Its great rival, The Missouri Republican, was also a power, and, on the whole, for good. It was exceedingly conservative, and by its utterances did much to moderate and cool burning and unreasoning passion. It seemed usually to be nicely balanced on the fence. It had two editors, one a secessionist, the other a Unionist. The secessionist was somewhat advanced in years and, after writing his editorial, left his office for the day about four o’clock in the afternoon. The Unionist editor was much younger, and wrote his editorial about nine o’clock at night. And these two editorials, conservatively advocating opposite views of the great national conflict, daily appeared side by side. But this old and influential journal was very widely read, and, consistently with its position of neutrality, published any decent and reasonable article for, or against, the Union. Its constituency, though largely disloyal in sentiment, read what it published on behalf of the Union. So to their own advantage, as well as to that of the Federal government, they were thus led to read and think much on both sides of the question that was then dividing the nation. But the general public, deeming it a weakness and a sign of duplicity to receive and publish all sorts of articles, advocating the most diverse and contradictory views, with more force than elegance dubbed this great paper, “The swill-tub.” Nevertheless, it seems reasonable, all things considered, that to have had then and there one such journal was a mighty power for good.
Early in the summer of 1861, when the people had become eager for war news, some of the papers began to issue evening editions. This new move was sensational simply because it was unusual. A wag, commenting upon it, said, “They issue these evening editions to contradict the lies that they tell in the morning.” But neither editors nor their critics, especially in times of social upheaval and commotion, can at once determine what among flying rumors is true and what is false.
Now if we ask in what direction at the beginning of the war, the press of St. Louis threw its influence, we see that taken as a whole, like the pulpit, it was double-tongued. Some journals were for and some against secession. Some were vacillating, at times both for and against—they blew both hot and cold; some were simply bewildered; some half-apologized for the rebellion; some were lost in the fog of State sovereignty. The editors on either side of the national question, and those on the fence, were doubtless honest; nevertheless their varied and discordant voices confused the public mind. It was not strange that the people were divided. They listened to a divided pulpit; they read the deliverances of a divided press. But while amid this din of antagonistic voices some were confused, many in downright earnestness began to think for themselves, and in spite of the clashing utterances of the pulpit and the press, at last thought themselves out of the mist into the clear light of day.
CHAPTER IX
DECISION AND DIVISION
As soon as Camp Jackson had been taken, and the panic which so closely followed it was over, a new spirit pervaded the entire community. Those who had been halting between Unionism and secession felt almost irresistibly impelled to decide with which party they would act. And those who from the start had quietly but firmly allied themselves with the one or the other, and for prudential reasons had refrained from declaring their political faith, now felt constrained to show their true colors. The process of open alignment was rapid. Society seemed to be suddenly transformed. We felt as though we had been transported in a state of unconsciousness to another world and when there had waked up in astonishment, gazing upon new and strange scenes. At first some thought that the celerity with which men were being converted to Unionism was marvellous; but in this they were deceived. There were, to be sure, many striking political conversions, but in the vast majority of cases, what amazed observers was not conversion, but a frank and open declaration of principles that up to that hour had been secretly held. Almost everybody seemed to be confessing his political faith. The star-spangled banner which, out of deference to the feelings of secession neighbors, had been so long concealed, began to be hung out from the balconies and windows of public buildings and private dwellings. It now waved from the cupolas of schoolhouses and even from the steeples of some of the churches. Union teamsters decked their mules and horses with it. Little children on their way to school, or playing in the streets, carried it. Just as sometimes in the spring the sudden coming of the warm sunshine and showers stars the cherry and apple trees all over with blossoms, so our city, so long bannerless, all at once bloomed with the Stars and Stripes. Badges made of strips of red, white and blue were also extensively worn both by men and women, while on every side, at morning, noon and night, could be heard the song born of the hour, “Hurrah! For the Red, White and Blue.” And the suddenness of this outburst of patriotism for a time threw those who had been struggling in doubt and gloom to prevent the secession of Missouri into a delirium of joy.
Nevertheless secessionism in St. Louis was neither dead nor hopeless. It was, to be sure, for the time being overawed; but it was in fact as tenacious and determined as ever. Our disloyal fellow-citizens were led to believe that the city would be at last captured by the rebel army, and both it and the State turned over to the Southern Confederacy. So, bating neither heart nor hope, they labored incessantly for the realization of this purpose. In secret they plotted to secure the secession of the State. Protected by United States troops, they harbored in their homes spies from the rebel army. Some of them themselves acted the part of spies and were arrested for their crime. Many of them contributed freely of their substance to help disrupt the Union and establish the Confederacy. But while they worked clandestinely,—as they were compelled to do if they worked at all,—most of them in social intercourse manfully declared their sentiments. In fact the time had at last come when true men on either side abhorred those sordid souls that sat on the fence, ready for the sake of self, at the opportune moment, to jump off upon the side of those who should chance to be victorious. The words of Dryden in his “Duke of Guise,” written concerning the Whigs and Tories of his day, slightly altered, fittingly depict them.
Not friends, nor rebels they; nor this, nor that;
Not birds, nor beasts; but just a kind of bat;
A twilight animal; true to neither cause,
With union wings, but rebel teeth and claws.[[36]]