But in St. Louis there were from fifty to sixty thousand Germans, and they were almost solidly Republican. During this vituperative presidential canvass they invited Carl Schurz to address them and their fellow-citizens, on the burning question of the hour. He was not as widely known then as he afterwards became; still he had already acquired considerable reputation as a political speaker. Moreover, he came to us from a free state, and a host of men in the city were anxious to hear what this German from Wisconsin had to say to them concerning our great national problem. In the evening of the first of August, 1860, he appeared in Verandah Hall. Fully three thousand enthusiastic souls were there to greet him and hear him. He spoke, as was his custom, from manuscript. His subject was, “The Doom of Slavery.” With rare lucidity and forcefulness he justly stated the position of slavery and showed that, from its very nature, it could not permit men on its own soil freely to discuss it; nor could it safely permit the slaves to be educated except for servants, lest thereby there might be engendered within them aspirations for freedom incompatible with involuntary servitude; nor could slavery favor the development of domestic industries, since that would build up the free states more rapidly than their own, and so disturb the political equilibrium of the Republic; and for the same reason slavery could not consent to be kept out of the territories of the Northwest.
In contrast with this, he stated with equal clearness and cogency the position of free labor. It requires the highest advantages, educational and industrial, for all; instead of class privileges it demands privileges that are universal. He showed the utter incompatibility of slavery and free labor.
With unusual incisiveness he now analyzed the platforms of the parties that were then appealing to the people for their suffrages, pouring out his racy satire especially on squatter sovereignty or non-intervention, of which Senator Douglas of Illinois was the champion.
In the latter part of his masterful speech, by the clearest and most trenchant argument, he revealed the egregious folly of attempting to dissolve the Union, and then powerfully appealed to the reason and good sense of the slaveholders, some of whom sat before him, and urged them to abandon their position.
Two short paragraphs will reveal in some measure the spirit with which the orator spoke. He said: “I hear the silly objection that your sense of honor forbids you to desert your cause. Sense of honor! Imagine a future generation standing around the tombstone of the bravest of you, and reading the inscription, ‘Here lies a gallant man, who fought and died for the cause—of human slavery.’ What will the verdict be? His very progeny will disown him, and exclaim, ‘He must have been either a knave or a fool.’ There is not one of you who, if he could rise from the dead a century hence, would not gladly exchange his epitaph for that of the meanest of those who were hung at Charlestown.”
“I turn to you, Republicans of Missouri. Your countrymen owe you a debt of admiration and gratitude to which my poor voice can give but a feeble expression. You have undertaken the noble task of showing the people of the North that the slaveholding States themselves contain the elements of regeneration, and of demonstrating to the South how that regeneration can be effected. You have inspired the wavering masses with confidence in the practicability of our ideas. To the North you have given encouragement; to the South you have set an example. Let me entreat you not to underrate your noble vocation. Struggle on, brave men! The anxious wishes of millions are hovering around you. Struggle on until the banner of emancipation is planted upon the Capitol of your State, and one of the proudest chapters of our history will read: Missouri led the van, and the nation followed.” (Immense and long continued cheering.)
It was a great speech, profoundly philosophical, keen in analysis, virile in argument, brilliant in style, and absolutely and refreshingly fearless. It strengthened feeble knees, stiffened gelatinous backbones, and gave courage to the faint-hearted. Again and again the great throng that listened broke out into rapturous applause. Thinking men were profoundly stirred. The free-soilers who for many months had been battling against fearful odds for the freedom of all, from that hour walked with firmer tread. One could feel in it all the first breath of the coming battle between freedom and slavery.
At last the canvass was over; November came; the ballots were cast and counted, and, in spite of all the abuse heaped upon him, Mr. Lincoln was triumphantly elected. In the slave State of Missouri, he received more than seventeen thousand votes, almost wholly in St. Louis, Gasconade and Cole counties.[[3]] To me it has always been a genuine joy that it fell to my lot to cast one of those ballots. They were ballots of freedom and progress.
After the election, all those in St. Louis, who had hoped against hope that the Republican party might be defeated, seemed to settle down into sullen, silent, blank despair. Under the circumstances no one cared to talk openly. Those whose hearts were full of joy over the outcome of the battle of ballots gave little or no public expression of their gladness, lest they might unduly vex their disappointed and downhearted neighbors; while most of the latter rigidly refrained from openly proclaiming their bitter chagrin over their defeat, lest they might augment the elation of the victors. Moreover, most of those in St. Louis, irrespective of their party affiliations, felt the supreme importance of keeping the peace of the city unbroken. A large minority, however, were too proud to give expression to their despair, but thought in silence, and, as subsequent events proved, much of their thinking was desperate. From one cause or another all, so far as public utterance was concerned, held their peace, but it was that ominous stillness that precedes the bursting of the storm.
But underneath this surface-calm there were clandestine, but energetic, movements that portended armed conflict. There were two formidable political clubs in the city. The one was the Wide-Awakes. This was Republican in politics. It was made up of the most progressive young men of St. Louis. Many of them had just come into the Republican ranks; their political faith was new; they had the zeal and enthusiasm of recent converts. They were also stimulated by the fact that they were called upon to maintain their political doctrine in the face of the stoutest opposition. With their torchlights they had just been marching and hurrahing for Lincoln. They had cheered the vigorous speeches of their brilliant orators. Their candidate, though defeated in their city and State, had been triumphantly elected to the Presidency. Such a body of men, flushed with victory, was a political force which every thoughtful man saw must be reckoned with.