There were many very peculiar incidents in the churches, growing out of the excitement of the time, some of which are indelibly impressed upon my mind. An eccentric lawyer regularly attended the weekly prayer-meeting of my church. He rightly held that we should be specific in our prayers, and lived up fully to his conviction. He was very tall, and while offering prayer he usually stood by a supporting post and leaned his head sidewise against it, reminding one of a massive prop placed to strengthen a weakening pillar. In that unusual attitude of body, he asked God with minute particularity for the things that he desired. When he prayed for any public official or general in the army he called him by name. He prayed for the soldiers that they might have good health and strength, and courage in battle, and be obedient to their commanding officers, and that God would direct the Minie balls when they shot and make them effective, that the enemies of our country might be speedily subdued. Whatever any one may think of such prayers, they at all events caught the attention of even the dullest and waked up the sleepers.
We note also a very different incident, which was still more indicative of the feelings which at that time swayed many minds in our city. A lady of my congregation was exceedingly prejudiced against preaching politics, without having any clear notion of what politics was. She once sat immediately before me when I was speaking to the children of the Sunday-school. To illustrate and enforce my thought, I related an incident concerning a drummer-boy, whereupon she nudged with her elbow a woman who sat by her side, and said in a tone so loud that I distinctly heard her, “I do wish the pastor would let politics alone.”
An excellent Presbyterian pastor, with whom I often conversed, was greatly perplexed as to whether he should preach on the subject of secession. He was intensely loyal; but his church was not large and in national politics was apparently about equally divided. In determining his duty he sought my counsel. I told him that, taking into account all the circumstances, he ought in my judgment to forego, for a time at least, the public discussion of the national problem. While he seemed satisfied that I had pointed out what was wisest for him to do, he found it very difficult to keep silent concerning his country even for a season. Patriotism burned hotly within his heart. To get some relief he preached one Sunday afternoon on Paul’s words, “I have fought the good fight.” He began his sermon by saying, “There are then some fights that are good. The fight against sin is a good fight. The fight against the devil is a good fight.” But just as he pronounced the last sentence, a pew-door flew open spitefully, and one of the ablest women of his church walked excitedly down the middle aisle and out of the outer door, never again to return. Immediately after the service he went to see her. He went too soon. She had not had time to cool; moreover his prompt visit tended to pamper her self-importance. He gently asked why she left the church so abruptly? She replied that she left because she was offended, and said that she thought he ought not to have preached from that text. But he inquired why that text displeased her. She said, “Did you not say that some fights are good fights?” “Certainly,” he replied, “and are they not?” “Oh, yes,” she responded, “but you meant the fight against the Southern Confederacy.” That was probably the fact. He was giving, perhaps unconsciously, just a little vent to his own flaming patriotism. She felt it. She intuitively knew it. He could not persuade her to return to her place and her duty. That good pastor, sorely beset and tried, at last delivered fully his patriotic message and resigned. From such an event we learn how difficult it was to be a good and faithful minister of Christ in a border city at the beginning of our civil war.
But there were also many cheering occurrences during those dismal days; some deeds of sense and self-restraint illumined the thickening gloom.
“How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.”
Early in 1861, before the river to the South was obstructed, a Christian gentleman from Mississippi often came up to St. Louis on business. Whenever he stayed over Sunday he worshipped with my congregation. He was a pro-slavery man and a secessionist. In those days I always prayed publicly for the country, for all that were in authority, and that all efforts to break up the Union might be thwarted. One of my brethren asked him if the prayers did not offend him. He pleasantly replied, “No, not at all; I pray with your pastor till he gets to the country, and then I just skip that.” He was one of those rare souls that in a time of discord and conflict are lifted above unseemly passion, and kept with his brethren, from whom he politically differed, “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”
Nor must I fail to notice a warm-hearted, impulsive member of my church, a Kentuckian by birth. He firmly believed that secession was constitutional and right, and that slavery was of divine origin. He had not yet learned that “what is inhuman cannot be divine.” He was filled with indignation when I maintained in the pulpit that there was no just cause for rebellion against the Federal government, and that instead we were under solemn obligation to obey it; notwithstanding, soon after he invited me, together with my wife, to dine at his house just outside the city. At the appointed time he sent his carriage for us. On our arrival, after warmly greeting us at the gate, he said to me, “I think that you had no right to preach on the subject of secession; but you thought you had, and I do not think that this difference of opinion should destroy our Christian fellowship. You have had your say, and now that I have had mine, be so good as to walk into the house and make yourselves at home.” I assured him that his position was altogether satisfactory to me; and that I rejoiced that we could hold and express antagonistic political views without marring our brotherly love. Considering how fiery the disposition of this good man was, the stand that he took was as gratifying as it was surprising. The grace of the gentle and forgiving Lord, in whom he trusted and whom he loved, had in some measure been imparted to his own soul. Thus in the midst of much that was unlovely and repulsive there were here and there many noble acts that fascinated us, and allured us to Christ-like living.
From the few incidents which we have here presented, it is painfully evident that at the beginning of the war the influence of the pulpits and churches of St. Louis in shaping public opinion on national questions was sadly divided. Some of them were decidedly for the Union; some were just as decidedly for secession; in some churches the membership was so evenly divided between Unionism and secessionism that it was deemed inexpedient to make any allusion in the pulpit to the great national issue. All things considered, the preponderating influence of the pulpits and churches seemed to be in favor of secession. But as time rolled on the Union sentiment of the churches gradually became stronger, and before the close of the war decidedly predominant. Some pastors, unquestionably loyal to the general government, at first doubted the expediency of publicly expressing their views, but finally boldly uttered their entire thought. As a whole the Union pastors were as true as steel, and each in his own chosen time, in the midst of clashing forces and interests, unflinchingly did his patriotic duty. The state of affairs was such as might reasonably have baffled the wisdom of the wisest. It was a time that tried men’s souls.
But the press was quite as dubious in its testimony and influence as the pulpit. There were in our city over fifty periodicals of all sorts. Full half of these either advocated or apologized for secession; and some of those that stood for the Union were faint-hearted and spoke with hesitation and feebleness. There were eleven dailies, great and small—and some of them were very small, their editors scarcely knowing in the tumult surging around them whether their souls were their own. And since to a large extent each citizen took his cue from the paper that he read, the press, take it all in all, propagated among the masses of the city much of its own dubiousness and bewilderment. However among the dailies were two great political organs, that did much to mould public sentiment, The Missouri Democrat and The Missouri Republican. Their very names confused strangers, since the Democrat was the organ of the Republicans, and the Republican was the organ of the Democrats. The Democrat years before had been established in the interests of Free-soilism, which had long been a pronounced and growing sentiment in Missouri and especially in St. Louis. It naturally therefore became the organ of the Republican party, and was uncompromisingly for the Union. Its trumpet always rang out loud and clear; it had no uncertain sound. The paper had able editors who advocated the cause of the Union with unusual clearness, breadth and power. They permitted no one, whether he were keen or dull, to misunderstand them. So, in a reign of doubt and bitter conflict, their paper became a mighty ally of the Federal government, and did much to bring order out of confusion, to harmonize antagonistic forces, and at last to restore the reign of civil law. It is doubtful if this great journal ever received its just meed of praise. Noiselessly, day by day, it scattered in thousands of homes its message in behalf of the Union. That message gradually cleared the vision of those who read. Friends of the general government were multiplied by it. It was a tremendous force for the right. Its influence for all that was truest and best in government can no more be gathered up and weighed than one can collect and weigh the sunbeams.