CHAPTER XVIII.
D. WEBSTER, ATTORNEY
This was the sign that our young lawyer attached to his office, in the town of Boscawan. The office was humble enough. It was on the second floor of a store, painted red, and the staircase leading to it was on the outside. His office rent was fifteen dollars a year, which certainly could not have been considered an extravagant sum.
Here it was that the future great lawyer commenced practice. Though his fees amounted to but six or seven hundred dollars a year, his practice extended over three counties, Hillsborough, Rockingham and Grafton. We infer from his meager income, though it was ample for his needs in a place where living was so inexpensive, that his clients had no occasion to complain of immoderate charges.
Judge Webster had the satisfaction of hearing his son make one speech in court, but he was so near the end of his earthly pilgrimage that he never heard another, being for the last few months confined within doors. The father listened with satisfaction, and regarded his son’s effort as a very creditable one.
Daniel’s sole object in establishing himself in an obscure country place was to be near his father, who he knew could not live many years. The end was nearer than he supposed, for he died little more than a year later. It may have been a sacrifice, but probably he lost nothing by it. The quiet seclusion gave him more time for study, and he was laying a broad groundwork for his future fame to rest upon.
It was while he was at Boscawan that he first encountered Mr. Jeremiah Mason, the acknowledged head of the New Hampshire bar. From a foot-note in Curtis’s Life, I quote the circumstances as told by Mr. Mason himself.
“I had heard,” said Mr. Mason,” that there was a young lawyer up there who was reputed to be a wonderfully able fellow, and was said by the country people to be as black as the ace of spades, but I had never seen him. When they told me that he had prepared evidence for this prosecution (it was a case of forgery, the defendant being a man of respectable position), I thought it well to be careful, especially as the trial was to be conducted by the attorney-general. But when the trial came on the attorney-general was ill, and the prosecutors asked that Webster should be allowed to conduct the case. I assented to this readily, thinking I ought to have an easy time of it, and we were introduced to each other.
“We went at it, and I soon found that I had no light work on my hands. He examined his witnesses and shaped his case with so much skill that I had to exert every faculty I possessed. I got the man off, but it was as hard a day’s work as I ever did in my life. There were other transactions behind this one which looked quite as awkward. When the verdict was announced I went up to the dock and whispered to the prisoner, as the sheriff let him out, to be off for Canada, and never to put himself within the reach of that young Webster again. From that time forth I never lost sight of Mr. Webster, and never had but one opinion of his powers.”
This is remarkable testimony from the head of the bar to a practitioner so young, who was a mere novice in the profession.
After the death of his father Daniel was still compelled for a time to remain in his country office. His practice was now worth something, and he had it in view to surrender it to his brother Ezekiel, who was now studying law, but had not been admitted to the bar. His father had left some debts, which Daniel voluntarily assumed. In the autumn of 1807 Ezekiel succeeded to the double office of managing the home farm, and carrying on the law business of his younger brother. Then Daniel, feeling that he might safely do so, took down his “shingle,” and removed to Portsmouth, where he found a larger field for the exercise of his abilities, where he could gain a higher and more conspicuous position.
His appearance at this time has been thus described by a member of Rev. Dr. Buckminster’s family. “Slender, and apparently of delicate organization, his large eyes and narrow brow seemed very predominant above the other features, which were sharply cut, refined and delicate. The paleness of his complexion was heightened by hair as black as the raven’s wing.”
Daniel soon became intimate with the family of Dr. Buckminster, and from members of this family we learn much that is interesting concerning him. He developed, according to Mr. Lee, a “genial and exceedingly rich humor,” which did more to make him popular in society than any of his other diversified gifts. “We young people saw him only rarely in friendly visits. I well remember one afternoon that he came in, when the elders of the family were absent. He sat down by the window, and as now and then an inhabitant of the small town passed through the street, his fancy was caught by their appearance and his imagination excited, and he improvised the most humorous imaginary histories about them, which would have furnished a rich treasure for Dickens, could he have been the delighted listener, instead of the young girl for whose amusement this wealth of invention was extended.” Mr. Mason, who appreciated the young man’s humor, as well as his professional ability, used to say that “there was never such an actor lost to the stage as he would have made had he chosen to turn his talents in that direction.”
Daniel was still fragile, not having yet out-grown his early delicacy. Dr. Buckminster prescribed as a remedy half an hour’s wood-sawing before breakfast, with a long two-handed saw, one end of which he held himself. The young lawyer doubtless found this early exercise a good appetizer, qualifying him to do full justice to the breakfast that succeeded.
Within a year of his removal to Portsmouth Mr. Webster took a step most important to his happiness. He was married to Grace Fletcher, daughter of Rev. Elijah Fletcher, of Hopkinton. There is no occasion in a brief biography like this to speak at length of Mrs. Webster. It is sufficient to say that she was qualified by her natural powers and acquired culture to be a sympathizing friend and companion to the husband whom she saw gradually expanding intellectually, and rising higher in reputation, in the twenty years that they lived together.
I have said that Mr. Webster’s removal to Portsmouth brought him a wider and more lucrative practice. He still lived plainly, however. His office, though more pretentious than the one at Boscawan, which he hired for fifteen dollars a year, was, according to Mr. Ticknor, “a common, ordinary looking room, with less furniture and more books than common. He had a small inner room, opening from the larger, rather an unusual thing. He lived in a small, modest wooden house, which was burned in the great fire in 1813,” a fire by which he lost a valuable library.
Daniel Webster lived in Portsmouth nine years lacking one month. He was in no hurry to remove to the still wider field that was waiting for him in Boston. He says somewhere that these were very happy years. His great powers were gradually expanding. He grew like an oak tree, slowly, but his growth was steady, and the result was massive and majestic. It was not long before he was regarded as one of the most prominent lawyers in his native State, and he was generally matched in important suits with Jeremiah Mason, already referred to as the undisputed head of the bar. Mr. Mason was a remarkable man, not only intellectually but physically. He was a very Titan, almost tall enough to have attracted the attention of Barnum had he lived at a later period. He was six feet seven inches in height, and naturally attracted attention wherever he went—an attention, by the way, which he did not court, and which was embarrassing to him. An amusing story is told of him which I have somewhere read, and will record from memory.
In spite of his great height Mr. Mason did not sit high, having a short body and legs of immense length. One day he was driving in the neighborhood of Portsmouth, when in a narrow road he met a man driving a cart, a stalwart man, inclined to be a bully, who, confident in his strength, was disposed to take advantage of it.
“Turn out!” he said roughly to Mr. Mason.
“My friend,” said the lawyer, who was in a light buggy,” I have already given you half the road.”
“No, you haven’t,” answered the other roughly. “At any rate, you must turn out more.”
“But I see no justice in that,” said the great lawyer mildly.
The mildness of his manner led the bully to think Mr. Mason was afraid of him; so, with an oath, he repeated his demand.
Mr. Mason felt that the matter had gone far enough. He slowly rose in his seat; the countryman with astonishment saw what he had supposed to be a man of average height towering into gigantic proportions, and he became alarmed.
“Hold on!” he shouted; “you needn’t unroll yourself any more. I’ll turn out myself.”
This great lawyer, though so often opposed to Webster, was unvaryingly kind to him, and as Daniel himself testifies, was of infinite advantage to him, not only by his friendship, but by the many good lessons he taught him and the example he set him in the commencement of his career.
The young man admired his elder professional brother, and says of him: “If there be in the country a stronger intellect, if there be a mind of more native resources, if there be a vision that sees quicker or sees deeper into whatever is intricate or whatsoever is profound, I must confess I have not known it.”
CHAPTER XIX.
DANIEL OVERCOMES A BRAMBLE
There is no doubt that Mr. Webster derived considerable advantage from his association with his elder professional brother. He had adopted a style very common with young men, abounding in large words, and made his sentences longer than were needful. He observed that Mr. Mason, on the other hand, talked to the jury in a plain, conversational way, and cultivated simplicity of diction. Yet he was noted for his success in winning cases. Daniel was sensible enough to correct his fault and prune his too luxuriant style, very much to its improvement.
No admirer of Daniel Webster should fail to read the volume of “Reminiscences” by his lifelong friend, Peter Harvey. His confidential relations with his distinguished friend make what he records not only entertaining but trustworthy and valuable. I shall venture to transfer to my pages from Mr. Harvey’s volume an account of two cases in which Mr. Webster was engaged during his residence in Portsmouth, with the suggestion that the entire volume will amply repay perusal.
“Among Mr. Webster’s reminiscences of his professional career at Portsmouth, and of Jeremiah Mason’s connection with it, was one relating to a case in which a man named Bramble was implicated. Matthew Bramble, it appears, was a wealthy resident of Portsmouth, and, as the sequel proved, an unscrupulous man. His social position was good, but a feeling of distrust towards him existed in the community. It seems that Bramble had given to a man named Brown an annuity bond, agreeing to pay him one hundred dollars a year as long as he lived. This was to keep dominant a title to some real estate. Bramble had more than once tried to persuade Brown to take a ‘lump’ sum of money and cancel the bonds, but this Brown persistently declined to do, and in this he was supported by the advice of his friends. After in vain offering one thousand dollars, Bramble resorted to the following method of getting rid of his obligation. He was accustomed, when he paid the hundred dollars, to indorse it on the bond. The next chance he got, he indorsed, not one hundred dollars, but one thousand dollars, adding ‘in full consideration of and canceling this bond.’ Brown, who could not read or write, unsuspectingly signed his mark to this indorsement. Bramble then coolly handed him back the bond, and of course said nothing of the matter.
“When the year came round, an altercation took place between them.
“Bramble said, ‘I owe you nothing; I paid you a thousand dollars, and it is certified on your bond.’
“Brown was a poor shoemaker, simple-minded, truthful, weak, not capable of coping with this wily scamp. He was friendless, while Bramble was a rich man. Poor Brown did not know what to do. He had convinced his neighbors that he was right. He went to Jeremiah Mason, who told him he was Mr. Bramble’s lawyer. Mr. Mason had asked Bramble about the matter, and the latter had showed the bond, and Mr. Mason probably believed him. A friend then advised Brown to go to Mr. Webster; and after hearing his story, Mr. Webster was quite convinced of the truth of Brown’s statement. He had no confidence in Bramble. In relating the story, he said to me: ‘I knew nothing positively against Bramble, but something impressed me that he was not a man of honor. I was at once satisfied that he had committed this fraud upon Brown, and I told the latter that I would sue Bramble for the annuity. He said he had nothing to give me in payment. I said I wanted nothing. I sent Bramble a letter, and he made his appearance in my office.
“’“I should like to know,” he said sharply, “if you are going to take up a case of that kind in Portsmouth? It seems to me you don’t know on which side your bread is buttered.”
“’“This man has come to me,” I replied, “without friends, and has told me a plain, straightforward story, and it sounds as if it were true. It is not a made-up story. I shall pursue this thing, and sue you, unless you settle it.”’
“Bramble went to Mr. Mason, who afterwards said to Mr. Webster: ‘I think you have made a mistake. Bramble is a man of influence. It can’t be that the fellow tells the truth. Bramble would not do such a thing as that.’
“Mr. Webster replied, ‘He has done just such a thing as that, and I shall try the suit.’
“So the preliminary steps were taken, and the suit was brought. The case came on at Exeter in the Supreme Court, Judge Smith on the bench. It created great excitement. Bramble’s friends were incensed at the charge of forgery, and Brown, too, in his humble way, had his friends. Mr. Webster said: ‘I never in my life was more badly prepared for a case. There was no evidence for Brown, and what to do I did not know. But I had begun the suit, and was going to run for luck, perfectly satisfied that I was right. There were Bramble and his friends, with Mason; and poor Brown had only his counsel. And Mason began to sneer a little, saying, “That is a foolish case.”
“’Well, a person named Lovejoy was then living in Portsmouth; and when there is a great deal of litigation, as there was in Portsmouth, and many towns in New Hampshire, there will always be one person of a kind not easily described—a shrewd man who is mixed up in all sorts of affairs. Lovejoy was a man of this kind, and was a witness in nearly all the cases ever tried in that section. He was an imperturbable witness, and never could be shaken in his testimony. Call Lovejoy, and he would swear that he was present on such an occasion, and he seemed to live by giving evidence in this way. I was getting a little anxious about the case. I was going to attempt to prove that Brown had been appealed to by Bramble for years to give up his bond, and take a sum of money, and that he had always stoutly refused, that he had no uses for money, and had never been in the receipt of money, and that he could not write, and was easily imposed upon. But although I felt that I was right, I began to fear that I should lose the case.
“’A Portsmouth man who believed in Brown’s story came to me just before the case was called, and whispered in my ear, “I saw Lovejoy talking with Bramble just now in the entry, and he took a paper from him.”
“’I thanked the man, told him that was a pretty important thing to know, and asked him to say nothing about it.
“’In the course of the trial Mr. Mason called Lovejoy, and he took the oath. He went upon the stand and testified that some eight or ten months before he was in Brown’s shop, and that Brown mended his shoes for him. As he was sitting in the shop, he naturally fell into conversation about the bond, and said to Brown, “Bramble wants to get back the bond. Why don’t you sell it to him?” “Oh,” said Brown, “I have. He wanted me to do it, and as life is uncertain, I thought I might as well take the thousand dollars.” He went on to testify that the said Brown told him so and so, and when he expressed himself in that way I knew he was being prompted from a written paper. The expression was an unnatural one for a man to use in ordinary conversation. It occurred to me in an instant that Bramble had given Lovejoy a paper, on which was set down what he wanted him to testify. There sat Mason, full of assurance, and for a moment I hesitated. Now, I thought, I will “make a spoon or spoil a horn.”
“’I took the pen from behind my ear, drew myself up, and marched outside the bar to the witness stand.” Sir!” I exclaimed to Lovejoy, “give me the paper from which you are testifying!”
“’In an instant he pulled it out of his pocket, but before he had got it quite out he hesitated and attempted to put it back. I seized it in triumph. There was his testimony in Bramble’s handwriting! Mr. Mason got up and claimed the protection of the court. Judge Smith inquired the meaning of this proceeding.
“’I said: “Providence protects the innocent when they are friendless. I think I could satisfy the court and my learned brother who, of course, was ignorant of this man’s conduct, that I hold in Mr. Bramble’s handwriting the testimony of the very respectable witness who is on the stand.”
“’The court adjourned, and I had nothing further to do. Mason told his client that he had better settle the affair as quickly as possible. Bramble came to my office, and as he entered I said, “Don’t you come in here! I don’t want any thieves in my office.”
“’“Do whatever you please with me, Mr. Webster,” he replied. “I will do whatever you say.”
“’“I will do nothing without witnesses. We must arrange this matter.”
“’I consulted Mr. Mason, and he said he did not care how I settled it. So I told Bramble that in the first place there must be a new life-bond for one hundred dollars a year, and ample security for its payment, and that he must also pay Brown five hundred dollars and my fees, which I should charge pretty roundly. To all this he assented and thus the case ended.’”
Mr. Webster’s professional brothers were very much puzzled to account for his knowing that Lovejoy had the paper in his pocket, and it was not for a long time that he gratified their curiosity and revealed the secret.
My young readers will agree with me that Bramble was a contemptible fellow, and that the young lawyer, in revealing and defeating his meanness, did an important service not only to his client but to the cause of justice, which is often defeated by the very means that should secure it. In many cases lawyers lend themselves to the service of clients whose iniquity they have good reason to suspect. There is no nobler profession than that of law when it is invoked to redress grievances and defeat the designs of the wicked; but, as Mr. Webster himself has said, “The evil is, that an accursed thirst for money violates everything. We cannot study, because we must pettifog. We learn the low recourses of attorneyism when we should, learn the conceptions, the reasonings and the opinions of Cicero and Murray. The love of fame is extinguished, every ardent wish for knowledge repressed, conscience put in jeopardy, and the best feelings of the heart indurated by the mean, money-catching, abominable practices which cover with disgrace a part of the modern practitioners of the law.”
CHAPTER XX.
“THE LITTLE BLACK STABLE-BOY.”
I am tempted to detail another case in which the young lawyer was able to do an important service to an acquaintance who had known him in his boyhood.
In Grafton County lived a teamster named John Greenough, who was in the habit of making periodical trips to and from Boston with a load of goods. One day, when a mile or two distant from the house of Daniel’s father, his wagon was mired, owing to the size of his load and the state of the roads. He found that he could not continue his journey without help, and sent to the house of Judge Webster to borrow a span of horses.
“Dan,” said the Judge, “take the horses and help Mr. Greenough out of his trouble.”
The boy was roughly dressed like an ordinary farm-boy of that time, his head being surmounted by a ragged straw hat. He at once obeyed his father and gave the teamster the assistance which he so urgently required.
The teamster thanked him for his assistance and drove on, giving little thought to the boy, or dreaming that the time would come when Dan would help him out of a worse scrape.
Years passed and the farm-boy became a lawyer, but Greenough had lost track of him, and supposed he was still at work on his father’s farm.
He was a poor man, owning a farm and little else. But a question arose as to his title to the farm. Suit was brought against him, and his whole property was at stake. He secured legal assistance, his lawyer being Moses P. Payson, of Bath. Mr. Payson thought he ought to have help, as the case was an important one, and suggested it to his client. The latter agreed, and Mr. Payson made his selection.
Soon after, in an interview with Mr. Payson, Greenough inquired, “What lawyer have you hired to help you?”
“Mr. Webster,” was the reply.
“Webster, Webster!” repeated Greenough; “I don’t know any lawyer of that name. Is he from Boston?”
“Oh, no; he came from your neighborhood,” was the reply. “It is Daniel Webster, the son of old Ebenezer Webster, of Salisbury.”
“What!” exclaimed the teamster in dismay; “that little black stable-boy that once brought me some horses! Then I think we might as well give up the case. Can’t you get somebody else?”
“No; the trial cannot be postponed. We must take our chances and make the best of it.”
The teamster went home greatly depressed. He remembered the rough looking farm-boy in his rustic garb and old straw hat, and it seemed ridiculous that a good lawyer could have been made out of such unpromising materials. He was not the first man who had been misled by appearances. He was yet to learn that a poor boy may become an able lawyer. Of course the case must go on, but he looked forward to the result with little hope. He would lose his little farm he felt sure, and in his declining years be cast adrift penniless and destitute.
When the day of trial came the teamster was in attendance, but he looked sad and depressed. Mr. Payson made the opening speech, and the trial proceeded. Mr. Webster was to make the closing argument.
When he rose to speak Greenough looked at him with some curiosity. Yes, it was black Dan, a young man now, but as swarthy, though better dressed than the boy who had brought him the span of horses to help his wagon out of the mire.
“What can he do?” thought the teamster, not without contempt.
Daniel began to speak, and soon warmed to his work. He seemed thoroughly master of the case, and as he proceeded the teamster was surprised, and finally absorbed in his words. He drew nearer and drank in every word that fell from the lips of the “little black stable-boy,” as he had recently termed him.
The jury were no less interested, and when the plea closed it was clear how they would render their verdict.
Mr. Payson approached his client, and said with a smile, “Well, Mr. Greenough, what do you think of him now?”
“Think!” exclaimed the teamster. “Why, I think he is an angel sent from heaven to save me from ruin, and my wife and children from misery.”
The case was won, and Greenough returned home happy that his little farm would not be taken from him.
Many lawyers aspire to the judicial office as the crowning professional dignity which they may wear with pride. But some of the greatest lawyers are not fitted for that office. They are born advocates, and the more brilliant they are the less, perhaps, do they possess that fair and even judgment which is requisite in a judge. Daniel Webster understood that his talents were not of a judicial character. At a later day (in 1840) he wrote to a friend as follows: “For my own part, I never could be a judge. There never was a time when I would have taken the office of chief justice of the United States or any other judicial station. I believe the truth may be that I have mixed so much study of politics with my study of law that, though I have some respect for myself as an advocate, and some estimate of my knowledge of general principles, yet I am not confident of possessing all the accuracy and precision of knowledge which the bench requires.”
For nearly nine years Daniel Webster practiced law in Portsmouth. He could not have selected a more prominent place in New Hampshire; but the time came when he felt that for many reasons he should seek a larger field. One reason, which deservedly carried weight, was, that in a small town his income must necessarily be small. During these years of busy activity he never received in fees more than two thousand dollars a year. Fees were small then compared with what they are now, when lawyers by no means distinguished often charge more for their services in a single case than young Webster’s entire yearly income at that time.
When the time came for removal the young lawyer hesitated between Boston, Albany and New York, but finally decided in favor of the first place. Of his removal we shall have occasion to speak further presently. Before doing so it is well to say that these nine years, though they brought Mr. Webster but little money, did a great deal for him in other ways. He was not employed in any great cases, or any memorable trials, though he and Jeremiah Mason were employed in the most important cases which came before the New Hampshire courts. Generally they were opposed to each other, and in his older professional compeer Daniel found a foeman worthy of his steel. He always had to do his best when Mason was engaged on the other side. That he fully appreciated Mr. Mason’s ability is evident from his tribute to him paid in a conversation with another eminent rival, Rufus Choate.
“I have known Jeremiah Mason,” he said, “longer than I have known any other eminent man. He was the first man of distinction in the law whom I knew, and when I first became acquainted with him he was in full practice. I knew that generation of lawyers as a younger man knows those who are his superiors in age—by tradition, reputation and hearsay, and by occasionally being present and hearing their efforts. In this way I knew Luther Martin, Edmund Randolph, Goodloe Hart, and all those great lights of the law; and by the way, I think, on the whole, that was an abler bar than the present one—of course with some brilliant exceptions. Of the present bar of the United States I think I am able to form a pretty fair opinion, having an intimate personal knowledge of them in the local and federal courts; and this I can say, that I regard Jeremiah Mason as eminently superior to any other lawyer whom I ever met. I should rather with my own experience (and I have had some pretty tough experience with him) meet them all combined in a case, than to meet him alone and single-handed. He was the keenest lawyer I ever met or read about. If a man had Jeremiah Mason and he did not get his case, no human ingenuity or learning could get it. He drew from a very deep fountain. Yes, I should think he did,” added Mr. Webster, smiling, “from his great height.”
The young reader will remember that Mr. Mason was six feet seven inches in height.
It is always of great service when a young man is compelled at all times to do his best. Daniel could not oppose such a lawyer as he describes Mr. Mason without calling forth all his resources. It happened, therefore, that the nine years he spent in Portsmouth were by no means wasted, but contributed to develop and enlarge his powers, and provide him with resources which were to be of service to him in the broader and more conspicuous field in which he was soon to exercise his powers.
Furthermore, during these nine years he first entered the arena where he was to gather unfading laurels, and establish his reputation not only as a great lawyer, but one of the foremost statesmen of any age.
I allude to his election to Congress, in which he took his seat for the first time on the 24th of May, 1813, as a Representative from New Hampshire.