The outburst of wrath at the North which accompanied the repeal of the Missouri Compromise did not augur well for the future repose of the country. Douglas had anticipated angry demonstrations; but even he was disturbed by the vehemence of the protestations which penetrated to the Senate chamber. Had he failed to gauge the depth of Northern public opinion? Senator Everett disturbed the momentary quiet of Congress by presenting a memorial signed by over three thousand New England clergymen, who, "in the name of Almighty God," protested against the Kansas-Nebraska Act as a great moral wrong and as a breach of faith. This brought Douglas to his feet. With fierce invective he declared this whole movement was instigated by the circulars sent out by the Abolition confederates in the Senate. These preachers had been led by an atrocious falsehood "to desecrate the pulpit, and prostitute the sacred desk to the miserable and corrupting influence of party politics." What right had these misguided men to speak in the name of Almighty God upon a political question? It was an attempt to establish in this country the doctrine that clergymen have a peculiar right to determine the will of God in legislative matters. This was theocracy.[[497]]
Some weeks later, Douglas himself presented another protest, signed by over five hundred clergymen of the Northwest and accompanied by resolutions which denounced the Senator from Illinois for his "want of courtesy and reverence toward man and God."[[498]] His comments upon this protest were not calculated to restore him to favor among these "divinely appointed ministers for the declaration and enforcement of God's will." His public letter to them, however, was much more creditable, for in it he avoided abusive language and appealed frankly to the sober sense of the clergy.[[499]] Of the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, he said again that it was necessary, "in order to recognize the great principle of self-government and State equality. It does not vary the question in any degree, that human slavery, in your opinion, is a great moral wrong. If so, it is not the only wrong upon which the people of each of the States and Territories of this Union are called upon to act.... You think you are abundantly competent to decide this question now and forever. If you should remove to Nebraska, with a view of making it your permanent home, would you be any less competent to decide it when you should have arrived in the country?"[[500]]
The obloquy which Douglas encountered in Washington was mere child's play, as compared with the storm of abuse that met him on his return to Chicago. He afterwards said that he could travel from Boston to Chicago by the light of his own effigies.[[501]] "Traitor," "Arnold,"—with a suggestion that he had the blood of Benedict Arnold in his veins,—"Judas," were epithets hurled at him from desk and pulpit. He was presented with thirty pieces of silver by some indignant females in an Ohio village.[[502]] So incensed were the people of Chicago, that his friends advised him not to return, fearing that he would be assaulted.[[503]] But fear was a sensation that he had never experienced. He went to Chicago confident that he could silence opposition as he had done four years before.[[504]]
Three or four days after his return, he announced that on the night of September 1st, he would address his constituents in front of North Market Hall. The announcement occasioned great excitement. The opposition press cautioned their readers not to be deceived by his sophistries, and hinted broadly at the advisability of breaking up the meeting.[[505]] Many friends of Douglas believed that personal violence was threatened. During the afternoon flags were hung at half mast on the lake boats; bells were tolled, as the crowds began to gather in the dusk of the evening; some public calamity seemed to impend. At a quarter past eight, Douglas began to address the people. He was greeted with hisses. He paused until these had subsided. But no sooner did he begin again than bedlam broke loose. For over two hours he wrestled with the mob, appealing to their sense of fairness; but he could not gain a hearing. Finally, for the first time in his career, he was forced to admit defeat. Drawing his watch from his pocket and observing that the hour was late, he shouted, in an interval of comparative quiet, "It is now Sunday morning—I'll go to church, and you may go to Hell!" At the imminent risk of his life, he went to his carriage and was driven through the crowds to his hotel.[[506]]
FOOTNOTES:
[415] House Bill No. 444; 28 Cong., 2 Sess.
[416] Executive Docs., 32 Cong., 2 Sess., p. 124.
[417] House Bill, No. 170; 30 Cong., 1 Sess.
[418] Globe, 32 Cong., 1 Sess., p. 1161.