CHAPTER VI.

MARTYRDOM OF ELIJAH P. LOVEJOY.

Early Life of Lovejoy-He Edits an Anti-Slavery Paper in St. Louis-Denounces Burning Slaves at the Stake and Has His Office Demolished-Removes to Alton-Press Destroyed-The Missouri Republican Advises Mobbing-Another Press Destroyed-His Bravery Before the Infuriated Democrats-Relation by Geo. T. M. Davis, of New York-A Third Press Destroyed-A “Quiet and Gentlemanly" Mob-Attacked While Watching His Sick WifeHis Own Account of It-The Democrats Meet and Order Him to Cease Discussing Slavery or Leave Alton-The Night of Nov. 7, 1837-The Attack Described by Lovejoy's Surviving BrothersShot Dead-Democrats Jeer as the Funeral Procession PassesAt Rest Between Two Oaks-The Grand Jury's Miserable Travesty -The Country Fired From Ocean to Ocean-Hic Jacet Lovejoy. We now come to where the hosts of freedom met their first baptism of blood. But in recording the long series of enormities which became the seed of equal liberty and of the Republican party in America, the English language fails as an adequate means of description.

Elijah Parish Lovejoy was born at Albion, Maine, November 9, 1802. His youth developed extraordinary mental qualities. He reveled in literature, wrote poetry and defended the principles of human equality with vehement power. At the proper age he entered Waterville College, Maine, from which he graduated in September, 1826, with the first honors of his class.

A few months later he emigrated to St. Louis, Mo., and engaged as a school teacher; also became a contributor of poetry and philosophy to the Missouri Republican. In 1828

he engaged in publishing the Times, advocating the claims of Henry Clay for the Presidency. In January, 1832, he embraced active Christianity, and a few weeks later entered Princeton (N. J.) Theological Seminary for the purpose of studying for the ministry. In April, 1833, he graduated, and received a license from the Philadelphia Presbytery to preach the gospel. His preaching, at New York, Newport and other places, attracted attention throughout the country.

In the fall of 1833 he was invited to return to St. Louis, and in November of that year issued the first number of the Observer. This publication early began a series of unanswerable reasonings with slave-owners against the unfathomable iniquity of human slavery. St. Louis being the center of a large slave-holding aristocracy, his writings brought about him malignant and unsparing enemies.

The "foremost citizens," as the Missouri Republican put it, organized a mob and passed resolutions declaring "that the discussion of slavery was obnoxious and must be discontinued." During Lovejoy's absence, therefore, the proprietors of the Observer published a card avowing their cowardice and protesting that such discussion was not with their suggestion, but came alone from Lovejoy, the editor.

The mob adopted resolutions saying the Constitution guaranteed the right of free speech, but it did not extend to or "imply a moral right to freely discuss the question of slavery, either orally or through the medium of the press." They also accused Lovejoy of sending the Emancipator "in a box" to a friend at Jefferson City, and warned him to desist from such "seditious and obnoxious acts." To these resolutions he replied at length in a strain of stirring and lofty eloquence, maintaining the right of free speech, freedom of the press and inviolability of the mails. He closed by de

claring that he would submit to no dictation as to how he should conduct his journal, and was "prepared to abide the consequences."

Other meetings of slave-holders were held and committees appointed to "remove" Lovejoy from the community. The leader of these was Arthur L. McGinnis, a slave-owner and State's attorney for the district. The law officer for St. Louis was the leader of a mob. Two men, charged with the awful crime of "being suspected of being Abolitionists," were actually whipped to death, and a recital of the revolting deed was embodied in a resolution as a warning to Lovejoy.

Early in 1836 a mob of "respectable and peaceable citizens" tied a man to a tree in St. Louis, and in a manner shockingly barbarous and prolonged, burned him to death. An attempt was made to indict the perpetrators but Judge Lawless (Is there, after all, nothing in a name?) decided that the terrible deed was the "act of the multitude, seized upon and impelled by a mysterious, metaphysical and electric frenzy," and the case therefore "transcended the jurisdiction of the courtwas beyond the reach of human law!"

Lovejoy commented upon this with some severity, and the mob re-organized and demolished the office of the Observer.

A removal to Alton, across the river, to Illinois, had already been decided upon. The press was therefore towed over the river, reaching Alton Saturday night. Its presence attracted the leading Democrats during Sunday, who early the next morning gathered and broke it in pieces.

A new press was at once purchased, which arrived in season to enable Lovejoy to resume the publication of the Observer at Alton, on September 1, with double its former circulation. Its tone was not less emphatic and its argument not less eloquent and powerful against slavery. Some of his appeals were masterpieces of human oratory. They produced, as he wrote his brother, "tremendous effect." An article advocating a State anti-slavery organization was too much for the Democrats. They called a meeting to take steps to compel Lovejoy to leave Alton or cease discussing slavery. One Alexander Botkin presented a resolution,

which was adopted, declaring that while the assembled "freemen, unseduced by mercenary motives," deprecated mob violence, Mr. Lovejoy must "discontinue his incendiary publications." Meaning that Lovejoy must keep still or be killed.

The reply was through the Observer, in an article defining his views and aims and maintaining the right to speak and write according to conviction, answerable only to the law for any abuse of the privilege.

Four days later the Missouri Republican stated that "something must be done in this matter, and that speedily." It declared Lovejoy was a fanatic and must be suppressed or expelled from Alton, as he had, by "disturbing the harmony of the virtuous people, forfeited all claims to the protection of that or any other community." In the South, when the Democrats wish to slaughter a man in a dignified and respectable way, they declare that he has forfeited the right to protection.

The Democrats therefore organized a mob of about twenty "peaceable and respectable" but "indignant" citizens, who, on August 21, 1837, assembled shortly before midnight with stones and guns to teach the editor of the Observer that the Constitution guaranteed freedom of speech only so far as it suited the sympathizers with slavery. Two employes of the office were seriously wounded, and the press, type and other materials were utterly destroyed.

How he himself escaped the "virtuous and respectable citizens" who had organized themselves into a mob, let Col. Geo. T. M. Davis, of New York, an eye-witness, relate:

A few weeks prior to the assembling of the mob on the 7th of November, 1837-in resistance of whose attack upon Mr. Gilman's building, as well as upon his own life and that of others associated with him, he met his death-some eight or ten citizens of Alton, calling themselves of the highest respectability, determined to tar and feather Mr. Lovejoy, and then send him adrift, in a canoe secured for such purpose, down the Mississippi River. The night selected for the consummation of their design was as bright and clear as could be. Mr. Lovejoy resided at that time at Hunterstown, in a

building in a secluded spot below the road that led to Upper Alton, and his wife, whom he idolized, was prostrated upon a bed of sickness, with but little hope of her physicians or husband that she could recover. Between 10 and 11 o'clock, while on his way on foot to the drug store in Alton, a distance of about three-quarters of a mile from his residence, to procure some medicine for his wife, he was met by these eight or ten citizens-all of them disguised-who stopped him in the road, and at once disclosed to him their object and purpose.

With the most perfect composure and calmness, he immediately replied to them: "Gentlemen I have but a single request to make of you. My wife is dangerously ill, and it is necessary she should have this prescription immediately, and which I was on my way to town to procure. Will one of you take it and see that it is delivered at the house, but without intimating what is about to befall me. I am in the hands of God and am ready to go with you."

For a few moments, entire silence reigned. At last it was broken by one of the medical men that made up in part, the disguised party, exclaiming: "Boys, I can't lay my hands upon as brave a man as this is," and turning away, was followed by the rest, and Mr. Lovejoy was spared the degradation of being tarred and feathered, though a few weeks later, he suffered the death of a martyr, in defense of liberty of the press and of speech.

It is a most singular coincidence, that scarcely one of those who made up the tar-and-feather-party of that night, died a natural death.

At sunset of September 21 another press and newspaper outfit arrived on the banks of the Mississippi-the third Lovejoy had brought to Alton. He was absent on the arrival of his new materials. Although hostile demonstrations were numerous, the press was safely stored in the large warehouse of Gerry & Weller. The mayor, John N. Krum, stationed a constable at the door, to remain on guard until midnight, informing the people of what he had done. After the departure of the officer, twelve or fifteen of the foremost citizens of the place, with masks on their faces, broke into the warehouse, rolled the press to the river bank, broke it in pieces and burled it into the stream.