Most of the constituents of the Convention, while generously recognizing the great merit of much of its work, were often ashamed of what it did and said. In fact its debates were never published, beyond the brief and imperfect reports of them in the daily papers. In explanation of this curious fact, it was hinted that the leaders of the Convention were so mortified by them, that they managed to suppress the whole, both good and bad together.
The Convention, after dragging drearily on for seventy-eight days, completed its work. It submitted the new Constitution which it had wrought out to the suffrages of the people, that it might be by them adopted or rejected. On the sixth of June it was ratified at the polls by less than two thousand majority. This slender majority was in part accounted for when, on analyzing the vote, it was found that the saner radicals either stayed at home on election day or voted with the opposition.
On the first day of July (1865) the Governor formally proclaimed the vote for the adoption of the “Revised and amended Constitution,” and declared that “it will take effect as the Constitution of the State of Missouri, on the fourth day of the present month of July.” And while this Constitution was not in all respects what the sanest minds demanded, it contained so much that was progressive and admirable that its rejection at that transitional epoch would have been a calamity. While some parts of it were reprehensible, it embodied much of the most advanced statesmanship of the day, and crystallized in fundamental law what we had achieved by the war. It was progress made permanent.
But as soon as the Constitution became operative, there was throughout the State confusion, trouble and distress. No attorney, clerk of court, judge of any grade, teacher male or female, deacon, elder or minister was permitted to perform the duties which pertained to his profession or office unless he had subscribed to the test oath. Hosts of those upon whom this demand was made could not take it without perjury. If without subscribing to it they ventured to do the duties which belonged to their respective callings, they were liable to a fine of five hundred dollars or to imprisonment in the county jail for not less than six months, or to both; if they should take the oath falsely they would be adjudged guilty of perjury, and punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary for not less than two years. As was inevitable, arrests and indictments for the violation of this statute were frequent. Its attempted enforcement outraged and angered the people. A multitude of protests loud and bitter came up from every part of the commonwealth. Sympathy was aroused especially for those who had repented of their disloyalty, and now ardently desired to serve their country, but in whose faces the new Constitution shut and barred every door of forgiveness. Christian pastors, especially of the Episcopal and Baptist churches, raised the cry of persecution. But persecution was the very farthest from the purpose of the framers of the Constitution. In their bill of rights they set forth with great breadth and explicitness the doctrine of unrestricted religious liberty. And in fact in the enforcement of the test oath there was no religious persecution. No one was punished for holding and promulgating any religious tenet. Moreover, the oath was required of lawyers and school teachers as a prerequisite to their duties as well as of ministers. Many ministers all over the State had in one way or another supported the rebellion, and were now suffering for that and nothing else.
But the Convention had strangely blundered. After having proclaimed unrestricted religious liberty, it had decisively invaded it. For a civil offence it had meted out an ecclesiastical penalty. For his disloyalty to the Federal government and the State, it declared under pains and penalties, that the pastor should neither marry the betrothed, bury the dead, administer the ordinances of the church, nor preach the gospel. Thus what, with a flourish of trumpets, it proclaimed in its Bill of Rights, it struck down by its enacted Oath of Loyalty. In its legislation it entered a sphere from which by its own pronunciamento it was utterly debarred. It forgot the pithy utterance of the martyred Lincoln, when appealed to restore a pastor to his parish and pulpit from which on political grounds he had been deposed by a Presbyterian synod, that “he could not run the government and churches too.” What a pity that the leaders of the Convention in their consuming zeal for loyalty undertook the impossible task of doing both. Especially when just the smallest modicum of logic in the interpretation of their own new Constitution would have kept them from this colossal folly.
But blessed be the Supreme Court of the United States! About three years after the new Constitution had been ratified by the people, it declared by barely one majority that the notorious test oath was unconstitutional. A multitude in our State ever after held in grateful remembrance that one Federal judge, who tipped the scales against the oath that had too long been a thorn in the side of the body politic.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE WIND-UP
It was April 10th, 1865, the last day of the Constitutional Convention. As, in the morning, the Convention began listlessly and wearily to do the formal and necessary things before its final adjournment, a telegram was received announcing the surrender of General Lee on the preceding day to General Grant at Appomattox. The effect was electric. In a flash all dulness and languor fled. For the nonce all differences of opinion vanished. All hearts were surcharged with patriotic emotion. The die was cast. The integrity of the Union was assured. From all parts of the hall came shouts of joy; delegates and spectators vied with each other in expressions of gladness. They clapped, stamped and cried, “The Union forever!” Mr. Drake, the leader of the Convention, finally got the ear of the rejoicing patriots and gravely moved that they give cheers three times three “for the glorious news just now received.” They were given with full lung power. Those nine hurrahs brought the members of the Convention to quietude once more, and they proceeded by resolution to thank “Almighty God for the success of our noble and patriotic army and navy; for the steady and persistent perseverance of our noble President in the work of breaking the power of the rebellion; and especially for the noble and humane disposition which has been manifested by our authorities to our conquered enemy.” But they also declared, that they were not ready “to sanction any terms of peace which will admit of the perpetuation of slavery in any part of the Republic.” While this last resolution was well enough as an expression of opinion, it showed, at the very last, a disposition on the part of the Convention to get beyond its jurisdiction and attempt to shape the policy of the general government. Its remaining routine work was soon done. Its life ended. But the city and State, rejoicing over the close of the war, scarcely noted it. Those who did notice its termination were twice glad; glad that it had adjourned sine die and that national peace, founded in justice, had come.
That 10th of April was memorable not only for the whole nation, but also especially for St. Louis. A border city, which, for four long years, had been a bone of contention, fought over and snarled over by the dogs of war, had perhaps a keener appreciation of the surrender of the illustrious Lee, than could be found in any city far to the north of Mason and Dixon’s line. At all events no pen however able and eloquent could adequately depict our joy on the day which followed Grant’s final victory in Virginia. No business was done, except that which was most necessary and perfunctory. Men spontaneously gathered in crowds, their faces radiant, their lips rippling with smiles; they shook hands with firm grip; with tears starting in their eyes they talked of the surrender; all bitterness seemed to be gone; there was little or no exultation over those who had laid down their arms; men on every hand just brimmed over with gladness that the fratricidal strife had ended, and that slavery, the fruitful cause of our greatest woes, was no more.
And it was remarkable how few secessionists there were in our city on that day. During the four preceding years they had been alarmingly numerous, but now only a very few could be found; they had been strangely and magically transformed into Unionists. Even those who for four years had sat on the fence hopped off on the Union side, flapped their wings and crowed.