It appeared then as it appears now, that Martin Van Buren was "the inevitable man." He was thirty-nine years of age, in the early ripeness of his powers, a leader at the bar, and the leader of his party. He had accumulated from his practice the beginnings of the fortune which his Dutch thrift and cautious habits made ample for his needs. The simple and natural rules governing his astute political leadership seemed to leave him without a rival, or, at least, without an opponent who could get in his way. Times had changed, too, since the days when United States senators resigned to become postmasters and mayors of New York. A seat in the United States Senate had become a great honour, because it was a place of great power and great influence; and in passing from Albany to Washington Van Buren would add to state leadership an opportunity of becoming a national figure. It is not surprising, therefore, that Clinton sought to defeat him; for he had ever been ready to retaliate upon men who ventured to cross his purposes. But Clinton's scheme had no place in the plans of Bucktails. "I am afraid Van Buren will beat Sanford for senator," he wrote Post as early as the 30th of December, 1820. "He will unless his friends stand out against a caucus decision."[214] This is what Clinton wanted the twenty-four Sanford delegates to do, and, to encourage such a bolt, he compelled every Federalist and Clintonian, save one, to vote for him, although Sanford represented Tammany and its bitter hostility to Clinton. But the Bucktails had at last established a party organisation that could not be divided by Clinton intrigue, and Van Buren received the full party vote. [Footnote 214: DeWitt Clinton's Letters to Henry Post, in _Harper's Magazine_, Vol. 50, p. 414.] When Roger Skinner and his three associates on the new Council of Appointment got to work, Clinton quickly discovered that he could expect little from such a body of Bucktails; and he received less than he expected. For, when the Council had finished, only one Clintonian remained in office. Oakley, the able attorney-general; Jay, the gifted recorder of New York; Colden, the acceptable mayor of New York; Hawley, the ideal superintendent of common schools; Solomon Van Rensselaer, the famous and fearless adjutant-general; McIntyre, the trusted and competent comptroller, had all disappeared in a night. Only Simeon DeWitt, who had been surveyor-general for forty years, was left undisturbed. Former Councils had been radical and vigorous in their action, but the Skinner council cut as deep and swift as the famous Clinton Council of 1801. At its first meeting, clerks and sheriffs and surrogates and district attorneys fell in windrows. Yet it was no worse than its predecessors; it could not be worse, since precedents existed in support of conduct however scandalous.