THE AWAKENING OF THE LION.
The repeal of the Missouri Compromise caused great excitement throughout the land. The conscience of the anti-slavery portion of the community was shocked, as was also that of the large numbers of people who, though not opposed to slavery in itself, were opposed to its extension. It showed that this institution had a deadening effect upon the moral nature of the people who cherished it. There was no compromise so generous that it would satisfy their greed, there were no promises so solemn that they could be depended on to keep them. They were not content with maintaining slavery in their own territory. It was not enough that they should be allowed to take slaves into a territory consecrated to freedom, nor that all the powers of the law were devoted to recapturing a runaway slave and returning him to renewed horrors. They wanted all the territories which they had promised to let alone. It was a logical, and an altogether probable conclusion that they only waited for the opportunity to invade the northern states and turn them from free-soil into slave territory.
The indignation over this outrage not only flamed from thousands of pulpits, but newspapers and political clubs of all kinds took up the subject on one side or the other. Every moralist became a politician, and every politician discussed the moral bearings of his tenets.
In no locality was this excitement more intense than in Illinois. There were special reasons for this. It is a very long state, stretching nearly five hundred miles from north to south. Now, it is a general law among Americans that migration follows very nearly the parallels of latitude from East to West. For this reason the northern portion of the state was mostly settled by northern people whose sympathies were against slavery; while the southern portion of the state was mostly settled by southern people, whose sympathies were in favor of slavery. The state was nearly evenly divided, and the presence of these two parties kept up a continual friction and intensified the feeling on both sides.
To this general condition must be added the fact that Illinois was the home of Douglas, who was personally and almost solely responsible for the repeal of the Missouri Compromise. In that state he had risen from obscurity to be the most conspicuous man in the United States. His party had a decided majority in the state, and over it he had absolute control. He was their idol. Imperious by nature, shrewd, unscrupulous, a debater of marvelous skill, a master of assemblies, a man who knew not the meaning of the word fail—this was Douglas. But his home was in Chicago, a city in which the anti-slavery sentiment predominated.
When Douglas returned to his state, his in more than one sense, it was not as a conquering hero. He did not return direct from Washington, but delayed, visiting various portions of the country. Possibly this was due to the urgency of business, probably it was in order to give time for the excitement to wear itself out. But this did not result, and his approach was the occasion of a fresh outbreak of feeling in Chicago; the demonstrations of the residents of that city were not a flattering welcome home. Bells were tolled as for public mourning, flags were hung at half mast. Nothing was omitted that might emphasize the general aversion to the man who had done that infamous deed.
A public meeting was planned, at which he was to speak in defense of his course. A large crowd, about five thousand people, gathered. Douglas was surrounded by his own friends, but the major portion of the crowd was intensely hostile to him. When he began to speak the opposition broke out. He was interrupted by questions and comments. These so exasperated him that he completely lost control of himself. He stormed, he shook his fist, he railed. The meeting broke up in confusion. Then came a reaction which greatly profited him. The papers published that he had attempted to speak and had not been allowed to do so, but had been hooted by a turbulent mob. All of which was true. By the time he spoke again the sympathy of the public had swung to his side, and he was sure of a favorable hearing.
This second speech was on the occasion of the state fair at Springfield. Men of all kinds and of every political complexion were present from even the remotest localities in the state. The speech was to be an address to a large audience fairly representative of the entire state.
Lincoln was there. Not merely because Springfield was his home. He doubtless would have been there anyhow. His ability as a politician, his growing fame as a lawyer and a public speaker, his well-known antipathy to slavery, singled him out as the one man who was preeminently fitted to answer the speech of Douglas, and he was by a tacit agreement selected for this purpose.
Lincoln himself felt the stirring impulse. It is not uncommon for the call of duty, or opportunity, to come once in a lifetime to the heart of a man with over-mastering power, so that his purposes and powers are roused to an unwonted and transforming degree of activity. It is the flight of the eaglet, the awakening of the lion, the transfiguration of the human spirit. To Lincoln this call now came. He was the same man, but he had reached another stage of development, entered a new experience, exhibiting new powers,—or the old powers to such a degree that they were virtually new. It is the purpose of this chapter to note three of his speeches which attest this awakening.