he republican members had been called in
Richmond with a view of denouncing those who opposed the restrictive
policy as deserters from the party. When the night of the caucus
arrived, Tazewell, who was confined to his bed by sickness, heard of the
gathering for the first time. Ill as he was, he hastened to the place of
meeting, and, with his head bound with napkins, and in haggard attire,
made his appearance in the middle of the caucus. The clever young men
who then managed the machinery of the party were struck dumb by his
presence as by that of an apparition. Then Tazewell spoke. He reasoned
upon the impolicy of forcing a third party into existence, when, while
he was speaking, the winds might bear over the waters the revocation of
the British orders and the French decrees, and all would be well. He
showed that, while he disapproved a single measure of the
administration, he heartily approved its general policy, and the
constitutional doctrines which composed its faith. There was no reply.
The meeting dispersed, and my democratic friends have ever since been
cautious how they undertook to read clever fellows out of the party.

In 1807 occurred one of those painful incidents which roused the people
of that day to madness--which fills the heart, even at this late day,
with pain and sadness, but which has such a connection with Mr.
Tazewell, that I, a Norfolk man, addressing Norfolk men, cannot pass it
by in silence. On the early morn of the 22d of June, a frigate, built by
your own mechanics, in sight of your city, baptized in the waters of
your own Elizabeth, bearing the name of your own noble bay, and under
the command of as gallant a Virginian as ever trod a deck, lifting her
anchor in the Roads, put out to sea on the errand of her country. On the
following day, unsuspecting of danger, she was attacked by the British
frigate Leopard, and became her prize. The commander of the Leopard,
when he had taken from the Chesapeake certain men whom he alleged were
deserters from the British flag, declined to take further possession of
the captured frigate, which returned to the Roads. Three of our men were
killed, and sixteen wounded, during the attack. These wounded men were
brought to the marine hospital, and received every possible attention.
One of them died, and was buried with all the solemnities of public
sorrow.

When the fatal tidings were known, there arose a piercing shriek of
agony and grief, followed presently by