seemed to take particular delight in publishing soldiers’ letters which condemned the Dayton ex-congressman or which intimated that he would not live long if he visited their quarters.17 The editor of the Cincinnati Commercial, who vied with the editor of the Cincinnati Gazette in nailing Vallandigham’s hide to the wall, repeatedly called him names. “The fellow,” he wrote, “is a dastard —a cold-blooded, mean-spirited coward.”18 Some Republican editor blamed Vallandigham for the “Hoskinsville Rebellion,” saying that the affair was the work of “misguided men” merely carrying out “the doctrine of opposition” which Vallandigham preached.19

Even Colonel Henry B. Carrington, commanding the District of Indiana, cast aspersions at Vallandigham and helped to develop the legend that the backcountry seethed with treason. Carrington, stationed in Indianapolis, wrote to Lincoln that “the popular daring of Vallandigham” made him “so mischievous” that either he or General John Hunt Morgan, the bold Confederate cavalry commander, “could raise an army of 20,000 traitors in Indiana.” Carrington asked the president if he might arrest Vallandigham should he set foot in Indiana to counsel “resistance or defiance to any U.S. statute.”20

Vallandigham had even less respect for Carrington than Carrington had for Vallandigham. The incompetent colonel, seeking a brigadier general’s star and serving as Governor Morton’s man Friday, groped for evidence to justify his high-handed practices. He had sent a squad of soldiers to New Richmond to seize a lot of twenty-four pistols when he heard they were being sold to Democrats. He had sent two sergeants outside his jurisdiction and after they were arrested by the sheriff of an Illinois county, sent in a trainload of troops to liberate them and arrest the Democratic judge hearing their case.21 Worse than that, the officious colonel issued a proclamation denying the right to Hoosiers to keep and bear arms—a blatant violation of the Constitution.

In a speech in the courthouse yard in Hamilton, Ohio, Vallandigham fired away at both Lincoln and Carrington. He read Carrington’s officious proclamation, “General Orders, No. 15,” which forbade residents within his military district to secure and bear arms. C.L.V.’s wry comments and witty ridicule made the pompous colonel look like a midget. He told an appreciative audience that he based his opposition to Carrington’s “general orders” upon “General Orders, No. 1,” the Constitution of the United States. He read aloud the second amendment, and for effect repeated, “The right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” Carrington had the right to issue an order to his regiment, Vallandigham averred, but he had no right to deny constitutional privileges to people who were not in military service. Carrington’s decree was no more than “military insolence.” He ended with the query, “Is the man deranged?”

Vallandigham followed his criticism of Carrington with a double-edged plea for law and order: “Try every question of law in your courts, and every question of politics before the people and through the ballot-box; make no resistance to law; but meet and repel all mobs and mob violence by force and arms on the spot.” Republican reporters said that he preached a revolutionary doctrine and that he drew people into the hellhole of treason. Some selected sentences out of context in order to present him in a more unfavorable light. Their patriotism and partisanship prompted them to defend Carrington when he was wrong and condemn Vallandigham even when he was right.22

Vallandigham, again in demand as a speaker, made three more speeches before the voters went to the polls on the first Tuesday of April 1863. In Dayton, the elections passed off with a minimum of violence. Despondent Democrats, who feared that Republicans would use troops to screen voters at the polls, choked on their false prophecies.

Dayton Democrats had cause to cheer after the tally-clerks tabulated the votes, and Vallandigham found considerable personal satisfaction in the election returns. William H. Gillespie, his close friend, won reelection to the mayoralty and carried the entire Democratic city slate to victory. Each of the four Ohio cities in which Vallandigham had given a preelection speech elected its Democratic slate of candidates. Furthermore, the Republican editor of the Dayton Journal had to eat crow—he had made much of his contention that each vote for the Democratic ticket was really a vote for Vallandigham and “infamy.”23

In their postelection celebration, Dayton Democrats gave Vallandigham “special honors.” After the last votes were counted and a Democratic victory was assured, party workers lighted a huge bonfire in front of the Empire building, rolled out “the old baby-waker” stored in the office, and fired thirty-four rounds in honor of the victory. By the time the cannon had boomed for the twenty-fourth time, a crowd of 2000 had gathered. Marshals formed the crowd into “lines” and the procession headed for 323 First Street. Repeated cheers brought Vallandigham out of his house to make “a few pertinent remarks.” After giving the pleased politician cheers to the number “three times three,” the procession re-formed, marched to the home of Mayor Gillespie, and accorded him the same honor given Vallandigham. After voices became hoarse and excitement drained the physical stamina of the participants, they returned to their homes or to the bars.24 Perhaps the tribute paid him by the party faithful of Dayton reaffirmed Vallandigham’s decision to seek the governorship. Certainly Dayton Democrats did not view the ex-congressman as an obstructionist, renegade, or traitor.

If Vallandigham interpreted the Democratic victory in Dayton as proof of a national trend, he was mistaken. Such Democratic strongholds in Ohio as Cincinnati and Sandusky witnessed Republican victories. Elsewhere throughout the North, Republicans began to regain the ascendancy and roll back the Democratic tide which had crested in the fall elections of 1862. It was not chance that helped Republicans gain the political offensive. They had deliberately solicited and publicized patriotic letters from the soldiery. They had organized the Union League as an adjunct of their party and used it as a means “to educate” the electorate. They had conducted an antitreason campaign in the press, seeking to stigmatize the proponents of peace. They had erected the Knights of the Golden Circle as a straw-man and tried to link this mythical subversive society to Vallandigham and dissident Democrats. They had developed soldier voting-in-the-field as a political stratagem, and had generated nationalism and popularized the doctrine that the Lincoln administration and the government were one.

Republicans expressed pleasure that the tide had turned in their favor again. One credited the Union Leagues, devised by Republicans to promote patriotism and influence public opinion, with being a political dike. “Our Union organization is perfect,” wrote one Republican strategist, “and we have good reason to be proud of the result of our first effort.”25 They expected to do even better in the fall elections. “The great sandhedrim [sic] of the Copperheads and the Knights of the Golden Circle,” wrote one with obvious reference to Vallandigham, “can no more stop this swelling tide of popular feeling and loyal sentiment than they can stop the rising tide of the ocean.”26

While Republicans and Democrats argued over the meaning of the April election returns, Major General Ambrose E. Burnside became acquainted with his new duties as commander of the Department of the Ohio, with headquarters in Cincinnati. His defeat at Fredericksburg the previous December still rankled him, affecting his disposition as well as his reputation. Colonel Carrington apprised Burnside of discontent in Indiana and told fanciful tales to cover his errors of judgment. Indeed, Ohio and Illinois seemed to be on the edge of a volcano. Democratic editors, irate because the soldiers who had destroyed the editorial offices of the Crisis went unpunished—in fact were treated as heroes—began to talk again about “the law of reprisals.” “For every dime of your property destroyed,” wrote William T. Logan in the Empire, “destroy a dollar’s worth in return.” Democrats, he said, deserved to lose their rights if they stood by submissively while administration representatives took them away. “If we are cowards, unworthy the freedom our forefathers wrested from tyrants’ heads,” Logan wrote defiantly “then we will meekly wear, and deservedly too, the chains which abolition despots are forging for our hands.”27 It was evident that Logan was a firebrand, willing to fight and die for his rights.

General Burnside had no understanding of the reasons for the widespread disaffection in the upper Midwest. As a general, and a discredited one at that, he understood only the law of force. He read the editorials and news stories in the Cincinnati Gazette and the Cincinnati Commercial, but was incapable of recognizing their partisan slant. He accepted the Republican-sponsored interpretation that James J. Faran of the Cincinnati Enquirer, Logan of the Dayton Empire and Samuel Medary of the Crisis played a traitorous game. He believed they sowed the dragon’s teeth of discontent, aided the rebels of the South, and discouraged enlistments in the North.

Thus Burnside, in a rash moment, issued “General Orders, No. 38” on April 13, 1863. It was a military edict intended to intimidate Democratic critics of President Lincoln and the war. The “habit of declaring sympathy for the enemy,” Burnside stated, would no longer be tolerated in the Department of the Ohio; persons “committing such offenses” would be arrested and subject to military procedures—that is, be denied rights in the civil courts.28 The indiscreet general thus set himself up as a censor to draw the fine line between criticism and treason and decide when a speaker or an editor gave aid and comfort to the enemy. He set up his own will as superior to the civil courts, usurping for the military the right to define and judge, to decide the limits of dissent. Worse than that, his proclamation implied that criticism of the administration, in any form, was treason and that civil officials and civil courts had failed to do their duty by not eliminating it.

Speaking at a Republican political rally in Hamilton, halfway between Dayton and Cincinnati, Burnside gave clear evidence of his poor judgment. To the applause of partisans, he declared that he had the authority to define and suppress treason.29 Inadvertently, he was taking steps which would help Clement L. Vallandigham gain martyrdom and the Democratic gubernatorial nomination.

Late in April, Vallandigham entrained for Columbus for a three-day stay, intending to further his hopes for the governorship. He attended the Democratic State Convention of April 28, but found little to give him cheer. The skies wept during the entire day and the moon failed to shine at night. The band music sounded like a funeral dirge. Party leaders treated him rather coldly, letting him know that they believed Jewett merited the gubernatorial nomination, that Vallandigham was an unwelcome guest. Jewett, who thought Vallandigham too aggressive and self-serving, expressed his contempt in the cloakrooms and the two aspirants avoided each other. Vallandigham insisted that he be given a chance to speak, and finally talked briefly, but wasted his allotted time in berating the Ohio State Journal for calling him a “traitor” and for suggesting that he be arrested.30

The hostile attitude of party leaders led Vallandigham to the conclusion that his only hope of getting the nomination was to get himself arrested and ride the public reaction into office. His friends encouraged him to play the game.31 They knew that Burnside would read the Ohio State Journal’s suggestion for his arrest. After all, Francis Hurtt, one of the copublishers of that Republican newspaper, was serving as Burnside’s quartermaster in Cincinnati, and he surely would endorse the suggestion of his editor, Isaac Jackson Allen. It was even conceivable that the editorial suggestion had originated in Cincinnati, where Hurtt and Burnside saw each other repeatedly. Neither had any use for the Dayton dissenter, and both believed it was time to teach Democrats and would-be traitors a lesson.

Columbus friends, including Samuel Medary of the Crisis, organized a Democratic rally on April 30 to give Vallandigham a chance to bait Burnside. The man who wanted to be a martyr, therefore, spoke before a “tolerably large” crowd under starlit skies. He made “a bold and manly defense of the right of the people to assemble in times of peace and war, to discuss and hear discussed the policy of any administration, and to approve or condemn the official acts of any one in civil or military authority.” He alternately ridiculed and denounced “General Orders, No. 38,” boasting somewhat arrogantly of the contempt in which he held that edict. He even challenged Burnside’s right to use courts-martial to try citizens who might be arrested for violating “No. 38” or other military decrees. He was daring the general to make good his threat.32

Next morning Vallandigham returned to Dayton. Telegraphic dispatches brought reports that General Milo S. Hascall, who had tentatively replaced Carrington, had issued an order quite like Burnside’s. Hascall’s “General Orders, No. 9” stated that “all newspaper [editors] and public speakers that endeavor to bring the war policy of the Government into disrepute” would be considered “as having violated General Burnside’s Order No. 38” and would be “treated accordingly.”

Vallandigham fumed. He stated his indignation publicly and in a letter to ex-President Franklin Pierce. Men merited freedom only if they possessed the courage and determination to have it. He reminded the former president of the scornful exclamation of Tiberius regarding the degraded and servile Roman Senate centuries earlier: “O Homines ad Servitutem paratos!33

In the Dayton Empire, William T. Logan lashed out at Generals Hascall and Burnside and their military decrees; a few suspected that Vallandigham wrote some of the editorials. “Does Mr. Lincoln or his satraps and minions,” Logan asked, “suppose for a moment that they can by any power at their command wrest from the freemen of this country that most sacred inheritance of our revolutionary fathers—freedom of speech and of the press?” His closing paragraph expressed open defiance: “Away with your impotent threats of imprisonment in dungeons and bastiles. Freemen scorn them as ‘the tempest scorns a chain.’ Prison bars and bolts have no terrors for a freeman in the conscientious discharge of his duty. Fortified behind the Constitution, he can bid defiance to the impotent threats of usurpers and would-be despots.”34

Burnside’s ears burned. He resented the scorn and ridicule of Logan and Vallandigham. The link between his quartermaster, Francis Hurtt, and the editor of the Ohio State Journal, Isaac Jackson Allen, insured that paper’s endorsement of the arrest of Logan or Vallandigham or both.35 Burnside needed little prompting to carry out his threats. Vallandigham had thrown down the gauntlet, and the doughty general, with a reputation for rashness, dared not ignore it.

Burnside soon learned that Vallandigham would appear in Mount Vernon on May 1 at a rally of the Democracy of Knox County. He anticipated that the Dayton Democrat would again ridicule “General Orders, No. 38” and denounce the Lincoln administration. Burnside therefore sent to Mount Vernon a party of “observers,” consisting of ten Cincinnati citizens and two captains from his own staff in civilian clothes. He instructed the two members of his staff to “observe” the affair and “take notes.” One of Vallandigham’s friends in Columbus discovered Burnside’s intentions and promptly informed the would-be martyr. So the stage was set, and Vallandigham, needing martyrdom to gain his goals, intended to make the most of his opportunity.36

Early on the morning of May 1, 1863, the party faithful began to pour into Mount Vernon for the county Democratic rally. They came in carriages, in wagons, on horseback, and even afoot. Delegations from some of the outlying districts and rural villages came in procession, carrying banners, flags, and hickory branches. Backcountry folk, wearing jeans and linseys and belonging to the “unterrified, unwashed Democracy,” came in disorganized fashion. Party members, serving as marshals for the day, directed all new arrivals to areas assigned to each township. Union flags, with all their stars, flew from the numerous hickory poles erected especially for the rally.

Almost all Democrats who came into Mount Vernon to reaffirm their faith in their principles took part in the “grand parade.” The procession, estimated to be four or five miles long, numbered nearly five hundred wagons, many bearing Democratic slogans or pointed statements, and took two hours to pass any point along the route. Many of those who watched the procession or marched in it wore “Butternut” badges or “Copperhead” pins to indicate they were proud of their politics and contemptuous of their political opponents.

After the parade, the participants gathered around the several speakers’ stands erected for the occasion; the crowd was much too large for all to be within hearing distance of the principal stand. Messrs. Clement L. Vallandigham, Samuel S. Cox, and George H. Pendleton sat in chairs on the main stand, which was decked with flags, banners, emblems, and hickory branches.

Lecky Harper, editor of the Mount Vernon Democratic Banner, called the meeting to order. He read off the list of vice-presidents and secretaries, one for each township represented. He next announced the membership of the various committees. While committee members marched off to meetingplaces, Harper introduced Vallandigham as the first of the three speakers.

As Vallandigham arose he received a burst of applause “as fairly made the welkin ring.” After the shouts and the clapping ceased, the speaker began his discourse with an allusion to the American flags which bedecked the platform. These flags symbolized the Constitution of the country, made sacred by Democratic presidents. He revered the flag and he abided by the Constitution—he expected others to do likewise. He remarked that the flags had thirty-four stars and added that all states would still be united if it were not for Republican perfidy—or if his four-section scheme had been adopted as a constitutional amendment.

Then he turned to the discussion of his rights as “a freeman.” He did not have to ask Abraham Lincoln or David Tod or Ambrose E. Burnside for the right to speak as he was doing! The audience interrupted with applause, appreciative of his daring and insolence. Intoxicated by the adulation and aware that two of Burnside’s agents were taking notes—he noticed one leaning on the platform scribbling in a little black book—Vallandigham fired both barrels. His right to speak was based upon a document which antedated and superceded “General Orders, No. 38.” Burnside’s military edict was no more than “a bane usurpation of arbitrary power.” He could spit upon it and stamp it under foot. His right to speak and criticize was based upon “General Orders, No. 1,” the Constitution of the United States. Then he reminded his hearers that oppression and tyranny developed in direct proportion to the servility of a people—their submissiveness, cowardice, and lack of desire to be free. “The sooner the people inform the minions of usurped power,” he stated defiantly, “that they will not submit to such restrictions upon their liberties, the better.”

The Dayton dissenter continued for nearly two hours more, most inconsiderate of the two well-known men waiting impatiently to follow him on the central stand. He finally closed with the assertion that “the remedy” for all “the evils” was at the polling places and through “the ballot-box.” Citizens who valued their rights would use “the ballot-box” to hurl “King Lincoln” from his throne. He added his standard statement that he loved the Union and wished to see it restored by compromise.37

Thunderous applause rent the air when Vallandigham finished his bid for martyrdom. The echoes reached Cincinnati and grated upon the sensitive ears of General Burnside. Having crawled out on a limb, he did not dare turn back lest he be accused of indecision or faint-heartedness. After hearing the reports of his two agents, he ordered the arrest of Clement L. Vallandigham. First, of course, he had to ascertain that the dissenter would be at home when the posse, charged with seizing him, arrived in Dayton.

A “gentleman” from Dayton, a Republican who had urged that Vallandigham’s tongue be silenced, happened to visit Burnside’s headquarters on May 4. He agreed to return to Dayton, ascertain if Vallandigham was at home, and send a telegraphic message at exactly eight o’clock that evening. Shortly before eight, General Burnside and his aide walked to the telegraph office to await word from Dayton. Exactly on the hour the noisy receiving instrument tapped out the message “All is well.”38

Burnside and his aide hurried back to headquarters to sketch out plans for the arrest. They commandeered a special train, ordering the engineers and crew to be ready to leave Cincinnati for Dayton at midnight. Burnside selected his aide-de-camp, Captain Charles G. Hutton, to lead the expedition charged with arresting Vallandigham, and he ordered him to take his entire company of sixty-seven men to help him carry out that assignment. Captain Hutton accepted the orders “to succeed at all hazards” and to return to Cincinnati with his prisoner before daylight.39

Vallandigham felt he had outmaneuvered General Burnside and forced his hand. After issuing his rather imprudent military decree and sending agents to take notes at Mount Vernon, the self-righteous general had no choice but to arrest Dayton’s best-known politician.

1 Jefferson A. Walter, “Publishers’ Notice,” p. 3.

2 William W. Armstrong, “Personal Recollections,” published in the Cincinnati Daily Enquirer, 20 March 1863.

3 Ibid.

4 Ibid.

5 Ibid.

6 Dayton Daily Empire, 9, 10, 11, 12 March 1863.

7 Ibid., 14 March 1863.

8 Dayton Daily Journal, 14 March 1863; Dayton Daily Empire, 14 March 1863.

9 Dayton Daily Empire, 14 March 1863.

10 Cleveland Leader, 28 March 1863.

11 1 April 1863. Wayne Jordon, “The Hoskinsville Rebellion,” Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly 47 (October 1943): 319-54, debunks the incident in Noble County most effectively, burying another Civil War myth.

12 N.d., quoted in Dayton Weekly Empire, 4 April 1863.

13 Ohio State Journal (Columbus), 7 March 1863; Crisis, 11, 18 March 1863. Eugene H. Roseboom, “The Mobbing of the Crisis,” Ohio State Archaeological and Historical Quarterly 59 (April 1950): 150-53, gives a brief but scholarly account of the incident.

14 Cleveland Leader, 28 March 1863.

15 Dayton Weekly Empire, 14 March 1863.

16 Ibid., 7 March 1863.

17 Letter of A. N. Patterson (Company E, 90th Ohio Volunteer Regiment), 5 March 1863, published in Cleveland Leader, 12 March.

18 Cincinnati Daily Commercial, 13 March 1863.

19 Morgan Herald, 1 May 1863.

20 Carrington, “Memorandum of Conditions of Public Affairs in Indiana,” 19 March 1863, Robert Todd Lincoln Papers, Library of Congress.

21 Carrington’s bungling tactics are exposed in Frank L. Klement, “Carrington and the Golden Circle Legend in Indiana during the Civil War,” Indiana Magazine of History 61 (March 1965): 31-52.

22 Dayton Daily Empire, 23 March 1863; Dayton Daily Journal, 24 March 1863; Hamilton True Telegraph, 26 March 1863.

23 Dayton Daily Journal, 6 April 1863; Dayton Daily Empire, 11 April 1863.

24 Dayton Daily Empire, 11, 18 April 1863.

25 George W. O’Brien to Gov. Samuel J. Kirkwood, 7 April 1863, Samuel J.Kirkwood Papers, Iowa State Department of History and Archives, Des Moines.

26 Ohio State Journal, 8 April 1863.

27 Dayton Daily Empire, 6 March 1863.

28 Official Records, ser. 1, 23, pt. 2: 147.

29 Ohio State Journal, 21 April 1863.

30 Ibid., 29 April 1863; Crisis, 29 April 1863; Daily Ohio Statesman (Columbus), 29, 30 April 1863.

31 James A. Garfield. “Diary,” entry of 28 January 1877. James A. Garfield Papers, Library of congress. The entry, in part, reads: “. . . and Thurman stated what I had never heard before, that Vallandigham’s [sic] arrest was procured in order to make him candidate for governor, and this was done by his friends.”

32 Ohio State Journal, 2, 4 May 1863; Daily Ohio Statesman, 2 May 1863; Crisis, 6 May 1863.

33 Vallandigham to Franklin Pierce (photostatic copy), 11 April 1863, Franklin Pierce Papers, Library of Congress.

34 Dayton Daily Empire, 1 May 1863. It is likely that this editorial came from Vallandigham’s pen.

35 Mount Vernon Democratic Banner, 9 May 1863. The link between the Ohio State Journal and General Burnside is also revealed in John Y. Simon, ed., “Reminiscences of Isaac Jackson Allen,” Ohio History 73 (Autumn 1964) : 207-38.

36 Armstrong, “Personal Recollections,” in Cincinnati Daily Enquirer, 20 March 1886.

37 Vallandigham’s speech can be reconstructed from the account recorded in the Mount Vernon Democratic Banner, 9 May 1863, and the report of James T. Irvine, one of the secretaries of the convention, which appears in Vallandigham, Vallandigham, pp. 248-59. The accounts of Burnside’s two agents appear in “Proceedings of a Military Commission, Convened in Cincinnati, May 6, 1863,” Citizens’ File, 1861-1865, War Department Collection of Confederate Records, National Archives.

38 Entry of 5 May 1863, Daniel Read Larned, “Journal,” Daniel Read Larned Papers, Library of Congress.

39 Official Records, ser. 2, 5: 555.

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