“SOCKDOLAGER”
A True Tale of Congressman Davy Crockett
A
“sockdolager” is a knock-down blow. This is a newspaper reporter’s
captivating story or his unforgettable encounter with the old “Bear Hunter”
from Tennessee. From the Life of Colonel David Crockett, by Edward S.
Ellis (Philadelphia: Porter & Coates, 1884)
CROCKETT was then the lion of Washington. I was a great
admirer of his character, and, having several friends who were intimate with
him, I found no difficulty in making his acquaintance. I was fascinated
with him, and he seemed to take a fancy to me.
I was one day in the lobby of the House of Representatives when a bill
was taken up appropriating money for the benefit of a widow of a distinguished
naval officer. Several beautiful speeches had been made in its support–
rather, as I thought, because it afforded the speakers a fine opportunity for
display than from the necessity of convincing anybody, for it seemed to me that
everybody favored it. The Speaker was just about to put the question when
Crockett arose. Everybody expected, of course, that he was going to make
one of his characteristic speeches in support of the bill. He commenced:
“Mr. Speaker– I have as much respect for the memory of the deceased, and
as much sympathy for the sufferings of the living, if suffering there by, as
any man in this House, but we must not permit our respect for the dead or our
sympathy for a part of the living to lead us into an act of injustice to the
balance of the living. I will not go into argument to prove that Congress
has no power to appropriate this money as an act of charity. Every member
upon this floor knows it. We have the right, as individuals, to give away
as much of our own money as we please in charity; but as a member of Congress
we have no right so to appropriate a dollar of the public money. Some
eloquent appeals have been made to us upon the ground that it is a debt due the
deceased. Mr. Speaker, the deceased lived long after the close of the
war; he was in office to the day of his death, and I have never heard that the
government was in arrears to him. This government can owe no debts but
for services rendered, and at a stipulated price. If it is a debt, how
much is it? Has it been audited, and the amount due ascertained? If
it is a debt, this is not the place to present it for payment, or to have its
merits examined. If it is a debt, we owe more than we can ever hope to
pay, for we owe the widow of every soldier who fought in the War of 1812
precisely the same amount. There is a woman in my neighborhood, the widow
of a gallant a man as ever shouldered a musket. He fell in battle.
She is as good in every respect as this lady, and is as poor. She is
earning her daily bread by her daily labor; but if I were to introduce a bill
to appropriate five or ten thousand dollars for her benefit, I should be
laughed at, and my bill would not get five votes in this House. There are
thousands of widows in the country just such as the one I have spoken of, but
we never hear of any of these large debts to them. Sir, this is no
debt. The government did not owe it to the deceased when he was alive; it
could not contract it after he died. I do not wish to be rude, but I must
be plain. Every man in this House knows it is not a debt. We
cannot, without the grossest corruption, appropriate this money as the payment
of a debt. We have not the semblance of authority to appropriate it as a
charity. Mr. Speaker, I have said we have the right to give as much of
our own money as we please. I am the poorest man on this floor. I
cannot vote for this bill, but I will give one week’s pay to the object, and if
every member of Congress will do the same, it will amount to more than the bill
asks.”
He took his seat. Nobody replied. The bill was put upon its
passage, and, instead of passing unanimously, as was generally supposed, and
as, no doubt, it would, but for that speech, it received but few votes, and, of
course, was lost.
Like many other young men, and old ones, too, for that matter, who had
not thought upon the subject, I desired the passage of the bill, and felt
outraged at is defeat. I determined that I would persuade my friend
Crockett to move a reconsideration the next day.
Previous engagements preventing me from seeing Crockett that night, I
went early to his room the next morning and found him engaged in addressing and
franking letters, a large pile of which lay upon his table.
I broke in upon him rather abruptly, by asking him what devil had
possessed him to make that speech and defeat that bill yesterday. Without
turning his head or looking up from his work, he replied:
“You see that I am very busy now; take a seat and cool yourself. I
will be through in a few minutes, and then I will tell you all about it.”
He continued his employment for about ten minutes, and when he had
finished he turned to me and said:
“Now, sir, I will answer your question. But thereby hangs a tale,
and one of considerable length, to which you will have to listen.”
I listened, and this is the tale which I heard:
“Several years ago I was one evening standing on the steps of the Capitol
some other members of Congress, when our attention was attracted by a great
light over in Georgetown. It was evidently a large fire. We jumped
into a hack and drove over as fast as we could. When we got there, I went
to work, and I never worked as hard in my life as I did there for several
hours. But, in spite of all that could be done, many houses were burned
and many families made homeless, and, besides, some of them had lost all but
the clothes they had on. The weather was very cold, and when I saw so
many women and children suffering, I felt that something ought to be done for
them, and everybody else seemed to feel the same way.
The next morning a bill was introduced appropriating $20,000 for their
relief. We put aside all other business and rushed it through as soon as
it could be done. I said everybody felt as I did. That was not
quite so; for, though they perhaps sympathized as deeply with the sufferers as
I did, there were a few of the members who did not think we had the right to
indulge our sympathy or excite our charity at the expense of anybody but
ourselves. They opposed the bill, and upon its passage demanded the yeas
and nays. There were not enough of them to sustain the call, but many of
us wanted our names to appear in favor of what we considered a praiseworthy
measure, and we voted with them to sustain it. So the nays were recorded,
and my name appeared on the journals in favor of the bill.
The next summer, when it began to be time to think about the election, I
concluded I would take a scout around among the boys of my district. I
had no opposition there, but, as the election was some time off, I did not know
what might turn up, and I thought it was best to let the boys know that I had
not forgot them, and that going to Congress had not made me too proud to go to
see them.
So I put a couple of shirts and a few twists of tobacco into my
saddlebags, and put out. I had been out about a week and had found things
going very smoothly, when, riding one day in a part of my district in which I
was more of a stranger than any other, I saw a man in a field plowing and
coming toward the road. I gauged my gait so that we should meet as he
came to the fence. As he came up I spoke to the man. He replied
politely, but, as I thought, rather coldly, and was about turning his horse for
another furrow when I said to him: “Don’t be in such a hurry, my friend; I want
to have a little talk with you, and get better acquainted.”
He replied: “I am very busy, and have but little time to talk, but if it
does not take too long, I will listen to what you have to say.”
I began: “Well, friend, I am one of those unfortunate beings called
candidates, and..”
“Yes, I know you; you are Colonel Crockett. I have seen you once
before, and voted for you the last time you were elected. I suppose you
are out electioneering now, but had better not waste your time or mine. I
shall not vote for you again.”
This was a sockdolager...I begged him to tell me what was the matter.
“Well, Colonel, it is hardly worthwhile to waste time or words upon
it. I do not see how it can be mended, but you gave a vote last winter
which shows that either you have no capacity to understand the Constitution, or
that you are wanting in honesty and firmness to be guided by it. In
either case you are not the man to represent me. But I beg your pardon
for expressing it in that way. I did not intend to avail myself of the
privilege of the Constitution to speak plainly to a candidate for the purpose
of insulting or wounding you. I intend by it only to say that your
understanding of the Constitution is very different from mine; and I will say
to you what, but for my rudeness, I should not have said, that I believe you to
be honest. But an understanding of the Constitution different from mine I
cannot overlook, because the Constitution, to be worth anything, must be held
sacred, and rigidly observed in all it provisions. The man who wields
power and misinterprets it is the more dangerous the more honest he is.”
“I admit the truth of all you say, but there must be some mistake about
it, for I do not remember that I gave any vote last winter upon any
constitutional question.”
“No, Colonel, there’s no mistake. Though I live in the backwoods
and seldom go from home, I take the papers from Washington and read very
carefully all the proceedings of Congress. My papers say that last winter
you voted for a bill to appropriate $20,000 to some sufferers by a fire in
Georgetown. Is that true?”
“Certainly it is, and I thought that was the last vote which anybody in
the world would have found fault with.”
“Well, Colonel, where do you find in the Constitution any authority to
give away the public money in charity?”
Here was another sockdolager, for, when I began to think about it, I
could not remember a thing in the Constitution that authorized it. I
found I must take another tack, so I said:
“Well, my friend; I may as well own up. You have got me
there. But certainly nobody will complain that a great and rich country
like ours should give the insignificant sum of $20,000 to relieve its suffering
women and children, particularly with a full and overflowing Treasury, and I am
sure, if you had been there, you would have done just as I did.”
“It is not the amount, Colonel, that I complain of; it is the
principle. In the first place, the government ought to have in the
Treasury no more than enough for its legitimate purposes. But that has
nothing to do with the question. The power of collecting and disbursing
money at pleasure is the most dangerous power than can be entrusted to man,
particularly under our system of collecting revenue by a tariff, which reaches
every man in the country, no matter how poor he may be, and the poorer he is
the more he pays in proportion to his means. What is worse, it presses
upon him without his knowledge where the weight centers, for there is not a man
in the United States who can ever guess how much he pays to the
government. So you see, that while you are contributing to relieve one,
you are drawing it from thousands who are even worse off than he. If you
had the right to give anything, the amount was simply a matter of discretion
with you, and you had as much right to give $20,000,000 as $20,000. If
you have the right to give to one, you have the right to give to all; and, as
the Constitution neither defines charity nor stipulates the amount, you are at
liberty to give to any and everything which you may think proper. You
will very easily perceive what a wide door this would open for fraud and corruption
and favoritism, on the one hand, and for robbing the people on the other.
No, Colonel, Congress has no right to give charity. Individual members
may give as much of their own money as they please, but they have no right to
touch a dollar of the public money for that purpose. If twice as many
houses had been burned in this country as in Georgetown, neither you nor any
other member of Congress would have thought of appropriating a dollar of
relief. There are about two hundred and forty members of Congress.
If they had shown their sympathy for the sufferers by contributing each one
week’s pay, it would have made over $13,000. There are plenty of wealthy
men in and around Washington who could have given $20,000 without depriving
themselves of even a luxury of life. The Congressman chose to keep their
own money, which, if reports be true, some of them spend not very creditable;
and the people about Washington, no doubt, applauded you for relieving them
from the necessity of giving what was not yours to give. The people have
delegated to Congress, by the Constitution, the power to do certain
things. To do these, it is authorized to collect and pay moneys, and for
nothing else. Everything beyond this is usurpation, and a violation of
the Constitution.”
I have given you an imperfect account of what he said. Long before
he was through, I was convinced that I had done wrong. He wound up by
saying:
“So you see, Colonel, you have violated the Constitution in what I
consider a vital point. It is a precedent fraught with danger to the
country, for when Congress once begins to stretch its power beyond the limits
of the Constitution, there is no limit to it, and no security for the
people. I have no doubt you acted honestly, but that does not make it any
better, except as far as you are personally concerned, and you see that I
cannot vote for you.”
I tell you I felt streaked. I saw if I should have opposition, and
this man should go talking, he would set others to talking, and in that
district I was a gone fawn-skin. I could not answer him, and the fact is,
I did not want to. But I must satisfy him, and I said to him:
“Well, my friend, you hit the nail upon the head when you said I had not
sense enough to understand the Constitution. I intended to be guided by
it, and thought I had studied it full. I have heard many speeches in
Congress about the powers of Congress, but what you have said there at your
plow has got more hard, sound sense in it than all the fine speeches I ever
heard. If I had ever taken the view of it that you have, I would have put
my head into the fire before I would have given that vote; and if you will
forgive me and vote for me again, if I ever vote for another unconstitutional
law I wish I many be shot.”
He laughingly replied: “Yes, Colonel, you have sworn to that one before,
but I will trust you again upon one condition. You say that you are
convinced that your vote was wrong. Your acknowledgment of it will do
more good than beating you for it. If, as you go around the district, you
will tell people about this vote, and that you are satisfied it was wrong, I
will not only vote for you, but will do what I can to keep down opposition,
and, perhaps, I may exert some little influence in that way.”
“If I don’t,” said I, “I wish I may be shot; and to convince you that I
am in earnest in what I say, I will come back this way in a week or ten days,
and if you will get up a gathering of the people, I will make a speech to
them. Get up a barbecue, and I will pay for it.”
“No, Colonel, we are not rich people in this section, but we have plenty
of provisions to contribute for a barbecue, and some to spare for those who
have none. The push of crops will be over in a few days, and we can then
afford a day for a barbecue. This is Thursday; I will see to getting it
up on Saturday week. Come to my house on Friday, and we will go together,
and I promise you a very respectable crowd to see and hear you.”
“Well, I will be here. But one thing more before I say
good-bye. I must know your name.”
“My name is Bunce.”
“Not Horatio Bunce?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Mr. Bunce, I never saw you before, though you say you have seen
me; but I know you very well. I am glad I have met you, and very proud
that I may hope to have you for my friend. You must let me shake your
hand before I go.”
We shook hands and parted.
It was one of the luckiest hits of my life and I met him. He
mingled but little with the public, but was widely known for his remarkable
intelligence and incorruptible integrity, and for a heart brimful and running
over with kindness and benevolence, which showed themselves not only in words
but in acts. He was the oracle of the whole country around him, and his
fame had extended far beyond the circle of his immediate acquaintance.
Though I had never met him before, I had heard much of him, and but for this
meeting it is very likely I should have had opposition, and had been
beaten. One thing is very certain, no man could now stand up in that
district under such a vote.
At the appointed time I was at his house, having told our conversation to
every crowd I had met, and to every man I stayed all night with, and I found
that it gave the people an interest and a confidence in me stronger than I had
ever seen manifested before.
Though I was considerably fatigued when I reached his house, and, under
ordinary circumstances, should have gone early to bed, I kept him up until
midnight, talking about the principles and affairs of government, and got more
real, true knowledge of them than I had got all my life before.
I have known and seen much of him since, for I respect him – no that is
not the word– I reverence and love him more than any living man, and I go to
see him two or three times every year, and I will tell you, sir, if everyone
who professes to be a Christian lived and acted and enjoyed it as he does, the
religion of Christ would take the world by storm.
But to return to my story. The next morning we went to the
barbecue, and, to my surprise, found about a thousand men there. I met a
good many whom I had not known before, and they and my friend introduced me
around until I had got pretty well acquainted – at least, they all knew me.
In due time notice was given that I would speak to them. They
gathered around a stand that had been erected. I opened my speech by
saying:
“Fellow Citizens – I present myself before you today feeling like a new
man. My eyes have lately been opened to truths which ignorance or
prejudice, or both, had heretofore hidden from my view. I feel that I can
today offer you the ability to render you more valuable service than I have
ever been able to render before. I am here today more for the purpose of
acknowledging my error than to seek your votes. That I should make this
acknowledgment is due to myself as well as to you. Whether you will vote
for me is a matter for your consideration only.”
I went on to tell them about the fire and my vote for the appropriation
as I have told it to you, and then told them why I was satisfied it was
wrong. I closed by saying:
“And now, fellow Citizens, it remains only for me to tell you that the
most of the speech you have listened to with so much interest was simply a
repetition of the arguments by which your neighbor, Mr. Bunce, convinced me of
my error. It is the best speech I ever made in my life, but he is
entitled to the credit of it. And now I hope he is satisfied with his
convert and that he will get up here and tell you so.”
He came upon the stand and said: “Fellow Citizens – It affords me great
pleasure to comply with the request of Colonel Crockett. I have always
considered him a thoroughly honest man, and I am satisfied that he will
faithfully perform all that he has promised you today.”
He went down, and there went up from the crowd such a shout for Davy
Crockett as his name never called forth before.
I am not much given to tears, but I was taken with a choking then and
felt some big drops rolling down my cheeks. And I tell you now that the
remembrance of those few words spoken by such a man, and the honest, hearty shout
they produced, is worth more to me than all the honors I have received and all
the reputation I have ever made, or ever shall make, as a member of Congress.
“Now, Sir,” concluded Crockett,” you know why I made that speech
yesterday. I had several thousand copies of it printed and was directing
them to my constituents when you came in. There is one thing now to which
I will call your attention. You remember that I proposed to give a week’s
pay. There are in that House many very wealthy men – men who think
nothing of spending a week’s pay, or a dozen of them for a dinner or a wine
party when they have something to accomplish by it. Some of those same
men made beautiful speeches upon the great debt of gratitude which the country
owed the deceased – a debt which could not be paid by money, particularly so
insignificant a sum as $10,000, when weighed against the honor of the
nation. Yet not one of them responded to my proposition. Money with
them is nothing but trash when it is to come out of the people. But it is
the one great thing for which most of them are striving, and many of them
sacrifice honor, integrity, and justice to obtain it.”