It needed no prophet, however, to foretell that this could not long continue. The Mormon leaders failed to realize that to champion the cause of either party would of necessity arouse the fierce hostility of the other, as in very truth it did. Politics, the prime cause of fortune's favors to them in the beginning, proved their undoing in the end.
Joseph Smith had, soon after his removal from Missouri, been arrested upon a requisition from the Governor of that State. From this arrest he was discharged when brought upon a writ ofhabeas corpusbefore Judge Pope, a Whig. The ground of the decision was, that as Smith was not in Missouri at the time of the attempt upon the life of Governor Boggs, and that whatever he did—if he did anything —to aid or encourage the attempt, was done in Illinois, and not within the jurisdiction of Missouri laws, he was not a fugitive from justice within the provision of the Constitution of the United States. The decision excited much comment at the time, but, as stated by Judge Blodgett, it "has borne the test of criticism, and is now the accepted rule of law in interstate extradition cases."
This for a time inclined the Mormons to the support of the Whig party. Again arrested, the prophet, under similar proceedings, was discharged by a Democratic Judge. This, as Governor Ford says,
"Induced Smith to issue a proclamation to his followers declaring Judge Douglas to be a master spirit, and exhorting them to vote for the Democratic ticket for Governor. Smith was too ignorant to know whether he owed his discharge to the law or to party favor. Such was the ignorance of the Mormons generally, that they thought anything to be law which they thought expedient. All action of the Government unfavorable to them they looked upon as wantonly oppressive, and when the law was administered in their favor they attributed it to partiality and kindness."
The last hope of the Whigs for Mormon support was abandoned in 1843. In the district of which Hancock County was a part, the opposing candidates for Congress were Joseph P. Hoge, Democrat, and Cyrus Walker, Whig, both lawyers of distinction. The latter had been counsel for Smith in the Habeas Corpus proceedings last mentioned. Grateful for the services then rendered, Smith openly espoused the candidacy of Walker in the pending contest. That there were tricks in politics even more than sixty years ago, will now appear. One Backinstos, a politician of Hancock County, declared upon his return from the State capital that he had assurances from the Governor that the Mormons would be amply protected as long as they voted the Democratic ticket. It is hardly necessary to say that the Governor denied having given any such assurance. However, the campaign lie of Backinstos, like many of its kind before and since, proved a "good enough Morgan till after the election." This, it will be remembered, was before the days of railroads and telegraphs, and the Mormon settlement was far remote from the seat of government. A partisan jumble, in which the "saints" were the participants, and the low arts of the demagogues and pretended revelations from God the chief ingredients, is thus described by the historian just quoted:
"The mission of Backinstos produced an entire change in the minds of the Mormon leaders. They now resolved to drop their friend Walker and take up Hoge, the Democratic candidate. A great meeting of several thousand Mormons was held the Saturday before the election. Hiram Smith, patriarch and brother of the prophet, appeared in this assembly and there solemnly announced to the people, that God had revealed to him that the Mormons must support Mr. Hoge. William Law, another leader, next appeared and denied that the Lord had made any such revelation. He stated that to his certain knowledge the prophet Joseph was in favor of Mr. Walker, and that the prophet was more likely to know the mind of the Lord than the patriarch. Hiram again repeated his revelation, with a greater tone of authority, but the people remained in doubt until the next day, Sunday, when the prophet Joseph himself appeared before the assemblage. He there stated that he himself was in favor of Mr. Walker and intended to vote for him; that he would not, if he could, influence any man in giving his vote; that he considered it a mean business for any man to dictate to the people whom they should vote for; that he had heard his brother Hiram had received a revelation from the Lord on the subject; but for his own part, he did not much believe in revelations on the subject of election. Brother Hiram was, however, a man of truth; he had known him intimately ever since he was a boy, and he had never known him to tell a lie. If brother Hiram said he had received a revelation he had no doubt he had. When the Lord speaks let all the earth be silent."
That the prophet Joseph well understood how to
"By indirections find directions out,"
clearly appears from his cunning expression of faith in the pretended revelation of the patriarch Hiram. The effect of this speech was far-reaching. It turned the entire Mormon vote to Hoge, thereby securing his election to Congress, and at once placed the Whigs in the ranks of the implacable anti-Mormon party then in process of rapid formation. The crusade that now began for the expulsion of the Mormons from the State, was greatly augmented by acts of unparalleled folly upon their own part. In order to protect their leaders from arrest, it was decreed by the City Council of Nauvoo that no writ unless issued and approved by its Mayor should be executed within the sacred city, and that any officer attempting to execute a writ otherwise issued, within the city, should be subject to imprisonment for life, and that the pardoning power of the Governor of the State was in such case suspended. This ordinance when published created great astonishment and indignation. The belief became general that the Mormons were about to set up for themselves a separate Government wholly independent of that of the State. This belief was strengthened by the presentation of a petition to Congress praying for the establishment of a Territorial Government for Nauvoo and vicinity.
Apparently oblivious of the gathering storm, Joseph Smith early in 1844 committed his crowning act of folly by announcing himself a candidate for the high office of President of the United States. Not only this, but as stated by Governor Ford,
"Smith now conceived the idea of making himself a temporal Prince as well as the spiritual leader of his people. He instituted a new and select order of the priesthood, the members of which were to be priests and kings, temporal and spiritual. These were to be the nobility, the upholders of his throne. He caused himself to be crowned and anointed king and priest far above all others. To uphold his pretensions to royalty, he deduced his descent by an unbroken chain from Joseph, the son of Jacob, and that of his wife from some other renowned personage of Old Testament history. The Mormons openly denounced the Government of the United States, as being utterly corrupt, and about to pass away and be replaced by the government of God, to be administered by his servant Joseph. It is at this day certain, also, that about this time, the prophet instituted an order in the Church called the Danite Band. This was to be a body-guard about the person of their sovereign, sworn to obey his commands as those of God himself."
During late years a war of words has been waged within the Mormon church over the question of the responsibility of the prophet Joseph for the introduction of polygamy as a cardinal tenet of its creed. The son of the prophet, it will be remembered, led a revolt against Brigham Young, soon after the succession of the latter to the presidency of the Church, and is now at the head of the Mormon establishment at Plano, Illinois. This branch of the Church rejects the dogma of polygamy, declaring it to be utterly repugnant to the divine revelation to Joseph, and to early Mormon belief and practice.
Upon the contrary, the main body in Utah—of which Joseph F. Smith the nephew of the prophet and son of Hiram the patriarch is now the president—found their belief in the divine character of their peculiar institution upon alleged revelations direct from God to the founder of the Church. The statement of Governor Ford, written nearly sixty years ago, sheds some light upon this controversy:
"A doctrine was now revealed that no woman could get to heaven except as the wife of a Mormon elder. The elders were allowed to have as many of these wives as they could maintain; and it was a doctrine of the Church that any female could be 'sealed up to eternal life' by uniting herself as wife to the elder of her choice. This doctrine was maintained by appeal to the Old Testament scriptures and by the example of Abraham and Jacob and Daniel and Solomon, the favorites of God in a former age of the world."
As the necessary result of the causes mentioned, the followers of the prophet soon found themselves bitterly antagonized by almost the whole anti-Mormon population of the "Military Tract." Charges and counter-charges were made, the arrest of the leaders of the opposing parties followed in rapid succession, and outrages and riots were of daily occurrence. Public meetings were held; all the crimes known to the calendar were charged against the Mormons, and resolutions passed demanding their immediate expulsion from the State. What is known in Illinois history as the "Mormon war" followed closely in the wake of the events just mentioned. Innocent persons were, in many instances, the victims of the folly and of the crimes of unprincipled and brutal leaders.
The events of this period constitute a dark chapter in the history of the State—one that can be recalled only with feelings of horror. The great body of citizens, it is needless to say, favored the rigid maintenance of order and the protection of life and property; but it was the very heyday for the lawless and vicious element of all parties.
That this condition of affairs could not long continue was manifest. The bloody termination, however, came in a manner unexpected to all. Two of the Mormon leaders, William and Wilson Law, were, at the time mentioned, in open revolt against the newly-assumed powers and the alleged practices of the prophet. To strengthen their opposition they procured a printing-press and equipment, and issued from their office in Nauvoo one number of a small weekly, "The Expositor." By order of the Mayor, Smith, and decree of the Council, the press was seized and destroyed, and the Law brothers and their few adherents compelled to flee the Holy City. Immediately upon their arrival at Carthage, they caused warrants to be issued for the arrest of Joseph and Hiram Smith, John Taylor, and others, for the destruction of the printing-press. The almost sovereign powers previously conferred upon the city of Nauvoo now play an important part in this drama. The persons arrested, as above mentioned, were at once brought by writs ofhabeas corpus,issued by the Mayor of Nauvoo, before the Municipal Court and there promptly discharged. Governor Ford, whose righteous soul had been vexed to the limit of endurance by unmerited abuse from Mormon and Gentile alike from the beginning of this controversy, here indulges in a few expressions of justifiable irony. Of these proceedings he says:
"It clearly appeared both from the complaints of the citizens and the admissions of the Mormons, that the whole proceedings of the Mayor, Council, and Municipal Court were illegal and not to be endured in a free country; but some apology might be made for the court, as it had been repeatedly assured by some of the ablest lawyers in the State of both political parties, when candidates before that people, that it had full and complete power to issue writs ofhabeas corpusin all cases whatever."
"In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt,But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,Obscures the show of evil."
The incidents mentioned added quickly fuel to the flame. A new warrant was issued by a magistrate in Carthage for the arrest of the Mormon leaders and placed in the hands of an officer of the State for execution. The latter at once summoned the citizens of the county, as aposse comitatus,to aid in the arrests. At this critical moment Governor Ford, in the interest of peace, reached Carthage, the county seat. Upon his arrival he found the situation truly alarming. Several hundred armed men from the country around had hastily assembled and were encamped upon the public square. By order of the Governor, this force was organized into companies and placed under the immediate command of officers of his appointment. At the conclusion of a speech by the Governor, the officers and men pledged themselves to aid him in upholding the laws, and in protecting the Mormon prisoners when brought to Carthage for trial.
Meanwhile, Smith as lieutenant-general had called out the Nauvoo Legion and proclaimed martial law in that city. The Mormons from the country promptly obeyed the call of their leader and marched to his assistance, and Nauvoo became at once a vast military camp. Governor Ford now demanded of the Mormon leaders the return of the State arms furnished at the time of the organization of the Legion, this demand, if not promptly complied with, to be enforced by an immediate attack upon Nauvoo by the assembled forces encamped at Carthage.
Appreciating now for the first time the hopelessness of a conflict with State authorities, a number of the weapons were surrendered and the Smiths, accompanied by Taylor and Richards, two other Mormon leaders, went to Carthage and surrendered themselves to the officer holding the warrant for their arrest. Upon giving bond for their appearance, they were at once released on charge of riot. A new complaint, charging them with treason—in levying war against the State, declaring martial law in Nauvoo, and ordering out the Legion to resist the execution of lawful process—was immediately lodged against them, a warrant duly issued, the prisoners rearrested and committed to the common jail of the county. On the evening following this arrest, the guards stationed at the jail for the protection of the prisoners were attacked and overpowered by a mob of several hundred persons. Governor Ford states:
"An attempt was now made to break open the door; but Joseph Smith, being armed with a six-barrel pistol furnished by his friends, fired several times as the door was burst open and wounded three of the assailants. At the same time, several shots were fired into the room, wounding John Taylor and killing Hiram Smith. Joseph Smith now attempted to escape by jumping out of the second-story window; but the fall so stunned him that he was unable to rise, and being placed by the conspirators in a sitting posture, they despatched him by four balls shot through his body."
Thus perished, at the age of thirty-nine, the founder and prophet of the Mormon Church. Contradictory statements as to his real character have come down to the present generation. The estimate of Governor Ford, who knew him well, is as follows:
"He was the most successful impostor in modern times; a man who, though ignorant and coarse, had some great natural parts which fitted him for temporary success, but which were so obscured and counteracted by the inherent corruptness of his nature that he never could succeed in establishing a system of policy which looked to permanent success in the future. It must not be supposed that the pretended prophet practised the tricks of a common impostor; that he was a dark and gloomy person with a long beard, a grave and severe aspect, and a reserved and saintly carriage of his person. On the contrary, he was full of levity, even to boyish romping; dressed like a dandy, and at times drank like a sailor and swore like a pirate. He could, as occasion required, be exceedingly meek in his deportment, and then, again, be as rough and boisterous as a highway robber; being always able to prove to his followers the propriety of his conduct. He always quailed before power, and was arrogant to weakness. At times he could put on an air of a penitent, as if feeling the deepest humility for his sins, and suffering unutterable anguish, and indulging in the most gloomy foreboding of eternal woe. At such times he would call for the prayers of the brethren in his behalf with a wild and fearful anxiety and earnestness. He was six feet high, strongly built, and uncommonly full muscled. No doubt he was as much indebted for his influence over an ignorant people to the superiority of his physical vigor as to his great cunning and intellect."
Of a wholly different tenor is the tribute of Parley P. Pratt, the poet and historian of the Mormon Church:
"President Smith was in person tall and well built, strong and active; of a light complexion, light hair, blue eyes, and of an expression peculiar to himself, on which the eye naturally rested with interest and was never weary of beholding. His countenance was very mild, affable, and beaming with intelligence and benevolence mingled with a look of interest and an unconscious smile of cheerfulness, and entirely free from all restraint or affectation of gravity; and there was something connected with the serene and steady penetrating glance of his eye, as if he would penetrate the deepest abyss of the human heart, gaze into eternity, penetrate the heavens, and comprehend all worlds. He possessed a noble boldness and independence of character; his manner was easy and familiar, his rebuke terrible as the lion, his benevolence unbounded as the ocean, his intelligence universal, and his language abounding in original eloquence peculiar to himself."
For a brief period following the assassination of the Smiths, comparative quiet prevailed in the Mormon country. The selection of a successor to their murdered prophet, was now the absorbing question among the Mormon people. Revelations were published that the prophet, in imitation of the Saviour, was to rise from the dead, and some even reported that they had seen him attended by a celestial army coursing the air on a great white horse.
Sydney Rigdon now aspired to be the head of the Church as the successor to the martyred prophet. His claims were verified by a pretended revelation direct from heaven. He was, however, at once antagonized by the "quorum of the Twelve," and after a bitter struggle, Apostle Brigham Young was chosen, and Rigdon expelled from the Church and "given over to the buffetings of Satan."
The quiet immediately succeeding the tragedy was of short duration. It was only the calm which precedes the storm. While his followers were invoking the vengeance of the law upon the murderers of the prophet, the anti-Mormons were quietly organizing a crusade for the expulsion of the entire Mormon population from the State. The trial of the assassins of the Smiths resulted in their acquittal, as was to have been expected when the intense anti-Mormon feeling existing throughout the immediate country is taken into account. The result is even less surprising when it is remembered that the principal witness for the prosecution supplemented his testimony of having seen the crime committed, by the remarkable declaration that immediately upon the death of Joseph, "a bright and shining light descended upon his head, that several of the conspirators were stricken with total blindness, and that he heard supernatural voices in the air confirming the divine mission of the murdered prophet."
In the narration of these exciting events, the names of men who at a later day achieved national distinction frequently occur. The Hon. O. H. Browning, since Senator and member of the Cabinet, was chief counsel for the alleged murderers of the Smiths. He was at the time a distinguished Whig leader, and one of the most eloquent men in the State. The disorder and outrages that followed the acquittal just mentioned called Governor Ford again to the seat of war. He says:
"When informed of these proceedings, I hastened to Jacksonville, where in a conference with General Hardin, Judge Douglas, and Mr. McDougal the Attorney-General of the State, it was agreed that these gentlemen should proceed to Hancock County in all haste with whatever force had been raised, and put an end to these disorders. It was also agreed that they should unite their influence with mine to induce the Mormons to leave the State. The twelve apostles had now become satisfied that the Mormons could not remain, or, if they did, that the leaders would be compelled to abandon the sway they exercised over them. Through the intervention of General Hardin, acting on instructions from me, an agreement was made between the hostile parties for the voluntary removal of the greater part of the Mormons across the Mississippi in the spring of 1846."
Of the advisors of the Governor in the adjustment mentioned, Douglas and McDougall were at a later day distinguished Senators, respectively from Illinois and California, and Hardin was killed while gallantly leading his regiment at the battle of Buena Vista.
To the peaceable accomplishment of the purposes mentioned, a small force under a competent officer was stationed for a time in Hancock County. The Governor justly felicitates himself that thereby "the greater part of the Military Tract was saved from the horrors of civil war in the winter time, when much misery would have followed by the dispersion of families and the destruction of property."
The Mormon exodus from Illinois, once the "land of promise," now began in terrible earnest. Many farms and homes and large quantities of personal effects were hastily disposed of at a great sacrifice. The speeding was far different from the welcome but a few years before so heartily extended to the incoming "saints." The "Holy City" and sacred temple soon to be destroyed were abandoned for perilous journeyings in the wilderness. The chapter that immediately follows in the history of this people is indeed pathetic. The terrible sufferings of the aged and infirm, of helpless women and children, as the shadows of the long night of winter gathered about them on their journey, can never be adequately told. But, inspired with the thought that they were the Israel of God, that Brigham Young was their divinely appointed leader, that the pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night ever went before them on their journeyings, they patiently endured all dangers and hardships.
High upon the western slope of the Wasatch hard by the old wagon trail which led down into the valley stands a huge rock around whose base the Mormon leader assembled his followers just as the last rays of a summer sun were falling upon the mountains. In stirring words he recalled their persecutions and trials, told them that their long pilgrimage, the weary march by day and lonely vigil by night, were now ended, and their Canaan the great valley which stretched out before them.
Upon a visit to Salt Lake City nearly a third of a century ago, I attended service in the great Tabernacle when it was filled to overflowing, and yet so excellent were its acoustic arrangements that every word of the speaker and every note of the organ could be heard distinctly. The surroundings were indeed imposing. Upon the great platform sat the President and his Council, the twelve apostles, the seventy elders, with an innumerable army of bishops, teachers, deacons, and other functionaries constituting the lower order of the Mormon hierarchy. The sermon was delivered by the famous Orson Pratt, the Saint Paul of the Mormon Church, a venerable patriarch of four score years, and yet, withal, a man of wonderful power.
As our little party passed in front of the speaker's platform to reach the door, he halted in his discourse, and stated to the audience that the strangers within their gates were leaving because of the near departure of their train and not because of any disrespect to the service. Then, bowing his aged head, he invoked the blessing of the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, upon the Gentile strangers, and prayed "that their long journey might be ended in safety, and that in the fulness of time, having witnessed the manifestations of Almighty Power, they might return again, not as sojourners, but as fellow-citizens with the saints, to dwell in the Holy City."
Few men were better known in Washington, a quarter of a century and more ago, than Colonel Dick Wintersmith of Kentucky. He had creditably filled important positions of public trust in his native State. His integrity was beyond question, and his popularity knew no bounds. Without the formality of party nomination, and with hardly the shadow of opposition at the polls, he had held the office of State Treasurer for nearly a score of years. An ardent Whig in early life, he was a devout worshipper at the shrine of Henry Clay. In the later years of his life, he would often with the deepest emotion refer to himself as "the last of the old guard." He never tired of relating interesting incidents of Mr. Clay. It was his glory that he had accompanied "the great pacificator" to Washington, when, with the fond hope of being able by his historic "compromise" to pour oil on the troubled waters, he returned to the Senate for the last time.
Wintersmith was the close friend of Theodore O'Hara, and stood beside him when at the unveiling of the monument to the Kentuckians who had fallen at Buena Vista he pronounced his now historic lines beginning—
"On fame's eternal camping-groundTheir silent tents are spread."
Colonel Wintersmith knew, as he knew his children, two generations of the public men of Kentucky. His memory was a marvel to all who knew him. He could repeat till the dawn, extracts from famous speeches he had heard from the lips of Clay, Grundy, Marshall, and Menifee. More than once, I have heard him declaim the wonderful speech of Sargent S. Prentiss delivered almost a half-century before, in the old Harrodsburg Court-house, in defence of Wilkinson for killing three men at the Galt House.
It is hardly necessary to say that the Colonel was the soul of generosity. It was a part of his living faith that—
"Kind hearts are more than coronets."
That he was possessed in no stinted measure of wit and its kindred quality, humor, will appear from an incident or two to be related.
The Hon. Ignatius Donnelly, member of Congress from Minnesota, had written a book to prove that Lord Bacon was the veritable author of the plays usually accredited to Shakespeare. Soon after the appearance of Donnelly's book, he met Colonel Wintersmith on Pennsylvania Avenue.
After a cordial greeting, the Colonel remarked, "I have been reading your book, Donnelly, and I don't believe a word of it."
"What?" inquired Donnelly, with great surprise.
"Oh, that book of yours," said the Colonel, "in which you tried to prove that Shakespeare never wrote 'Hamlet' and 'Macbeth' and 'Lear' and all those other plays."
"My dear sir," replied Donnelly with great earnestness, "I can prove beyond all peradventure that Shakespeare never wrote those plays."
"He did," replied Wintersmith, "he did write them, Donnelly,I saw him write three or four of them, myself."
"Impossible!" replied Donnelly, who was as guiltless of anything that savored of humor as the monument recently erected to the memory of Hon. John Sherman, "impossible, Colonel, that you could have seen Shakespeare write those plays; they were written three hundred years ago."
"Three hundred years, three hundred years," slowly murmured the Colonel in pathetic tone, "is it possible that is has been so long?Lord, how time does fly!"
The Colonel often told the following with a gravity that gave it at least the semblance of truth. Many years ago, his State was represented in part in the Upper House by a statesman who rarely, when in good form, spoke less than an entire day. His speeches, in large measure, usually consisted of dull financial details, statistics, etc. He became in time the terror of his associates, and the nightmare of visitors in the galleries. His "Mr. President," was usually the signal for a general clearing out of both Senate Chamber and galleries.
"Upon one occasion," said Colonel Dick, "I was seated in the last tier in the public gallery, when my Senator with books and documents piled high about him solemnly addressed the Chair. As was the wont, the visitors in the gallery as one man arose to make their exit. With a revolver in each hand, I promptly planted myself in front of the door, and in no uncertain tone ordered the crowd to resume their seats, and remain quietly until the Senator from Kentucky had concluded his remarks. They did so and no word of complaint reached my ears. Hour after hour during the long summer day the speech drew itself along. At length as the shadows were lengthening and the crickets began to chirp, the speech ended and the Senator took his seat. I promptly replaced my pistols and motioned the visitors to move out. They did so on excellent time. As the last man was passing out, he quietly remarked to me, 'Mister, that was all right, no fault to find, butif it was to do over again, you might shoot.'"
During my sojourn in Washington I visited the "Louise Home," one of the splendid charities of the late W. W. Corcoran. Two of the ladies I there met were Miss Graham and Miss Gilmer. The turn of Fortune's wheel had brought each of them from once elegant Virginia homes to spend the evening of life in the Home which Mr. Corcoran had so kindly and thoughtfully provided. It was in very truth the welcome retreat to representatives of old Southern families who had known better days. Here in quiet and something of elegant leisure, the years sped by, the chief pastime recalling events and telling over again and again the social triumphs of the long ago. Thus lingering in the shadows of the past, sadly reflecting, it may be, in the silent watches, that—
"The tender grace of a day that is deadWill never come back to me,"
these venerable ladies were in sad reality "only waiting till the shadows had a little longer grown."
There was something pathetically remindful of the good old Virginia days in the manner in which Miss Graham handed me her card and invited me to be seated. Looking me earnestly in the face, she said, "Mr. Vice-President, you must have known my brother-in-law, Governor Giles."
"Do you mean Senator William B. Giles of Virginia?" I inquired.
"Yes, yes," she said, "did you know him?"
"No, madam," I replied, "I did not; he was a member of Congress when Washington was President; that was a little before my day. But is it possible that you are a sister-in-law of Governor Giles?"
"Yes, sir," she answered, "he married my eldest sister and I was in hope that you knew him."
I assured her that I had never known him personally, but that I knew something of his history: that he was a soldier of the Revolution; that he began his public career with the passing of the old Confederation and the establishment of the National Union; that as Representative or Senator he was in Congress almost continuously from the administration of Washington to that of Jackson. I then repeated to her the words Mr. Benton, his long-time associate in the Senate, had spoken of her brother-in-law: "Macon was wise, Randolph brilliant, Gallatin and Madison able in argument, but Giles was the ready champion, always ripe for the combat." And I told her that John Randolph, for many years his colleague, had said: "Giles was to our House of Representatives what Charles James Fox was to the British House of Commons—the most accomplished debater our country has known."
I might have said to Miss Graham, but did not, that her brother-in-law, then a member of the House, had voted against the farewell address of that body to President Washington upon his retirement from the great office. Strange indeed to our ears sound the words that even mildly reflect upon the Father of his Country. Of this, however, we may be assured, that the Golden Age of our history is but a dream; "the era of absolute good feeling,"—the era that has not been.
"Past and to come seem best;Things present, worst."
Before condemning Mr. Giles too severely the words of Edmund Burke may well be recalled: "Party divisions, whether upon the whole operating for the best, are things inseparable from free Government." Party divisions came in with our Constitution; partisan feeling almost with our first garments.
In this connection it will be remembered that this country has known no period of more intense and bitter party feeling than during the administration of the immediate successor of Washington, the period which witnessed the downfall of the Federal party, and the rise of the party of Jefferson. It was after the election but before the inauguration of John Adams, that the following words were spoken of President Washington by the brother-in-law of the little old lady to whom I have referred:
"I must object to those parts of the address which speak of the wisdom and firmness of the President. I may be singular in my ideas, but I believe his administration has neither been firm nor wise. I must acknowledge that I am one of those who do not think so much of the President as some others do. I wish that this was the moment of his retirement. I think that the Government of the United States can go on without him. What calamities would attend the United States, and how short the duration of its independence, if but one man could be found fitted to conduct its administration! Much had been said and by many people about the President's intended retirement. For my own part, I feel no uncomfortable sensations about it."
As I thus recalled the man whose public life began with that of Washington, his kinswoman at my side seemed indeed the one living bond of connection between the present and the long past, that past which had witnessed the Declaration of Independence, the War of the Revolution, and the establishment of the Federal Government.
The younger, by many years, of the two ladies, was the daughter of the Hon. Thomas W. Gilmer, a distinguished member of Congress during the third decade of the century, later the Governor of Virginia, and at the time of his death the Secretary of the Navy. The mention of his name recalls a tragic event that cast a pall over the nation and shrouded more than one hearthstone in deepest gloom. During later years, the horrors of an internecine struggle that knows no parallel, the assassination of three Presidents of the United States, and the thousand casualties that have crowded in rapid succession, have almost wiped from memory the incident now to be mentioned.
The pride of the American Navy, the man-of-warPrinceton,Commodore Stockton in command, was lying in the Potomac just below Washington, on the morning of February 28, 1843. The day was beautiful, and the distinguished commander, who had known much of gallant service, had invited more than one hundred guests to accompany him on a sail to a point a few miles below Mount Vernon. Among the guests were President Tyler and two members of his Cabinet; Mr. Upshur, Secretary of State, and Mr. Gilmer, Secretary of the Navy; the widow of Ex-President Madison; Mr. Gardner, a prominent citizen of New York, and his accomplished daughter; Commodore Kennan; and a number of Senators and Representatives. Commodore Stockton was anxious to have his guests witness the working of the machinery of his vessel and to observe the fire of his great gun, his especial pride. Mr. Gardner and his daughter were guests at the Executive Mansion; and to the latter, the President—then for many years a widower —was especially attentive. Officers and guests were all in the best of sprits, and nothing seemed wanting to make the occasion one of unalloyed pleasure. Upon the return, and when almost directly opposite Mount Vernon, the company were summoned by the Commodore from the dinner table to witness the testing of the gun. Preceded by an officer, the guests were soon assembled in proximity to the gun. A place at the front was reserved for the President, but just as he was advancing, his attention was directed by his fair guest to some object on the shore. This for a moment arrested his progress, and prevented his instant death, for at this critical moment the gun exploded, causing the immediate death of more than twenty persons, and serious injuries to many others. Among the injured were Senator Benton and Commodore Stockton. The list of the dead included Secretary of State Upshur, Secretary of the Navy Gilmer, Commodore Kennan—one of the heroes of the second war with Great Britain,—and Mr. Gardner, the father of the lady whose timely interposition had caused the moment's delay which had saved the President from the terrible fate of his associates. Upon the return of thePrincetonto Washington the dead were removed to the Executive Mansion, and the day, so auspicious in the beginning, ended in gloom.
Something in the way of romance is the sequel to that sad event. A few months later Miss Gardner, the fair guest of the President upon the ill-fatedPrinceton,became his bride, and during the remainder of his term of office did the honors of the Executive Mansion.
The thousands of visitors who have, during the past sixty years, passed through the spacious rooms of that Mansion, have paused before a full-length portrait of one of the most beautiful of women. Possibly the interest of no one who gazed upon her lovely features was lessened when told that the portrait was that of the wife of President Tyler, the once charming and accomplished Miss Gardner, whose name is so closely associated with the long-ago chapter of sorrow and of romance.
A thought pertaining to the domain of the real rather than of the romantic is suggested by the sad accident upon thePrinceton.But for the trifling incident which detained President Tyler from the side of his Cabinet officers at the awful moment, the administration of the Government would have passed to other hands. As the law then stood, the Speaker of the House of Representatives would have succeeded to the Presidency; and how this might have changed the current of our political history is a matter of at least curious speculation.
Remembering that—
"Two stars keep notTheir motion in one sphere,"
might not the removal of one have healed the widening breach in the Whig party? What might have been its effect upon the grand Internal Improvement Scheme—the darling project of Henry Clay? what upon the determination of the Oregon Boundary Question—whether by diplomacy or war? and how might the destiny of the "Lone Star," the Republic of Texas, have been changed? What might have been the effect upon the political fortunes of Tyler's great antagonist, around whom the aggressive forces of the party he had founded were even then gathering for a life-and-death struggle against a comparatively obscure rival in the Presidential campaign of 1844?
Trifles light as air are sometimes the pivots upon which hinge momentous events. The ill-timed publication of a personal letter defeated Cass in 1848; and within our day the utterance of a single word, unheard by the candidate to whom it was addressed, lost the Presidency to Blaine.
The antagonism of Tyler and his adherents eliminated, it is within the bounds of probability that Henry Clay would have triumphed in his last struggle for the Presidency. If so, what change might not have been wrought in the trend of history? Under the splendid leadership of the "great pacificator," what might have been the termination of vital questions even then casting their dark shadows upon our national pathway?
With Clay at the helm, himself the incarnation of the spirit of compromise, possibly—who can tell?—the evil days so soon to follow might have been postponed for many generations.
It was in April, 1859, that for the first time I met Robert G. Ingersoll. He came over from his home in Peoria to attend the Woodford Circuit Court. He was then under thirty years of age, of splendid physique, magnetic in the fullest significance of the word, and one of the most attractive and agreeable of men. He was almost boyish in appearance, and hardly known beyond the limits of the county in which he lived. He had but recently moved to Peoria from the southern part of the State.
To those who remember him it is hardly necessary to say that even at that early day he gave unmistakable evidence of his marvellous gifts. His power over a jury was wonderful indeed; and woe betide the counsel of but mediocre talents who had Ingersoll for an antagonist in a closely contested case.
The old Court-house at Metamora is yet standing, a monument of the past; the county seat removed, it has long since fallen from its high estate. In my boyhood, I have more than once heard Mr. Lincoln at its bar, and later was a practitioner there myself—and State's Attorney for the Circuit,—when Mr. Ingersoll was attendant upon its courts. Rarely at any time or place have words been spoken more eloquent than fell from the lips of Lincoln and Ingersoll in that now deserted Court-house, in the years long gone by.
The first appearance of Mr. Ingersoll in the political arena was in the Presidential struggle of 1860. In his later years he was a Republican, but in the contest just mentioned he was the earnest advocate of the election of Mr. Douglas to the Presidency and was himself the Democratic candidate for Congress in the Peoria District. His competitor was Judge Kellogg, a gentleman of well-known ability and many years' experience in Congress. Immediately upon his nomination, Ingersoll challenged Kellogg to a series of joint debates. The challenge was accepted, and the debates which followed were a rare treat to the throngs who heard them. The discussion turned upon the vital issues yet pending at the outbreak of the Civil War, issues which were to find their final determination on the field of battle. Possibly, with the exception of the historic debates two years earlier, between Lincoln and Douglas, the country has known no abler discussion of great questions. It was then for the first time that Ingersoll displayed the marvellous forensic powers that at a later day—and upon a different arena—gave him world-wide renown.
It was at a period subsequent to that just mentioned that he became an agnostic. I recall no expression of his during the early years of our acquaintance that indicated a departure from the faith in which he had been reared. That his extreme views upon religious subjects, and his manner, exceedingly offensive at times, of expressing them, formed an insuperable barrier to his political advancement, cannot be doubted. But for his unbelief, what political honors might have awaited him cannot certainly be known. But recalling the questions then under discussion, the intensity of party feeling, and the enthusiasm that his marvellous eloquence never failed to arouse in the thousands who hung upon his words, it is probable that the most exalted station might have been attained. To those familiar with the political events of that day, it is known that the antagonism aroused by his assaults upon the citadel of the faith sacred to the many, compassed his defeat in his candidature in 1868 for the Governorship of Illinois. His explanation was, that his defeat was caused by a slight difference of opinion between himself and some of the brethren upon the highly exciting question of total depravity.
Some years later, the nominee of his party for the Presidency was exceedingly obnoxious to him. Meeting the Colonel the morning after the adjournment of the convention I inquired, "Are you happy?" To this he replied, that he was somewhat in the condition of a very profane youth who had just got religion at a backwoods camp-meeting. Soon after his conversion, the preacher, taking him affectionately by the hand, inquired: "My young friend, are you very happy?" "Well, parson," replied the only half-converted youth, "I am not damn happy, justhappy,that's all."
His only brother was for many years a Representative in Congress from Illinois. Clark Ingersoll was himself able and eloquent, but overshadowed by the superior gifts of his younger brother, the subject of this sketch. The death of the former was to Colonel Ingersoll a sorrow which remained with him to the last. The funeral occurred in Washington in the summer of 1879, and of the pall-bearers selected by Colonel Ingersoll for the last sad service to his brother, were men well known in public life, one of whom but two years later, while President of the United States, fell by the hand of an assassin.
From a Washington paper of the day succeeding the funeral of Clark Ingersoll, the following is taken: "When Colonel Ingersoll ceased speaking the pall-bearers, Senator Allison, Senator David Davis, Senator Blaine, Senator Voorhees, Representatives Garfield of Ohio, Morrison, Boyd, and Stevenson of Illinois, bore the casket to the hearse and the lengthycortegeproceeded to the Oak Hill Cemetery where the remains were interred."
The occasion was one that will not easily pass from my memory. There was no service whatever save the funeral oration which has found its way into all languages. I stood by the side of Colonel Ingersoll near the casket during its delivery, and vividly recall his deep emotion, and the faltering tones in which the wondrous sentences were uttered. It is probable that this oration has no counterpart in literature. It seemed in very truth the knell of hope, the expression of a grief that could know no surcease, the agony of a parting that could know no morrow.
In such an hour how cheerless and comfortless these words:
"Life is a narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities. We strive in vain to look beyond the heights. We cry aloud, and the only answer is the echo of our wailing cry.
"Every life, no matter if its every hour is rich with love, and every moment jewelled with a joy, will at its close become a tragedy as sad and deep and dark as can be woven of the warp and woof of mystery and death."
And yet in those other words, "But in the night of death, hope sees a star, and listening love can hear the rustle of a wing," and, "while on his forehead fell the golden dawning of a grander day," there is a yearning for "the touch of a vanished hand," and a hope that no philosophy could dispel of a reunion sometime and somewhere with the loved and lost.
Two decades later, again "the veiled shadow stole upon the scene," and the sublime mystery of life and death was revealed. The awful question, "If a man die shall he live again?" was answered, and to the great agnosticall was known.
The Rev. Peter Cartwright was a noted Methodist preacher of pioneer days in Central Illinois. Once seen, he was a man never to be forgotten. He was, in the most expressive sense of the words,sui generis;a veritable product of the times in which he lived, and the conditions under which he moved and had his being. All in all, his like will not appear again. He was converted when a mere youth at a camp-meeting in southern Kentucky; soon after, he was licensed to preach, and became a circuit rider in that State, and later was of the Methodist vanguard to Illinois. It was said of him that he was of the churchmilitaryas well as "the church militant." He was of massive build, an utter stranger to fear, and of unquestioned honesty and sincerity. He was gifted with an eloquence adapted to the times in which he lived, and the congregations to which he preached. There would be no place for him now, for the untutored assemblages who listened with bated breath to his fiery appeals are of the past.
"For, welladay! Their day is fled,Old times are changed, old manners gone."
The narrative of his tough conflicts with the emissaries of Satan is even now of the rarest reading for a summer's day or a winter's night. How he fought the Indians, fought the robbers, swam rivers, and threaded the prairies, in order that he might carry the Gospel to the remotest frontiersmen, was of thrilling interest to many of the new generation as his own sands were running low. He literally took no thought of the morrow, but without staff and little even in the way of scrip unselfishly gave the best years of a life extending two decades beyond the time allotted, to the service of his Master.
Until the Judgment leaves are unfolded the good which this man and many of his co-laborers did in the new country will never be known. A journey of days on horseback to fill an appointment, to perform a marriage ceremony, preach a funeral sermon, or speak words of hope and comfort to the sick or the bereaved, was part of the sum of a life of service that knew little of rest.
There would probably be few pulpits open to Peter Cartwright in these more cultivated times. Old things have passed away; the pioneer in his rough garb, with axe upon his shoulder, and rifle in hand, is now but a tradition, while the border line of civilization has receded westward to the ocean.
None the less, the typical minister of to-day would have had very scant welcome in the rude pulpits of the days of which we write. His elegant attire, conventional manners, written sermons, and new theology, would have been sadly out of place in the camp-meeting times, for be it remembered that Cartwright called things by their right names. He gave forth no uncertain sound. His theology was that of the Fathers. We hear little in these modern days of "The fire that quencheth not" and of "total depravity" and of "the bottomless pit." Such expressions are unfitted for ears polite. Higher criticism, new thought, and all kindred ideas and suggestions,
"Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer,"
were believed by Cartwright and his contemporaries to be mere contrivances of Satan for the ensnaring of immortal souls. His abhorrence of all these "wiles of the devil," and his scorn for their advocates, knew no bounds.
His preaching was of the John Wesley, George Whitefield, and Jonathan Edwards type. Mingled with his denunciations of sin, his earnest exhortations to repentance, his graphic description of the New Jerusalem, with its "streets of gold, walls of jasper, and gates of pearl," and of the unending bliss of the redeemed, were expressions now relegated to the limbo of the past. Little time, however, was wasted by the Rev. Peter in picking out soft words for fear of giving offence. To his impassioned soul "the final doom of the impenitent," the "torment of the damned," and "hell fire" itself, were veritable realities. And so indeed, when rolling from his tongue, did they appear, not alone to the rapt believer, but oftentimes to the ungodly and the sinner as well.
More than one marvellous conversion under his ministration is recorded by Brother Cartwright in the autobiography written in the closing years of his life. At one time in crossing a stream, he was deeply offended by the profanity of the boatman. The kindly admonition and the gentle rebuke of the minister apparently added zest and volume to the oaths of the boatman. Suddenly seizing the offender, the irate preacher ducked him into the river, and turned a deaf ear to his piteous appeals for succor until the half-drowned wretch had offered a prayer for mercy and made profuse promises of repentance. Hopeful conversion, and an ever-after life of Christian humility, were the gratifying sequels to the baptism so unexpectedly administered.
Another experience no less remarkable occurred when, during the early years of his ministry, he was crossing the mountains on his way to the General Conference. At a tavern by the wayside, where he had obtained lodging for the night, he found preparations in progress for a ball to come off that very evening. The protestation of the minister against such wickedness only aroused the ire of the landlord and his family. The dance promptly began at the appointed time.
"Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,And all went merry as a marriage-bell."
There being but a single room to the house, and a storm raging without, the outraged and indignant minister was the unwilling witness to the ebb and flow of this tide of ungodliness. At length, as partners were being chosen for the Virginia Reel, a beautiful girl approached the solitary guest and requested his hand for the set just forming. The minister arose and intimated a ready compliance with her request, at the same time assuring her that he never entered upon any important undertaking without first invoking God's blessing upon it; and seizing her by the hand he fell upon his knees and with the voice of one born to be obeyed commanded silence and began his prayer. The dance was immediately suspended, and a solemnity and horror, as if the presage of approaching doom, fell upon the startled assemblage. Above the agonizing sobs of the lately impenitent revellers was heard, as was that of the ancient prophet above the din of the worshippers of Baal, the voice of the man of God in earnest appeals to the throne of grace for mercy to these "hell-deserving sinners."
An hour passed; lamentation and groans of sin-sick soul mingled meanwhile with the fervent exhortations and appeals of the man of prayer. Suddenly and in rapid succession shout after shout of victory from redeemed souls ascended, and as if by magic the late abode of scoffers became indeed a very Bethel. The incidents mentioned, and others scarcely less remarkable, will be found in Mr. Cartwright's autobiography. The present generation knows but little of the old-time camp-meeting; as it existed in the days and under the administration of Peter Cartwright and his co-laborers, it is verily a thing of the past.
"New occasions teach new duties;Time makes ancient good uncouth."
Seventy years and more ago, the country new, the population sparse, the settlements few and far between, the camp-meeting was of yearly and, as it was believed, of necessary occurrence. It was, especially with the early Methodists, a recognized instrumentality for preaching the Gospel for the conversion of souls.
A convenient spot—usually near a spring or brook—being selected, a rude pulpit was erected, rough seats provided, a log cabin or two for the aged and infirm hastily constructed, and there in the early autumn large congregations assembled for worship. For many miles around, and often from neighboring counties, the people came, on horseback, in wagons, and on foot. Each family furnished its own tent, the needed bed-clothing, cooking utensils, and abundant provisions for their temporary sojourn in the wilderness. It was no holiday occasion, no time for merry making. It was often at much sacrifice and discomfort that such meetings were held, and preachers and people alike were in terrible earnest. Rigid rules for their government were formulated and enforced, and a proper decorum required and observed. Woe betide the wretch who attempted to create disturbance, or depart from the strictest propriety of deportment. Not infrequently in the early camp-meetings of Kentucky and Tennessee there were stalwart men keeping guard over these religious gatherings, who had in their younger days hunted the savage foe from his fastness, faced Tecumseh at Tippecanoe and the Thames, possibly been comrades of "Old Hickory" through the Everglades and at New Orleans.
A sufficient time being set apart for meals and the needed hours of rest, the residue was in the main devoted to public or private worship. Family prayer-meetings were held in each tent at the early dawn; public preaching by the most gifted speakers during two hours or more of the forenoon. After a hasty midday meal the public services were resumed, to be followed at the appointed time by meetings for special prayer, class meetings, and love feasts, all conducted with the greatest possible solemnity; and the exercises, after supper had been served and the candles lighted, concluded for the day with an impassioned sermon from the main stand. During the last-mentioned service especially, the scene presented was truly of a weird and picturesque character. The flickering lights of the camp, the dark forest around, the melodious concert of a thousand voices mingling in sacred song, the awe-inspiring, never-to-be-forgotten hymn,
"Come, humble sinner, in whose breastA thousand thoughts revolve,"
the fervid exclamations as convicted sinners gathered around the mourners' bench and the shouts of joy heard far beyond the limits of the camp as peace found lodging in sin-distracted souls, all impressed the memory and heart too deeply for even the flight of years wholly to dispel.
It need hardly be added that these scenes, of which but feeble description has been given, marked the hour of triumph of the truly gifted of the revival preachers of camp-meeting times. The echoes will never awake to the sound of such eloquence again. The orator and the occasion here met and embraced. In very truth, the joys of the redeemed, and the horrors of lost souls, were depicted in colors that only lips "touched with a live coal from the altar" could adequately describe. In the presence of such lurid imagery, even the inspired revelation of the apocalyptic vision seems but sober narrative of commonplace events.
With camp-meetings and their thrilling incidents of two generations ago in our Western country, the name of Peter Cartwright is inseparably associated. He was the born leader;par excellence,the unrivalled orator. Since the passing of Whitefield and Asbury a greater than he had not appeared. To those who have never attended an old-time camp-meeting the following quotation from Mr. Cartwright's autobiography may be of interest:
"The meeting was protracted for weeks and was kept up day and night. Thousands heard of the mighty work, and came on foot, on horseback, and in wagons. It was supposed that there were in attendance at different times from twelve to twenty-five thousand. Hundreds fell prostrate under the mighty power of God, as men slain in battle; and it was supposed that between one and two thousand souls were happily and powerfully converted to God during the meetings. It was not unusual for as many as seven preachers to be addressing the listening thousands at a time, from different stands. At times, more than a thousand persons broke out into loud shouting, all at once, and the shouts could be heard for miles around."
Strange as the following may sound to the present generation, it is one of the many experiences recorded by Cartwright:
"The camp-meeting was lighted up, the trumpet blown, I rose in the stand and required every soul to leave the tents and come into the congregation. There was a general rush to the stand. I requested the brethren, if ever they prayed in their lives, to pray now. My voice was strong and clear, and my preaching was more of an exhortation than anything else. My text was: 'The gates of hell shall not prevail.' In about thirty minutes the power of God fell upon the congregation in such a manner as is seldom seen; the people fell in every direction, right and left, front and rear. It was supposed that not less than three hundred fell like dead men in mighty battle; and there was no need of calling mourners, for they were strewed all over the camp ground. Loud wailings went up to Heaven from sinners for mercy, and a general shout from Christians so that the noise was hear afar off."
That it was by no means an unusual occurrence for those who came to scoff to remain to pray will appear from the same book:
"Just as I was closing up my sermon and pressing it with all the force I could command, the power of God suddenly was displayed, and sinners fell by scores all through the assembly. It was supposed that several hundred fell in five minutes; sinners turned pale; some ran into the woods; some tried to get away, and fell in the attempt; some shouted aloud for joy."
The horror of Brother Cartwrights for "immersionists" and Calvinists of every degree, appears throughout his entire book. That his righteous soul was often sorely vexed because of them is beyond question. That his cup had not been drained to the dregs will appear from a new element he encountered when sent across the Ohio to the Scioto conference.
"It was a poor and hard circuit at that time, and the country round was settled in an early day by a colony of Yankees. At the time of my appointment I had never seen a Yankee, and I had heard dismal stories about them. It was said they lived almost entirely on pumpkins, molasses, fat meat, and Bohea tea; moreover that they could not bear loud and zealous sermons, and that they had brought on their learned preachers with them, and were always criticising us poor backwoods preachers."
The "isms" our circuit-rider now encountered would have appalled a less resolute man. He seems, however, to have gotten along fairly well except with one "female," who, from all accounts, was given over in about equal parts to "universalism" and "predestinarianism." This troublesome female, that he candidly admitted he hada hard race to keep up with,he has left impaled for all time as a "thin-faced, Roman-nosed, loquacious, glib-tongued Yankee."
Something of the antagonism of the different persuasions in the good old pioneer days, may be gathered from the tender farewell taken by Brother Cartwright of a former associate, one Brother D., "who left the Methodists, joined the Free-will Baptists, left them and joined the New Lights, and then moved to Texas, where I expect the devil has him in safe keeping long before this time!"
It would be idle to suppose that Peter Cartwright was a mere visionary or dreamer. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He was abundantly possessed with what, in Western parlance, is known as "horse sense." He was a student of men, and kept in close touch with the affairs of this world. His shrewdness, no less than his courage, was a proverb in his day. Upon one occasion, at the beginning of his sermon before a large audience, he was more than once interrupted by the persistent but ineffectual attempt of a saintly old sister to shout. Annoyed at length, turning to her he said: "Dear sister, never shout as a matter of duty; when you can't help it, then shout;but never shout as a mere matter of duty!"
At a camp-meeting on the banks of the Cumberland in the early years of the last century, an attempt was made by a band of desperadoes to create a disturbance. To this end their leader, a burly ruffian, stalked to the front of the pulpit, and with an oath commanded Cartwright to "dry up." Suspending divine service for a few minutes, and laying aside his coat, the preacher descended from the pulpit and springing upon the intruder, felled him to the earth and belabored him until the wretch begged for mercy. The precious boon was withheld until the now penitent disturber, after promising to repent, had been given the humblest seat in the "amen corner." This all satisfactorily completed, and his garment replaced, the minister, scarcely ruffled by the trifling incident, re-entered the pulpit, and with the words, "As I was saying, brethren, when interrupted," continued his discourse.
This little sketch would be unpardonably incomplete if the important fact were withheld that Peter Cartwright had a relish for politics, as well as for salvation. He was more than once a member of the General Assembly of Illinois, and be it said to his eternal honor his speech and vote were ever on the side of whatever conduced to the best interests of the State. In him the cause of education, and the asylums for the unfortunate, had ever an earnest advocate.
Though many years his senior, he was the contemporary of Abraham Lincoln, and a resident of the same county. Mr. Lincoln was, in 1846, the Whig candidate for Representative in Congress. The district was of immense area, embracing many counties of Central Illinois. Newspapers were scarce, and the old-time custom of joint discussions between opposing candidates for high office were still in vogue. Mr. Lincoln's unsuccessful competitor was none other than the subject of this article. The great Whig leader and his Democratic antagonist—"My friend the Parson," as Mr. Lincoln familiarly called him—were soon engaged in joint debate. It is to be regretted that there is no record of these debates. There is probably no man now living who heard them. But what rare reading they would be at this day, if happily they had been preserved. The earnest, inflexible parson,—even then "standing upon the Western slope,"—backed by his party, then dominant in the national government, upon the one side; the comparatively youthful lawyer, whose fame was yet to fill the world, upon the other. No doubt, daily upon "the stump" and at night at the village taverns, the changes were rung upon the then all-absorbing subjects, the Walker Tariff, the War with Mexico, and the Wilmot Proviso. These questions belong now to the domain of history; as do indeed issues of far greater consequence, upon which Lincoln and an antagonist more formidable than Cartwright crossed swords a dozen years later.
At the Democratic State Convention, which assembled in Springfield in the early spring of 1860, a resolution instructing the Illinois delegates to support Stephen A. Douglas for nomination to the Presidency at the approaching National Convention was adopted amidst great enthusiasm. Immediately upon its adoption, a delegate called attention to the fact that the venerable Peter Cartwright was present, and said he knew the Convention would be glad to hear a word from him. Immediately "Cartwright," "Cartwright," "Cartwright," was heard from all parts of the chamber. From his seat, surrounded by the Sangamon County delegates, near the central part of the hall, Mr. Cartwright arose, and with deep emotion, and scarcely audible voice, began:
"My friends and fellow-citizens, I am happy to be with you on the present occasion. My sun is low down upon the horizon, and the days of my pilgrimage are almost numbered. I have lived in Illinois during the entire period of its history as a State. I have watched with tender interest its marvellous growth from its feeble condition as a Territory, until it has reached its present splendor as a State. I have travelled over its prairies, slept with only the canopy of heaven for a covering; I have followed the trail of the Indians, fought the desperadoes, swam the rivers, threaded the almost pathless forests, in order that I might carry the tidings of the blessed Gospel to the loneliest cabin upon the border. Yes, my friends, for seventy long years, amid appalling difficulties and dangers, I have waged an incessant warfare against the world, the flesh, the devil,and all the other enemies of the Democratic party!"